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anneapocalypse · 2 years ago

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Pages 236-237 of Dragon Age: The World of Thedas Volume 2, with some information about Sera and the Friends of Red Jenny.

These are photographs of the physical book, so I apologize that they aren't perfect, but I have also transcribed the text in its entirety below. Comments in the margins (presumably by Sera) are denoted by brackets.

(And should you be interested in my own analysis of this information, you can check out my Sera meta series.)

---

Notes on the Inquisition Sera & the Friends of Red Jenny

[Well, this should be shit right the way through.]

Red Jenny is a minor legend, a figure of vengeance for those oppressed who are brave enough to wish ill on the authors of their misfortune, but at the same time not possessed of the conviction to upset the social structure in which they find themselves mistreated. In short, something happens, but nothing changes.

[Well, no? Where would you spend anything if you tore it all down? Daft!]

The group is simultaneously led by skilled actors, each claiming to be the titular figure, “Red Jenny.” Sera appears to hold seniority, earned at a very young age. Individual “Red Jennies” operate independently for long periods of time, each to the advantage of their personal territory. Sera’s activities vary from insult to larceny, and, in extreme cases, murder. She will, as the saying goes, rob from the rich and give to the poor, but with significant funds kept for services rendered. Often, robbery is incidental, the action being more about petty revenge. The one rule Sera seems to demand is that they cross no other of their own.

[That’s right, it’s the rule. No chances, no bargains, you’re over and done.]

Sera’s group has attained such a strange notoriety that they need not even act to be credited with an outcome, in what seems the modern equivalent of blaming sickly cattle on imagined witches. So, the difficulty in tracking Red Jenny is established by individual skill, multiplied by concurrent numbers, scattered by random intent, and compounded by the fact that a Red Jenny may not even have been there in the first place.

Thanks to some well-placed sources, we have learned that the Friends of Red Jenny have been of previous interest to assassin guilds as well. Some unusual records surfaced from the Antivan Crows:

[They went after Crows? Pissballs!]

You wanted their measure taken, and here it is.

The knives I found think the Friends of Red Jenny started in Ferelden, maybe a hundred years back. Could be longer—they're hard to track. Don't know if the name is a rank or what, but pretty sure it's older than they are. They were assassins back then, but I doubt they competed with true guilds. They were cheap, small, and made a habit of paying urchins to get information or plant weapons. They recruited that way, but that doesn't seem like a way to get skilled people. The Friends had some teeth, and they weren't shy about getting bloody if their people were threatened, but they were strictly local.

It's recent that the Friends have been more active. Since the Blight, mostly. A new Red Jenny at the head—or seems like—in Val Royeaux. And in Kirkwall. Maybe more. Thing is, they might be doing more, but they stepped back from being assassins. And there are a lot fewer of them. Could be Blight—it killed a bunch of everyone. But my gut says different. They didn't just move; they changed how they work.

I found Red Jenny herself, or one of them, I guess. Tall for an elf. I approached her plain, figured we'd talk guild to guild. Her answer was two fingers. She could move, she's proper skilled, but I don't think she's competition. What she and her friends do has nothing to do with us.

Ashevin

Noted below, presumably by the initiating Antivan Crow:

I get it. They all wear the same mask. The rest is bullshit.

The elf, the voice says Denerim, a mutt. But she's got a trainer who must be somebody. You don't split flies like she does without someone teaching you how to nock an arrow. Who gets that at birth? No one the living are supposed to know.

[Is it so hard for everyone? You miss, then you don't.]

This is admittedly the thinnest of the threads I've followed. The following is an anonymouse contemporary tavern rhyme that circulates in the Free Marches north of the Vimmark Mountains brought to my attention as it references a nickname Sera was overheard to mention.

She of the Red, Oh, She of the Red, She's under a lake with no water, it's said. As friendly as any, and then you are dead. "Forgive me; I've killed you," lies She of the Red.

[Frigging. Piss. Off!]

Sera was likely in the alienage in Denerim as an infant, but we can find no record. Her association with the Friends of Red Jenny may have been her means of avoiding it. Speaking in confidence, some guards admit they are loath to chase anyone into a dark alley, as it is akin to chasing a bear to its den. Not worth the risk, especially if only over a matter of elven truancy.

[Whatever that means, no one cares. Didn't go, stupid tree, didn't stay.]

By her own admission, Sera spent some years in the household of a merchant of moderate holdings named Lady Taraline Emmald. That time seems to predate exposure to the Friends and ended with the woman's death well before the Blight. A particularly virulent wasting illness was known to have passed through Denerim during those years.

[Makes you gray. And cold. You don't wish it on the worst people.]

The streets and the Friends are probably sources for Sera's combat abilities, but Emmald was likely her initial educator and provider. The taking of a ward is not unheard of for those who are childless but of means. Sera has admitted that the situation was mutually beneficial for a time, but clearly has mixed feelings about it now. The death may have caused matters to go unresolved.

[She ruined cookies. Nice or not, that was shit.]

The life of her patroness remains undocumented. It seems people are allowed to be lost in the wake of Blight, but matters of property rarely are. Sera is not named in the following records, but the epithet "Bequeathed" is occasionally used when a party is unable to be legally identified, as in the matter of elves and holdings outside of approved venues such as alienages. It appears that at one point, Sera may have inherited a sizable estate. That speaks to Lady Emmald's commitment to at least the appearance of the relationship. How Sera dispensed with it speaks to her.

[Never asked for it. Paid good sovereigns not to read any of it then, pay you even more not to read it now.]

Document dated before the Blight:

Notice of Grant

Subject: Estate and holdings on behalf of one Lady Taraline Emmald, deceased, to be placed in trust for Bequeathed, as indicated by will and testament.

Value: Sum total of estate is determined to be twenty-eight thousand seven hundred sovereigns, eighty silver, and ninety-six copper (28,700g, 80s, 96c), in combined lands and monies. Less negotiated fees (147g 3s), less taxation of transfer, respecting precedent of holdings between legal title bearers and those remaining undocumented. Divestment of two thousand eight hundred and seventy sovereigns, eight silver, one copper (2,870g, 8s, 1c) required.

Addendum: Funds refused by Bequeathed, as anticipated by author of will and testament. Amount deferred to trust maintained by divestment of interest. Title remains with the estate for purposes of documentation, as respecting of precedent (re: undocumented).

Document dated during the Blight:

Notice of Seizure

Subject: Estate and holdings of one Lady Taraline Emmald, deceased, as held in trust for Bequeathed, to be seized for immediate use.

Authority to seize: Granted in anticipation of treaties presented by relevant authorities (Grey Wardens), to be used in efforts against the Blight. Said treaties not present. Authority enacted by special enforcement of arl and state.

Addendum postseizure: The quoted volue has been deducted from the estate for cited circumstances. The total of: *worth of mercantile goods and trade contracts stored on site (sold to fund efforts), *miscellaneous private goods (sold to fund efforts), *miscellaneous structural elements (sold to fun efforts), the removal of which compromised roofing. Principal manor house rendered unlivable due to elements and animal infestation. Blight forces immune to fine of worth.

Amounts total: Reduced from estimated worth of holdings, ten thousand and sixteen sovereigns, eighteen silver, and four copper (10,016g, 18s, 4c). Hall house and outbuilding remain as taxable structures.

Document dated after the Blight:

Notice of Fine in Worth

Subject: Bequeathed returned to unannounced tenancy of holdings titled to one Lady Taraline Emmald, held in trust for said Bequeathed, incurring fines against said holdings. Fines require reactivating intent of will and testament from trust. Estate now subject to precedent of Blight Reclamation Act IV, wherein inheritance by those undocumented is taxed for public good, requiring prefine divestment of three thousand four hundred sovereigns, four silver, eleven copper (3,400g, 4s, 11c).

Claims against: Seeking financial recompense the total of: *unpaid contract to the Gnawed Noble to supply spirit and comestibles (ongoing), *two (2) neighboring outbuildings destroyed (tipped), *two (2) nightgown garments ruined and personal attending of two (2) residents of adjoining property to restore damage to countenance suffered while attending purpose in said tipped outbuildings, *individual rewards for city officers who assisted in the control of accidental fire consuming hall house of estate, which spread to neighboring public stables. Three thousand forty-eight sovereigns, eleven silver, nine copper (3,048g, 11s, 9c), paid by divestment or reduced from estimated worth. Outbuilding remains as taxable structure.

And another:

Notice of Quitclaim and Transfer

Subject: Quitclaim on land and holdings titled to one Lady Taraline Emmald, deceased, by one Bequeathed. This is to certify that all ownership and claims thereof are nulled in their entirety by the estate, as held in trust by Bequeathed.

Authority to dispose: Bequeathed authorizes the dissolution of holdings due to admitted lack of education regarding such matters, and disinterest in pursuing same. Total of instruction of Bequeathed is exactly: "Maybe orphans or some (excrement)." Terms defined by documenting trustee for additional fee (39g, 3s), by divestment.

Action: Management of all land and holdings is transferred to Undetermined Sister of the Chantry, Denerim, as per precedent regarding Blight orphaned and monies donated through will or testament. Transfer requires divestiture of considerable value, total eight thousand forty-nine sovereigns, one silver, thirteen copper (8,049g, 1s, 13c), precedent noted regarding gifting by undocumenteds. See Blight Reclamation Act IX.

Addendum: Chantry has delayed assignment of Undetermined Sister, as any available have been dispatched to Kinloch Hold for the purpose of "diplomatic ministrations." Delay in assignment has exposed estate to seizure due to lack of occupancy (see Blight Reclamation Act XII). Avoidance of seizure requires satisfying fine of worth to ensure land title remains giftable, payment in lieu requiring divestment of remaining holdings in their entirety. Two thousand one hundred thirty-one sovereigns, thirty-two silver, fifty-eight copper (2,131g, 32s, 58c).

Note: The estate of one Lady Taraline Emmald ceases to be legally definable if balance is archived at zero. Account to be closed with a final deficit against estate of thirty silver (30s), as requested and pocked by Bequeathed.

And for the sake of circumstantial numerical interest, note this contemporary tavern leaflet, as commonly circulated following the Blight:

Rest well at the Gnawed Noble. Raise a glass, raise your feet. Thirty silver for all your comfort for the week. Arriving to find your claim? Passing through to find your fortune? Staff on hand to assist in pairing with a suitable caravan, be your destination the opportune rebuilding of Redcliffe, or farthest Orlesian jewel and capital Val Royeaux.

[Happy now? Better be.]

#sera dragon age #dragon age sera #red jenny #friends of red jenny #world of thedas #world of thedas volume 2 #dragon age #dragon age reference #(whispers i also have a fic based on this)

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queenaeducan · 2 years ago

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💬 💬 💬 !

quotes from my writing i'm proud of! @apeacebone

Something from Prayers of the Father, the Mass Effect fic I wrote for an exchange!

Thane watched Miranda suck a breath in around her teeth, a moment’s weakness, quickly quashed. When she drew her gaze from the engine, she was poised, precise. She did not come here on a matter of business, but neither for idle conversation. “But she’s safe, for now. Thanks to Shepard, and to you.” He blinked. What he expected when she entered he couldn’t know, especially now, but he could safely say he did not expect this. “It was my duty as an assassin in Shepard’s service. I made a vow.” “To stop the Collectors, not solve my family’s problems.” “It was a… worthy diversion.” “And that’s why I’m thanking you.” He sensed she would chase the subject until he relented, and so he did. His head bowed in resignation, and acknowledgment. “You are welcome.” But Miranda lingered, arms folded over her chest as though waiting for him to say more. The distance between them tipped like a scale, and he got the impression that she wasn’t used to feeling indebted to anyone. With Shepard he imagined she could operate safely with the knowledge that she’d brought the Commander back from the dead, but with him she had no such leverage. He was a stranger who had bled for her sister’s freedom and she was grateful, but she was resentful. It comforted him to consider such duality could exist in her, as well. (x)

It'd been years since I wrote in the Mass Effect universe and it was the first time I wrote Thane and Miranda. I liked the idea of Miranda and Thane bonding over their broken families and acknowledgment of his presence at the mission. As much as I love ME2 it would actually be the most perfect game of all time if it actually had interactions between crewmates in the way the DA games do. I think the thing I'm most fond of is descriptions of Miranda's movements, I tried to match the descriptions that Thane gives during his memories, which were always vivid in describing people and their expressions/voices. It was also fun to convey the respect he has for her through the flattering description of her b/c Miranda deserves it.

Now something from my Take Me to Thedas series:

Red fissures in the ground divide the earth into wedges, cutting up the quarry into pieces of the world’s worst pie. Sera scrunches her nose, poking at the tip of one particular violent outcropping of lyrium with the tip of her arrow. The stone chips, the sound it makes as it falls through the air whistles in her ears like it’s beckoning for her attention. Where it falls, the snow melts, bringing about an eerie spring that sets her hairs on end. “How do we know breakin’ it into bits will help anything?” she asks. The toes of her boots grind into the top layer of snow as she kneels, still prodding at the pebble with an arrowhead. “It still seems… alive-y.” “We don’t.” Thora’s admission is as cold as the air. She drags the head of her hammer across the ground, the ice splintering under its weight. “But this will keep it from growing.” She swings the hammer forward, grunting from the effort, and lands it dead in the centre of a bloom of lyrium. Sera feels the impact in her teeth. It shatters like a mirror, raining in a hundred tiny pieces, whistling in a hundred tiny voices. She remembers Lady Emmald warning her that mirrors are bad luck. Lies to keep her swinging fists at her sides, but it’d worked, just like every lie she’d told her had. Only there was no lie in this bad luck. If it were up to her she’d bust a hundred mirrors before she ever lay eyes on red lyrium again. (x)

I'm proud of a lot of these snippets because I got to focus on descriptions, something which while roleplaying I got out of practise but I think I've made progress on in the last year. Also I tried to use characters who for the most part I hadn't written before, or don't write as often. It was good practise for voice and establishing setting/character quickly. This one with Sera is my favourite because she has such a unique voice that I can't imagine doesn't carry over to her narration, and idk I think I did a good job here.

Ok and finally a snippet from my contribution to the @/solamancyzine!

“In the Fade I bore witness to an elf, a mage, fleeing Chantry forces. With Templars hot on his trail and the walls of Amaranthine too high to scale without notice, he had little recourse but to find refuge in a farmer’s wagon and hope to pass for the first autumn harvest. The light of his phylactery glowed like a star in his pursuer’s hand; it was only a matter of time ‘til he would be found— had a woman not stopped them.” “Her voice high with fear, she pointed to the outer walls, claiming she’d seen a man cavorting with spirits in an alleyway. Cursing their trinket, the knights hurried in the direction of her finger, chainmail clattering with every stride. As the commotion cleared, the woman’s lips turned up in a devilish grin, a cheerful tune on her lips as she went on with her day as though nothing had happened. The apostate was on the next ship north, safely nestled amongst the harvest. He kept the woman in his prayers, even if he never learned her name.” Beside him, Varric’s shoulders shook with grief, sobs soft enough that they do not overpower the story’s end. “Hawke was a hero long before anyone, even you, thought to tell her story. Mourn her, share your grief as you shared your lives, but know her tale does not end at Adamant just as Andraste’s did not end in Minrathous. Take pride in the moments she chose to share with you; they will bring you comfort in the days to come, even if remembering moves you to tears.” “Thanks, Solas.” He swipes his sleeve under his nose, and Solas pretends he does not see the gleam of tears in his eyes as they meet. “Say, have I ever told you about the time we broke into Château Haine?” “I don’t believe so,” he muses, “but if it begins to sound familiar, I will remind you that any tale worth telling is worth telling twice.” (x)

I've said before I'm proud of this because I worked on it with the intent to publish it for a zine people paid for, but also! I'm proud of it because I think it's a good look into how these two storytellers mourn. How Varric will often deflect stories that are too personal, like with Bartrand, and what set him on the path to eventually write about Hawke after their death (as we see in Trespasser). A lot of people die in the games and oftentimes the resources aren't there to depict the depth of grief on the screen that we feel as people who love the characters, but I like the implicit room left for us to imagine what those moments look like, such as the time between Solas leaving and returning during his personal quest or Varric writing to Hawke's love interest.

#tas talks #my wips

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msiopao · 5 years ago

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The One Where the Moon Became a Witness

pairing: sera x jeno

summary: in the middle of a blackout and dead phones, they danced to the music from her box in the dark with light from the moon streaming in through the window

for christmas, the members all respectively went to their homes with Renjun and Chenle going back to China and the rest to their families, but 2 remain. The parents of the two decided to take vacations without their children since they were told to warn their families that they might not make it back home for the holidays. But it was proven wrong as they were free and now, had no family to go to.

One was in a cruise while the other was in a vacation to make up for a previously cancelled anniversary trip.

Refusing the other members’ wish to stay with them, they slightly regretted the decision at the empty dorm and the silence that filled every crevice.

Sera sat on the couch with Haikyuu playing in the TV but she was barely paying attention, instead focusing on her phone with her fingers typing rapidly and her brows furrowed together. Her brothers were all in college and they too, were without their parents. At least, they had each other and met up in New York.

...

elliot: why couldn’t you just have taken a plane here

mika: its only 15 hours

sera: ‘iTs oNLy 15 hOUrS’

sera: fool get off crack

elias: we dont want you here anyways 😤

sera: i will actually fite your face

atticus: its literally christmas eve

atticus: would it kill you to be nice for a few days

sera: hmm,,, suddenly mom appeared in the chat

mika: can you video later

mika: we usually celebrate the first few hours of christmas together

elliot: we wouldnt need to do that if finny was here

sera: lit rally just say you miss me

elliot: yall hear sum

elias: SLDKFJAELLIOT

sera: that unfair

sera: i dont have a twin to clown you with

elliot: god has his favorites and its obviously not you

mika: stop arguing

mika: its annoying having to swipe up when i just want to play my game

sera: jeez, mik, why you so pissy for

atticus: elias used up all the hot water

sera: imagine being pissy for taking a cold shower

sera: you shouldnt be unfamiliar with it since you used to take one every morning right, brother mikhail sir?

elias: KSDFJ;ASDKLGHKLDSFJIMSCREAMING

elliot: GET REKT HYUNG

mika: GOD SERAFINA SHUT UP

atticus: one christmas

atticus: one peaceful christmas was what i want

...

jeno noticed her soft smile and he approached her, holding 2 mugs full of hot chocolate and marshmallows topped with whipped cream. Exactly how she liked it. A giggle escaped from her and she turned to look at him as she felt the cushion beside her sink due to the weight placed on it. She smiled gratefully at him and moved to hold her cup so he could safely hold his.

“Do you miss them?” He asked, noticing the name of her oldest brother’s name pop up.

With a wistful look, she nodded and blew on the hot liquid. “Yeah. Even though I want to see them, we only have 3 days of break so its not worth flying back and forth.”

Jeno wrapped an arm around her shoulder, gently pulling her close. His eyes trained on the ball that flew around the court in the show and he felt her laugh when the orange-haired boy missed the ball.

“Ah, no!” She whined with a laugh at the face of the boy.

Continuing to watch the banter between 2 characters, they grew silent as they became focused and interested at the show and the speech that a character was giving. She soaked in every word since it reminded her and Dream but then it went blank.

Everything went dark and the soft glow from the street light came through the window beside the TV to give them a way to see things a little bit clearer. Jeno felt her tense form and with the help of the slight light, he gently pried the cup off of her hands and placed both of their mugs on the coffee table in front of the couch.

“Ah, we have a blackout,” Jeno said. Sera nodded and she moved to turn on the flashlight from her phone only for it to blink ‘1%’ in red.

Cursing at the worst timing, she turned it off and placed it to the side since it was no use anymore. “Jeno, can we use your phone?”

With a sheepish look, he sent her a lop-sided smile. “You see, I played my game too much and I just plugged it in earlier. It might not have a lot of charge in it. I can go get it?”

“Oh, it’s okay. We just need it to tell the boys we have a blackout and in case they need to get ahold of us,” she reasoned as he stood up to get it from his room and coming back with it on hand.

They sat in silence, even the sound of birds disappeared and was replaced with eerie quietness which was very unfamiliar to the dorm. This might be the first time the walls heard such silence after they moved in.

“The light is hurting my eyes,” Jeno mumbled before taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

“Do you want to go in my room? My string lights are battery operated so it’s not turned off. It’s very bright,” she suggested. He nodded and they padded over to her room at the end of the hall.

Jeno has been in her room millions of times so it wasn’t unfamiliar territory and he even noticed his hoodie hanging on her chair.

“There it is!” He pointed at the missing material he was just looking for a few days ago.

Sera smiled guiltily and placed her hands up. “Sorry,” she apologized.

“Nah, it’s okay. I just thought I lost it. You can keep it,” he reassured before jumping on her bed. “It’s so not fair you got a soft bed.”

She rolled her eyes before climbing on it beside him. “What are you talking about? Jaemin has the softest. This isn’t that comfortable.”

