#she draws everyone with a smile unless she hates them. including like. whistle who does not smile bc falmer conveying joy that way

[ehlnofay]

drawing stuff in efri's style was so fun so now I'm just drawing a bunch of characters how she would draw them... might mock up a few pages of her word-book at some point

[juju-on-that-yeet]

Afterwards

Whumptober Day 24: You're Not Making Any Sense (Yeah, I know I’m months behind on Whumptober, I’m still gonna finish it out and you can’t stop me >:c ) Prompt: Forced Mutism

Eric tries to get over what happened at the club with Tessa. But that's easier said than done, especially when a new trigger makes itself known. (continued from “Behind Closed Doors”)

Warnings: Panic attack, flashback, referenced sexual assault

Read on AO3 (Full Whumptober Series)

Enjoy!

~

The immediate aftermath of what happened at the club is fuzzy for Eric. It took until late morning the next day for the drug to wear off. He felt foggy for the rest of the day, even after Dr. Iplier released him from the clinic a few hours after he woke up.

“Hey, Eric,” Dr. Iplier had told him as he left, “If you ever need to talk about what happened, you can always come back.”

He’d said it quietly and gently, with a look on his face like he hoped that Eric would.

And maybe he will.

But not yet.

As far as Eric knows, precious few people know what happened that night. Most of the egos know the basics; that he had to spend the night in the clinic after going to a club with the Jims, and that whatever happened was very serious. But the Jims, Bim, Wilford, and Dr. Iplier are the only ones who know the full story. Not even Ed knows, which Eric feels a little bad about, what with how close they’ve gotten. But Eric isn’t about to tell him. It’s hard enough to bear the sad looks and sidelong, cautious glances of the five people who know, even if he knows they come from a caring place. Bim is fretful and awkward as he always is in a crisis, Wilford tries to address it but always fails. The Jims have become Eric’s twin shadows, attuned to his every move. Dr. Iplier exerts a gentle-but-present pressure on Eric to start actively processing his trauma, something Eric doesn’t think he’s ready for yet.

He thinks about what happened. A lot. Not even necessarily to imagine how it could’ve gone differently, what he could’ve done to prevent it – though he thinks about that sometimes, too. But usually it’s just a replay in his mind whenever there’s nothing else to focus on. He catches himself staring mindlessly into the mirror while he brushes his teeth or into his food while he’s eating. The whole scene, Tessa and everything she did, plays out over and over.

It could’ve been worse, Eric supposes. She could’ve raped him.

Even thinking that word makes him sick.

Despite this new layer of trauma on top of Eric’s other, older traumas, he starts to feel a little more like himself day by day. He’s still able to laugh, to smile, to find joy in his hobbies, his friends, and other things that distract him. He’s familiar, at least, with this stage of trauma; the long stretches of numbness broken up by genuine good moments. Someday the good moments will outweigh the bad again, Eric just has to get there.

But a couple weeks after the night at the club, Eric’s recovery snags.

He’s in a common area with the Jims and the younger Googles, all of them taking turns playing a video game together. Eric isn’t very good, and neither are the Jims, but everyone is laughing – except Chrome, though he does smirk every so often. They’re all having fun, including Eric. As RJ and Oliver are competing in a 1v1, someone else enters the room. Everyone looks towards the door to see Yandere, grinning a little as he watches everyone play.

“Hey,” he says, “Can I join in?”

Eric still finds Yandere a little scary, and so do the Jims, but he’s learned by now that Yandere is harmless to the other egos unless someone gives him a reason not to be. Truthfully, Yandere can be a lot of fun to hang out with at times. It helps that Chrome is already in the room for Yandere to flounce over to and playfully wrap his arms around. Yandere looks the same as ever, with one difference: He’s wearing dark lipstick, a deep, vampiric red, darker than his hair.

Eric immediately knows he doesn’t like it. Not that it looks bad or weird, but it suddenly puts Eric on edge in a way he can’t pinpoint. Especially when Yandere smiles mischievously at Chrome as Chrome takes in his appearance.

“That’s interesting,” he says neutrally.

“What, that’s all?” Yandere scolds playfully, smacking Chrome on the arm. The force of it probably would’ve hurt anyone else, but Chrome doesn’t even flinch. Though he does smirk a little.

“It’s a look!” Oliver says, looking away from the screen for a moment to give a thumbs-up.

“At least one of you is nice,” Yandere laughs. “How are we taking turns here? When can I play?”

“I was going next,” CJ says, “But you can go instead, since I’d be playing with Red Jim.”

Eric is only half-listening (and half-watching, in CJ’s case) to the conversation. He’s focused intently on Yandere’s lips, on how they look as they move, the strangely familiar way they smile and open to laugh. The laugh becomes a little awkward, and suddenly, Yandere is looking back at Eric.

“Uh, you good there?” Yandere asks, “Is my lipstick that interesting?” Chrome looks at Eric curiously, as do Plus and CJ. Eric’s cheeks turn red and he rushes to explain himself.

“I-I’m sorry! S-Sorry, I mean, I’m,” Eric stammers, “I j-just, I don’t r-really see, um, guys wearing l-lipstick very much. But it’s n-not bad! It looks, um, it’s good, but not l-like, oh geez–”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the whole truth. Eric doesn’t care at all that Yandere is a guy in lipstick. But he can’t find a way to explain how strange the dark color on Yandere’s lips makes him feel.

“It’s alright, Eric-kun, I get it,” Yandere giggles, no longer awkward. He pauses thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’ve never seen me in lipstick before, huh? I don’t wear it a lot, but makeup’s fun!” His eyes light up. “You’d look cute in makeup too, I bet!”

“O-Oh, um, I don’t know if I…” Eric trails off, uncomfortable. He immediately understands that he doesn’t want that at all, the same way he immediately knew that he hated the lipstick. Fortunately, Yandere only shrugs, taking no offense.

“Well, if you ever want to try it, I can help!” Yandere says brightly, “Aka-kun won’t let me do anything but paint his nails, and he only lets me use the same red as his shirt.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Chrome asks, “Any other color would clash.”

“No way!” Yandere exclaims, “I bet plenty of colors would look good, maybe even a different red!” His eyes glint with mischief, and he grins. “Maybe even something like the color I’m wearing. Hmmm…”

“Yandere–” Chrome begins, intuiting Yandere’s intentions.

He’s not fast enough to stop Yandere from leaning in and kissing Chrome’s cheek. Plus and Oliver laugh, and the Jims laugh too as Chrome sputters indignantly. Yandere pulls away, leaving a dark red stain on Chrome’s cheek.

“I was right, that color looks great on you~!” Yandere laughs.

“Gross,” Chrome mutters, wiping at the stain with the heel of his palm. The stain is stubborn, though, and stays well put.

Eric is staring. He can’t stop looking. His breathing is faster. The dark stain is sending him somewhere else, two weeks ago, at night in the bathroom of a club, a woman straddling his lap, dark lips coming towards his face, leaving stains all over him, drawing back to moan or giggle before coming close again and again –

Eric can’t even excuse himself, can’t make up a reason for leaving before he’s already gone, out of the room, away. He has to get away. If someone calls after him, Eric doesn’t hear them. He can’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears, over the club music pounding. He makes it to his room somehow, he doesn’t shut the door because he can’t be locked in again. He sits on his bed, curled up, because if he curls up no one can sit on his lap. He starts crying, shivering, he can feel Tessa’s mouth on him and it won’t stop –

Someone comes in cautiously, Eric hears his door creak open a little wider. Eric looks up to see CJ, looking at him with wide, worried eyes. There’s a long pause, during which Eric tries to come up with an excuse, even though he knows CJ wouldn’t be fooled. The silence stretches, and CJ eventually steps into Eric’s room, closing the door behind him. Eric realizes he wants the door open, just a little, that having it closed all the way is too much right now. It reminds him of that closed bathroom door, of being trapped and stuck. He opens his mouth to say as much, but nothing comes out. He can’t talk at all. His heart is too loud, his mind is too dizzy.