Jeno turned his head to look at her and his ears turned red as admired the way the bright lights against the wall illuminated her face and made her eyes brighter than they usually were. It almost made it look like she was glowing.

Sera noticed his stare and looked at him curiously. “Hm? Something on my face?”

He snapped out of it and his smile reached his eyes, turning it to crescents. “No. I just like the lights.”

For a 30 minutes, they just talked about absolute nonsense and old memories to past time since they couldn’t use his phone for entertainment. Then the string up lights flickered slightly that went unnoticed by the two.

“God, Chenle almost killed Renjun. Thank god you were able to hold him back,” Sera laughed at the memory.

Jeno shook his head with a smile when he remembered the unpleasant time that Renjun spilled a little bit of paint on his apple watch. “Honestly, he could’ve just gotten a new one. It didn’t help that you pointed it out in the first place.”

“Yah, if I didn’t, Jisung would’ve. There was a big blob of blue in the screen of his watch. Who wouldn’t notice that?” She defended and tightened her hold of his middle.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled and was about to say something when for the second time that day, they were covered in darkness again.

“Really, God absolutely hates me right now,” she muttered harshly. “Chenle took all of that good luck with him. I told him to leave that jade bracelet here.”

Jeno knew about her slight fear of the dark because she slept with the lights on everyday and it’s been probably a while since she changed the batteries.

“You stay here while I go get some batteries and a flashli-”

“No, don’t leave me.” She stopped him from sitting up with a hand on his arm.

Jeno saw her slight wide eyes and nodded before laying back down. His brain racked up ways to comfort and keep her entertained but he came blank. Turning his head to the side, he looked around her room with blurry eyes and he found the small box that she had on top of her dresser.

“I have an idea,” he said. “But I need to get up, love. Will you let me go get it?”

She nodded and he smiled softly before standing up and crossing the room to grab the circular object. Sera sat up and saw the familiar outline of her great-grandmother’s music box that was given to her right before she died.

Jeno gently wound the box and opened the lid, hearing the soft melody of an unknown song and watching the dancing of the 2 figures. He placed it on her nightstand and he held his hand out to her.

“May I have this dance, m’lady?” He asked. Sera wasn’t able to answer properly since the moon hit behind him so perfectly that it looked like he was an angel and she still cannot believe someone as gorgeous and perfect like Jeno was her best friend.

“I-Um,, Yes.”

In their pajamas and socks, the two people danced slowly, moving side to side. Their eyes were closed as they slowly got lost into their own world. The soft music from the box filled the room and she could feel his heartbeat as her head rested on his chest and her arms were loosely around his neck. Jeno’s hold of her waist tightened when she moved closer to his warm form.

“Thanks, Jen.” Her gratitude made a smile appear in his face and he kissed the top of her head.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” she mumbled against the cloth.

“Hm? Can you really?” He asked, smile growing wide.

“Yea,” she answered. “Hey, Jen?”

“Hm?”

“I love your smile the most.”

The declaration took him aback. “W-Well, thanks?”

Sera smiled at his awkward stutter and continued on. “It reminds me of the moon. When you smile, it just lights up everything else. Like the moon in the sky. It gives purpose and comfort that there is light in the midst of darkness. And your eyes. They scrunch up like moon crescents. That’s my favorite hour of the moon.”

“I love your smile, too.” He giggled and there was something different in the atmosphere.

She opened her eyes and saw the digital clock flash a red ‘12:05′. “Look, it’s Christmas.”

Jeno moved his head and he swears he could see faint snowflakes. “Oh? It is.”

“I guess I got my wish then,” she hummed happily.

“What?”

“I wanted God to let me spend Christmas with someone I love,” she revealed and looked up to meet his eyes. “It wasn’t just a coincidence that you happened to have to stay here too.”

He brushed away strands of her hair that rested on her face before patting her hair. “Stuff happens for a reason.”

“When I came to Korea, you and Jaemin were the only ones I had. But now, I have 18 people with me. I’m very thankful for everything but I think meeting you is the one I’m most thankful for.”

The confession might’ve been spawned as she got more tired and sleepy but he thinks that she’s probably wanted to say that for a while.

“I’m here for you, Sera. I’ve been here from the start and I’ll be here till the end.” Jeno reassured and she hugged him tighter with a content sigh.

His promise is only heard by the 4 walls of her room and remembered by the two of them but it signifies a new beginning and the creation of a deeper bond and the only witness was the moon.

And it thought this was beautiful.

a/n: this was lowkey cute but it didnt turn out the way i wanted it to :(

#nct dream #nct #nct 22nd member #nct dream 8th member #nct au #nct dream imagines #nct dream imagine #nct dream scenarios #nct dream scenario #nct dream 8th member au #8th member of nct dream #nct 22nd member au #22nd member of nct #nct dream female member #nct female member #nct female addition #nct dream female addition

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hunterartemis · 5 years ago

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The Assistant: Chapter 14 (finale): Ainsi Tu Seras

Words: 9952 (my longest)

No summary for this one. Because of Spoilers!! (Doctor Who fans will get it)

Chapter Theme: (not one but 2): Together or Not at All, by Murray Gold: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Gam8ogWBLk

(the picture: Amanda Abbington as Mary Morstan in Sherlock. I do imagine her as Audrey Page, and she has all the qualities of her)

“Mum...” Maxine whimpered in the tears of joy, “is that you?”

Audrey didn’t reply her right away. She kept standing in front of her, still and serene. Her wide blue eyes all upon her daughter, her wand in her right hand and the tip on the left palm, like a small hunter crop; there was no joy of meeting her long lost daughter, neither the look of victory after killing of her daughter’s enemy. There was a coldness, the same coldness Newt used to see on Maxine’s face—as if what she has done was done out of a sense of duty, or obligation as if there was no passion behind it. Her crow’s feet moved a little as she smiled obligatorily.

“Hello, Maxine... it’s nice to finally see you.” Her eyes quickly veered towards the Paterfamilias of the Valois, Hrothgar, who looked like there was a ghost standing in front of him.

“I really like that look on your face, it’s just like I imagined” Audrey now looked at Maxine, “you know, I always knew you will turn out like me the moment you were born” she came closer to Maxine and stroked her face with her thumb, “in beauty, in intellect... and you know, mother’s instincts are never wrong—thank you for keeping me close for all those years.”

A stray tear that gathered in Maxine’s eye stooped to fall on her pearly cheeks, her eyes looked bewildered to an extent, almost maddening. Those words seemed to have an estranged effect on her, she felt that it was not the same mother, she knew who wrote all those letters, all those years ago “What are you talking about?” she exclaimed with a desperate whisper, “you’re my mother, the only relation that mattered to me in the world. All those years—after all those torturously lonely days filled with humiliation...” her voice strengthened with deep gratitude, “only you were the one who understood me... there is no word in the world with which I could say how much I love you.”

Everyone in the room stood in their places like marble sculptures to witness the events unfolding. Maxine wondered why anyone in the room hadn’t tried anything to stop that woman who killed the son-in-law of the French diplomat; how could they—it was a strange day in December, a strange gathering of wizards under roof of the Catholic church at the heart of Paris, a strange day that unfolded perhaps the most scandalous truths about one of the most reputed family in all of Europe. It is the nature of all man—noble, royal or common—to see an old power fall and shatter into pieces. There was a forbidden joy in that, like seeing a nun or a queen naked. There was an odd rush in that which stopped all senses to respond, keeping the eyes and ears extraordinarily acute for witnessing and for the recording that will surely be embedded into every living memory. And there was a common truth: a noble stays mute when noble is disrobed.

“So tell me, mum...” Maxine went a little closer to her mother, “so tell me you knew everything and killed Anatole to save me from him... tell me. Tell me that, or they will put you into Azkaban” her voice shook when she saw no change in Audrey’s face. Her distant vacant eyes were unreadable and suddenly smirk graced her thin lips.

“Don’t worry dear, that’s the least of my worries.” Audrey waved her words quite serenely and turned away towards the wedding guests, and now Maxine could really understand what was happening and why the ministers stood still. They had a mist about them, even the vapour of their breath froze still like they were in a photograph. Maxine turned to Newt and there he was: his sea-green eyes fixated into a glassy image of shock, looking up like some subject in a divine painting, just like Maxine saw him in Notre Dame. She looked at Audrey with bafflement.

“Why is that?”

“Perpetuity spell darling...” Audrey spoke coolly, “everyone except you and I is locked in their previous time-stream. A high-level of magic, not even Dumbledore shall dare to try it.” She laughed on her own with a satisfactory vanity, “but then again not everyone is Dumbledore and delusional like him. Working as an Unspeakable has its perks.” She turned towards Maxine and found her daughter looking at her with disbelief.

“Oh c’ mon now, don’t pretend you aren’t used to all—breaking rules!” Audrey shook her hand in a casual manner, adding a bit of smile, a peculiar kind. A smile only smiled by an adult in front of a child, a smile to be faked to that child and repeated with ‘everything is going to be fine’. “I know how they raised you, I know how they pushed you aside and locked you up like the Dragon in the Tower. Oh, I know... I knew all the time when I had you. Because it was the same with me. Darling, muggles , and wizards are not very different—they detest anything that is out of the norm. I used to be locked up too... and one day, I had it enough, and next thing I remembered—I was standing beside my dead muggle parents.”

“So what do you want to say? I am like you?” Maxine threw the question with a challenge, “please... I am not an idiot. Yes, my step-family had been horrible to me, every day is a cold war. My so-called family refused to come to my failed wedding--” Maxine added sardonically after looking at Anatole’s dead-cold body with a mild disregard, “but it doesn’t mean I am like you. I am not going to kill my father just because he is a little bit too harsh on me—he is a diplomat and he being alive saved me a lot of shit--” Maxine pointed upwards, at the way where she displayed the memory tapestry, “in case if you missed—and he was actually there for me, now I have realised when you loitered around the shadows...” Maxine took a deep breath as if to gain some energy for something she was about to do “WHERE WERE YOU ALL THOSE YEARS I NEEDED YOU AT MY SIDE? WHERE. THE. HELL. HAVE. YOU. BEEN. WHEN EVERYTHING AROUND ME WERE FALLING INTO PIECES”

Audrey couldn’t speak for several moments, then when she gained her voice, her wide blue-eyed lowered, in guilt or in possible shame, “oh darling... if you only knew I had been through--”

“I understand you’ve been through a lot, but you are my freaking mother, and I need an explanation. My model family won’t tell me a thing, so I suggest you talk now.” Maxine venomously snapped as her rage spilled into her previous tears.

Audrey veered her eyes towards the stained glass window. Her face glowed in pink, blue and purple, softening her wrinkles and the tears that she was about to spill. She didn’t look at Maxine straightaway but at Hrothgar. Her wide blue eyes streamed with tears that seemed to be held back behind the dam of years of pain and resentment, “he was everything to me, the perfect person—so kind, so...compassionate. I alone and sad when I was sent to the French Ministry and he saw right through me. The amazing insight he had, he knew where and how to pluck a person to dismantle him which he rarely did—I knew I couldn’t be with him, he was a married man with a son, but he never abandoned me. He never hid anything from me, sometimes even ignored the calls from his wife and family because they NEVER CAME CLOSE TO UNDERSTAND WHAT HE WAS--” Audrey’s face reddened with anger, “I would have endured everything... being his secret, his mistress, but—he decided to take from me when I was promised that I would be married to him—he told me he was going to separate from Marguerite, but that coward...” Audrey’s emotions hardened into contempt, “backed out in the last moment... I stood here; right where you stood as English bride, alone on French soil, a heart full of love, and all I ever received was an arrest warrant and a walk of shame from Chateaux d’If, stripped off my love, my life, and my daughter...THAT MAN, THE LOVE OF MY LIFE... DID THAT TO ME” Audrey’s eyes were reddened with the ghosts of her past. But she did nothing, but to smile a crooked smile, like she had everything right all of a sudden, “so tell me I am wrong, an abysmal mother, a dutiless parent—but think of that wretched woman who was stripped bare, to her last dignity. I waited all those years, selected every possible scenario to arrange the situations to pave myself today in this abysmal church in Paris”

Maxine listened to her full story. Drops of tears rolled off Maxine’s cheeks as millions of possibilities seemed to fire in her brain: the sudden letters of Anatole a year ago, him finding his way back to her, the blue sealed letter in Romania, this perfect situation that compelled Hrothgar to marry her off with him—nothing was committed on Anatole’s whim. He was a megalomaniac, a sexual predator but he was never this grand. Moreover the codification of the Prison transcript, locked away safely but obscurely under the very nose of the British ministry, everything made sense: an Unspeakable operating right under the nose of everyone, incognito and completely silent, pushing people like pawns—the perfect candidate. And who else, who else would know in such details that if Hrothgar commanded his daughter to do something, she will be compelled to do so? The Mark happened after Anatole was convicted.

“You did all this... all of this... just to get to papa?” despair vaporised from Maxine’s lungs, “you used your own child... to get to the Father? What KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU?”

“You make a mistake darling...” Audrey spoke in a cold and distant tone, “I was never your mother... I had no right over you.” Maxine felt it was like she was trying to gag whatever that was pressing to come out. If she knew her lesser, she would have suggested that it was bitter regret, but as she knew her better, she knew it wasn’t anything like that, “all because of a man that I love. But he forgot one thing, to kill me. There is a proverb in France; there is none deadlier than a woman wronged.”

The next scene happened too quickly to register into Maxine’s mind. Audrey rushed towards the statued figure of Hrothgar and took his face to embrace with her lips. Like a miracle, Hrothgar’s body sprung into the old life, tightly wrapped in Audrey’s embrace suddenly became wide-eyed and whimpered. It was the moment when Audrey stepped away from Hrothgar and her cornflower blue suit smeared with fresh blood. Maxine looked at her wide eyes and saw victory as well as unspeakable grief. The crowd behind her sprung into their instinctive panic, alertness and bustle, and before a flash of green light hit her behind, she managed to speak to Maxine for one last time.

“Forgive me, ma chere... and goodbye”

The surge of life that the nullification of the Perpetuity Spell brought was felt first as severe contracting pain in Newt’s chest; it was the first thing that he felt—a rib crushing pain, trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs. Unable to contain the feel, when he looked at Maxine’s way, clutching his heart, he saw a sweep of glittering white before his eyes. As his body registered to his current circumstances, he realised that Maxine lunged forward over the body of her dying mother. But that was not what it surprised him; even Maxine knew that Audrey was no more when the Green Light hit her—it was the action of his brother.

Theseus pushed three people out of the way, almost toppling Tina over, and Newt saw how he secured Maxine in his arms before she fell on the still body of her mother. Even though Newt was standing at the back, with his legs leaden on the floor, stupefied, he could clearly see Theseus’ right arm secured under her diaphragm and left on her décolletage. His shoulders were vibrating not prominent enough for other people to see but Newt knew that, and it was almost for her. Like a process of osmosis, Theseus’ whole body was absorbing her physical grief, and there will be no words in the world to describe the animal howls of violent sobbing of Maxine’s Valois. She was falling apart, piece by piece, and Theseus with all his being was keeping it together.

Although he felt somewhat relieved he felt very agitated towards the scene, because it was not what it was supposed to be. It was a cruel act, even for Theseus to do things to Maxine—she was deeply hurt, and he knew how it felt. Because he felt it every time when Leta walked alongside Theseus; Newt knew Maxine was no different than him in this matter, so why now—why this publish display? However as he attempted to step forward, breaking from his stupor, he felt Tina’s hand firmly grasping him.

“Let him...” Tina said looking towards Theseus and coming a bit closer to Newt. Her liquid black eyes glistened with slight moisture that had a bit of sadness. A surge of guilt washed over Newt’s entire being as Tina touched Newt’s lip with her quivering thumb and it reddened with the Mark of Maxine’s lipstick, “he has suffered long enough for that wretched woman...”

“What do you mean?” Newt looked puzzled, and Tina suddenly turned his head towards Theseus, “does your brother look like he is faking it? He had been love with her all along...” she filled the silence and inquisition of Newt with a strained smile, “a lot can happen during a dance”

“HROTHGAR...” another whimper of cry ensued from the left side of the altar. Anyone who wasn’t under that influence of the perpetuity spell did not know what happened to Maxine’s father. As they heard an old woman crying mentioning that name, Newt and Tina went to that place and saw a gleaming opal the dagger pierced the chest of the old French Diplomat and the congealed blood weaved a deep red velvet shroud on his black brocade suit worn for the occasion. He lied alongside Anatole, like sinners of the same crime, but his wide shocked eyes reflected the mistake of his past and regret. Newt knelt beside his body and gently closed his wide eyes. He turned towards Anatole and looked at his with a sense of conflict—there he lied in his final rest like a mangled insect, put into an arbitrary death, but again he remembered where he had been a few hours ago—Death remembers all and in Death, all people are the same.

Newt cradled Anatole’s head straight and closed his eyes.

...

It is strange how quickly things can change over a few hours. A few hours ago Newt, Theseus, and Tina assumed that they were going to be buried alive, a few hours ago Maxine walked the doors of Saint Chappell and the choir sang for her conjugation with Anatole Malfoy, a few hours ago even in the worst of nightmares, Hrothgar didn’t think that it would be the last time he will see the love of his life, a few hours ago not even Maxine would have thought that within half an hour she would lose everything, a few hours ago not even Newt would think he would recalibrate his entire life based on the appearance of his assistant who had been working for only a month.

Three coffins and two widows came out of Saint Chappell at that night. Marguerite and Maxine, walking side by side as their husbands made the march. The flashing of reporter’s camera permeated even through their long black face veil. Newt, Tina, and Theseus were walking at the very back of the crowd, and a conspicuous feeling was bothering Newt for some time. As Audrey’s casket was walked he felt something that he would not express to anyone. He felt one of dead was being walked with glory, one for treason and one as the stain on a noble. As for the living, one bereaved widow walked with other trapped in perpetual shame. He was wondering what would happen to Maxine now; she may have no chance of surviving this: she lost her birth mother, someone whom Maxine felt had the only living relative who loved her; and her father, for whom she stood with straightened back despite her birth. What will happen to her now—she was not the easiest of the woman to get along with, and Merlin knew not every one of her ministries was a fan of her. After her Confession, they will only need a tiny excuse to do anything with her. And this very thought made his skin crawl with disgust and fear.

“I know what you’re thinking...” Theseus said in a low raspy tone, dampened with tears he had been crying with Maxine, “as soon as old Valois is buried for good, the Embassies will come for her. Given the fact that her family didn’t even attend her wedding--,” he looked at the four newly arrived figures, two women and two men, dressed in black and busied with a spectacle of tears, “I don’t think she stands much chance. If she had her job by now, there could have been a hope for protecting her, but damn that stubborn woman. She had to leave just to prove a point that she can--”

“She isn’t half as egotistic as you think ‘Seus. She left because she was protecting you.” Newt answered grimly. He knew this was the time to come clean and there was no moment to lose.

“What do you mean she was protecting me? oh—so she is so egotistic now that she thinks that I am so vulnerable that I need protection from the person who is this close of being subjugated herself.” Theseus said with a significant amount of heat, and Newt confronted him like he never did anyone before.

“Perhaps that is why she chose to leave you, she knew it was better to leave quietly than to explain it to you what dangers you were in. She feared Anatole, all this time... she showed that in front of half the European ministry, and when he started writing she feared that her attachment to you might get yourself killed. So she left you Theseus, and watched you day after day getting closer and closer to Leta when she was breaking her heart--”

“What? Breaking her heart...?” Theseus tried to laugh it off as if Newt was spewing his ‘usual’ nonsense, and quiet with an aggravated motion pointed towards the Funeral march “do you think even for a second that Maxine Valois lets herself do that. She is no subject of affection, she never was... she was always that smart, arrogant and near-perfect woman who had every man in existence swooned for her. I saw you waltzing with her in the Yule party, and I saw nothing but a cold calculated game being played--”

“Is that a declaration to me or a consolation to yourself?” Newt abruptly interrupted the statement of his brother. The Funeral March has advanced a considerable length and the lights from the camera and the mourning candle faded into a dark and obscure Churchyard, where only a grim and dull obligatory entrance light lit the snow-laden path to bare-minimum visibility. Theseus’ lean face looked shadowy and his confusion created crooked lines of darkness on his well-natured features. He licked his lips once and avoided looking towards Newt. After a long silence, Newt opened his mouth.

“I was heartbroken when I saw Leta move on, and of all with you.” Newt said quietly, “but it was okay because she needed you more than me. She needed a leaning board, a pillar, but it fills me with anger to see how you are running away from your feelings.” Newt paused to see Theseus’ puzzlement “you see Tina told me everything about that night—and all those times—poor dear had been suffering that you never liked her back—all that time I thought you’ve been leading her, and she thought it was one-sided you bastard!” Newt gave a doleful smile.