CJ comes to Eric, sitting on the other end of Eric’s bed, a few feet away. It’s close like Tessa was, but it also reminds Eric of when he was found, when CJ ran in and blew his whistle and rescued him. He feels like he’s there now, like his soft bed is the hard toilet seat, like the soft sunlight through the window is the fluorescent light in the bathroom. CJ signs something but Eric is too far in the past to understand. He’s breathing too hard but not getting enough air, he’s still crying but he’s hardly making any noise. CJ reaches out a tentative hand, lays it gently on Eric’s arm. It’s not rough, there’s no grabbing, there’s hardly any pressure at all. But to Eric it feels like a smaller hand, one with long, manicured nails, one that’s about to pull his arms away from around his legs so it can rub over his thighs to –

Eric jolts away from CJ, letting out a fearful cry. CJ pulls his hand away immediately, shocked. His eyes go huge, and Eric can see regret instantly cloud his face.

“I’m sorry,” he signs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

At least Eric can focus enough to understand CJ’s signing now. He still can’t talk at all, and he’s too afraid to uncurl enough to sign. He’s utterly speechless, too caught up in awful memory to communicate at all. He can see CJ’s hands in front of him but he can still feel a different pair of hands wandering over his body.

“Do you…do you need to be alone?” CJ asks.

If Eric knows CJ, he knows that CJ is asking this with the utmost reluctance. CJ would much rather stay with Eric until he knows his friend is okay rather than leave him, even if that’s what Eric wants. But he cares enough about Eric to ask anyway, and Eric knows that if he gives CJ any indication that he wants him gone, CJ will leave without thinking twice about it.

Maybe that’s why Eric shakes his head. He still trembles, a part of him is still afraid to be alone with someone in a closed room, but another part of him knows that CJ is safe. CJ relaxes a little, and offers a reassuring smile. At least, that’s probably what it’s supposed to be; mostly it just looks nervous.

They stay like that for a while, silent in the face of Eric’s still-running heart. It reminds Eric of that low morning when the Jims came to him and quietly sat by him, helping him gain the strength to face the day. It’s one of Eric’s better memories, and the rush of warmth that comes with thinking of it combats the chill of what else Eric is thinking of, the cold of the club restroom and the toilet seat Eric was sat onto. That cold is beginning to leave him, the hands rubbing over his body start to disappear. Thinking of kindness, having CJ here watching over him, and simply letting seconds pass away from his trigger all allow Eric’s heart to calm, allow him to start breathing easier.

“Do you feel better?” CJ asks.

“Yeah,” Eric replies. He still doesn’t trust his voice, he still prefers the quiet.

“Can I ask…what happened?” CJ’s fingers are uncertain and halting as he signs. “You don’t have to tell me, but…”

Eric doesn’t mind the question, and he can tell what CJ means: If he knows what triggered Eric so badly, he can avoid it, and protect Eric from it. It warms Eric all over again to know.

“It was…Yandere leaving a kiss mark on Chrome’s cheek.” Eric’s hands shake just a little as he remembers. “It reminded me of Tessa, all the lipstick stains she left on me.”

CJ winces. He must remember those stains, too. He tentatively, slowly, reaches out his hands to Eric’s, which are curled in his lap. This time, Eric doesn’t stop him, and lets CJ cover his hands with his own, and the two continue to sit in silence. But with CJ’s hands on his, Eric finds the silence even warmer, even kinder, even nicer. He thinks, suddenly, that he’s almost okay again.

As if on cue, someone outside knocks softly on Eric’s door.

“AJ, CJ, are you guys alright in there?” asks RJ’s voice. “Can I come in?”

Only a few minutes ago Eric was still too uncertain and nervous to speak. Now, though, he feels stronger, more secure, normal.

“Yeah,” he answers RJ. His voice is more quiet than he meant it to be, and for a moment he’s not sure if RJ even heard him.

But the door opens, and RJ pokes his head in, concern written all over his face. Eric can’t wave him inside with CJ’s hands still on his, so he smiles at RJ instead. RJ immediately smiles back, and happily comes inside. Like CJ, he closes the door behind him, but unlike with CJ, Eric no longer minds the closed door. Maybe later, he’ll let them know that he’d prefer the door slightly ajar before this happens again.

And it will happen again. Eric already knows that. There’s bound to be other triggers, bound to be other times that memories of what Tessa did to him swarm over him and make him afraid. But knowing that isn’t scary, at least, it’s not scary right now. Not with CJ sitting across from him, gentle hands squeezing Eric’s, and with RJ coming in to sit beside him and lean against him, providing a comforting pressure.

Someday, Tessa will fade into the background amongst Eric’s other traumas, and Eric will find his normal again. For now, he lets his head rest against RJ’s, lets his hands rest in CJ’s, and takes in their gentle care.

[greenishbucket]

holding you again

TIna and Quinn at a wedding.

 2.9k, ao3

Tina is trying really, really hard not to be bitter. Like, so hard.

It’s a beautiful wedding. The ceremony is a little heavy on the religion for her taste but it’s what Sam and Mercedes both want and they’re glowing with happiness in the colourful light from the stain glass windows as the priest talks on and on. If Tina’s honest she zones out a little until it gets to the ‘I do’ bit -- at which point she finds herself suddenly needing to swallow back a sob, gratefully accepting a tissue from Brittany, because some of her best friends are in love and just got married. Brittany pats her on the arm, as vaguely comforting as someone can be when they’re mostly preoccupied with delightedly wolf-whistling as Sam and Mercedes kiss with a lot more passion than Tina expected in a church.

The reception party is far more Tina’s speed, despite some lingering frustration with her carefully applied, and now ruined, supposedly-waterproof eye makeup: they relocate to a tall marquee, decked out in a classic colour scheme of lush pinkish reds and cream that Tina had helped Mercedes pick out over Skype months ago, with the marquee sides kept open to allow in the light and breeze of the clear summer evening and a DJ friend of theirs that Tina doesn’t know already in place between two stacks of speakers.

The music stays light and lowkey while they eat lest any ex-Glee Club, or any of Sam and Mercedes’ other friends for that matter, feel the unstoppable urge to sing mid-meal and it makes for a pleasant, slightly sleepy atmosphere at the evening draws in and the lights turn on. Some of the sleepiness may be relief, Tina thinks, following Santana’s delivery of the maid of honour speech all the girls had worked together on with no end of arguing; Santana’s near balance of cutting sarcasm and warm affection is met with laughter and applause and a kiss blown from Mercedes.

When Sam and Mercedes have their first dance Tina has to pull out Brittany’s crumpled tissue from her purse again because they’re radiant under the dancefloor lights, their hands gentle but sure on each other, and then she has to laugh around her tears when Sam pulls out the old body roll move and Mercedes acts like she’s embarrassed. Before long the dancefloor fills up with other guests and Tina hangs back a little when Mike is one of the first to join, held in place by the sting of their last unplanned fling that’s not quite passed despite the months and distance as well as the fact that technically Artie’s her date. It doesn’t last for long, however, with Blaine noticing her alone at the edge of the dancefloor and reeling her in to clasp her hand and spin her round like they’re still in high school.

But that was some hours ago now. Tina’s a little tipsier now and Blaine a lot judging from the way he’s dancing with Kurt, who’d pulled him away from her with the insistence that he had the right to enjoy his husband fully with a babysitter at home taking care of things. Artie vanished on her into the darkness some time ago with Kitty and she can’t begrudge him that since she's listened to the ins and outs of their on-off thing so often she's almost invested herself at this point. She knows if she checks her phone he’ll have texted to let her know, reassure her that he’s using protection this time – lesson learnt in college! – and tell her to get some herself, probably followed by six or so suggestive emojis.

Instead of anything like that, and in particular to avoid another messy night with Mike, Tina’s been dancing with all the children still awake enough for it, letting them stand on her feet and hold her hand in their cake-sticky ones as they chatter away alongside the music. Their interest in her dress or her carefully styled hair is uncomplicated and refreshing and their excitement at goings-on’s infectious but as the darkness really settles outside most become overtired and have to rest. Now from her table a few rows back from the dancefloor she looks over to the pile of sacked-out children in their miniature formal wear and feels a mixture of sadness that that chapter of life is still so far off for her and intense relief that it’s not a responsibility she has yet.

Tonight can be her own, whatever direction she chooses for it to take, and so can all the others after it. She has no one to stop her.

Tina is trying really, really hard not to be bitter about all the incandescent happiness around her and feel content with her own steady satisfaction where it sits deep in her chest. It’s a battle she’s been fighting for years as all her friends seem to find success with ease and true, deep love so swiftly and surely while she feels like every achievement is a thousand hours spent sewing sequins or learning lines, every love she feels too much or misdirected or inconvenient. Usually it’s not so hard but sitting here alone at Sam and Mercedes’ wedding, the jealousy rears its head with a ferocity she hasn’t felt in some time.

Tina’s horrified to feel herself getting tearful again and she’s about to try her luck finding the bathroom in the dark in high heels just to give herself a moment when someone sits in the seat beside her.

“Not dancing?” Quinn asks, body turned towards Tina in her chair like a welcome but the smile on her face almost cautious.

Tina really hopes she doesn’t look like she was about to start crying.

“Taking a break,” she says, “Dancing with the children means there’s a pretty early cut-off point.”

Quinn’s smile widens, “You know you could always dance with one of the grown-ups.”

Tina laughs, short and probably too bitter. “Yeah, right,” she says and that sounds bitter too so she changes the subject quickly: “How are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you yet today, or for ages actually. Since the fall, right? Time passes so quickly these days!”

Quinn looks stuck for a moment, eyes searching Tina’s face like she’s confused, and her arm draws back from where it was resting on the table behind Tina’s chair. “Fall sounds about right,” she says.

Tina’s just tipsy enough that she’s acutely aware it’s not appropriate to look at the way Quinn’s dress does amazing things for her boobs and also tipsy enough that instead it’s hard to look away from the assured way she’s crossed one leg over the over, the way the gloss of the matching varnish on her fingers and toes matches her lipstick and the way all three are distracting. Her hair is shorter than it was last time Tina saw her and it makes her wonder what has changed in herself that Quinn might notice.

“I guess you must have moved on from that one production in Chicago,” Tina continues when Quinn doesn’t. “I heard really great reviews, it sucks my schedule with Artie meant I was stuck in LA the whole run. I’d have loved to see it.”

Quinn takes a long sip from the glass she has with her but looked pleased.

“It would’ve been wonderful to see you there,” she says, “but what you were working on with Artie looks innovative. I won't lie, mostly I find the things everyone gets up to kind of irritating, but I’ve had the premier date in my diary for months.”

“You’d come to the premier?” Tina asks, voice squeaking upwards.

Since Yale Quinn had been into theatre that Tina associated with words like deconstructed, organic, independent, minimalist. Facebook photos to be trusted, Quinn’s stuff usually takes place on stage that's level with the audience with little in the way of props or set. It explores abstract concepts and political ideology. Tina loves to watch it and admires it and it’s clear Quinn enjoys it but it isn’t what she can, or even wants to, create. It’s forceful in a muted way where Tina likes to really pack a punch with lots of colour and noise. It certainly isn’t the kind of mashup extravaganza her and Artie had got the green light on and have been pouring their souls into since.

“Well, I haven’t been actually invited to the premier,” Quinn says, coy.

“Oh my God, consider yourself invited!” Tina says, reaching out to hold Quinn’s arm with delight. “I’ll tell Artie to tell someone to put you down. Please come, unless you really meant you were just looking forward to the release and, oh God, do you hate red carpets? Is it really inconvenient?”

“No, no, I’ll be in Portland instead of the East coast and I love getting ready for red carpets,” Quinn reassures her, though Tina notes the avoidance of the carpet experience itself, “Just send me the details and I’ll be there.”

Tina squeezes Quinn’s arm rather than try and relay in words how much it means that someone she knows will be there, Artie notwithstanding, since everyone else including her own parents has replied they are regretfully busy. That’s what they get for a premier so near Christmas Eve, she supposes, and puts aside the wondering why Quinn won't be with her family for the holiday. Instead Tina focuses on how much she hopes Quinn likes it, her anxiety over the reception ratcheting up a few notches.

“Save me a ticket in Portland, I could come up and see you?” she suggests, unsure where Quinn’s boundaries lie but wanting to return the kindness and, if she’s honest, get to see Quinn act again. The last time was transformative and far too long ago, falling out of touch as is so easy when your group of friends is an entire high school glee club and theatre so often means travel and long hours.

“Tell me a date and the ticket’s yours,” Quinn agrees easily, cheeks going pink and her hands fiddling with her glass in a way that makes Tina think she’s maybe embarrassed her or made her embarrassed by herself. It’s a good feeling.

There’s a loud whoop and a cackle from the dancefloor and they both look over, Tina’s hand falling away from Quinn, to see Rachel laughing as both Mike and Jake try some of their dirtiest moves with her; the whoop comes from Jesse who is very red in the face and looks like he’s having the time of his life watching.

The jealousy rears its head again in Tina’s chest where it had been forgotten, distracted by Quinn and the amazement that her and Artie’s project has passed Quinn's unknown but high standards to be seen as not only passable but innovative. For a bit Tina had forgotten about loneliness and dissatisfaction, lost in the rush of validation mixed with the flustering remnants of whatever thing she thought her and Quinn had used to have at McKinley. It wasn't as if Quinn was Tina’s bi awakening or anything but she was the first girl whose touch Tina thought maybe lingered longer when they danced, whose smile always seemed brighter for her and always made her feel brighter.

It’s a weird place for the friendship to rest, even all these years down the line. Neither of them have ever said anything about it, though Tina’s sure Quinn must be aware of it at least.

“You and Mike?” asks Quinn after a pause wherein they both watch Jesse get in on the action, Tina feeling some kind of sick fascination.

“No,” says Tina and she makes herself look back to Quinn, who’s watching her with a carefully distant kind of concern. “No, definitely not. Not today at least.”

Quinn laughs. “Good, wedding hook ups are never a good idea even if with Mike I can see the appeal. Last time I did it was with Santana and God knows how we made it out of that intact. Unbreakable friendships, I suppose.”