Theseus looked at Newt with disbelief. He walked a little closer to Newt, scooting his vision under his brother’s unkempt bangs to look at him into the eye, and the twitch and pout told Theseus that Newt was genuinely annoyed with him. He felt a little surge of happiness because Newt rarely speaks to him or to anyone of that matter and if he decides to do so, it must be damn near important. He lowered his head for a moment and covered his face, as if he was soaking his face into fragrant cool water after a long tiring day, and suddenly from his complete stillness he shook himself forcefully back into life. When he straightened his face he looked like he was about to faint, but his pale face coloured with a bit of a smile; a smile smiled by a patient after long-suffering of illness. He started to pace back and forth, and Newt knew what was coming.

“Theseus, I don’t think it would be a good time—Theseus, listen she is in--”

Crack

“—mourning...” Newt plopped on the snowy steps of the church after Theseus recklessly disapparated.

It was nearly 10 o’clock in the New Years Eve. The entire Paris lit up to welcome the year of 1928, under the streets, near every secret door, illegal alcohols shoot up into fountains in the mood of celebration. Flappers dressed in gold, silver, and pearls lost their inhibitions for the sake of a livelier party and accompanying their eligible bachelors, married millionaires or extra-marital lovers trying to get laid after a long spell of dry marriage. The taste of cocktails and spiked lemonades and Harvey wall bangers livened with the sound of jazz, and at the much-neglected corner of Paris, near the Valois vault at Pere Lachaise, a woman in black stood still. When Theseus apparated there and saw Maxine standing completely still at the very centre of the garden of tombs. Her black silhouette stiff and her head lightly bowed as the long mourning veil covered up to her stomach. She was standing exactly under the Fleur De Lis crest, so ornate and detailed with Baroque carve work that it could still be seen under the faint faraway light of the city that created a dark silvery glow around the snowy graveyard. The first slosh of his feet gave away his existence to Maxine. She turned her veiled figure towards him.

“Where is everyone?” Theseus’ throat suddenly seemed very dry. His voice did little to hide that anxiety.

“Gone... ” Maxine replied shortly, and her head was turned towards the mausoleum. Theseus approached her gently and as carefully as possible. His feet weren’t giving in to his head and he fought all the impulses to bombard Maxine with all the questions Newt evoked in his mind.

“I’m so sorry about what happened--”

“She had to do it on my wedding day... it was my damn wedding day--” Maxine abruptly said with a distinct amount of anger. The statement threw Theseus into such off-hand position that he almost asked her “sorry what are you saying?”

“I mean... who does that to someone at their wedding day? Although I admit that I hated my groom and always wanted to kill him but not like this...” Maxine huffed and started to laugh hysterically. The sound of her coarse and husky laugh that sent sparks of fire into every man’s veins and chills into the enemy’s spine made Theseus skin crawl. He stood there, holding his breath, allowing her to shed her tears what she had been trying to mask under her laugh. Hell of a strong woman, she never allowed anyone to see her weak side—she never surrendered to an emotional outburst, and even when she was jealous and angry she tried to put those emotions on whoever stood on the opposite side. She was mean, cruel and egotistical and there was no excuse for her antics or her blatant disregard of authority or her mocking obedience to them. She smiled when she was sad, and that laughter was just not radar of how sad she was—it was that sort of laughter reserved for those select few who have now nothing to live for.

“I must have set the record for the shortest span of marriage. I must have been the only one in the history of the world who walked in white and walked out in black. I mean how mad is that...and the worst part is, I have nothing to do with this--”

“—Maxine you have to--”

“Let it go?” Maxine approached towards Theseus with such ferocity that Theseus, in the process of backing up, tripped on a stray snow-laden twig and fell on the ground. A stray flashing car passed near the cemetery and a little light fell on Maxine’s black veil and through its obscure layer, her grief-ridden face. Theseus looked at her, the flash on her face with awestruck amazement. It inspired the fear of madness in him; he couldn’t recognize her at all. That black-veiled figure was standing in front of him, hunching towards him with the hem of the veil slightly brushing on his chest.

“Maxine... I didn’t mean that—I have no words to comfort you. I have come--” Theseus slowly reached for the hem of Maxine’s veil while getting up, “I’ve just come to say...I have just come to say--” Theseus’ hands shook as he attempted to lift up the veil, but Maxine’s cold hands stopped him in midway

“Newt sent you now, did he?” Maxine said in a hushed but severe tone. A chill wind flew through the gravestones, moaning in the chill, “Of course he did... of course he did.” The last bit shook a little, or it distinctly did to Theseus’ ears. He didn’t speak another word because he felt that there was something on Maxine’s heart that was in dire need to get out. The distant rushing cars flashed stray lights on her black silhouette and she appeared and disappeared like a ghost or a bad dream, condemned to repeat oneself.

“Have you heard about Oedipus, Theseus?”

“No... I am not sure I have.”

“I have buried three of the closest people in my life today—” Maxine mused, “And all I could think of, all the time was Oedipus—why is that?” Maxine asked rhetorically and with an unnatural enthusiasm, “I should have been crying like a madman, but all I could think of Oedipus. And suddenly, as you appeared here... I understood everything.”

“What did you understand?” Theseus tried his best not to break down into tears; this state of Maxine made him so helpless that he wanted to hold Maxine tight into his arms again and tell her that everything would be fine.

“—Think about it, it makes so much sense--He was a king’s son who was abandoned because of a prophecy; a prophecy that said he would kill his father and fuck his mother to get the throne.” Maxine mused again with a peculiar tone, “his parents thought that now Oedipus is safe because he will never come back. But he did—only he didn’t know who were his birth parents—and he did kill his father and married his mother to sit on the throne—and when he did know what he had done he--”

“Stop Maxine... why are you saying stuff like this--” Theseus rushed towards Maxine and hastily lifted off her mourning veil. His hands firmly grabbing Maxine’s shoulder and his eyes adjusted themselves in the dark to know exactly where Maxine’s despair-laden eyes were. They almost obscured under the bloody eyelids, and like endless dark tunnels, they seemed vacuumed and empty.

“Why can’t I? Why don’t I? My father did this me—all of these. He practically stabbed himself—if you think about it—I mean, if your actions lead you to death, it’s your fault.“ Maxine paused a little, as if she was recalling something, something more horrific “you know what she said? She said that I was exactly like her—Theseus, what if I end up like her?” the last bit came out like a hysteric cry for help, “what if end up killing Newt?”

“Maxine...” Theseus spoke patiently, “there is nothing—it is nothing about you killing Newt, why would you do that? I saw you--” Theseus halted abruptly as his voice shook a little, “I saw you—why would you do that to him--don’t you—love him...?”

“I do love him Theseus” Maxine screamed with sheer helplessness, “But it means nothing. I know...I know no matter how much I love him, he can never love me—he already has Tina. Theseus, if I do that I won’t be able to forgive myself...I won’t be able to—forgive myself.”

Theseus could hear Maxine’s whimpers echoing through the labyrinth of tombstones like a haunted soul.

...

He walked on the streets of Paris alone, loitering like a man with no home to return. The Eiffel tower could be seen lit up for the New Years Eve from the side of the city he walked. There were lights all around him, but it felt like harsh burns on his skin as if he walked naked under a midday desert sun. A couple of drunk people in festive mood bumped right into him, but Theseus’ mind was still in the heart of the Pere Lachaise where Maxine stood in despair a few hours ago—too preoccupied to react to their angry French swears. He needed a drink, a strong one, but there was an alcohol ban all over the muggle world—a nice bottle of firewhiskey to burn the sorrow away. He could afford to be a drunk right now, he needed to be drunk. But then again it was not for him, it was for her.

He had a completely different notion about her when she worked with him. People don’t handle women like her very well—too arrogant, too independent, too much of a lip and oh that temper! So much temper—someday she would be angry enough to burn the building down, and someday she would have been so mischievous that someone could lose a life with her pranks, someone always did. People couldn’t handle her, but that never stopped the office gossip or lecherous fantasies about her around the male colleagues. Lucian Carr almost got killed once just to retort

“Why, are you in love with her or something?”

No one could ever know. It would have been a huge dent in the reputation—avoid her at all cost, but why? She never advanced him or anything—she was cordial and professional and her display of ‘emotions’ came out as a characteristic trait, it was never to connect with anyone. She was the best of his employees, then why he always tried to restrain himself? Because deep down, he knew his thoughts about her were no different than other men in the office. She intimidated the hell out of him, and he fucking loved it. He distanced himself out of his freaking principles. Thankfully Leta was in the way—a beautiful distraction and his salvation from his own censored thoughts.

And then she had an outburst and left the job.

He hated the nerve of her, his ego had he convinced that she left to torment him. His thoughts about her then turned like a coward misogynist, and he would have had enough comfort with that until his drunken tumble upon her doorsteps—he wanted her! He wanted her so bad, and thought she might take—but she didn’t, she took care of him and send him away from any harm. Unpredictable little wench! She wasn’t supposed to be the caring type, women like her aren’t, and he was almost confirmed by his hypothesis of her in the Yule party but what would he do with the information he had today? The woman whom he just met today wasn’t the woman he knew before—she was a completely different creature—tender, vulnerable and so very human.

And that scared the hell out of him.

“Veux venir avec moi, monsieur?” suddenly a silky female voice called Theseus from the footpath, a gentle arm snaked on his arm as well, and that is when Theseus looked at the whore’s face. And by Merlin’s blessed head he was washed all over with shame. Maxine was right all along, he had a hero complex—he wanted his women vulnerable, so that he could save them, and now when she is in grief, his heart, and his brain opened at the same time and fought over the age-old impulse—to be or not to be. He wondered if it was his complex that spoke in him tonight, or was it his heart.

He was being led into a hotel, he could tell. The door opened and the whore’s mouth slobbered all over his neck, and despite everything he felt nothing at all—the passive eyes didn’t even found the whore stepping outside her underwear and flaunting her well-defined breasts.

“This is embarrassing…” the woman said in English, “when a woman is willingly taking her clothes off at least be nice and look at the view--” she said eloquently, and with it managed to get Theseus’ attention. As soon as he looked at her, the look in her eyes changed completely.

“What’s that eh? Can’t forget her?” she sat down on a nearby stool, her breasts drooping with her posture. Theseus smiled audibly, “how did you know?”

“Honey, I’ve been fucking gentlemen like you since I was 15. A few titties and they all stand upright like its Bastille Day—married or divorced?”

“Neither… fiancée died after a month of engagement--”

The whore stayed quiet for a while and then a cracked a smile, “but the one you’ve been hung on about is very alive one isn’t it--” she paused to look at Theseus’ inquisitive expression, “otherwise you’d let me blow the skin out of your dick and fuck the hell out of you to get it out of the system. And something else tells me, she doesn’t know about your feelings--”

“No… she does—I mean, in a way. She used to like me, I was too proud to see it—now I am not sure… by the way, why am I telling you all these?”

“Honey, we just don’t fuck people. People come to us when they have nothing else—we allow them to do whatever they want and listen to their shit��a city without prostitutes is like a house without a toilet” she smiled for the first time, a genuine humane smile which put Theseus’ heart in ease. He lowered his head out of courtesy as the whore dressed. A brief click of lock suggested that she had already opened the door.

“—oh yes, one more word—” the woman said, holding the door partially open behind her, “be honest with her and yourself about what you feel. If she comes around then fine, if not at least you’ll sleep better for the rest of your life.”

…

A loud thudding and a heavy hit on the back woke Theseus up. He must have rolled on the floor from the bed and directly on the soggy cold carpet of the hotel which he lodged at last time. He has been in the same clothes for nearly a week, his corded pajama which he wore before he was arrested—suddenly it occurred to him now. He felt really stupid and nearly tripped on the suspended bedsheet that dragged along with him before he could answer the door. A very annoyed waiter was waiting for him at the door.

“Vous Monsieur Anglais avec une putain?” the description of him by the waiter didn’t sit well with Theseus—‘the Englishman with a whore’, however being really confused, half-asleep and really demented, Theseus replied, “oui, c’est lui est moi.”

“j’ai votre paquet…” he thrust the thick parcel in his hand and left instantly.

The packet was a little larger than a magazine and thinner than a standard book. When it was opened, came out of the Newspaper. Theseus was surprised enough already as his sleepy brain tried to awaken, he reached for his pocket to take out the wand. He pointed it at the freshly unfolded Newspaper to translate it because he wasn’t clear in his mood to read French—he didn’t think until the very first words of the headlines appeared before him. His very hair stood up in attention at the back of his head. As he shook the paper in an attempt to straighten it another smaller paper fell out from it. It was a simple open note and in perfect English it said,

Save it while you can.

Theseus didn’t stand in the hotel room for a moment. He threw the newspaper aside and run out of his room like a lunatic screaming at the gone waiter, trying to figure the whereabouts of the person who delivered that parcel. In the meanwhile The Warlock Times lay abject on the soggy hotel carpet with its words slowly returning to French.

THE DUCHESS DISGRACED

Maxine Malfoy nee Valois, formerly Duchess of Croy had freshly came out of a short wedding and a triple funeral of her late husband Anatole Malfoy, her father Monsignor Hrothgar Valois and an unknown woman of a close relationship from the revered Saint Chappell last night. As shocking as this scandal gets she had accused her late husband Anatole Malfoy, the British Junior Undersecretary as a Grindlewald supporter and a serial rapist who apparently acquired the Ministry Office with considerable French influence, by fraud. The late Junior Undersecretary, as Madame Malfoy claims had a close past relationship with her to quite an exploitative range, and she, as sources report, killed him spouse right after the vows based upon such notions. Madame Malfoy is accused by the British Minister himself and today she will be held for trial at 12 pm by the French High Council of Warlock. The mysterious death of her father, the Late Diplomat Monsignor Hrothgar Valois will be looked into shortly…

Theseus couldn’t remember when he ran so fast in his life, and perhaps he never looked so bizarre; a man in his corded pyjama running through the street of Paris with his battered, very English dressing gown flowing behind him like some bizarre parachute. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt such rush, maybe the time when he almost missed Hogwarts Express, maybe it was the last day of submitting that potions assignment to Professor Slughorn or perhaps to save Leta. He pushed the crowd away from him as he felt the icy January wind swiftly passing by his ears, making them ache. He wished that the hidden elevator would go faster now because he realised it was nearly five minutes to twelve.

“Where is the trial?” Theseus asked the receptionist of the French Ministry of Magic with such ferocity and urgency that she was a little thrown back before she could direct him to the way. A victorious rush crept through Theseus’ blood; Theseus Scamander the war hero of British Ministry of Magic is running the French Courtroom in his pyjamas to declare that the woman who was accused falsely is far above than the jury—now that’s the headlines he could pursue to read. Being an Auror taught him to measure the steps he is going to take, and for the first time in a very long time, Theseus wasn’t concerned with the outcome. He didn’t care if he is persecuted for disturbing a criminal trial, he didn’t care if she rejects him, and he didn’t care about anything at all. He just wanted her to know that he is what he is.

“Monsieur, you cannot be here... the Warlock Council is already on session--”

“Stupify--”

“Bombarda...”

Theseus had a reputation with his auror business and certainly was revered for it but today he actually felt proud for his headstrong action. With him barging in with a bang, the Warlock juries came to a standstill and all of the council looked at him with dismay and contempt, but there was one person who didn’t look at him. The person who was sitting on the trial chair, poised, upright and calm; the person who was clad in black and her face veiled.

“Impeccable timing Mr. Scamander, but in case you haven’t noticed, a session is going on.” The French Minister said sonorously with a heavy accent. Theseus could feel his ears heating with the patronised humiliation from the Warlock Council, but he chose to stay on his ground, firmly and surely. He took a sharp breath and lifted his face a little high.

“You’re wrong...”

“I’m sorry--”

“You are wrong about her. And forgive my French, but you’re all bloody coward...” Theseus said with a straightened face, “You saw and know what happened in Saint Chappell and refuse to acknowledge it. So I have come here, as the British Representative--”

“To do what, pray tell us?” the French Minister asked.

“To testify for my employee--”

Newt and Tina were standing outside. They had been there since yesterday when they couldn’t find Theseus. Their anxiety redoubled when they saw Maxine in black robes brought in the ministry at dead of the night with high-security aurors—but Theseus was nowhere to be seen. They became even more petrified when they heard why she was brought in—apparently, she confessed that she devised the murder of Anatole and her father with an unknown Englishwoman, and she had ardently confessed that she used her particularly for her status as an Unspeakable, who as soon as her vow is broken would be killed by a self-automated killing cursed, placed at the lower spine of hers, like any Unspeakable in the British Ministry. Only Newt knew that it wasn’t true—he knew the identity of the woman and with it, relied everything. But nothing matters with his knowing—hell, even his employment was illegal, if someone could do anything legitimately, it was Theseus. But the problem was Newt didn’t know how much his brother knew, or knew anything at all. He and Tina were stuck in a strange dichotomy whether they should look for Theseus outside, or wait for him, and they decided to stick around—just to see Maxine for the last time before the inevitable happens. He was afraid of the time Theseus will find out all about this.

However, an uproar ensued near the wing of the Warlock Council. Tina stepped forward quickly and scrambled whatever French she knew to ask what was happening. Tina’s agitated return made Newt anxious.

“What is it?” Newt asked.

“Someone broke in during the trial. The guard identified him as a tall brunet Englishman in corded pyjama and dressing gown--” Tina huffed in excitement, “sounds familiar--?”

“Theseus...” Newt mouthed the name of his elder brother and rushed towards the council door and halted stop when he saw Theseus coming out of the door. His well-sculpted face unreadable.

“What happened, what happened to her?” Tina asked hastily.

“I don’t know...” Theseus said quietly, “all I did was speaking the truth about her and what happened. She has always been so tight-lipped about everything. They asked me to prove it, and when I did—anyway, she was held in the trial because the French minister doesn’t trust her narrative—I don’t know what will happen next”

The courtroom door reopened, but this time the Trio was pushed aside by the plethora of journalists from all across Europe. Cameras flashed and the entire hullabaloo doubled as the Chief Justice the French Minister followed by Maxine herself came out. Tina closely looked at the minister’s face: there is no way he willingly did what he was to state. In this matter of national threat and the post-mortem scenario of a diplomat made him decide something very unwilling and obligatory. Moreover, Theseus willingly testified for Maxine. What could possibly happen?

As the minister walked forward, Maxine’s black figure glided like a dark silhouette of shadow. Her head and face were covered with a black birdcage veil that differed slightly from the long training mourning face cover that she had to wear. As the minister made to the podium where he shall give a statement to the Wizarding Press, Maxine’s head briefly turned towards the trio’s way.

None of them were hearing what the French Minister had to say. Tina noticed Theseus’ nose getting redder and redder as the time passed, she compassionately grabbed his shoulder.

“I saw her kissing Newt in the church--” he rapidly whispered and Newt’s indirect eyes flashed towards him with a pang of swift guilt, “Seus, I tried to stop her but--”

“it’s okay Newt... it’s okay, I deserve that. Twice now... I took away Leta from you, and she was taken away from me, and I neglected her—I deserve that.” Theseus lowered his eyes and squeezed his temple, “I deserve that...”

“No, you don’t...” Newt said quietly but firmly, “you don’t deserve any of that...” Tina interjected quickly “yes Theseus, you don’t need to blame yourself. All of these that are happening right now is some kind of bad timing—we are going through a bad phase that’s all. It’s not always--” Tina’s focused became hazy and Newt knew what she was thinking, “good things that happen with good people. Look at my sister—she just got persuaded away--” Tina said. Her eyes veered towards Maxine’s way, her eyes glistening “so was she... By Isolde’s hair, I used to be so angry with her—the I understood--” suddenly her tone became more determined and firm, “but it’s not the time to think stuff like that... you showed up when she needed you the most, even though she never mouthed it herself. You are patient with her, you understand her, you remember stuff about her, little stuff that is too minute—Theseus, admit it to yourself—you deserve her”

The last sentence sends a tremor in Newt’s veins and it almost scared him. Wasn’t that the fact that made fall for Tina once again, right here in the French ministry—eyes like salamander—but then again he, somewhere and someplace felt similar feelings for her too, the moments spent, the little incidents that put up a smile on his face—his train of thought came to a halt when he saw Maxine’s dark figure emerging towards the podium to make her statement—one of her hand was at her side, abjectly lulled into a peculiar position. Newt’s eyes focused on her hand, they were two meters apart from each other, and there she was—her hand, lulling to one side peculiarly. A slight spasm passed through her fingers. But it was not the strangest thing he saw. Theseus suddenly stepped forward boldly and grasped her hand. The podium wasn’t high enough to conceal Theseus’ existence, but the hands snaked together surely under the wooden shadow. Tina noticed the whole thing with a slight smile on her face and then she lead Newt from the back to a front, to see the face of Maxine.

Maxine’s face was still covered with birdcage veil, he faces slightly lowered. She didn’t speak right away. Newt was very uncomfortable looking at her under the bright flashlights of the Press Cameras. But when she straightened up to speak, she stunned people around her.