Tina feels simultaneously validated because she’d told Sam that Quinn and Santana had hooked up then and he hadn’t believed her, and like she’s about to swallow her tongue because the thought of Quinn and Santana getting it on is quite a thought.

“Ghugh,” she eloquently manages in reply.

“Not that she’s an option this time around,” Quinn continues, mouth twisting into something a little wry and with a hint of just as much bitterness as Tina feels, “married and happy as she is, happy as I am that she is.”

“Her and Brittany are great together,” Tina agrees because that’s just common sense.

Quinn nods. “They are. But would you look at that, nearly everyone here married or dating, on track with their lives. Except you and me.”

Tina realises Quinn’s arm is resting along the table behind her again and this time it doesn’t feel as innocent or coincidental as before.

“I don’t feel like my life is off track,” Tina says honestly because, sure, bitter she might be but she doesn’t think her life is off track. Tina’s only in her twenties, she knows it doesn’t all need to be sorted even if she’d like it to be. It’s just lacking in some areas, like the uphill battle in the industry or things with Mike or the truth that the woman next to her has drifted into her mind in the gaps between every iteration of her relationships – a what if, always nagging. What if me and Quinn just–

Tina looks over at her and Quinn is searching her expression again. Tina doesn’t know if she wants to let her train of thought show or not.

“I don’t feel like my life is either,” says Quinn eventually. “I never thought I’d say that, but I don’t.” Her smile is wide and open and a little wondrous, like the realisation has only just really hit her, and Tina doesn't know how to look away or if she wants to. She doesn't want to. If anything, she wants to move closer and do whatever it takes to keep the smile in place, to keep the simple joy of it.  

“Exactly where we need to be,” says Tina, a moment too late but pleased by the idea for both of them. Maybe she’s somewhere a little beyond tipsy.

Quinn stands abruptly and holds out a hand to Tina.

“You look beautiful, Tina,” she says with a familiar bluntness and surety that still startles Tina all the same, “Dance with me.”

Tina takes her hand.

The dancefloor feels darker than out by the tables, the light blocked out by other bodies. Tina hadn’t realised she was cold until she felt the warmth of people dancing and the warmth of Quinn’s hand in hers, her body against hers. The wedding party is winding down, the music slow and romantic and giving them time for just one dance before it all wraps up.

The mood feels too strong for what is really her and Quinn’s first move towards each other but Tina thinks they manager to carve out their own smaller, untried but willing space within that. Both in heels, her face can still tuck into Quinn’s shoulder. She still smells like the same perfume she’s used since high school and it’s comfortable for Tina to rest her head there as they sway, wondering if she’s imagining Quinn pressing a kiss into her hair or if it really happens. She feels it again and knows she didn’t imagine it.

“I thought you said no wedding hook ups,” Tina says because this is great, this is wonderful, but she wants to know what to expect. She wants to know where the line is.

Quinn’s voice is huskier than usual and quiet enough, soft enough, that it’s just for them when she says, “Maybe it could be something more than a wedding hook up.”

Oh, Tina thinks, and she nods her agreement into Quinn’s shoulder like she’s suddenly a shy, stutter-faking kid again because she hadn’t realised she had this kind of depth of feeling bubbling away in some forgotten corner of her heart for all these years. Judging by the surprised edge to Quinn’s happy laugh in return, she hadn’t either.

Tina knows they’ll probably have sex tonight, isn’t blind to the chemistry between them or the way Quinn’s breath changes when they press close together or to her own desire for it to happen. She knows neither of them are particularly gentle with sex (although the idea of drawing it out slow over the night makes her stomach clench with heat and that’s one she saves for later), knows this gentle moment on the dancefloor won’t last forever. They have jobs and responsibilities, have whatever’s unresolved with Mike and whatever baggage Quinn no doubt carries with her, have occasionally abrasive personalities and bouts of bitterness that are sure to clash at some point.

Both of them are planners and Tina knows that if they do this, if they really do this, the uncertainties will weigh on both of them until they can be sorted. But for now it feels steady as anything. Tina lets Quinn sway with her, close and warm and both of them finally on the way to something, at the beginning of resolution, while the music plays and the lights twinkle overhead and the wedding comes to a close around them.

[tako-kola]

Battle of Assholes

((A splatoon fanfic, written by yours truely.))

((Featuring Arnick and Tetrox from @cafe-cardamari | @tamarinfrog))

((Taking a small break from re-drawing my OCs, how about another fanfic. Featuring Dewey and Arnick, duking it out. They're both assholes to begin with. As always, enjoy this fanfic reading.))

Arnick and Tetrox were shopping in Arowana Mall, again on a Saturday afternoon. Arnick was rather embarrassed after the visiting a women's underwear store. He doesn't want to be called a pervert, twice.

"C'mon, Nicky! Don't be such a grump!" Tetrox was snickering, while carrying her bag of purple underwear.

Arnick didn't respond to Tetrox. He was blushing, madly after he rushed out of the store. Sooner or later, he would hear whispers. Other squids might recognize him from Paradise Reef when he took a beating from a really pissed waitress.

Tetrox would cheer him up some more, but she heard a sweet melody. The music is coming from the music store in their direction. The purple octoling listened to the faint music with an intrigued expression on her face.

Arnick heard it, as well. He has good taste in classical music. From nostalgic songs from Mozart or Beethoven. He was no longer grouchy and listened some more.

"I know this tune.. Isn't that Moonlight Sonata?" Arnick asked. This song was one of Arnick's personal favorites.

"Moonlight-what now?" She turned to look at Arnick with a confused look on her face.

Arnick sighed and started to explain about this song. "It's a song, written by the name of Ludwig Van Beethoven. In human history, he's a talent composer and pianist. The legend still lives on to this day."

Tetrox was not listening to him, at the moment. Any kind of history such as humans, were very boring to her. Her face, brightened up with a toothy smiled. "C'mon, sugah! Let's get a closer look!" And with that, she grabbed Arnick's hand and towed him towards the music store. The music was getting, a bit closer. Several squids were watching the musician, playing Moonlight Sonata a electronic piano.

"T-Tetrox, hang on!" He cried, having his arm tugged away like two kids, fighting over a small toy.

The two, made to the small crowd of people in the store. Tetrox wanted to get to see the player. The person who is playing the piano was a pink inkling, sitting in front of the crowd. He was wearing a Classic Straw Boater hat and a Squidstar Waistcoat. Judging by his appearance, he's a 17 year-old high school student.

"Wow.. This kid is really talented.." He thought to himself. Arnick stared at the musician with a look of amazement. He'd admire a pianist with such great talent in music. Tetrox would share the same amazement as Arnick.

Once the song ended, everyone including Tetrox and Arnick were applauding. Tetrox was whistling, as she cheered him on.

The pink inkling seemed surprised on how, Tetrox acted towards him. He'd appreciate Tetrox's enthusiasum and bowed to the crowd. "Thank you all for listening. My talent is superb above all others, I know." He bragged.

Arnick stared at him with a blank expression on his face. He somewhat, reminds him of a certain enemy of his. The thought of Petal Splash's captain, Jonquil still disgusts Arnick to this day.

The crowd left the store, leaving Arnick and Tetrox with the pianist. Tetrox walked up to him with a grin on her face. "You play some nice music, sugah!" She complimented him.