“As you are aware of,” Maxine said quietly but firmly enough “I was accused of murdering my husband on the altar and father with an unknown woman as an accomplice. I assure you it was a false narrative created by the French Ministry to interrogate me. I guess my father, despite his reputation all across Europe, pissed off a couple of people. The real narrative was brought again in the High Warlock Council this morning, by none other than this man--” Maxine turned her head towards Theseus, “who had put his reputation and job on the leverage to clear my name. The truth, ladies and gentlemen is more tragic than ever. The woman that died alongside my father and my late husband was my mother. My birth mother who happened to be the mistress of my father, her crime was she was a muggle-born and she gave birth to me. I was taken away from her and raised in Valois household with shame and contempt as my constant companion. That woman returned to my wedding for the sole purpose of killing my father, who hadn’t the courage to honour her, and for whom she spent her years in shame. Despite my father’s generous nature and keen insight, I say he brought it upon himself. A tragic loss France suffers now for one mistake he made and the lack of courage to admit it. Reputation is a scary thing; it makes one do things that are bad or harmful to others like my father did when he tried to marry me off with a criminal and a Grindlewald supporter who happened to know my secret. And to continue that lie, he was forced to imprison three innocent people into the Tower of Silence. Ainsi tu Seras—‘Thus shall you be’—a proverb we all learned in younger years that our deeds carve our final destiny. Let not remember my father’s death with a scandal, a mistake that he committed, but a lesson—a lesson that perhaps be with us in the darker times.”

The press sheepishly stood before her, and then one after another cleared off. They did expect a scoop, another scandal—but her solemn and brutally honest confession put them off of their game. They didn’t even stay to ask a further question, there was nothing much to ask—with every stroke of her words, she shed every identity she had before: the duchess, the daughter of a diplomat, the widow of the British Junior undersecretary, the former employee of British ministry... the assistant.

Theseus slowly let go of her hand as she stepped down from the podium. She crossed the side of the wooden structure and slowly let go of her train that she was holding to walk. The black fabric glided on the pristine glassy floor as she slowly clacked her way forward. The trio watched her curiously, with bated breath, as she stood still for several moments. After a while, she slowly turned head around and her eyes were fixed on them.

[Second Theme: Aeon by Nick Murray: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Paqvq7XZGs ]

“Take me outside... I want to see the sky”

They were thrown off at her bizarre request but complied nonetheless. She slowly walked forward, rejecting both Newt and Theseus’ attempt to support her. As the spiraled lift opened outside, she sauntered towards the snow-laden main road. The powdery flakes brushed on everyone’s face, breathing their last icy breath as they disappeared. Maxine’s shoulder was slowly being studded with the white specks of snow as she slowly ripped off her black gloves and threw them on the street. She finally took off her pillbox hat and the mourning veil that was attached to it and tossed them into the air to vanish into nothingness. Theseus, Newt, and Tina looked at her mesmerized as she slowly looked up towards the sky, her pinned curls came undone behind her, her pale naked hands ascending as if to grasp a piece of heaven. The fresh snow of the New Year fell and dissolved on her warm face, tricking down like tears of joy. Like the last escaping breath from a dying person, a word came out from her mouth--

“Je suis libérée... ” (I am free)

...

The sun was the same as Newt remembered it at the Arc of Triumph as if never set and stood in the same manner as it did last year. The sun, in its brilliant golden, red, pink and purple mantle reminded him of Maxine as she stood at the bottom of the Arc and recited some strange French poetry. The sun was oddly similar to the winter Parisian sun, as he stood with his brother and Tina at the edge of the port of Saint-Malo. The noises of the ferry, the sailors felt like they, like the sun had been waiting to see this moment happen, the moment of which they all knew beforehand, except the three of them. With heavy heart, they waited for Maxine, as she prepared for her exile—stripping off her previous sparkling mantle of power and the outspoken statement has its price. Women like her are not tolerated in the polite, patriarchal society.

Light footsteps turned their heads towards the back. Maxine was standing right behind them, dressed in travel cloak and bowler hat, all in mourning black. Her face was made up, primed and proper with neat red lipstick and eyes winged with kohl. Her solemn face changed into her usual playful one when she smiled her usual crooked smile.

“Ready?”

“Together...” Theseus said fondly.

They walked Maxine at the stairs of the ship. However, she didn’t step right away, she turned again to the people, her accidental friends, and allies that came together because of a decision she made a few months ago, sitting in a restaurant. She gave them an amused look.

“Why the long faces? Shouldn’t you be happy that I will be finally away from your hair?” Maxine commented sarcastically, “of all people, Tina, you should be happy--”

“Do you like to get under people’s skin on a regular basis” Tina sniffed a little, “or is it the occasion of New Years?”

“Oh, Tina...” Maxine came near and wrapped an arm around her, “I am going to miss you...” she looked at her with an affectionate expression, “you should consider yourself lucky, because I am finally withdrawing myself from the competition.”

The three of them looked at her dumbfounded, Maxine’s mischievous smile softened into sombreness “you think I must be playing with you but no” Maxine turned her attention to Newt, looking straight towards him, smiling lightly as he attempted to hide beneath his unkempt hair, “I have been thinking about our the relationship we had in past three or four weeks, about you—all could think about how I have taken a space between you two. I had been impulsive and adamant even to admit that you have Tina, but now when I have buried my mum and my dad together, all I could do is to blame myself--”

“Maxine...” Newt spoke softly, “whatever you thought about us, or your parents were wrong. I may be a little dense in many places, but I am not blind—I saw how you behaved around me and I could ignore your advances, but somehow I couldn’t say no to you... do you know why?”

Maxine looked at him with vacant eyes

“Because I love you Maxine Valois—I cannot explain that feeling because I never had it before. It is not the way I felt for Leta, or I feel for Tina. So Max, if you think of anything, remember that—no matter what happens, I will still, have a place for you in my heart--” Newt reached out for Tina’s hand and groping his way through her fingers nervously he grasped it surely, “yes, I cannot love you the same way I love Tina, but I don’t love you the same.”

The Stuart of the ship announced to the board within five minutes. But Maxine stood teary-eyed before Newt, looking at him with an unknown expression.

“I suppose that’s the best consolation I can get... Newt Scamander, you gave this girl more than she deserved... I will never forget you as long as I live.”

A drop trickled from her eye as she spoke. The sun was nearly behind the shadowy cityscape, the east darkened with the inky night’s prelude, and Maxine’s dark eyes fell on Theseus, standing a little further than the rest, his blue eyes glittering and fixated on the gray water, sparking bleakly with the leftover daylight.

“Theseus... aren’t you going to say anything? I will not see you for six months--”

“It’s not fair...it’s just not fair...”

“I know... but I am used to the unfair—it makes great tabloid headlines”

Theseus broke into a burst of unwilling laughter and the welled up tears splashed from his eyes unceremoniously. Maxine watched the change of his expressions fondly; there was a certain endearment in that innocent smile that hasn’t faded away after so many harshnesses of his life.

“There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things--”

“I will wait for you--”

“You--”

“Yes...” Maxine smiled forcefully; there was a constant swelling pain in her heart that arose by looking at him, “I’ll have to don’t I...?” She reached for her pocket and pulled out her wand, “I am supposed to leave this with the ministry, but I guess ministry employee would do... ” her pale finger caressed the length of the wand one last time, “aspen and phoenix feather, 11 inches--”

“Well that explains a lot...a lot of that lip--” Theseus’ unexpected sass earned him a well-intended slap on his forearm, as they both broke out in laughter. They stood, on the twilight at Saint-Malo, blue eyes locked with black ones with glistening tears of parting sorrow and with a hope of future reunion. The bugle of the ship bellowed in the sea, ready to take Maxine to an unknown horizon away from magic and away from everything she knew. At the threshold to another life, she was simply looking back to the man with whom she started a new life, who looked at her the same way he looked four years ago.

“Take care of it would you?”

As the resonance of her words faded from Theseus’ ears, the ship started to sail across the horizon, chasing the setting sun at the bustling port of Saint-Malo. Maxine’s waving hand vanished into the sky as she parted. She left all behind, everything she was and everything she knew, and it takes great strength to be her. like a Zhou-ou that is made to run away, or like the Phoenix that is made to burn and rise from its ashes, Maxine Valois burned through every obstacle in her life. In the dark times, when Grindlewald advanced and wrecked nation after nation, Maxine Valois burned like a flash of lightning that illuminated everything in an instance and faded into the dark. After a long period of suffering, she was finally free; freedom earned by herself, freedom from being trapped within the terrible memories, the freedom that came from confessing her suffering, something which she wasn’t allowed. As she sailed away, she smiled, looking at the setting sun. The sounds of seagulls flying towards their home reminded her of the life she left behind. There were no gloves in her hands...she would not need them anymore.

--The End--

Tags: @my-current-fandom-is

The title “Ainsi Tu Seras” was inspired by the story of “ Marguerite de Bressieux (15th-century legend/pseudohistory)The Black Knight Who Hunted Rapists. ” When I stumbled across it on this particular website (https://www.rejectedprincesses.com/princesses/marguerite-de-bressieux ) I thought I should incorporate with Maxine’s story. However, the end result became something else: I found an oblique parallel between the Newt-Maxine-Tina and Marguerite-Hrothgar-Audrey chain. Following up with the Oedipus myth, I finally depicted Maxine’s character development: a process where she dissociates with her mother and Audrey’s myth of vengeful lover. She takes a decision that she will pursue Newt no more, a path that may lead her to the same end as her mother.

Gloves play a significant part in Maxine’s story: it is an instrument to hide her Mark of honor, a symbol of her bondage. Missing gloves (in Maxine’s case) means freedom or the instances when she tries to be free.

I will write an epilogue, where I will finally close the story for good. It may take some time, so I ask your patience. Also, I will publish my masterlist with the poster of the story

Thank you for accompanying me on this journey.

#newt x reader #newt scamander x reader #newt x oc #newt scamander x oc #newt x oc x theseus #newt x reader x theseus #newt x reader x tina #newt x oc x tina #love triangle #parting #cog #fbawtft #final chapter #death #loss #paris #pere lachaise

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unordinary-analysis · 6 years ago

Text

Episode 129

Honorable mentions:

The way Wenqi defends Illena, you can tell she loves her ;)

Illena points out to Arlo everything I criticized him for last week

Everyone knew it was going to be Arlo and Elaine

Damn that arm injury has to really hurt

Illena:

I’ve talked about this in many of my other analysis things, but honestly Illena has such a strong point. The high tiers really do treat the low/mid tiers like trash. Finally they can retaliate, using Seraphina as an outlet for their pent up anger and hurt. They’ve finally found some way to get back at the low-tiers. Seraphina was a high-tier, now she’s not; creating a perfect opportunity for the low-tiers to fight back against this symbol of power. This isn’t just about Sera, this is about all the high-tiers.

The low-tiers have been pushed around, forced to do the bidding of someone higher up. They have been treated as lesser and are ignored unless needed. There’s even more proof in this episode when Illena is surprised that Arlo had come, surprised that he was getting involved with mid-tier “drama” (?). Something had to change. No matter what, I respect Illena for her decision. Though she kidnapped Seraphina, she understood that what was happening wasn’t right. She knew that something needed to change, and so she became that change. She rallied a group, she kidnapped a former high-tier, she was the spokesperson of the whole operation, all the blame would fall on her shoulders. Her actions might have been spat upon by lots of the reader, but when you look into her perspective, Illena really becomes the hero, changing the game and willing to bet her status and safety to take down this unrighteous system. She brings up many strong points, telling Arlo off for favoring Seraphina and honestly according to the rules that Arlo favors, he should allow, even encourage, Illena and her group to keep harming Seraphina because of her status as cripple.

I can’t imagine how hurtful it must be to plan something out, something that should have been relatively acceptable in their society, then being stopped and threatened. All of her life, she’s been looked down upon and the one time the tables have turned, Arlo swoops in and says that she should be ashamed at what she’d done. He even hurts her arm, stressing the point that it is fine for him, the king, to harm others, but not her.

The mid-tiers:

I also admire the other low/mid-tiers being highlighted in the whole operation. The three that said Illena was being excessive and that they had gone too far. I honestly don’t know what to think about these three because they obviously had a problem with the hierarchy system. They joined up with Illena in the first place. But at the same time, in this recent episode, to me they seem to gain this respects and want for the order of the system. Here’s the convo:

Illena: Seraphina isn’t going anywhere until she admits we’re better than her!

Krolik (with the other two standing next to him, obviously supporting him): Speak for yourself.

Reading these lines, I have chosen to believe that the reason the mid-tiers don’t really want Seraphina to admit she’s beneath them is because they don’t need the confirmation. They don’t need to keep beating her up into submission because according to the hierarchy system, it’s a given that they are better than her. They don’t need to hear it spoken. Though they’ve been pushed around their whole lives because of it, at the end of the day, the hierarchy is left standing, the order still remains. Sometimes you have to believe things you don’t like or obey rules you don’t agree with. I think this is the case with these mid-tiers. They don’t like the system, but overall it is the thing keeping the school together. It can’t be defeated, it can’t be taken down by a handful of mid-tiers.

I believe these lines show an example of mid-tiers accepting the hierarchy system, accepting that some people are placed lower and some higher. Though they are usually near the bottom, right now Seraphina is defining the bottom. Because of this knowledge, this faith in the hierarchy, they know that they don’t need confirmation to know that they are on top.

Later in the episode, after Arlo is gone, they say how lucky they are to be able to go to such a good school and that they never really had it that bad.

Are all the low/mid-tiers at Wellston this respectable damn.

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This was really me just complimenting the characters that fans are hating on, but seriously. I couldn’t really talk about much else. I’ve already said most things that I could explain from this episode. I have talked about low-tiers a lot and Arlo’s questionable leadership. Go back if you want, you probably don’t care though lol ;)

just so you guys know, this doesn’t mean I agree with Illena and company’s methods or the kidnapping of Seraphina, I’m just bringing up things that I’ve noticed aren’t being talked about as much.

#webtoon #unordinary #unordinary webtoon #uruchan #uru-chan #john doe #seraphina #line webtoon #webcomic #episode 129 #official

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athenril-of-kirkwall · 6 years ago

Note

Hello and welcome!! For DWC: Cass and Blackwall and a birthday reunion (after revelations) for the Inquisitor? If you’re feeling up to it?

Thanks for the warm welcome!! Here you go :D

Blackwall/Cassandra: “A Birthday Reunion for the Inquisitor” (AO3)

9:43 Dragon. The White Spire

It wasn’t a birthday celebration, well not officially anyway.

It simply was the Inquisition sending its representatives to commemorate the first anniversary of the election of Vivienne as Her Perfection, and there was to be a small reception at Val Royeaux following the formalities on Summerday.

Still, everyone, especially her three advisors, knew that Rivka Lavellan’s birthday, taking the Dalish calendar count into account, wasn’t far off, and after the stuffy dinner complete with judgemental glances at every single word and gesture, a side-room at the White Spire would house a positively more relaxed and spontaneous private event.

The invitation to the Wardens – intended as a peace offering following their acrimonious last interactions with the Inquisition – had been diverted to Andoral’s Reach, their base of operations for their project opening Kal-Sharok up to future co-operation, especially with exploring their end of the Deep Roads. It just so happened that the perfect man for the job was there to receive it.

Well, he wasn’t, was he? The one Warden who had been an integral component of the Inquisition, and one of two who had avoided succumbing to Corypheus’ false Calling amidst Clarel’s misguided decisions, albeit by dint of his fraud at the time.

To be honest, it seemed more like Caron, Andras and Kader just wanted him out of the way while they settled things with the dwarves; for most of period after his Joining, he had been tolerated than accepted by the other Wardens. He’d done nothing for their reputation after his revelations, even if it’d already suffered a massive dent from the mess at Adamant Fortress, and now they’d been given the unenviable task of chaperoning Rainier.

It was no surprise that they’d planted him on a horse and sent him packing east pretty much once they’d received the missive from Val Royeaux. At least the road down Ghislain and Montfort was well-paved, and they’d given him plenty of coin and supplies for the journey.

He really wasn’t looking forward to this in the least. Even with the year that had passed since Corypheus’ defeat, the emotions among those who had trusted him were still far too raw, too recent, and seeing each other again would bring forth too many ill-feelings and memories of betrayal, on an occasion which was supposed to be a celebration.

Most of all he was hoping that Cassandra would be too busy rebuilding the Seekers to attend. The last they’d seen of each other was the celebrations at Skyhold, where everyone was indulging in food and drink, but he was simply seated in one corner, nursing a tankard. Cassandra had been busy keeping order and making sure things didn’t get out of hand, taking the occasional glass of wine and passing by him once or twice.

The last of those times, they had locked glances for what seemed like an eternity, as though they could communicate all they wished to say to each other through their eyes alone. What more was there to say? That he would be gone the next morning, taking his regret with him? That she would have to live with remembering that she had once loved him even as their destinies took them in separate directions? All these things they already knew.

In truth, the time for words had passed, and so too did that last moment all too quickly.

And of course, despite his most fervent prayers to Andraste and the Maker, here they were, both at another celebration a year later. Seems like They had forsaken him this time.

There she was, catching up with Rivka and Josephine, with Leliana by their side. Even from a thousand paces, anywhere, he’d recognise her outline. It felt like a thousand paces, anyway, what with the towering ceilings and narrow halls of this place. Most of the old crew had been away. Dorian in Tevinter, Varric in Kirkwall, the Iron Bull wherever coin took him, Cole wherever he went; Solas’ location, like the man himself, remained a complete enigma.

At least he had Sera for company, for what that was worth. She was clearly three sheets to the wind, as evidenced by how she vaguely stumbled into him, spilling some of her wine onto his Grey Warden tunic, the rest dribbling onto the perpendicularly tiled floor.

“Shoooo,” Sera drawled, “you’re grumpier than ever.”

“And you’re drunk.”

“At leasshhttt I’m happy, Thommo,” she said, righting herself. “Wha’sh got you down? Don’t tell me that they beat the humour out of you with a hurlock’sh spine as part of the Joining.”

Despite everything, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image. “No, Sera, it isn’t that,” he said, staring into space as he sipped some sparkling Orlesian garbage.

“Ohhh, right,” she said, “first time since we popped Cory-Face’s clogs that you’ve been in the same room as the Lady Seeker.”

“Yes, but don’t –” he said, panicking at what she inevitably had planned,

“HEY! CASSHANDRA!” Sera bellowed, so loudly that half of the ballroom stopped dead in their tracks. “LOOK WHO’SH HERE!”

“Sera!”

“You’ll thank me later,” she whispered sloppily, disappearing moments later.

He stood rooted to the floor as Cassandra slowly turned to him with grave purpose. Rivka drew Josephine towards her, whispering concernedly in her ear. Leliana was glowering at him, not needing to mime drawing her finger across her throat to get her point across. The instinctive gulp remained halfway down his throat, unable to go anywhere.

Several long strides later, she was in front of him, gazing at the environs of his collar as she found the words to say.

“Rainier,” she said neutrally, “you look well.”

“Lady Seeker, uh,” he flustered, “you too. The ride down from Andoral’s Reach was a smooth one, and Val Royeaux is certainly a welcome break from the Deep Roads…”

He trailed off, seeing as her attention was elsewhere, as she considered her next phrase.

“I am…glad that you have come out of the Joining none the worse for wear. I would have regretted it if you had not survived.”

Raising an eyebrow, he asked, “You were concerned?”

A touch of asperity coming into her voice, she retorted. “Naturally. It would have been a waste had you been deprived of the opportunity to do good for the Wardens.”

“I can only hope to be worthy of their name, Lady Seeker.”

“‘Cassandra’,” she said.

Blinking, he said, “I beg your pardon.”

“‘Cassandra’,” she said, repeating herself. “It suited you before, it suits me now.”

“Yes”, he said, “Cassandra.”

“Their name aside, you had already proven yourself worthy in my eyes when you submitted yourself to their judgement, Thom,” his first name rolling off her tongue casually. “Perhaps my own was…coloured at the time.”

Considering the silence between them, he eventually queried, “Are you…apologising to me, Cassandra?”

An exasperated noise escaping her throat, she said, “Do not think too much of it. But…let us take this opportunity to start things afresh. Will you be here long?”

“Sadly not, Lady S…Cassandra. I expect my colleagues will want me back before long. How goes the rebuilding of the Seekers? I had wondered if you would have been too busy with them to attend this commemoration.”

“I found the time for Rivka. It…goes well. Many Templars have come to our cause seeking a new path. Cullen was able to advise them well on taking the long road away from lyrium dependency. There are no secrets left among the Seekers, and we have ceased their barbarous practices. It has not been easy, but their determination to reform has proved resilient.”

“That…that’s excellent to hear. I expect that you don’t need to hear this from me of all people, but nurturing that impulse to do better can mean a world of difference for them. And for you.”