"I'm honered to meet a new fan. What's your name, miss?" He asked. He was fixated on the octoling and not paying attention to Arnick who is standing, behind Tetrox.

"Th'name's Tetrox, sugah!" She extends an arm for him to shake. "Pleasure to meet ya!"

"Dewey. Dewey Berri." He would shake her hand, but he smooched Tetrox's hand and looked at her with a kind smile. "The pleasure is all mine."

Tetrox's eyes went wide, followed by a light shade of purple on her face. "M-My, my! Quite the gentleman, are you" She giggled, cutely.

Arnick was taken aback by the sudden approach from Dewey. It's not like, he's jealous or anything. But, it's bothersome to him.

"AHEM!!" Arnick cleared his throat to draw their attention to him. "I'd hate to interrupt, but we were just leaving." Sounding disappointed, Arnick pulled her away from Dewey.

"Nickyyy!! Don't be so ruuuude!!" Tetrox whined.

Hearing about Arnick's pet name, Dewey lets out a chuckle. "Yeah, Nicky. Lighten up."

Arnick glared at him. "The name is Arnick! Not Nicky!" He corrected him. He hated that nickname, worse than "Nice Ass". Whatever nickname it is, he still hates all of them.

"I know, who you are. You must be the Bamboozler that my team captain warned me about." Dewey leaned in further. He's very smug in person. "Tell me, Mr. Stilton. Grabbed any waitress's asses, lately?" Dewey also saw the video that Fynn showed him. It went viral for a whole year.

Tetrox couldn't help, but snicker like someone told her a really hilarious joke. Tetrox is the one who started the whole incident at Paradise Reef.

Hearing Dewey's question, Arnick was fuming. He wished, he could ignore the music store but he couldn't escape Tetrox's grasp. "Let me remind you that it WASN'T ME..!" He gritted his teeth, angrily.

Dewey seems to believe him. But the gossip is inescapable, today. "Whatever you say." Dewey shrugged. "So, what brings you two here?"

"We're just shoppin' for clothes." She still held out the bag of lady's underwear, which made Arnick blush in embarrassment. "After that, we're going to meet with Bella. Y'know, splattin' down every team in the Turf League."

Arnick cleared his throat. "Day after day, we haven't screwed up a single match." He proved his point.

"Of course, I've seen your playstyles." Dewey stepped closer to Arnick. "Especially, when you carry that dried-up plant with you. Pardon me for being blunt on other people's weapons."

"I beg your pardon?!" Arnick said, sounding very offended. "This dried-up plant is a legendary weapon! Unlike whatever weapon you use, this one is a fine work of art!"

"Unless, you have what it takes to prove me wrong." He stared at Arnick, face to face. Dewey is a bit, younger than Arnick. He'll mostly step to someone, bigger than him. "So, how about it? Wanna have a 1-on-1 duel?" He asked.

"But, where...?" Dewey pondered on which arena, they would battle at. With a snap of his finger, he got the ideal arena. "Ah, I know! How about, out there?" Dewey pointed out the outside arena in Arowana Mall. Then, he turned to Arnick. "I have to remind you, I use long-ranged weapons. You probably won't get close to me, on your own. But, it's worth a shot." He shrugged.

Arnick glared, back at Dewey. He can get closer to Dewey with his arms, tied behind his back. If he's correct, Dewey might be referring to a Charger. He stopped glaring at him. He extends a hand for Dewey to shake and he sealed the deal. "Fine, I accept your challenge. But, don't expect I'm going easy on you." Arnick still kept his unimpressed expression on his face when he looked down at him.

"Funny. I was thinking, the same thing." Dewey shook his hand, before letting go. Their faces were both in serious mode, while Tetrox was going to text Belladonna.

Standing outisde, Dewey was readying his Custom Jet Squelcher. He's going to keep Arnick at bay as best as he could. Dewey gazed into the middle. He felt a slight breeze through his tentacles.

"Who does he think he is..? Insulting such a legendary weapon... OH, the nerve..." Arnick was grumbling on the other side.

Tetrox was sitting on the spawn point. She bought some popcorn, before she went outside with him. "Well, he's not wrong. It needs some waterin'." Tetrox pointed it out, while snickering.

Arnick, quickly turned around and glared at Tetrox. His eye was twitching, slightly. "Who's side are you bloody on, anyway?!" He said, feeling more offended.

After making preparations, they were ready to battle one another. Once the referee blew the whistle, two squids except Tetrox rushed out of their spawn points.

The rules are as simple as Turf Wars but with a change. Whoever gets the most splats within 3 minutes, wins the match. Dewey made it to the middle, first. He did say, Arnick wouldn't get close to him. He covered the entire middle in pink.

Arnick was coming up from the left and spotted Dewey. "Think you can camp from me..? I'll have to teach you some ma-" As soon as he finished his sentence, Arnick was greeted by a Burst Bomb to the face from Dewey. Followed by getting shot from the distance. He burst into a puddle of pink ink, leaving his clothes and Bamboozler MK II behind.

Dewey had already predicted Arnick's approach from the side. "1 point for me, Arnick for zero." Dewey said, blowing the smoke away from the nozzle of his Custom Jet Squelcher.

Arnick rose out of the spawn point, gasping for air. He turned to look at Tetrox, who was still eating popcorn and spectating by the ledge. She saw the whole thing.

"Well, this Dewey fella ain't too bad." She used a pair of binoculars to see Dewey from afar.

"Grrrrrrr...." Arnick growled in annoyance and dusts himself off. "Fine then, Dewey. If you wanna play dirty.." Arnick held up his Bamboozler with a sinister grin. "I'm game.." He said, before heading back to the middle.

Dewey inched in closer to Arnick's territory. He made sure that he gained some distance, once Arnick heads to the middle. He'd soon notice him, before he could keep him at bay.

Arnick had been cleaver enough to strafe from Dewey attack. Even when Dewey tossed another Burst Bomb, Arnick kept strafing. This was the perfect chance to fight back. He fired a few shots at Dewey, until he was splatted.

Before he was splatted, Dewey realized that he was running low on ink. That was his mistake to not conserve his ink compacity right away.

Dewey respawned, afterwards. He looked, very surprised as before. He took Arnick for granted about his Bamboozler skills. "Touche, Arnick." Dewey nodded in approval before heading back. The real battle has just begun.

Tetrox was enjoying the view. She kept munching, happily until her bag of popcorn was empty. Her eyes were attached to the binoculars, while the two battlers were cancelling each other out.

Splats after splats, Arnick and Dewey were equal. The battle rages on for two minutes until they were tiring each other out. They were both drenched in sweat, after a ton of strafing.

Dewey stared at Arnick, catching his breath. "He wasn't kidding... Damn.." Dewey said, while panting. He's dealing with one of Belladonna's teammates. He can handle one-on-one with Arnick, but just image going up against the entire team.

Only 30 seconds on the clock and Arnick was no where to be seen. Dewey kept calm and readied up his Kraken special. He's saving it as a last resort, before the timer drops to 0.

Dewey kept searching for him on the left passageway to Arnick's spawn point area. That's when Arnick was hidding in a plant. He tossed a Disruptor at Dewey's back.

".......?!" Dewey was caught under Arnick's disruption. He could barely move at this state. He slowly, turned to see Arnick. His grin was very sinister, but it didn't faze him.

"Couldn't move, huh? That's too bad." Arnick said with a slight chuckle. He won't delay, too long as he aimed at Dewey. "Any last words?" His aimed, directly at Dewey's head.

Heh... Yeah.. I win.." A glint appeared in Dewey's eyes.

Arnick looked kinda confused by Dewey's answer. "I beg your pardon?" He'd soon noticed the glowing the tentacles on Dewey. That's the part, when Arnick's heart sank to the floor. "Oh... no..."

Dewey tranformed into a large Kraken. He's free from the disruption and able to move, freely. Since he's extremely close to Arnick, Dewey drilled through Arnick. Splatting him, instantly.

Tetrox looked thrilled, after Dewey's last second splat. She turned her back to the spawn point. She walked back to see Arnick, respawning from his point. "You alright, Nicky?" She said with a bit of concern.

Arnick looked at Tetrox. He wasn't angry, just... impressed. "I'm.. fine.." After that, the referee blew the whistle. The winner was decided and it was Dewey, who broke the tie.

Dewey stretched his arms, once he went back inside. The match was a close call to begin with. Suddenly, Arnick caught up with him. He must've ran to get to him.

Arnick cleared his throat and stared down at Dewey. He extends a hand to Dewey with a respectful smile. "Even thought I'd hate to admit defeat, but good game. You have my respect, already."

Dewey smiled and accept the handshake. "Thank you, Mr. Stilton. You've proved me wrong about your weapon. You certainly are the real deal." He'd hate to admit it, as well. In the end, it was a good match.

Tetrox popped in between the two. "That was the most entertainin', sugah~!" She hugged them, both.

"H-Heh, your girlfriend seems very enthusiastic." Dewey chuckled, feeling the embrace of the octoling.

Arnick blushed, deeply and shook his head. "S-She's not my girlfriend!!" He cried.

"Yeeeeah, suuuure" Dewey, smirked.

Tetrox lets them go and walked close to Arnick. "Welp, we better meet up with Bella and Cyanthia. Otherwise, she'll have our hide."

Arnick realizes, what time it is and he starts to panick. "Bloody hell!! We better get a move on, pronto!" Arnick grabbed her hand and escorted her out of the mall. Once he did, Tetrox waved good-bye to Dewey as she was whisked away.

"Take care, sugah!" Tetrox called out and they were no where to be seen.

Dewey watched the two, leave the mall. He reached for his phone and called Fynn. Once his captain answered with a tired voice, Dewey spoke up.

"Sorry to wake you from your nap. I guess, you have a reason to get beauty sleep." As snobby as he sounds, Dewey continued.

"I think, we should watch out for Toxink.. Arnick is one formiddible foe.." He talked with Fynn for 5 minutes, until he hung up. He found himself, a worthy rival to tangle with.

THE END

[askchanceoffates]

Chapter 7

As the group headed into the Korcari Wilds, somehow everyone gravitated to be following Nym. Upon noticing this, she rolled her eyes. “Really? Let’s all hide behind the tiny elf? Excellent fucking strategy.”

Markov snorted. “Well, it’s not so much hiding as it is staying out of the way of fireballs.”

“And besides, the view from back here is niiiice,” Daveth added, throwing a leer Nym’s way.

Suddenly, a wolf pack appeared as if from nowhere and started attacking. Before anyone else could move, Nym decimated the wolf population with a well-aimed fireball. Markov’s and Daveth’s arrows killed the remaining couple.

“See?” Markov gestured to the burnt carcasses. “Avoid fireballs at all cost.”

The group muttered their agreeance and Nym snorted. “I have better control over my magic. I won’t hit you with a fireball unless I want to.” She tossed her bangs out of her face and continued on her march. The others stood still for a few moments before jogging to rejoin her.

Revas walked beside Nym once they were caught up. “Don’t feel too bad about them… us, I guess you could say, following you. You have that type of personality that demands a following.” Revas was silent for a few seconds. “Also, the fireballs hurt. A lot. I don’t know if you have ever been hit by one, but…” Revas trailed off, and Nym didn’t need to ask her to elaborate. Afterall, she did throw one at Revas earlier that day. Nym smirked and patted Revas on the shoulder.

“I don’t feel bad, darling. I just think that all of you are stupid for following the smallest member of the group, Furgus not included. If we happen to get attacked I will do little good to keep you all sheltered from attack.”

Before Revas could respond Alistair shouted “Darkspawn!” Suddenly, a group of the foul creatures spilled from within the trees and bushes, weapons swinging.

Daveth and Markov drew further from the group, firing off their arrows as fast as they could, Furgus retreating with them to help keep the darkspawn at bay. Revas, along with the two warriors dove into the fray, and Nym stood her ground, swinging her staff around and hitting the creatures with the magic infused wood.

It was a small group of creatures, and they weren’t hard to defeat. Even though the darkspawn had the advantage of surprise they were disorganized and were most willing to attack each other as well as the Warden recruits.

The battle was just drawing to a close when Nym heard Revas yelp. She swung her head towards her maybe friends direction, and watched the rogue take off the head of the beast with one sword while the other was imbedded in the monster’s gut. It’s axe was stuck in her armor, and her red hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail, was falling around her face. It seemed the band holding her hair had broken.

Once the remaining darkspawn were finished off Revas plopped down onto a nearby fallen tree, cursing in a language that wasn’t trade. Nym’s eyebrows rose when she realised that Revas was speaking Tevene. She watched as the redhead grabbed the axe by the handle and, with a grunt, pulled out the axe. She propped the blade up beside her and yanked her hair back. “Does anyone have a band I could use to keep my hair pulled back?” She glanced at the group, and slouched when she watched each of her team members shake their heads. “Great. Now what am I supposed to do?” She dropped the matted locks and shook her head, the curls falling around her face once more.

Nym smiled and pulled a smaller dagger from Daveth’s belt, ignoring his squawk of anger. “Don’t worry dear, you’ll never have to worry about your hair again. Not as long as I’m around.” She went behind Revas and gathered her hair so that it laid behind her head.

“Nym, that sound like you’re going to slit my throat.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m going to cut your hair. It’s dangerous for you at this point.”

Revas hummed. “Fair enough, I hate having it this long anyway. Wouldn’t this be better with shears though? Or scissors?”

“We don’t have any. Now, hold still dear. This may hurt if you move too much. I could also stab you by accident.” Nym grabbed a large chunk of hair and, with a quick and precise motion, cut it off. The curly read strands floated to the ground and landed without a sound.

Nym worked quickly. Within minutes most of Revas’ hair was on the ground, lying in clumps at Nyms feet. “I can’t style it here, dear. I’ll have to do that when we get back to the camp.”

Revas shook her head and stood up. “My head feels so much lighter.” She ran her fingers through her newly cut hair.

“You look like an Orlesian’s fancy dog.” Markov snorted from where he was standing.

Revas frowned at him. “Go suck on a rotten egg, Markov. I don’t care what I look like, I just care about not being hit anymore.” She went silent for a second. “I can save so much money by not having to buy hair ties anymore!”

“You bought your hair ties?” Nym raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, no. The feeling is the same though.” Revas shrugged. “Thanks Nym.”

Nym hummed. “Well, let’s continue. We still need the darkspawn blood so we can go through our joining. Alistair,” Nym turned to look at the only true Grey Warden among them, “Did we get any blood from this batch here?”

Alistair nodded. “Just one vial though. Hopefully we get more next time, or we will be here all day.”

The others nodded and Nym palmed Daveth’s dagger. Revas raised a brow at the sight, but stayed silent. She picked up her daggers and sheathed them.