“I value your advice, Thom,” she said, “I must attend to Leliana. From the way she has been surveying us like a hawk I think she expected one or both of us to resort to invective, or worse, by now. It is…good to see you again, Thom Rainier.”

Taking a slight breath in, he said, “And you, Cassandra Pentaghast. I wish you well.”

“May the Maker guide your step…Warden,” she said, turning to the table around which Rivka and Josephine were still huddled, with Leliana tearing the corner of a pastry off in her mouth with grim determination, her glare boring imaginary holes through Thom’s head.

Emerging as suddenly as she’d disappeared, Sera fell back into his chest, saying, “Shee? It all worked out in the end. You owe me, Rrrrrainier.”

Patting her head, he said, “Thank you, Sera. Well, if you ever run into a horde of darkspawn that needs cleaving, you know how to find me. In theory, at any rate.”

“Gggreeaaaatttt,” she drawled, finally succumbing to the eleven shots of Golden Scythe and unknown number of glasses of wine she’d imbibed through the night, and he gently deposited her in a nearby chair, where she started snoring loudly.

Draining the last of his glass, Thom stepped forth to give his congratulations to Rivka and Josephine as the Left and Right Hands of the Divine withdrew elsewhere. All things considered, perhaps the Maker and His Bride had done him a favour here after all.

Note: Caron, Andras and Kader are the options for the Orlesian Warden-Commander in Awakening, and evidently rode out Here Lies The Abyss with no permanent damage.

@dadrunkwriting

#dadrunkwriting #da drunk writing circle #blackwall #thom rainier #cassandra pentaghast #blackwall/cassandra #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #sera #lavellan #rivka lavellan #josephine montilyet #inquisitor/josephine #lavellan/josephine #leliana #prompt fic #bearlytolerablethethird #casswall

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didifrightenyou · 6 years ago

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just like doris day

waylon/eddie. sorta. 1300+ words, way’s pov, second person. gore warning.

“When I was just a little boy…”

When your eyes finally opened, the first thing that hit you was the smell.

The air, thick with the putrid smell of blood and gore, grime and rust. Enough to make you retch, dry heave on an empty stomach, though all you managed to puke up was a foul splatter of burning stomach bile. Only added to the disgusting smells that surrounded you already.

Added to the twisting pain in your body, the burning at the back of your throat, the heaving in your chest, the ache in your stomach.

It felt like hell.

Like you had travelled so deep into the asylum that you were past the point of any kind of return, too far gone to even try and save.

“I asked my mother, what will I be…”

The pain is the second thing that you noticed.

Immeasurable pain, pain that you couldn’t even hope to fathom before all of this happened.

A deep aching that shook you to your very core, making you cover your bile stained lips quickly just so you wouldn’t hear the wreaked sob you let out when you could finally feel it permeate through your entire body.

Tears streaked down your cheeks and you squeezed your eyes shut, breathing heavy, willing the pain to go away.

The elevator, the wooden spoke through your ankle, the fact that you couldn’t even have a moment to tend to yourself couldn’t even wrap a fucking rag around the oozing wound before you were running again.

The fact that he’d caught you anyway.

“Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?”

Even when you shut your eyes, tried to shut out the hellscape around you, you could still hear the screams.

Your fellow patients, inmates, monsters, whatever this fucked up place had reduced you all down to.

You knew that you would be haunted by those screams for the rest of your life. Knowing that would have been enough to make you cry, if you’d had the energy for it.

You couldn’t even will yourself to really be angry about any of it, even though you wanted to be angry, so, so desperately. All you could feel was a sadness, deep into your core, knowing that they had suffered so much more than you had.

You were too nice. Lisa always told you that, though she had said it was a good thing. Wore your heart on your sleeve, let your empathy run your brain even when it shouldn’t.

Maybe if you hadn’t let your empathy get in the way of things, you wouldn’t be in a situation like this. You would have run faster, fought back, maybe not have blown the whistle at all, done something that wasn’t acting like a poor bruised damsel in distress desperate to be looked after.

No wonder he’d taken such a shining interest in you.

“Here’s what she said to me…”

He grabbed your ankle hard, and the teeth of the bone saw almost immediately cut through the stained leg of your jumpsuit and into the meat of your thigh before you even had a moment to react.

You screamed, louder than you ever had before, and try to lurch back, away from him. But the grip he has on you is stronger than a vice, he barely seemed bothered as you squirmed and writhed and fought back, desperately hard, above him. Humming to himself, like this was an everyday activity for him

Blood soaked through your trouser leg, even more than when the spoke drove through your ankle.

So much blood.

So much fucking blood.

“Que sera, sera…”

You couldn’t stop screaming, and yet he would barely react.

Sobbing, fat tears stinging the various cuts and scrapes on your face, smearing blood further down your face, constantly streaming. You could hear yourself begging, pleading, stop, stop, please, I’ll do whatever you want, just PLEASE-!

It felt like dying.

In a way, you would have preferred if you had died. You would have preferred if Murkoff just had you killed for your betrayal, your sheer and utter stupidity.

You wouldn’t have to live like this, live through whatever was in store for you.

You didn’t even want to imagine.

You managed to vomit down your front again, and it hurts even more than last time. Making you cry just a little bit harder, your body spasming from the pain, the unbearable pain.

The saw ripped through your bone with a sickening crunch.

You couldn’t look away.

“Whatever will be, will be…”

Screaming would do nothing to deter him, but you can’t help but keep trying anyway. Your stinging throat was just another addition to the pain that wracked your body.

You couldn’t pull away though, couldn’t even try. He was too strong and you were too weak to fight back, your body already felt like it was going to give out just from moving for a second. Hope drained out of you almost as quickly as your blood drained, and you felt your head get heavier and heavier as he persisted.

Maybe fainting would have been better. You wouldn’t have to see any of this, listen to his pleased humming, the sound of the blade through your leg.

Feel the way he caressed your ankle.

But you’d have to wake up. And what to?

You thought of your wife. You thought of your children.

You wanted so desperately to die.

“The future’s not ours to see…”

He only has to give the dangling limb a good pull before the last shred of skin snaps and your amputated leg falls to the scum spotted floor with a deafening thud.

You couldn’t scream, though you desperately wanted to.

You could only lay back on the crude excuse of an operating table and sob, deeply and heavily, as he carefully (so now he’s careful) wound stained bandages around your now endlessly bleeding stump, almost delicate finger tying a neat bow, as he looked up at you.

His expression as warm and loving as he could possibly manage.

Your stomach twists again.

You want to be sick.

“Que sera, sera…”

“Don’t cry, my love.” He says, almost kindly, and maybe in any other kind of situation, it would have been appreciated, his tone a parody of warmth and reassurance.

It might have even given you a vague sense of hope.

But when you heard it from him, it was so utterly despairing, all you could do was sob even more.

When he stood to his feet again, walking to where your head lay, your eyes squeezed shut, whimpering sobs slipping past your lips. Begging him not to touch you, not to hurt you. He sighed sympathetically, his hand stroking through your hair, to the tangled blood soaked mess that pooled down your shoulders, and he almost looks remorseful.

Almost.

“I know, I know it hurts awfully. I just couldn’t have you running away again though. You know that.” He coos, gently (or as gently as he can manage) urging your shoulders up and sitting behind you, allowing your exhausted and trembling body body to lay against his broad chest.

You don’t even try and fight it.

Picturesque for a couple, really.

“But a woman must suffer for her husband. You understand that, don’t you?”

His hands circled around your stomach, curling tight and holding you close, possessively. Scarred lips against the back of your neck, sweetly kissing your skin. Affectionate, in the most twisted of ways.

“You’re so, so close to perfect, darling. I’ll make you perfect. I promise.”

“What will be, will be…”

#outlast #whistleblower #outlast: whistleblower #eddie gluskin #waylon park #er. ship names. what are those #eddway #weddie #that one sucks #writing #WHATEVER MAN i'm doing this #just married

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nowtravel · 4 years ago

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48 HOURS IN THE BAY AREA

The Bay Area is hands down one of the most beautiful parts of America. From rolling hills, to the crashing waves, old growth forests and breathtaking vistas, it’s hard not to leave your heart in San Francisco. Here is a 36 hour itinerary to see some of the most beautiful spots the area has to offer.

DAY 1:

Head to Point Reyes, an hour or so drive North from San Francisco. From its thunderous ocean breakers crashing against rocky headlands and expansive sand beaches to its open grasslands, brushy hillsides, and forested ridges, Point Reyes offers over 1500 species of plants and animals to discover. Home to several cultures over thousands of years, the Seashore preserves a tapestry of stories and interactions of people. Point Reyes offers endless exploration.

After Point Reyes, swing back down and start heading south again to visit Mount Tamalpais, which is far from the most famous mountain in California, but truly one of the most stunning views. Just north of San Francisco’s Golden Gate Bridge, Mount Tamalpais State Park rises majestically from the heart of Marin County. Its deep canyons and sweeping hillsides are cloaked with cool redwood forests, oak woodlands, open grasslands, and sturdy chaparral.

If you’re feeling peckish post Mount Tam, you can stop at the Mill Valley In N Out to fuel up. It’s cliched, and many say overrated, but In-N-0ut remains a Californian classic (despite spreading its wings in other states) with its iconic red and white styling. There’s just nothing better than a double double animal style (from the “secret” menu) and a milkshake on the side! The fries are an acquired taste, but if they’re a little raw for your taste, you can always ask they be double-fried for a new taste sensation!

After filling up on burgers and fries, everyone could use a walk! Last stop of the day is Muir Woods. Federally protected as a National Monument since 1908, Muir Woods offers stunning old growth coast redwoods, cooling their roots in the freshwater of Redwood Creek and lifting their crowns to reach the sun and fog. With a primeval feel, the forest offers both refuge and laboratory.

DAY 2:

Today is for the city! First stop is historic Coit Tower. An emblem of the San Francisco skyline since 1933, the slender white column hides a secret inside: murals cover the building’s interior walls. Painted in 1934 by a group of artists employed by the Public Works of Art Project, a precursor to the Works Progress Administration (WPA), the murals depict life in California during the Depression.

From Coit Tower, make your way to Sutro Tower for the best views the city has to offer. The Bay Area’s most visible icon is actually the power icon. The tower is actually used by 10 television stations, 3 FM radio stations, satellite and cable providers, and nearly two dozen public and commercial wireless communication services. You can either hike up (be careful, that climb is a killer!) or drive, as there is a parking lot on offer.

After descending Sutro Tower, if you turn right you’ll come to one of San Francisco’s most cultural and historical neighborhoods: The Castro. Originally a working-class neighborhood settled by Scandinavians in the 1920s, by the 1970s the neighborhood had retained a new identity as being a safe space for the counter-cultural LGBTQ movement. The neighborhood has much to offer beyond its rich history, with a great nightlife scene, beautiful murals, and delicious restaurants.

After the Castro, it’s time to experience one of San Francisco’s most delicious culinary offerings: dungeness crab. For the best in the city, you’ll need to head far from the hustle and bustle from downtown to way over on Bayshore boulevard, where sits The Old Clam House, San Francisco’s oldest restaurant operating in the same location. While not located in one of the hotspot culinary neighborhoods, The Old Clam House is well worth a visit for their crab alone. Order the hot killer crab which is served sizzling on a cast iron pan, is 2lbs+ of perfectly cooked crab dripping in just the right amount of The Old Clam House’s secret garlic sauce. An absolutely incredible feast, no one should miss this classic San Francisco experience!

Next, pick up a bottle of vino, then go over to Mission Dolores Park for one of their outdoor movie screenings. You never know what you’re going to watch, but you’ll always make some new friends!

Finally, I always love seeing a city by night as well as by day. Head down to the waterfront to see the Ferry building and Bay Bridge lit up beautifully.

And then, sadly, our time in San Francisco is up! A darling city and if you’re not careful, it will steal your heart forever!

About Sera Herold

Originally from Washington state, Sera Herold started her love affair with travel by frequently visiting Vancouver BC while growing up. Having visited 5 continents so far, Sera looks forward to someday taking a trip down under to Oceana, and extremely down under to Antarctica, to get to experience what each continent has to offer. Sera’s perfect trip involves some adventure, some relaxing, and a ton of delicious local food!

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ellenembee · 7 years ago

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The Revelation of All Things - 52. In which there’s no such thing as perfect

Read the full fic on AO3.

Read on Tumblr (desktop)

On the sixth and final day of their journey, Evana and Cullen entered the gates of Skyhold well after sunset. The greeting party mostly consisted of a few soldiers waiting to consult with Cullen, but to her delight, Harritt had come up to greet them as well. He squeezed her shoulder with a gravelly "welcome back," and then, with very little ceremony beyond a quick wink at Evana, Harritt handed off a small package to Cullen. Before she could ask any questions, the blacksmith then whisked Morgan off to the Undercroft while talking excitedly about 24-hour shifts around the forge.

Evana turned to Cullen and found him staring down at the small package as a soldier at his elbow rattled off something about breaks in the guard rotation. Cullen lifted his head, eyes finding hers immediately, and gave her a small, secret smile. The soldier beside him cut off abruptly as Cullen stepped toward her.

"I have to do rounds and catch up, and no doubt Josephine and Leliana will want to meet as soon as possible, but... meet me in my office later tonight?"

"Of course. I've got my own rounds to do." With a quick glance at the soldier, she smiled at Cullen and softened her voice. "I’ll see you later."

Evana had just finished checking in with Cole, Sera, and Bull when, sure enough, Leliana’s runner arrived with a request that they meet as soon as possible. In the shortest meeting in Inquisition history, Leliana and Josephine briefed Cullen and Evana on business that had occurred while they were away. Leliana ended the meeting by assuring her she would let Evana know the instant she heard anything about Wycome. As they all filed out of the war room, Cullen gave her an inviting look.

"I'll be there shortly," she assured him.

He tilted his head and gave her a crooked smile that made her heart flutter. As he walked away, she heard a small sigh behind her and turned to find Josie looking at her with a sappy smile of her own.

"You two are just... well... perfect."

Evana laughed. "No one's perfect, Josie... but I am pretty over the moons for him." Then, shooting Josie a conspiratorial look, she added, "If you'll be up later tonight, I'll have something to show you."

Josie gave an excited little gasp. "Oh! Yes, I should be up quite late tonight writing letters."

"Good. Until later, then."

Josie's giggle followed Evana as she walked out of the office and up the stairs to her quarters. She'd not been able to get upstairs since they'd returned, so she took a moment to unpack her bags. Then, she changed from her armor into more a casual tunic and breeches, picked up one of the three new piles of reports on her desk and headed back down to Cullen's office. He was sitting at his desk, bent over paperwork when she arrived.

"That's my Commander. Already hard at work. Anything interesting to report so far?"

Cullen sat up and then leaned back in his chair as she walked toward him. "As much as it pains me to admit, I'm glad we were able to secure the Orlesians as allies. I've received word from the Imperial army. They are ready to march with the Inquisition when called upon. Also, it seems that all your footholds outside Skyhold have increased our reputation. We're receiving reports that people view us as a stabilizing force, which means another round of recruits has arrived eager to pledge themselves to our cause. It looks like we obtained the new smith just in time."

Evana sat on the back edge of his desk, facing him. "Sounds like we should leave Skyhold more often, then. What do you say? The Commander and Inquisitor, cutting down demons and red templars all the way across Ferelden and Orlais."

Cullen gave her a wry smile. "If my duties didn't keep me chained to this desk, I would be at your side in a moment."

Abruptly, he stood, took the papers from her hands and laid them on his chair. Then he took her hand and led her to the fire. The small box Harritt had handed to Cullen sat untouched on the mantle, and she tried not to stare at it. She blushed when she turned to find him watching her with an expression that seemed to be a mixture of adoration and amusement. Finally, he reached up and pulled the box from the shelf.

"I wish I'd been able to give you this the other night, but as it is..."

She smiled as he handed her the box and then internally cursed her silly nerves as her hands trembled when she lifted the lid. She gasped.

"Cullen! It's... is that my design? Oh! And the Inquisition sunburst... and... wait... is that...?"

"A lion to match my helmet. I wish I could take credit, but I merely handed Harritt the coin and asked him to make something of it. Dagna might've helped."

She could only stare at it, then back to him, then back at the amulet. It was a representation of... them. A little of him, a little of her, and a bit of the Inquisition. Harritt had captured it perfectly.

"It's imbued with a Lifeward, courtesy of Dagna," he explained a little nervously when she didn't respond. "Do you have the coin?"

With another gasp, she suddenly shoved the box back at him and ran out of the office. His surprised laughter followed her out the door as she flew back to her quarters, retrieved the coin from her armor and ran back downstairs. This time, she slowed to a fast walk when passing through the great hall, but several people, including Varric sitting at his regular table, gave her odd looks. She didn't care. Suddenly, nothing seemed more important than getting back to Cullen with the coin now squeezed tightly in her fist. She rushed through Solas' empty study and arrived back in his office out of breath.

"Here... it is..."

Cullen gave her an amused look, but merely took the coin from her and placed it inside the clever compartment Harritt had designed. Both sides were visible, but Cullen placed the image of Andraste facing out. Evana was, after all, supposed to be the prophet's Herald. She then turned around and let him place the necklace around her neck. After he fastened the clasp of the silverite chain, his fingers lingered on her neck before sliding down to grasp her shoulders. Lips brushed against the side of her neck as he turned her to face him.

"Mmmm... your doors are still unlocked, Commander."

He let out a small groan and then lifted his head to smile at her. "And I've got six days of paperwork to get through."

He didn't move away immediately, however. One hand moved down to rest on her hip, and the other moved to touch the amulet where it lay between her breasts. A shiver danced down her spine as his fingertips ghosted across the fabric of her tunic when he picked it up.

"It looks good on you," he murmured, his voice low and a little breathless.

"It's perfect, Cullen," she assured him.

Without thinking, she bit her lip, and suddenly, his eyes were on her lips. He bent down and brushed his mouth gently over hers as his hand moved from the amulet to cup her face. The air in the room suddenly felt hot, and she lifted her hands to rest them on his cool breastplate. He pulled away slightly, and the intense, almost pained look in his eyes reminded her of Haven, of their moment in the Chantry when she'd felt he might be trying to tell her something...

"Evana..."

The strain in his voice told her he was struggling with something, but she was unsure of how to help him. His thumb ghosted across her cheek as he shook his head and started again.

"Evana... I..."

He took a deep, tremulous breath, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead on hers. She moved a hand up to his cheek and felt his jaw clench and unclench repeatedly under her palm. She was about to speak when he suddenly broke away from her, took her hand from his face, kissed her palm and looked down at her with a small smile.

"I'm glad you like it."

Something had happened. But she was at a loss as to what.

"I do," she finally said. "I love it..." She paused, hoping he might continue, but clearly the moment had passed. "Now, shall we get some work done?"

"We?"

"I brought some of my reports down. I thought I might read them in one of your fluffy chairs by your fire... unless you'd rather I not..."

"No! No, I... that's... I'd love for you to stay."

She raised up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips before retrieving her papers from his chair and settling by the fire. He moved to his desk and shot her another small smile before diving back into his reports. The chairs, arranged to face each other next to the fire, allowed her to glance over at him occasionally. Several times throughout the evening, she found his eyes already turned in her direction, a distant look clouding his expression. She wondered if she were distracting him or if he were thinking of something else entirely.

Eventually, her pile of unread reports dwindled. Giving in to the lateness of the hour, she began preparing to head back to her quarters when Cullen let out a pleased shout.

"Ha! Evana, look at this." He quickly crossed the small space between them and crouched at the arm of her chair. "The smugglers we interrogated gave up the red templars' main source of lyrium. It's located in the Dales, near a town called Sahrnia. Destroying the mine there will cripple Samson's operations."

She couldn't help smiling at his enthusiasm. "Excellent! I'll investigate the mine on the way to the Western Approach."

"Destroying their source of lyrium will be a loss Samson won't soon forget!"

"Indeed. And we'll be taking out Corypheus' main source of troops. If we can break down the red templars and the Grey Wardens, he'll have to start all over. We'll have him at a disadvantage. We should call a war council meeting for tomorrow and discuss logistics."

"Yes," he agreed eagerly. "The sooner the better. I already sent Malia away, though..."

Evana stood from the chair. "Oh, I'm done with my first round of reports, so I was thinking of heading back to my quarters anyway. I'll stop by Josie's office on the way and let her know."

Cullen was still kneeling beside the chair, so she leaned down to kiss him. It was a strange feeling to be the one bending down instead of straining to reach up to him. The amulet swung back and forth between them, and he broke from her lips to catch it and look at it again. A smirk slowly spread across his face. She placed a final kiss on his smirking lips and backed away, smiling.

"Goodnight, Commander," she murmured.

"Goodnight, Inquisitor," he answered in a low, silky voice that sorely tested her restraint.

Overcoming the urge to run back to him, she turned and left him to his work. As she made her way back to the great hall, she paused in the empty rotunda, noting the all the things so quintessentially Solas - books open and stacked on tables, bundles of paper filled with notes, elven artifacts strewn in all corners, paints stashed under scaffolding - still hovering in the silence, waiting for his return.

The longer he stayed away, the less likely it was he would return. A nomad like him would have no compunction about leaving these items behind - leaving them all behind. A strange and uncomfortable ache pierced her heart, and she hurried out of the room. "Hey there, Snowflake," Varric called to her as she entered the hall. "Care to share what was so important earlier this evening?"

Evana blushed and sat down next to Varric with a huff. "I'd forgotten something in my room. And I needed it for this."

She picked up the chain and held it out so Varric could see the amulet. It was small, only a little bigger than the coin itself, but the gold and silverite embellishments shone brightly in the candlelight making it almost shimmer. He let out a low whistle.

"That is something. Where'd you get it?"

She blushed a deeper shade of red. "I'll give you one guess."

"Curly?" She nodded, and Varric shook his head in disbelief. "Every time I think I've got him figured out, he goes and does something like this. You'll have to show it to her in person, because Hawke won't believe it otherwise."

Evana laughed and then sobered. "Speaking of... We'll be discussing the timeline for marching on Adamant tomorrow. We may be stopping in the Dales to shut down a red lyrium mine on the way, so we'll have to leave sooner rather than later. Are you prepared?"

"Bianca and I are at your service and ecstatic for another chance to destroy more of that sick shit, Snowflake. Just say the word."

"Good. I'll update you tomorrow. I have to go speak with Josie."

"Oh, yeah. Don't keep her waiting. She'll probably die from swooning."

She gave him a serious look. "You know, she just might."

Leaving him with a quick wink, she walked to Josie's office. The ambassador was still working at her desk, as promised.

"Inquisit- I mean... Evana. You said you had... Oh!"

Evana had merely held up the amulet as she'd done for Varric, and Josie was transfixed. She rushed out from behind her desk to examine the amulet up close.

"Oh, this is so perfect! So symbolic! And Cullen had it made for you?"

"Yes. He commissioned it from Harritt. He assured me he had little to do with the design of the amulet, but it's really the coin that's important to me anyway."

Josie furrowed her brow. "The coin? Oh, there in the middle! What's the significance of the coin?" "It was his lucky coin. His brother gave it to him right before he left for templar training. Now he's given it to me - that's what the trip was for. Or part of the reason anyway. He took me to a lake he used to go to when he was a child and gave it to me. For luck. So I always come back to him."

Josie let out a long, wistful sigh. "So romantic. Cullen is a much more complicated man than I gave him credit for."

Evana smiled as Josie continued to look over the amulet, and then remembered her charge from Cullen. "Not to switch too abruptly to business matters, but I also wanted to tell you that Cullen wishes to have a war council meeting tomorrow to discuss taking out Samson's red lyrium supply. Can you let Leliana know?"

"Of course. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Not tonight. It's been a long day, so I think I'll turn in. I'll see you in the morning."

Josie wished her a good night, and Evana headed upstairs, her mind still racing from the implications of the last few days. Most particularly, she couldn't stop thinking about that small moment when Cullen had seemed to want to say... something. As she prepared for bed, a mixture of excitement and panic welled up in her chest. If his demeanor was any indication, it was important. She didn't know what had stopped him, so she could only hope that he would try to speak with her some other time. Creators knew she had a few things she needed to bring up with him as well, and she hadn't managed it so far. They had so little time together - so few stolen, happy moments - bringing up difficult topics seemed cruel to both of them. Her bungled attempt by the lake was evidence enough of that. Perhaps that's what had stopped him? Perhaps he hadn't wanted to ruin the moment with a difficult discussion?

With a deep sigh, she crawled between her thick blankets, still pondering the question as she drifted into the Fade.

At the war council meeting, they'd decided that, instead of the Hissing Wastes, Evana would set off for the Emprise Du Lion - to Sahrnia - to investigate the mines and then meet the Inquisition forces at Griffon Wing Keep three weeks after they'd all departed. It would take the army at least that long to get there, marching several hundreds of miles across Orlais and picking up a contingent of Orlesian chevaliers at Halamshiral on the way. Cullen's forces would join with the troops already full to bursting out of the Keep. With the help of the new smith, Morgan, they would attack Adamant in approximately one month's time.

The next few days were full of preparing for the coming assault. Cullen worked tirelessly through every waking hour, and though she spent many hours drinking tea with him and working in one of his chairs by the fire, she felt as if she hadn't really seen him in days.

So she focused on her duties and caught up on her own work. She visited with nobles at Josie's behest, practiced magic daily with Dorian - and once with Vivienne, though that didn't go well - and finally met with Bull and an elven Qunari ambassador about a rather shocking offer to ally with the Qunari. They all agreed to wait until after the assault to make any moves, but it was an intriguing offer to say the least. And a risky one. Trusting the Qunari didn't come naturally for good reason.

Evana had also continued her combat training with Cassandra. Now that Evana had expressed an interest in becoming a Knight Enchanter, the Seeker, satisfied with her competency at hand-to-hand, had switched to teaching her sword play. Cullen often tried to join them for a few minutes here and there, but something always pulled him away. He'd shoot her an apologetic half-smile and head off to deal with whatever emergency had cropped up in the ten minutes since he'd left his desk.

Now, as she worked through the new forms with the Seeker only three days before leaving for the Emprise, worry ate at the back of her mind that they'd still heard nothing from her clan or Leliana's scouts. She'd known it would take time but had hoped for some news, even if just to say that things were progressing. Despite how fervently she tried to ignore it, the lack of communication left her to wonder and even, in her most honest moments, to despair. In this case, no news usually meant bad news.

And as she sat in her chair by the fire in Cullen’s office later that night, she mentally prepared herself for the worst when Harvil arrived with a message from Leliana.

"Sister Leliana requests your immediate presence in the war room, Your Worship. And yours as well, Commander. She said to tell you it's about Wycome."

Evana shot a nervous look at Cullen, but he was already walking out from behind his desk, holding out his hand for her to join him. They walked quickly, hand-in-hand, to the war room. She didn't even care what the nobles might say if they saw. His hand was the only thing keeping her grounded. Leliana started speaking before Cullen had even closed the door behind them.

"Inquisitor, I've just received word from my agent in Wycome. I thought you'd like to know as soon as possible that your clan is safe... for the moment. As with each time we act, it seems the peace is tenuous, but they should be secure for the time being."

Evana reached the table and immediately slumped over it. Holding herself up with her arms, her head dangled as a powerful, weak-kneed relief washed over her and left her reeling. Despite the warning in Leliana's voice, a huge weight seemed to lift from Evana’s shoulders. She breathed deeply.

"What happened?" she asked when she’d finally mastered herself. "Did they get inside the city?"

"Yes, the clan was smuggled inside the city and ended up joining forces with the city elves. They organized a strike at the Duke and his red lyrium supplies. The humans in the city quickly joined with the elves once they saw the contaminated wells. The Duke and his retinue - some of whom were Venatori - are now dead. For now, the Dalish are heros of Wycome, but the nobles that fled the fighting will undoubtedly return at some point."

A small silence joined them as Evana tried to process both the information and her reaction to it. Josephine piped up.

"What can we do in the meantime?"

Leliana placed one of her markers near Wycome on the map. "My agents will remain in the area and continue to watch and listen. Perhaps a note to your Keeper that she should keep our agents apprised of any issues would be helpful?"

Leliana was looking at her now. Evana tried to stand up straight, willing her feeble legs to hold her.

"Of course, I'll write a message first thing in the morning. Thank you again for all your efforts to address not only the Venatori threat but also the danger to my clan. This has been a nerve-wracking situation. Is there anything else I should know?"

"No, Inquisitor. That was all for now."

"Very good. I'll... be in my quarters if anyone needs me."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

She flicked her eyes to Cullen and gave him weak smile as she passed, but his gaze held a mixture of sympathy and vague confusion that she couldn't handle. The strength of her feelings threatening to overwhelm her, she looked away, walking quickly through to the great hall.

At her own door, she nodded stiffly to the guards - a new addition since their win at Orlais. Leliana had insisted that some Orlesians would likely put out contracts on her life for supporting Celene and exiling Gaspard. The guards were an extra precaution, and a good one, but tonight, she wished they hadn't been there to witness how she was falling apart. She didn't want anyone to see her so out of control.

Once past the guards and through the door, Evana dashed up the steps at full speed. When she finally reached her bed, tired and out of breath, she fell into the soft blankets and listened to the rushing of blood through her ears.

Her clan was safe for now. It should make her happy, of course, but she hadn't expected this level of relief, the physical weakness in her body, the trembling rush of adrenaline. Why this time? Why had this not happened the many other times her clan had been saved from danger?

A ball of guilt wound around itself in her gut. Was it because she had convinced herself she wasn't that connected anymore? That what happened to them was only of cursory concern? The clan's welfare would always be important, but she hadn't allowed herself think of them as more important than anyone else for quite some time now.

Clearly, she'd just been lying to herself. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she thought of the clan children, likely scared out of their minds at the sudden move to such an unfamiliar place - a city of all places - and the imminent danger. How many clan members had lost their lives in assassinating the Duke and his Venatori? Five? Ten? Twenty? Clan Lavellan wasn't as small as some of the other Dalish clans, but the loss of ten or twenty in such a tight-knit community would be devastating.

She knew that from experience.

And now she'd done it to them again. Her involvement in these shemlen affairs had put her clan in danger. Likely they blamed her even more than before. The tears flowed more freely now as she curled into a ball on her bed. Deep sobs wracked her body even as she tried to tell herself they were safe, they were protected. For now.

The sound of footsteps on her stairs forced her to try to control herself. She sat up and realized the only light in the room was the roaring fire.

"Evana?" came a soft, familiar voice from the stairs.

She quickly wiped her face with her sleeve and met Cullen at the top of the stairs. He immediately pulled her into a fierce hug. He'd apparently left his armor downstairs somewhere, and the firm reality of his body against hers calmed her more than anything else could.

"What's wrong, vhenan?" he asked softly.

How could she explain this to him, of all people? It was too much.

"I- I can't... please, just hold me?"

Cullen swept her into his arms and carried her back to her bed. Instead of tucking her in, however, he sat next to her, pulled off his boots and then crawled into the bed beside her. She pulled herself up against him and nestled her face in the crook of his neck. His arm wrapped around her and gently stroked her back as she entwined her legs with his.

"Stay with me?" she whispered tentatively. She felt him swallow and tense a little, and she instantly felt guilty. "We don't need to do anything, just sleep... or if you'd rather not-"

He tightened his arm around her gently. "It's not that. I... I want to stay. It's only that I often have... violent nightmares. I wouldn't wish to disturb you... or... hurt you."

She pulled her head back to look at him in the dim glow of the firelight. "Ir abelas, vhenan. I didn't know it was that bad. Is that why you don't sleep much?"

"Yes. That and the insomnia due to the withdrawal. The tea helps with that. It's nothing to worry about. I just want to ensure you are well."

Evana reached up and quickly wiped away a few extra tears that escaped from her eyes at his kindness. "It's nothing, vhenan. I'm fine. Please, if you need to go..."

Cullen pulled her back to him. "I can stay as long as you need me."

Forever, then? But she didn't dare say it. She smiled into his neck and breathed in the heady smell of leather and smoke and oakmoss salve mixed with his own musky scent. She would never get tired of it.

Her mind began to wander as she let the rhythmic sound of his breathing lull her into a doze. The amulet slid out of her tunic and thudded gently onto the bed - a reminder of his claim on her. She knew he hadn't meant it or the coin as a proposal, but her clan would see it that way if they knew. She couldn't help feeling the importance of it - and more than him offering it, she'd accepted it. He didn't understand, didn't know, the significance. But it had been significant to her. It was her final renunciation of her clan and of her duty to the People. She was his, to the exclusion of all others, and he was hers. As important as her clan was, he was more important to her now.

Perhaps that was part of this sudden guilt. She had chosen a human, even after all the lessons from Keeper about her duty as an elf - the duty to procreate with another elf, to strengthen the People and not sully the bloodline.

But how could she not choose him? His quiet strength in the face of all his responsibilities, his compassion for the weak and needy, his overwhelmingly generous heart... despite his flaws, it would be madness to reject a man like Cullen. Not to mention how her own heart yearned for him when they were apart and how full and content she felt at his side.

The idea of a person filling her in such a way had always seemed ridiculous to her. She'd heard couples in her clan speak of such things with their chosen bondmate. Now she finally understood what they meant, but it was with her human lover, not an elven bondmate. They would be shunned by both humans and elves.

Despite the assurances of the Champion, the open hostility for elf and human liaisons from both elves and humans troubled her. Not as much for herself, necessarily, but for Cullen. She was used to the derision of others, but the hateful messages Cullen had already received were proof enough that she had reason to worry for him as well. The walls of Skyhold and the kind people within those walls insulated them from prying eyes and most of the derogatory remarks. But if they defeated Corypheus, what would become of the Inquisition? The insults and condescension of the Winter Palace paled in comparison to the harsh realities of a world in which she was no longer needed. A world in which she was simply an elf with a human lover.

She didn't worry for him finding another position. If they survived this ordeal, he would have his pick of any of the top military positions in Thedas. But that didn't guarantee an upstart elf mage with a useless mark would be welcomed with him. Would it decrease his opportunity? Would he be openly ridiculed for choosing her? Would his family reject her... as hers would him? Another thought pushed in from somewhere deep in her subconscious, and she felt her pulse and breathing quicken as her conscious mind recognized it.

What about any children they might have?

Children of elves and humans were essentially human. Half elven people could pass themselves off as human if no one knew who their parents were. But her child - Cullen's child... everyone in Thedas would know the son or daughter of the Inquisition Commander and the Herald of Andraste. She could hope that their titles and positions of respect would mitigate some of the discrimination he or she would face, but that wasn't the only worry.

What if their child were a mage?

She would never allow any child of hers to go to a Circle. Not ever. But if the Circles were reinstated, would he try to force the issue? What did he even believe now that the mages had been with them for months without incident? His words by the lake haunted her - "Whatever I fear of magic..."

Which meant he still feared magic. As well he would after having experienced the worst of mages. But how could she be sure how he would react to magic from his own child, especially as the child was learning to control his/her powers? The process could be messy, and extra precautions had to be taken to make sure a young mage didn't harm themselves or others. But the Dalish knew all this and had processes in place to mitigate the chance for harm. Would he even allow her the opportunity to prove she could train a mage without interference?

As long as she led the Inquisition, she would work to keep the mages free. She would work with Fiona to create safe processes and education for young mages. Up to now, Cullen had always supported her decisions, even if he didn't agree with them. But would he shun that path when she was no longer in a position of power? When it was just her asking him to believe in a world where mages could be free?

And how could she bring up such subjects? It seemed even more impossible than talking about her clan right now. They'd been together for months, known and trusted each other for months before that, but in reality, they saw little of each other. Everything still felt so fragile, so new.

Evana gently wrapped a slender arm around his waist and snuggled further into his body. She felt him shift slightly. His breathing was even, but she couldn't tell if that meant he was asleep or simply relaxed. This was the first time she'd really had the opportunity to find out.

"Cullen?" she whispered as softly as she could manage.

The answer was immediate, and his voice reverberated through her body as she pressed against him. "I'm awake."

"May I ask you something?"

"Always."

She tried to think of how to lead into her questions, but couldn't think of anything relevant. So, she just asked the first question and braced herself for the answer.

"The Inquisition won't last forever. If we survive... what will you do when this is over?"

It took him a moment to answer. She didn't dare lift her head to look in his face. Finally, he spoke hesitantly.

"To be honest, I hadn't given it much thought until recently. I'm not used to having so many... possibilities."

She hoped he would continue, but he seemed content to let the response rest there. She couldn't help pushing just a little.

"You could go to Orlais. Be Celene's military advisor. I'm sure the chevaliers would follow you around the Winter Palace like loyal little Mabari puppies."

Cullen chuckled weakly, and then she felt him shiver slightly. "I'd be perfectly happy never again setting foot in the Winter Palace. It wasn't the gossip and backstabbing - I know what the Game entails. But the indifference to it all... no... I don't think there's anything in Orlais for me."

"At least there was dancing."

Cullen laughed outright. "Or an attempt at it, anyway."

Evana shrugged. "I thought you did well."

"Well, I'm grateful for your poor taste in dance partners."

It hadn't been the direction she'd hoped to go, but she was pleased to have made him laugh. In the small pause that followed, he began rubbing small circles on her back, and she had to force herself to focus on her questions instead of his hands.

He hadn't "given it much thought until recently." Did that mean he was thinking about it because of her? Or was there another reason?

"You've certainly become more... Er... popular since our time with the Empress."

He actually groaned at this. "Don't remind me. Leliana is currently collecting all the marriage proposals into a file so she can use me for bait in her little intrigues. You heard her at the war council meeting a few days ago - telling me to 'hush' and 'just look pretty.' I might as well be a piece of meat."

Evana snickered a little, but sobered immediately. "You've received other types of messages since then as well. Not so nice ones."

He went completely still. "Leliana told you about that?"

"I asked."

"How did you know?" he asked, confusion tingeing his voice.

Evana finally pulled away to look at him, propped herself on her elbow, and smiled at him sadly. "I'm not naive, Cullen. I'm a mage. On top of that, I'm an elf, and incidents like the one at the inn are not a new experience for me. It would be odd if the rumors about us didn't generate hateful messages. I know you don't care, but a lot of other people do."

Cullen let out a violent puff of air followed by a vehement, "Fuck them. All of them."

Evana couldn't stifle her surprised laughter nor the teasing in her tone. "Creators! Such a dirty mouth, Commander!"

He gave her a half smile, but the look of anger mixed with sadness remained. He reached up to caress her cheek, and she closed her eyes to revel in the feel of his calloused fingers. A tendril of heat shot through her belly, but she ignored it. Now was certainly not the time for that.

"I mean it," he affirmed. "They can take their unwanted and unwarranted opinions and shove them up their own backsides. I hate that you have to deal with that. I hate that I can't always shield you from it, though I will whenever I can. I don't care what they say or do. You are..." Cullen took a deep breath and then sighed. "They have no idea what they're talking about."

She smiled into his palm and then kissed it gently. She did feel a little better about their future together as human and elf. But again, the moment in which she could reasonably bring up the mage and templar issue seemed to pass. She lay down, and after a time, Cullen's breathing turned deeper. Every so often, he'd murmur something nonsensical through an exhalation. She grinned into his chest, letting the sounds soothe her. It was late, and as much as she wanted to stay awake to enjoy this time, her eyes eventually slid closed in sleep.

The next morning was a new experience for them both. She woke to the feel of his fingers gently tracing the lines of her vallaslin and smiled before she even opened her eyes when she realized that he'd stayed with her. She cracked an eye to see him watching her.

"Sorry. You looked so beautiful, I couldn't resist touching you."

She felt a bit of heat spread across her face. "No bad dreams?"

"Not one. I think perhaps giving you that coin was the best idea I've ever had. You are far more lucky for me than it ever was. And if it will keep you safe..."

He moved in to kiss her, and she turned away laughing.

"Cullen, my breath is awful!"

He grinned at her and shrugged as well as he could while lying entwined with her on the bed. "So is mine."

She leaned forward and placed a closed-mouth kiss on his lips. "There. Now, we should get up before other people do. There's already enough gossip as it is."

"Gossip?" he asked innocently.

She shot him a disbelieving look as she tried to move away from him. He held onto her tightly, and she flopped back on the bed next to him.

"Yes, gossip. The kind where certain people in our inner circle wonder aloud in my presence exactly how 'well endowed' our Commander is."

Cullen blushed furiously and finally let her go. "Ah... yes... I can't imagine who that might be..."

"I just tell him I don't have any information to add to the discussion as of yet, but from my limited experience, our Commander seems to be well fit in that area."

She hadn't thought it possible, but his face turned even redder. He sat up quickly and cleared his throat.

"You are teasing me, aren’t you?"

She got out of the bed and took a large drink of water, swishing it around to get rid of the sour taste in her mouth, then handed the mug to Cullen. Her tunic and breeches were crumpled from sleep. She usually put on warm pajamas and a metric ton of blankets to sleep, but Cullen heated the bed impossibly well. Her own personal hot water bottle... only much more handsome. She suddenly felt a little too warm.

"Well, I'm sure you know... there is gossip about us. But, yes, I am teasing about that particular scenario." Sort of.

She looked over at the tub, and a devilish grin spread across her face. "However, let me tell you... you haven't seen anything, yet."

She walked to the tub and called down a controlled wall of ice directly into the tub. She immediately hit the ice with a warming spell. It melted with a hiss, filling the room with a light haze of steam. Turning back to him, she walked as seductively as possible to the middle of the room.

"Would you like to watch me bathe, Commander?"

She saw the muscles work in his jaw as he swallowed hard and then clenched his jaw. She also noticed his hands close into fists as he narrowed his eyes and shook his head at her. His voice sounded strained as he replied.