The Warden recruits were sweating. Nym placed her staff on her back and blew her bangs out of her face. She watched in amusement as Alistair gathered the final vial of blood needed for them to complete their joining. Markov and Daveth started to pull their arrows from the bodies of the darkspawn, tossing aside the ones that were broken. Revas was off in a bush picking flowers. They only needed the one flower but Revas was picking every single one that they came across. Jory, Nym noticed with a snort, was praying.

“Alistair!” Nym called.

“Yeees?”

“Wouldn’t it have been more efficient to cut off one of the darkspawn’s ring fingers, place the vials over the wound, and squeeze?”

The group turned to stare at Nym. “Did that thought not cross any of your minds?” Nym groaned when she watched them either shake their heads or shrug. “Well, it’s not like it’s important now. What is done is done, I suppose.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture at the group and promptly wandered away from the rest of the group. A few seconds later a shrill whistle echoed through the area and Furgus went bounding after Nym. Once the rest were done what they wanted to do - collecting arrows, blood, and looting, they went looking for the tiny mage.

When they found her a squawk left Ser Jory’s mouth and a whistle left Daveth’s. Nym was bent over a corpse, pulling on extremely revealing robes. Her original robes, the robes from the Circle, laid in a puddle of fabric on the ground. She stood and fastened the holder for her staff onto her back. She turned around, smiled widely at the men (and, in part, Revas), and winked. “Like what you see?”

“Very much so.” Revas shot at the mage. Nym laughed.

“I was asking the boys, Revas, but thank you.”

“Anytime, lovely, anytime.”

Both girls looked at each other and laughed. The men were extremely confused, in part because they were unsure if they were allowed to be aroused. The girls exchanged another look and laughed before marching the group onto their next quest.

“Well well, what have we here?” A woman wearing robes more revealing than Nym’s descended the stairs of the old Grey Warden tower, strutting towards the group with the confidence of someone who knows how dangerous they are. “Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers poking amidst a corpse whose bones were long since cleaned? Or merely intruders, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of easy prey?” She came to a halt in front of Nym and crossed her arms. “What say you, hmm? Scavenger or intruder?”

“How are these your Wilds?” Revas blurted out. A moment passed before she realised that she spoke. When she did, her eyes went wide, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Because I know them as only one who owns them could,” The strange woman replied in a condescending tone, quirking an eyebrow at Revas. Nym rolled her eyes at Revas, gesturing for her to not talk again.

“I have watched your progress for some time. ‘Where do they go,’ I wondered, ‘Why are they here?’ And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long. Why is that?”

“Don’t answer her. She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby,” Alistair whispered to Nym. However, the woman heard him.

“You fear barbarians will swoop down upon you!” She mocked, throwing her hands up in an exaggerated movement.

“Yes. Swooping is bad,” Alistair muttered dryly. Revas snorted with laughter.

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds she is! She’ll turn us all into toads!” Daveth was freaking out.

Nym exhaled derisively while the woman scathingly replied, “Witch of Wilds? Such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?”

“You there.” The woman turned  her attention to Nym. “Women do not frighten like little boys. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine.”

“Nymeria. A pleasure to meet you.” Nym bowed her head, with the slightest dip of a curtsy.

“Now that is a proper civil greeting, even here in the Wilds. You may call me Morrigan. Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?”

“Here no longer?” Alistair apparently did not have Revas’ sense to stop talking, as he continued, “You stole them, didn’t you? You’re some kind of...sneaky...witch-thief!”

Nym and Morrigan rolled their eyes simultaneously, causing everyone else to take a slight step back in alarm. Morrigan sighed, “Tell me, how does one steal from dead men?”

“Quite easily, it seems. Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.” Alistair managed to sound firm as opposed to nervous, which was quite an accomplishment.

“I will not, for ‘twas not I who removed them. Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened.”

Nym cut in before Alistair could continue attempting to eat his own foot. “Who removed them?”

“‘Twas my mother, in fact.”

Exclamations could be heard from everyone in the group until Nym spoke over them, “Could you take us to her?”

Morrigan actually smiled at that. “Now that is a sensible request. I like you. Follow me.” She turned and led them deeper into the Wilds.

“I’d be careful, if I were you. First it’s ‘I like you,’ then ZAP!; Toad time…” Alistair whispered in Nym’s ear as they trailed after Morrigan. Nym’s eyes were starting to ache from all the rolling.

Revas zoned back into the conversation with Morrigan’s mother as large scrolls were shoved into her arms. Blinking rapidly, she realised that goodbyes were being said. Revas nodded at Morrigan’s mother and quickly followed the group as they walked away.

Markov whistled once Morrigan had left them near camp. Revas didn’t even wait to hear what he had to say, she just pulled ahead of the group, eager to bring the kennel master the flowers. Nym smirked at Markov and waited to see if her suspicions would be confirmed.

“Damn, she was sexy.” Nym laughed as she proven right. “I mean, wow.” Markov kept glancing over his shoulder, as if hoping to see Morrigan again.

Alistair and Daveth both stared at Markov as if he were insane, while Jory, horrified, sputtered, “What? How could you possibly find her attractive?!”

“She was!” Markov, Revas, and Nym all responded at the same time.

“But, but, she was a bitch!” Alistair seemed to have found his voice again.

Markov smirked a filthy smirk as he commented, “Well, you know what they say about doggy style.” Nym was doubled over laughing even as she high fived Markov. Revas, on the other hand, was attempting to look horrified instead of amused. And failing. So she pulled farther ahead.

The walk back to camp was a quick one, seeing as they weren’t very far and actually knew where they were going. Nym and Markov kept the others entertained (or uncomfortable, depending on who was asked) by continuously talking about how the combination of good-looking and dangerous was their favourite, which devolved into blatant flirting and innuendos. Alistair was bright red by the time they made it back to Duncan, and Jory was praying in an attempt to block them out.  

“Alistair, Jory, what in Thedas is wrong?” Duncan asked, glancing between the discomfited members of the group.

Daveth spoke up with a leer on his face. “It’s nothing really. Nym and Markov were just thirty seconds away from fucking the entire walk back. For some reason it made those two uncomfortable.”

Revas overheard him as she rejoined the group after having delivered the flowers. She promptly turned around and tried to walk away again, whispering “Why…”

Nym caught her arm and pulled her back to Duncan, who was smirking at her and Markov. Nym cocked an eyebrow. “What?” she asked, somehow managing to sound innocent and challenging at the same time.

Duncan’s smirk grew as he shook his head. “It’s just nice to see that Markov finally breaking out of his shell. Good to know Irving wasn’t exaggerating about you though.”

Nym’s eyes narrowed calculatingly. “What else did he say about me?”

Duncan laughed, and didn’t bother to elaborate. “Come on. You’re staying with the rest of us Wardens tonight.” The group followed Duncan through the army camp to where the Wardens had pitched their tents. A dozen or so Wardens were sitting around the fire, all humans. There were no women among them.

“So these are the newest recruits?” A big, bearded man called over to Duncan.

“Indeed. These are Nymeria, Markov, Revas, Daveth, and Jory.” Duncan gestured to each recruit in turn. “Everyone, get something to eat and relax. You have an early morning tomorrow.” He clapped his hands and walked away from the group, he and Alistair joining the others around the fire. Nym stood there a moment examining the Wardens before turning to Markov. She grabbed his hand and pulled him away to the tent amid hoots and catcalls from the Wardens, a smile on her face.