"What if I said yes?"

Without a word - and with only a faint blush - she pulled her tunic over her head to reveal the intricately crafted breast band Josie had picked out for her in Val Royeaux. The barely-there fabric, made of delicately embroidered vines over sheer fabric, left no doubt about her state of arousal. She took a step toward him, dragging the tunic behind her.

"I'm undecided. Should I tell you it comes with matching smalls? Or tell you instead that I rarely wear smalls at all?"

Cullen let out a strangled growl as he vaulted himself off the bed, closed the distance between them in two strides and covered her laughing mouth with his own. His trembling hands smoothed over her bare skin seductively, causing her to sigh lustily into his mouth as the waves of pleasure washed over her. Then, once he had her trembling with need, he abruptly pulled his mouth from hers and walked away without a word, shooting her a wicked smirk as he disappeared behind the banister.

Later that afternoon, as she walked down the stairs from Cullen's office toward the stables after pulling him away to kiss him breathless as payback, she noticed the gates lifting. Something stirred inside her - a flash of familiarity. She paused to watch, expecting yet another pesky group of nobles. Instead, a lone silhouette, lithe of step and carrying a beautiful elven staff, appeared in the archway. Evana’s breath rushed out of her as if she'd been punched.

She couldn't help it. She ran for him.

He met her rush with open arms and wrapped them around her protectively as she pressed against him and squeezed her arms around his waist. Then, suddenly aware of the people around them, she blushed hotly as she quickly pulled back and put some distance between them. No need to start any false rumors...

"Solas! I can't believe... I mean..." She laughed at herself then continued, "I guess I owe Varric an ale. I wasn't sure you were coming back."

"Neither was I... for a time. But only a short time. You were a true friend. You did everything you could to help. I could hardly abandon you now."

"Where did you go?"

"I found a quiet spot and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend used to be. It's empty, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday, something new may grow there."

"I hope it's not too difficult to speak of... but I've been wondering... What happens when a spirit dies?"

"It isn't the same as for mortals. The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. If the idea giving the spirit form is strong, or if the memory has shaped other spirits, it may someday rise again."

"You're saying your friend might... come back?"

Solas shook his head sorrowfully. "No, not really. A spirit's natural state is peaceful semi-existence. It is rare to be able to reflect reality. Something similar might form one day, but it might have a different personality. It would likely not remember me."

He paused and looked away from her. Pain flashed across his face, but in a moment, his serene expression returned. If she didn't know him so well, she would have missed it entirely.

"It would not be the friend I knew."

Her heart ached for him. She knew what it was to mourn.

"The next time you have to mourn, you don't need to be alone. You have friends here."

His head dropped. "It's been so long since I could trust anyone."

"I know."

She reached out to touch his arm lightly. The gesture was brief and meant to be comforting, but he looked to her hand and then watched it depart with an intense expression. Looking up again, his eyes burned into her, and she felt another, different flush of heat across her cheeks. Unbidden, their practicing session all those months ago in the Hinterlands flashed through her mind as he tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"I will work on it. And... thank you."

"Oh... o-of course."

"I'll be in my study should you need anything."

She tilted her head in return and watched him depart, her cheeks only now returning to their normal paleness. She needed to be more careful. In her excitement, she'd let down her guard, and that thing - the awkwardness she'd been so careful to avoid since the early days of the Inquisition - had happened again. Her newfound closeness with her friends never caused such difficulties with Varric nor even with the ever flirty Iron Bull, but somehow, the same actions with Solas were taken in a different way than she intended. It didn't help that a part of her seemed to reach out for him any time he was near. She found it disconcerting, and much like the dream the night after that strained practice session, it left her ill at ease. As glad as she was to have him back, a thought rose up in the back of her mind that perhaps it wasn't the best thing after all. He still had his secrets - that much she knew. But he also seemed to have a small hold on her now that she couldn't shake as easily as she had in Haven.

It was too much. She needed a distraction. She'd told Iron Bull she'd drink with him to celebrate the dragon slaying, but in all the preparations, she'd yet to do it. And tonight would be her last chance for some time.

Yes. Drinking myself into a stupor sounds good right about now. I should go find Dorian. He always approves of drinking in excess.

She headed to the library to find the Tevinter mage, passing through the great hall to the stairs leading directly to the second floor in order to avoid Solas' study. And all the while, a slowly dawning realization caused a leaden ball to form in the pit of her stomach.

Maybe... maybe Solas thought of her as more than a friend?

Yes. A drink. I definitely need a drink... or five.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #da:i #my fanfiction #revelation of all things #revelations #cullen rutherford #evana lavellan #solas returns #solas #conflicted evana #cullavellan #cullavellan angst #cullavellan fluff #cullen x lavellan #cullen x inquisitor #troat

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carterashofficial · 7 years ago

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3, 14, 15, 25, and 27 for Alda and cullen! (or anyone you'd like!) :)

OF COURSE ALDA AND CULLEN (since I’m in the middle of a deep fascination with Dragon Age this is perfect)

3. When they are having a fight, what is it about and how do they deal with it?

At first, before they’re a couple (and even before romantic feels), Alda and Cullen butt heads over Mages and Templars. He isn’t happy that she gave the Mages the run of Haven, making them allies and not conscripts. He knows that there’s little he can do to change that, though.

When they are a couple, their disagreements are few and far between, usually over personal things like whether or not they should invite their families to visit Skyhold (after Corypheous the Angry Geode is defeated); different ways to handle pompous nobles, military matters; etc… Usually they compromise or let the one with more experience choose the path of action.

There is one war-table operation neither will concede to the other on. It’s the option to send Inquisition scouts to help Chantry Sisters who’re administering to wounded Inquisition soldiers and need help getting to Skyhold (or something like that). The scouts are going after Red Templars. Cullen doesn’t want to pull the scouts away from the Templars; they could hurt more people if they aren’t stopped. Alda wants to send the scouts to help the soldiers; shouldn’t they be loyal to their men? Those soldiers need to know the Inquisition has their back.

It leads to them deciding to not discuss said mission but then they’re both slightly frustrated with the other until they talk it out. Cullen fears for innocents getting hurt by the Templars and Alda won’t leave soldiers behind, she won’t abandon them. They both see the other has valid points. Alda, being the Inquisitor, sends the scouts to get the soldiers. Cullen doesn’t approve, but he understands.

The biggest fight they ever had was over the rules of chess because each of them had identical rule books, only with one rule different from the other. Leliana had to send for a third rule book to get them to play chess and blow off steam.

4. Is their anything they associate with each other?

Alda associates the stench of wet fur with him, courtesy of his furs he wears (and also the Mabari doggo he rescues and doesn’t train to get off their couch). There are other, more pleasant, things too. The soft clicks of chess pieces being set down on a board, soap from a bath, the special oil he uses to keep his sword sharp and polished.

Cullen’s first time meeting Alda, she stank of elfroot and other healing herbs. She’s always dusty, dirty, sweaty from travels when she returns to Skyhold, but her fancy floral soap is intoxicating and every time he smells roses, she jumps to mind. And a thick wool scarf makes him recall the one she tied around his neck one winter before he had to head out in the snow to take the Mabari out.

15. How do they think each other sees the other, and is this different from their own view of themselves?

oooh, this is a tough question; and if anything; Alda would think that Cullen sees her as an exception to other Mages; and example to lead them by. Cullen hopes Alda sees him as competent and strong; not the pained mess he was when the lyrium withdrawal was at it’s worst.

In truth, Alda sees Cullen as a man who’s seen the worst humanity has to offer and he’s still standing. Parts of him might’ve shattered, but he’s still strong. He still possesses hope, honor, and compassion. Cullen sees Alda as a woman who doesn’t want to be the so-called ‘Chosen One’ but takes the mantle and leads with grace and a sharp mind.

Their actual views aren’t that different.

25. Share any headcanons about their relationship.

WELL MY FRIEND THERE ARE A LOT

there is a slight rivalry between Blackwall and Cullen over Alda because both of them admire her

they are known to use dry wit and jibes over the war table, for example, Alda: “Cullen, I must say admit that I overheard you and Varric talking, and I agree with Varric. You do look far to serious.” Cullen has his own remarks to spark playful outrage, one of which is “perhaps we should ask Lady Trevelyan about the subject. The Free Marches are known for their… old-fashioned tastes.”

Leliana is secretly very invested in getting them together and plays matchmaker and is responsible for various instances, including:

“The Inquisitor and Commander were accidentally locked in the wine cellar somehow”

“The Inquisitor and Commander were locked in the stables together”

“The Inquisitor and Commander went on a mission but were shorted a bedroll”

“The Inquisitor and Commander both had separate accidents where perfume/cologne were spilled on them before a meeting.’

Alda turns the Lucky Coin into a pendant and wears it around her neck. When she’s nervous over Cullen, she plays with it and sometimes it’s pressed to her lips in a clenched fist. Cullen doesn’t know she’s turned it into a necklace until they sleep together, and she takes off her tunic and there’s the coin, hanging around her neck.

When Sera put an entire beehive in Cullen’s training dummy, he got stung on the back of the neck and Alda insisted on checking it, even after he saw a healer. “You’re lucky it isn’t swelling and too painful,” she says. Cullen looks at her in confusion because the average bee sting shouldn’t. As it turns out, Alda is allergic to bee stings.

Alda as an enormous fear of deepstalkers, thanks to some getting into the Ostwitck Circle when she was about nine and chasing after her when she snuck to the kitchens for hot chocolate. She was found the next morning locked in the pantry and sobbing. In Skyhold, some deepstalkers get into the dungeons and the whole of Skyhold is treated to seeing Alda run screaming with blind fear out of the dungeons before she blasts the dungeon door with enough lightning to petrify it. Cullen teases her lightly about it a few days later.

Sera tried to convince Cullen that women love dirty talking to ‘get in the mood’ so Cullen tried to ask Varric for one of his romance books to teach himself how to talk dirty. The end result was Varric laughing for hours at Cullen taking that suggestion from Sera and telling the poor Commander than Alda is not one of those ladies.

they are both cuddlers in bed; Cullen sleeping on his belly, arm outstretched and draped possessively over Alda, one ankle hooked around one of her feet. She’s got one of her arms over his, sleeping on her side and facing him.

Each of them have little memento boxes filled with things that remind them of the other. A lock of Alda’s hair, tied in a bright ribbon, the end of a broken pommel of a sword he’d once used, initials C.S.R. carved into it.

There’s always a chess game going on in their room; sometimes it takes weeks for them to finish it, sometimes they’re done within an hour.

Cullen rarely travels to go on missions but he goes to South Fereldan to the Fallow Mire to help rescue the soldiers that’ve been taken hostage. As they approach a village on the way there, children come running towards them and offer the Herald of Andraste flower crowns and smiles. Alda wears the crowns, and those that don’t fit her head get braided into her horse’s mane. She gives on to Cullen and he’s too enthralled with how pretty she looks to say no.

A rumor goes around Skyhold that Alda and Dorian are an item and Dorian cackles at it because Alda isn’t his type and Alda has to admit she’s seeing someone

Alda and Cullen keep their relationship hidden so well that any rumor about them is as believed as rumors of her and Dorian or Cullen and Cassandra (that is to say, no one believes any rumors but some are favorites). Only Leliana knows the truth (and Alda and Cullen, naturally). Alda’s parents keep trying to play matchmaker for her and Cullen’s mother and sisters write the occasional letter on how lovely some ladies in the Inquisition must be; are any special to him? And of course, Josie s constantly getting marriage proposals for the two of them in the mail.

27. What makes you excited about their relationship?

literally everything because of the angst and devotion and affection they have for the other

#da:i #Cullen Rutherford #Alda Trevelyan #asks

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thehallofgame · 8 years ago

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Review: Resident Evil 4

Release: 2005

My Rating: 8.5/10

Resident Evil Review Series: 6/11

Review Under the Cut:

Resident Evil 4 is easily the most popular and enduring game in the series. Interestingly, it doesn’t have too much in difference with its predecessors or follow-ups but somehow it managed to get just enough right to snare a broader audience than usual. It still gets ported to every new system like clockwork and maintains enduringly positive reactions. After playing it for the first time (I don’t know how I managed to avoid playing it this long, either. I’d played virtually every other game in the series.) I have to say that while Resident Evil 4 is a good game there’s probably a serious case of nostalgia goggles going around when people talk about it.

RE 4 did make some really bold changes, at least for this series which clings to its roots like a tree hanging off the side of a mountain. Discarding the frayed and broken plot threads left after Code Veronica the fourth numbered entry in the series left Umbrella Incorporated behind and let several years pass. Leon S. Kennedy, former hero of Resident Evil 2, returns with a brand new middle initial, personality transplant and fresh career. He’s somehow gone from rookie police officer and disaster survivor to elite Secret Service Bodyguard/ Special Forces Operative… It doesn’t make much sense, but at least Leon is consistent. Once again he’s starting his new job with a flaming disaster.

The President’s daughter was kidnapped on her way back from university and Leon, her newly minted protector, is dispatched alone to rural Spain to retrieve her. Once he arrives there his local police backup is quickly dispatched by an angry mob of glowing eyed, pitchfork bearing villagers. It turns out that the entire region is controlled by an isolated cult called Los Illuminados. The cult isn’t much for science so the zombie causing T-virus doesn’t make an appearance, but they do have the next best thing: Las Plagas.

Mechanically the Las Plagas zombies are the same as traditional zombies but because the Plaga is a parasite that takes over living people and binds them to the cult leader’s will there’s a deeper level of psychological and body horror taking place in this game than in the past. But don’t let that fool you into thinking this game takes itself seriously, or at least does any sort of job at making itself look like it’s taking itself seriously. Leon was mostly silent in the past, but now he cracks off color wisecracks and spreads Han Solo style sarcasm liberally on every conversation he encounters. Ada Wong also returns from Resident Evil 2. Her role in the core game is limited as she’s presented as a shadowy figure on a secret mission of less patriotic intent than Leon’s, but after completing the game two additional short adventures are unlocked to play as Ada.

They are joined by Louis Sera, a mysterious gunslinging Spaniard who’s also being hunted through the hills and ruins by the cult, and Ashley Graham, daughter to the president. It is ultimately Ashley who takes the role of sidekick in the game whilst Louis and Ada breeze in and out as the story requires.

Leon reunites with Ashely early in the story and the rest of the game is an extended escort mission. Luckily the escortee is an adult and written like one so her character doesn’t grate nearly as much as it could. Ashley is tough, smart, charming and surprisingly well spoken for a Capcom character. The doesn’t nearly make up for her being a fragile liability the entire game, but it helps.

Tonally, Resident Evil 4 was the logical conclusion to the experiments Capcom performed in Code Veronica. The camera angle now firmly shifts to an over the shoulder shooter which, when combined with a red laser beam for sighting, massively improves the ability to aim over previous games. The only hang up is that said camera controls can be a little stiff and fiddly.

Furthermore the game also uses tone and audio manipulation to its great advantage. For long stretches of the game music will play softly, only to gradually fade out to tense silence until the player chances to glance behind Leon and realize he has become surrounded by murderous villagers. Elite enemies have their own sounds that are used to signal their approach and make the player nervous. Those range from maddening, repetitive chanting of priests to quiet snuffling from faceless terrors.

Despite having a new source of shuffling zombie nonsense Resident Evil 4 doesn’t skip on the inexplicably grotesque and over-sized abominations sent to track Leon down. There are massive set-piece bosses, giant invisible roaches and swollen, shambling humanoids that regenerate all damage until multiple parasites are shot out of their bodies. Omnipresent, however, are the hordes of villagers. They follow behind like a bad cold. If a cold carried improvised weaponry and could take multiple bullets to the head without going down. So not much like a cold at all, really.

The villagers aren’t much in a fight, they’re slow and retain only a rudiment of intelligence. What they can do, however, is pick Ashley up and start dragging her away. As the president’s daughter doesn’t carry any weapon at all it is up to Leon to reach her before the zombie manages to carry her from the room. If the zombie gets away with the girl it’s an automatic game over (which is a little frustrating because Ashley is kidnapped and retrieved multiple times throughout the game’s story) and there is most definitely friendly fire so it takes a bit of care to line up the perfect shot to hamstring the villager without harming Ashley. You can order her to follow Leon or wait in safety. Occasionally Ashley can be ordered to hide to in a safe place during combats, or is needed to squeeze into tight places or be lifted to high ledges and openings. The game exploits these necessitates by having sniping sections to protect Ashley or by spawning enemies in the hallway the player left Ashely in while they went into the suspiciously large and empty room to fight the boss.

Resident Evil 4 was also the culmination of the fast paced combat the series had been inching toward since Resident Evil 3. While the player still cannot move while aiming their gun the ability to aim freely and reload without opening the menu screen allowed for a more uninterrupted combat. This is augmented by the ability to switch from a firearm to the combat knife by tapping the left shoulder button for melee takedowns and to smash open crates and pots for item drops. The game also introduced a quicktime mechanic in combat to perform a kick or grapple on a close enemy by pressing the x button, but unfortunately combat was often too busy and cluttered, and the window to press the button, too short to make the physical take downs particularly useful.

This game also jumped headfirst into the quick time event movement. Cutscenes and traps found while exploring are riddled with prompts to jab one or more buttons at once, or mash another button non-stop for extended periods.

That’s too bad because it could reduce the impact of several involved, difficult and well scripted encounters which this Resident Evil has more tools to fight than ever. Whilst a limited inventory makes a return Resident Evil 4 makes the available space much bigger to make up for the lack of any sort of storage system. There are several guns to choose from: the traditional handgun, shotgun and magnum as well as sub machine guns, sniper riffles and a “mine thrower” which shoots explosive darts. There’s also several one-use rocket launchers scattered throughout the game which are ideal for knocking down bosses. The problem with this is that enemies drop ammunition in response to the weapons you have in your inventory or those the player is about to acquire through the story and so in late game this can lead to an inventory choked full of small handfuls of every bullet type, and unlike previous games the player cannot reload from the inventory menu. Instead every gun must be equipped individually and refilled.

The glut continues with three types of grenades: flash, frag and incendiary which are different levels of efficacy against different enemies. Healing items also appear here, which includes the traditional first aide sprays and herbs (with a new gold herb that increases Leon or Ashley’s max health) as well a chicken eggs that restore just a bit of health. Thankfully keys, puzzle pieces and loot that can be sold at the store are in their own, separate inventory.

The store is a new mechanic for Resident Evil, but a useful one. A mysterious hooded and glowing-eyed merchant travels along the same path as Leon and sells weapons, scopes and stocks for those weapons as well as performance upgrades for the guns Leon owns. Occasionally the merchant also offers special items like larger inventory capacity and treasure maps that allow Leon to track down more saleable valuables.

While not perfect RE 4 ends up being a much tighter and more polished experience than past entries. The new story and quip slinging hero provided a convenient jumping in point for those who hadn’t played earlier entries in the series without losing the signature nonsense that give the series its B-movie charm. The game is fun, just a bit scary and difficult without being too punishing. Players won’t get stuck for long but will probably feel a solid sense of achievement after dropping sprawling, tentacled monsters. All in all it really is one of the best times to be had in the series, and certainly the most mainstream thus far. Was it the mind blowing horror experience I’d been led to believe? No. But it was more than worth tracking it down.

#resident evil 4 #video game review #resident evil review series #long post

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entergamingxp · 5 years ago

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The 7 Resident Evil Side Characters Who Need Their Own Game

April 14, 2020 3:00 PM EST

After Carlos stole the show in Resident Evil 3, here are the other series’ characters that I think deserve their chance to shine.

While playing through Resident Evil 3 for review, I was constantly impressed by everything Capcom did with Carlos Oliveira. I never had the pleasure of playing the original RE3 release, but I’d always heard mixed reactions surrounding the U.B.C.S. soldier. In the remake, I was left wanting to know more about Carlos, wishing they’d added a few other segments that let you play as him.

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This got me thinking about how good the Resident Evil team is at creating intriguing side characters with stories that I want to explore even deeper. Obviously, below is my personal list of the Resident Evil characters that I hope will get their own game. If you have some of your own, feel free to sound off in the comments.

Billy Coen and Rebecca Chambers

Okay, hear me out. Yes, Billy and Rebecca had starring roles in Resident Evil 0, but if there are any two starring role characters that need more screentime, it’s these two. Rebecca is one of the more interesting characters in the entire Resident Evil series. She’s a child prodigy thrown into a biological warzone. Seeing her next to hunky super commandos like Chris Redfield makes her appear incredibly weak. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The younger B.S.A.A. operative is a hyper-intelligent chemist who has more than proven herself in several different zombie conflicts. The way she’s portrayed as a relatively innocent young girl makes her stand out in the sea of macho commando-types that make up most of the Resident Evil character list. She doesn’t necessarily need to be playable, but we need more Rebecca in future RE games.

Billy, on the other hand, needs another game. The former prisoner was last seen heading into the Raccoon City woods just before the Arklay Mansion incident. Did he survive? If so, what in the world is he doing? Surely, a former marine with experience fighting the undead would come in handy in a time of need. Honestly, I had a lot of hope that Billy would reappear during the events of Resident Evil 7. A derelict Louisana plantation seemed like the perfect place for a man like Billy to hunker down and restart his life. Maybe Resident Evil 8 will finally bring us some closure.

Luis Sera

Unlike Billy, Luis’ fate is much less ambiguous. The way Saddler’s scorpion tale bursts through his chest left no doubt. While we’re on the subject, where does that tail go? It’s like 15 feet long and while Saddler’s robes are relatively bulky, you’re not hiding an extra-long pointy appendage under there. Even if you assume it sucks up into his bum, it still doesn’t make any sense.

That aside, Luis is one of the more interesting characters in Resident Evil 4. He’s a renowned biologist who helped research Las Plagas. After seeing the effects of the virus, he turned against Saddler and his cult, helping Leon take them down. With him being dead in the series’ canon, his game would probably be what happens with him before RE4. Of course, this being Resident Evil, there’s nothing saying he can’t just pop back up in RE8 as a fun surprise. Either way, Sera is one of two characters from RE4 that I’d like to see make a comeback.

Barry and Moira Burton

Again, two characters who have been playable before in Resident Evil Revelations 2. However, their story ends with a super intriguing plot point that I really want Capcom to dig into more (spoilers for Revelations 2 ahead). At the end of Revelations 2, the Burtons have adopted Natalia Korda to their family. What they don’t know is that Natalia has had the digital consciousness of Alex Wesker implanted inside her. The game ends with a hint that Wesker might slowly be gaining complete control.

Plus, why not get more of Resident Evil’s best dad? Listen, dad jokes are in right now and there’s no one better than Barry at delivering cringeworthy quips. From famous lines like “Jill Sandwich” and “Master of Unlocking” to his ridiculous moveset from Resident Evil 5’s Mercenaries mode, Barry is a socks and sandals combo from being your weird uncle. Please Capcom, give us more of him. Moira is less fun, but if we can’t get a playable Barry, I would also accept seeing her embarrassment anytime she has to be around her dad. Like, give me a scene of Barry and Moira at a diner with Barry trying and failing to make jokes to the waitress. It would be the icing on the cake.

Josh Stone

The legend himself. Above I talked a little bit about Barry Burton’s moveset in RE5’s Mercenaries mode, but he has nothing on Josh Stone. Capcom basically took all of your favorite WWE stars’ signature moves and gave them to Josh. It’s amazing. He can take zombies to Suplex City, throw a Macho Man-like elbow drop, and even deliver a chokeslam that would make The Undertaker shed a tear. There just isn’t a more over-the-top character than Josh Stone.

Now, that introduces the concern that maybe he doesn’t fit into the more grounded direction the series is trending in. And maybe you’re right. However, I’d love to see what they could do with him in a modern RE game. He is so absolutely ridiculous, that it seems a shame to contain him to just one game.

Carlos Oliveira

The inspiration for this list, Carlos is such a joy in the Resident Evil 3 remake. His sections feature some great callbacks to RE2 and are a blast to play through. He comes equipped with an assault rifle and a mean right hook. After playing relatively stealthily as Jill Valentine, you just get to unload into zombies with Carlos. It’s one of the most satisfying feelings I’ve had in the RE games.

His story after RE3 is pretty much a complete mystery. He says goodbye to Jill and is never seen from again. That’s a shame. He was never going to be Leon levels of awesome, but the way Capcom just discards playable characters like Billy and Carlos needs to stop. Obviously, you can’t just reuse every character in every game, but the world needs more Carlos and less Chris. Maybe that’s controversial, but I want more variety in my Resident Evil.

April 14, 2020 3:00 PM EST

from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2020/04/the-7-resident-evil-side-characters-who-need-their-own-game/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=the-7-resident-evil-side-characters-who-need-their-own-game

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theconservativebrief · 6 years ago

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The boy meets the girl, just like he always does. He falls in love with her, and after a brief and frenzied courtship, she falls in love with him too. There are setbacks and hardships, but the story is headed where you expect: toward bliss. Toward an easy, uncomplicated love. Toward marriage and family, even.

This is the framework for a million, million stories, throughout human history. It is also the framework for Lifetime’s new drama You, based on the novel by Caroline Kepnes and adapted for TV by Sera Gamble and Greg Berlanti. The brilliance of You (my favorite new series of the fall) comes from how relentlessly it grounds you, the viewer, in the age-old story you already know, in order to tell you a different but related one that has been happening all around you for ages, maybe without you even noticing it.

The boy who meets the girl in You is Joe, played by Penn Badgley; the girl is Beck, played by Elizabeth Lail. And even their casting is primed to help you understand what the show is attempting to subvert. Badgley is well-known to TV fans for his six seasons on Gossip Girl (his character Dan was eventually revealed, believe it or not, to be the titular character). Lail, meanwhile, isn’t exactly a newcomer — she had a stint on Once Upon a Time — but she’s not the face you recognize in the cast, not the person Lifetime built the ad campaign around.

The resulting disparity in who we instinctively trust, as viewers, is part of what makes You so devilish and terrific. Joe reveals himself (to the audience, at least) as a stalker at his earliest opportunity, first invading Beck’s life to find out what she wants in a guy and then turning himself into that very guy. And if he can slowly isolate her from the rest of her support network at the same time, well, that too could serve his purpose.

Again and again, You demonstrates the monstrousness of Joe’s reasonable nature. He cannot understand Beck as anything other than an adjunct to his story, because stories where men are the focus and women mostly exist to support them are the stories he’s been told his whole life. And because You situates us firmly in Joe’s point of view, via narration and other tricks, it leaves us no real exit from that perspective.

Joe wants so badly to make Beck’s life perfect and to make himself perfect for her that he fails to recognize that even her bad choices are her choices, her questionable taste is her taste, her two-faced friends are still her friends. He tries to rob her of the luxury of making her own mistakes, of the ability to have a story that is not his.

By the time we finally get to see this story through Beck’s point of view, we’re so desperate to escape Joe’s toxicity that it’s almost a relief — but we can still feel his poisonous attraction all the same. He’s right there, and he smiles so kindly. What could go wrong?

I’ve thought about Joe a lot these past few weeks.

The angry behavior of Les Moonves (left) and Brett Kavanaugh made headlines over the last several weeks. Getty Images

Outwardly, former CBS head Les Moonves and newly confirmed Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh don’t have all that much in common. Kavanaugh is a prep school alumnus and an Ivy Leaguer and a die-hard conservative jurist. Moonves attended the small Pennsylvania college Bucknell University and later became a massively powerful entertainment executive who occasionally gave money to Democratic political candidates. They operated in entirely different worlds, at least superficially.

But what links Kavanaugh and Moonves, for me, is their belligerence, their obvious inability to understand what it means that others have accused them of terrible things. The accusations of sexual misconduct leveled against Kavanaugh have been national news for the past several weeks, while those made against Moonves are already slipping into our collective memories. But the acts that men both have been accused of — and which both men have roundly denied — involve women and sexual misconduct and an abuse of privilege and power. This is America, 2018. You already know the rest of the story.

But I’m not here to adjudicate what these men might have done all those years ago. Instead, what I’m interested in is the similar fury that both men displayed upon having to deal with an adversity they hadn’t expected. Moonves angrily denounced the investigations into him, saying that the numerous accusations of sexual misconduct against him, reported in the pages of the New Yorker, simply didn’t happen. Kavanaugh effectively threw a temper tantrum in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee, as the whole country watched.

Both men were used to thinking of themselves as protagonists, not just of their own stories but of the stories involving everyone else they came in contact with. They had such tremendous power and privilege that they could ruin lives in a fit of pique — and they were part of entire systems that were set up not only to protect them by default, but to reward them for having done it.

This inability of rich, usually white, usually straight men to see that there are stories beyond their own has been at the center of the #MeToo movement more broadly. Rather than seeing the world as a series of interlocking tales that occasionally feature them in a major role but mostly feature them as extras (if at all), they are primed to see it as a series of stories about them, moving forward through their lives, attaining their goals, crushing those who would oppose them. #MeToo has complicated that narrative for at least some men, but one needs only to read news reports of Louis C.K.’s comeback standup sets to understand that many of these figures will come to see the revelation of their misconduct as a minor adversity to overcome, not something that shattered their entire lives.

Straight white men in America are taught that they are the protagonist of the story from birth. Their number includes me — I’ve always intuitively understood myself as the protagonist too. And this mindset has only become more ingrained in the past 20 years. Under Moonves, CBS became America’s most powerful network, but also went from broadcasting shows like Murphy Brown and Designing Women to mostly being a place where women were corpses, whose murders were solved largely by steely, determined men, with occasional help from quippy female sidekicks.

What is the fallout of this? What does it mean to have an entire class of people, already clothed in power and privilege, understand themselves primarily as the center of every story? How much of the turmoil of the past 10 years can be understood through this lens — from men who get furious at the thought of having women generals in their video games to a president who openly brags about committing sexual assault?

We have problems with power and privilege in America, 2018 — that’s to be sure. But we also have problems with our protagonists.

The cast of Criminal Minds awaits its summer TCA press tour session in 2005. Frederick Brown/Getty Images

In July 2005, journalists who attended the Television Critics Association summer press tour had one major, pressing question for the producers of that year’s new fall dramas: What was with all the violence against women?

It was an odd moment for TV drama, split between three major movements. The first, represented by ABC’s Lost and Desperate Housewives (which were then at the end of their first seasons), suggested that what viewers wanted were buzzy serialized shows about colorful characters in unusual situations. The second, represented by pretty much everything on CBS at the time, suggested that viewers wanted grim, “realistic” crime dramas. And the third, represented by HBO’s The Sopranos and FX’s The Shield, suggested that viewers wanted dark stories about antiheroes who indulged viewers’ vicarious appetites for horrible deeds performed with ruthless efficiency.

None of these trends was the “correct” one; TV audiences have always wanted shows that break new ground, but not too much of it. Yet of the three, the one that broadcast networks could most easily grasp was the one that suggested gritty crime procedurals, often with violence directed toward women, was what viewers were most drawn to. And looking at the hits of the era — which included the CSI franchise and Law & Order: SVU (still on the air today) — it’s pretty easy to see why they drew that conclusion.

Things came to a head at the press tour, however, as multiple reporters kept asking why so many of the networks’ new shows featured graphic scenes of women being tortured and abused, often right alongside the objectification of nubile bodies. The worst offender was Fox’s Killer Instinct, which featured a woman being paralyzed by spider poison and then raped by an intruder before the poison finally killed her. The show was ultimately canceled after just nine episodes.

But another new show that critics pointed to at that 2005 press tour as an example of this dark trend is still on the air today, and entering its 14th season: CBS’s Criminal Minds, whose pilot saw a woman get abducted and imprisoned in a cage, then raped and murdered. Journalists wanted to know: Why?

In response, the show’s producers and creator Jeff Davis mostly hemmed and hawed about how the story was based on a real case, and how the most horrifying thing viewers actually saw in the episode involved the woman’s fingernails being clipped. But instead of meaningfully answering the question, executive producer Mark Gordon offered a sarcastic quip that felt like an irritating brush-off in 2005 and feels slightly more telling today.

“There was actually a mandate from the network saying we want only shows that perpetrate violence against women. We’re just trying to get on the air. We’re doing the best we can,” Gordon snarked at the press conference. (Reporters pushed back on his comment, saying the topic wasn’t a joke to them, but Gordon’s response was the best anyone was going to get.)

I’m not dredging up this old quote this to attack Gordon. He’s just one of those producers who looks at what’s popular and develops programming accordingly. But I do think it’s notable that Criminal Minds aired on a network built by Les Moonves, who saw how popular CSI became and then filled his lineup with near carbon copies, consistently pushing the darkness and violence — especially against women — to further and further limits.

Viewers eventually got tired of the darkest of these shows, gravitating instead to slightly lighter fare like NCIS. But even then, popular CBS series like Blue Bloods were advancing a stalwart belief in the primacy and supremacy of white cops when it came to matters of police brutality, as Laura Hudson (now of Vox sister site The Verge) pointed out at Slate in 2014. And it wasn’t as if NCIS was free of stories that positioned women primarily as victims, and where at best, a woman could be the second or third lead, backing up a stoic, stalwart man who was brave and bold enough to stare into the face of darkness until it blinked.

How much of this programming was driven by what viewers wanted to watch in the wake of 9/11, when television took a darker turn in general? And how much of it was driven by what executives like Moonves cynically believed the audience wanted?

To be fair, there’s a cyclical element here — CSI was a surprise hit, after all, and surprise hits almost always get copied across the dial. But to become a surprise hit, you first have to make it to the air. And over the past 20 years, no network has had a worse record of telling stories centered on characters who aren’t straight white men than CBS, a trend the network has only finally broken this fall. What does it say about a culture when by far its most popular television network is dominated by shows where women serve primarily as support systems, quirky comic relief, and victims?

The specter of Tony Soprano looms large. HBO

All of the above is an indictment of how much of America’s recent pop culture has been rooted in the behavior of toxic men. Whether you want to point to the numerous Oscar-winning movies produced by Harvey Weinstein, or the TV series that Les Moonves greenlit, or the toxic attitudes toward women that Kevin Spacey made seem almost reasonable in American Beauty, you’ll find ample evidence that it’s a prevailing theme.

But it’s not like American culture’s fascination with toxic men is new. Indeed, it dates back to the inception of the nation, though it really took root in the 20th century and later. Many of our finest novels are about white male asshole protagonists, and most of the great films of the 1970s — often thought of as the single best decade for American moviemaking — are about troubled white men in tight spots, who fight their way out of those spots.

Some of those films are about the complicated relationship of assorted white ethnic groups to the larger American mainstream (The Godfather being the most obvious example), while others are notably troubled by their male characters’ dark and violent tendencies (Taxi Driver, for instance). But taken together, they presented an unmistakable trend toward grim violence being more “realistic.”

Even in cases where they offered nuanced takes on these tricky topics, it’s not as though they haven’t been stripped of context and filtered throughout the culture as something else entirely. Think, for instance, of how the one thing most people know about Taxi Driver is the “You talking to me?” scene, which is presented as a kind of lonely ritual in the film itself and has mostly become something vaguely “cool” since being removed of its context by the culture at large. (Critic Amy Nicholson and Taxi Driver writer Paul Schrader reflected on the ways that film has warped and changed in this 2018 interview.)

But what I keep coming back to again and again as I think about what our most popular art says about our culture is TV’s antihero era, which began in earnest with 1999’s The Sopranos. It featured lots and lots of stories of white guys who took what they wanted, at any cost, with very little thought for how others might react to their all-consuming appetites.

These series are among the best in TV history. They include shows like The Sopranos and The Shield and Breaking Bad and Mad Men. They marked a shift in the cultural conversation, where TV came to occupy the prestigious position that film had once enjoyed, where television seemed to have surpassed movies in its ability to tell compelling stories aimed at adults. My life as a TV viewer would be vastly poorer if they didn’t exist.

And yet since the election of President Donald Trump, I can’t look at them without thinking of him.

This is an incredibly difficult topic to discuss, because of course The Sopranos didn’t create Donald Trump any more than Criminal Minds did. The HBO series, rich and evocative, was always at least partially about how much Tony Soprano’s appetites and behaviors were causing the ruination of his very soul.

The best antihero dramas of the early 2000s, like the best great films of the ’70s, were cautionary tales, deeply moral stories about how, in some ways, the men at the center of them stood in for an America — or at least a white male America — that couldn’t stop gobbling up everything it saw. The shows suggested, always, that even if their protagonists didn’t get their comeuppance onscreen, it was coming, unless they could change their ways. Only a handful of those protagonists, most notably Mad Men’s Don Draper, eventually came close to doing so.

But even now, these shows leave open the question of just how we’re supposed to grapple with the idea that many viewers will always see them as instruction manuals, or as validation of dangerous ideals. What are the takeaways for an audience that doesn’t want to dig into the moral and ethical nuance of The Sopranos and just wants to see Tony whack more enemies, or that believes Skyler White is the true villain of Breaking Bad?

This divide is not unique to our era — it’s as old as any art that depicts protagonists who don’t always do the right thing, which is to say it’s as old as fiction itself. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we’ve capped an era full of white male antihero protagonists with a president who feels like he might as well be the main character of an antihero drama in some other universe, where viewers thrill at how he always dances one step ahead of the forces that would bring him down, cheered on by toadies and sycophants who eagerly abandon principle in the face of finally grasping power.

This is also a delicate dynamic to talk about because the surest path toward boring, bland art is to insist that it be morally, ethically, socially, and politically palatable. We need shows like The Sopranos and Breaking Bad to help us ponder the darkness within humanity, and within ourselves as individuals. To insist that art conform to some code of righteousness is a shortcut to making art that’s not worth thinking about.

Plus, I should note that as a critic, I’m part of a community that has been hugely responsible for the rise of white male antihero dramas — praising them to excess, hailing them as bold storytelling, building up an idea that a “good” TV show too often features a damaged guy who makes tough, dark choices and somehow escapes the consequences.

But at the same time, there’s been a bland sameness to so many of these shows for a decade now. Few of them still actively try to tell stories about what it means to give in to the darkness, to embrace the most selfish aspects of one’s inner being at the expense of others. And yet they keep getting made, and some of them even become minor hits (like Showtime’s Ray Donovan).

They continue to code what’s desirable in life as accumulating more things, more money, more enemies ruined, rather than trying to build something sustainable. They are stories of late capitalism — of a nation, an economic system, and a world unmoored. They reflect our culture’s shriveled soul, sure, but in consuming them, we also start to reflect them. They tell us who the protagonists are, and we’re only too happy to accept what they say, even when those protagonists keep wrecking everything.

When HBO picked up The Sopranos in 1997, it chose between that series and another, created by My So-Called Life creator Winnie Holzman, that centered on a woman business executive (as recounted in Alan Sepinwall’s history of the era, The Revolution Was Televised). And I note that here because the major executive in charge of making the final call on that decision was Chris Albrecht, now of Starz, who exited HBO in 2007.

He was asked to resign from the company after he was arrested for domestic violence.

Better Call Saul might show a better way forward. AMC

I’m not connecting these dots to suggest that any of our current culture is a conscious creation on the part of the TV industry, or pop culture, or the country. I’m also not suggesting that you should stop enjoying The Sopranos or Criminal Minds or any other dark dramas. (If I were saying that, I’d be a hypocrite; the complete series Blu-ray of The Sopranos is a centerpiece of my personal collection.)

What I am suggesting is that advocating for representation on TV and in films is not merely about painting an accurate, inclusive picture of the world we live in. Yes, we need more women antiheroes, more antiheroes of color, and so on — but we also need to think about how the stories we tell create long grooves in our culture, grooves that eventually crystallize into reflexive beliefs about who gets to be the protagonist and how they go about being that protagonist.

When the sorts of prestige TV shows and movies celebrated in our culture are, 99 times out of 100, stories of white male protagonists and accumulation, rather than stories of more varied protagonists and connection, it’s no great effort to see how they might set us on a path toward living those same stories ourselves.

The situation is not hopeless. Cheesy as it is, NBC’s This Is Us is a huge hit, and it’s all about building connections. The same goes for something like the 2016 Best Picture winner Moonlight, a film about what happens when you let the tough facade slip just a little to embrace the vulnerability underneath. Ditto for TV shows as disparate as AMC’s Better Call Saul, NBC’s The Good Place, and AMC’s The Terror.

And through its own protagonist, Lifetime’s You forces the audience to question why the stories we tell so often center on the viewpoints they position as the most important ones. Joe is both an avatar for our era and someone his TV show actively questions, over and over again, in its text and in its subtext. His mere existence forces viewers to rethink everything from the heroes of romantic comedies to the frequent depiction of women as helpless victims.

But we also have to ask why we aren’t telling more stories that don’t reflect this value system, that actively challenge capitalist greed, patriarchy, racism, homophobia, and other prejudices without becoming preachy and didactic. What would it look like to tackle these systems forthrightly, rather than with a sidelong wink? What would be the effect of presenting reality not as it is but as how it could be?

Utopias are always harder to tell stories about than dystopias, because dystopias can be fought against while utopias invite us to sink into their comforting excesses. But we’ve paid so much attention to stories where the greatest enemy is ourselves that it’s time to step beyond that framework, and to write new stories where the greatest enemy is a long history of systems designed to let those who have all the power maintain it at all costs.

As a critic and as a storyteller, I don’t pretend to know the answers, but these questions are worth struggling with, now and on into the future. If we’re going to make the world a better place, we have to imagine what that better place looks like. We have to imagine what it looks like when systems crumble, when connections and community come first, when we’re all aware that anybody, at any time, is the protagonist of their own story, not just riding alongside our own.

Original Source -> The Protagonists

via The Conservative Brief

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