“Come along. Let’s go relax .”

[askchanceoffates]

Chapter 5

They were about a day’s travel from Ostagar. As much as Duncan wanted to keep going, it was getting dark and he knew they had to stop to make camp. Duncan had put Markov in charge of setting up the tents, because the last time Revas was in charge of the tents she tore the fabric of the tent. She fixed it, but it was a safer bet to not have her set them up. Nym had lived in a tower her entire life, so Duncan wasn’t entirely sure if she knew how to set up a tent or not. He tried to claim cooking privileges again, but Revas had been hoarding the cooking pot ever since the first night he cooked for them. Furgus was sitting by Nym’s feet, who was sitting on a log, drawing something in the dirt with the butt of her staff. Duncan, having nothing to do, started to put the logs in a pile for a fire. Revas was currently chopping vegetables, placing them in the pot because she had nowhere to place them otherwise.

“Shit.”

Revas looked up from her cutting of the vegetables and Markov stopped pitching a tent; Nym looked up from her spot on the log. Even Furgus stopped his panting. “What did you do now, Duncan?” Revas had a brow raised, her curly hair finally breaking free from the tie that was holding it. There was no tone of respect towards the older man, and their clear superior.

“I didn’t do anything. Apparently we lost our flints? We had four last night.”

Revas snorted. “I blame Markov.”

“Hey!”

“What does it matter? I can start the fire.” Nym piped up from her seat.

“Shh… blame Markov.”

Nym rolled her eyes, tossed her hair back behind her shoulder, and shot a fireball at the fire pit. Even though it was a tiny fireball, not even a third of the size of one she would use in battle, it still had enough force to throw up the leftover charcoal from a previous fire into the air and blow the hair away from Revas’ face. The logs shifted when the magic flame hit, but otherwise stayed in a rather nice form. With the snapping pops from the fire roaring away, Nym smiled. “See? Simple.”

Revas had a wild grin on her face. “That was amazing. Do it again, but shoot it at…” She looked around the camp. “Never mind. We need everything.” Her shoulder’s slumped a bit, and the heavy silence from before fell over the group again.

“I can do this though.” Nym waved her hand at the fire, and figures began to emerge from the flame, dancing in the night. Revas’ grin grew as the figures began to dance, and started to put together the holder for the pot to hang off of. Once that was done she filled the pot with water from their canister, and hung that over the fire. As the sounds of the cooking stew started to fill the night air, Nym settled back onto her log, and Markov and Duncan joined the two elves around the fire. Nym cleared her throat. “So… what brought everyone to be a Warden? Duncan? You should have an interesting story.”

“I was a prostitute in Val Royeaux. The man who recruited me really liked what I could do with my tongue.” Duncan’s voice was steady, and his face wasn’t giving any hints of him lying. To the untrained eye, it would seem like he was telling the truth.

Nym wasn’t necessarily trained, per se, but she was very good at telling when people were bullshitting her. Revas, too, was good at telling when people were lying, but she was also willing to believe the man who saved her from death, even if it met that her new comrades would think she was silly. Either way, Revas knew that Duncan wasn’t telling the truth, but she wasn’t going to call him out on it. Nym wasn’t inclined to do the same.

“Bullshit.”

Duncan smirked. “I was a thief. I stole from a Grey Warden, and, in turn, I was recruited for it.”

“I see. Well, you already know my story. You lot were already there for it. Revas? What about you?”

“The alienage… you know what an alienage is, correct?” After Nym’s eye roll and duh she continued, “Well, the alienage was celebrating. There was a wedding going on… uh, well, there was a couple weddings going on… one of them was my wedding. I didn’t want to get married, and I guess that’s the only good that came out of being recruited was the fact that I won’t get married now. Some fucking noble asshole decided to crash the wedding and take all the young elven women from the alienage. Me included. And, well, long story short, I carved my way through an entire fucking army full of noble assholes to get to the noble fucker and his noble fucking friends who raped my fucking cousin and I fucking killed all of those stupid, stuck up, noble, entitled, pricks. I gutted the Arl of Denerim’s fucking noble son. And I admitted it to the guards.”

The crickets chirped in the night, and the fire crackled and popped. The scent of cooked food entered the air. “Foods ready.” Revas had a small smile on her face, but that angry, far away look was back in her eyes. Duncan handed her the bowls and she scooped out the food. The bowls were handed out to the others, and Furgus was handed a bone to chew on from the pack of supplies. They ate in silence. Nym was the one to break the silence. “I hate Fereldan cooking.”

“What’s wrong with my cooking?” Revas sputtered indignantly.

“It’s not just your cooking, it’s all Fereldan cooking. I mean, yes, the meals are hearty and filling, but dear Maker they are bland! Why does an entire country think throwing everything into a pot and stirring is all there is to cooking?” Nym exclaimed, gesturing at the monochromatic stew. “There should be colour and spices in food. It should be a meal for all the senses!”

Duncan interrupted her tirade. “Nymeria, keep in mind that when travelling resources are limited.”

“Of course they are. But one would think the cooks at the Circle would be capable of producing food that wasn’t grey slop. Since I’ve come to Ferelden I have yet to truly enjoy a meal. At least this does have some flavour and is recognisable as food. However, now that I’m out of that forsaken Tower, I will be introducing you lot to proper cooking once I can get my hands on some spices.”

Duncan sighed.

“So, hey, Duncan, what are the sleeping arrangements now? We have one extra person, and we are down a tent.” Revas spoke quickly, her indignation at Nymeria’s criticisms still plain on her face.

“Well,” Duncan cleared his throat, “clearly we are going to be sharing tents. Who sleeps with who is up to you lot.”

“I claim Furgus then.” Revas grinned.

“That’s my dog!”

“And he likes me better than you Markov. Um, all joking aside, I think that I should share a tent with Nym. For obvious reasons. But I also want Furgus. I got used to him sleeping beside me.”

Markov snorted. “Yeah, but he is my dog. So he’ll be sleeping in a tent with me.”

“Oh, bite me Markov. I may have been practically forced to share a tent with you, but that doesn’t mean we’re friends. Besides, we have two tents. You have to share with Duncan. Maybe Duncan doesn’t want Furgus in a tent with him.”

“And you think Nym does?”

“Please. No one wants to share a tent with you. We only do it because it’s a necessity.”

“Ooh, a big word for someone who can’t read.”

“What’s your point? Not everyone was a sheltered noble prick like you were!”

“You say noble like it’s a bad thing! Like my corpse wouldn’t even be worthy enough to clean the bottom of your shoes.”

“That’s because it is! All you nobles are the same! You take and take and take, and you never consider that you could be hurting others!” Revas stood up, her bowl of stew falling to the ground, It splattered all over her feet and shins. Furgus stood from his spot on the ground and bounded over to clean up the mess.

“What are you talking about? I never took anything that wasn’t mine! I never took something from someone else unless they said it was okay! I never raped anyone!” Markov stood as well, but he had placed his bowl to the side of him.

“How can you be sure about that? How can you be so fucking sure that the people you slept with didn’t just say yes because they were scared of the consequence of saying no.” Revas snapped back at him. Markov had opened his mouth to say something else, but when he heard the last part the colour drained from his face. The fight left his body.

“I…”

“Enough! You two are acting like children! You don’t have to be friends, but you are both to be Grey Wardens. You must learn to trust one another - preferably respect each other as well - because otherwise you are both going to be useless in battle. So figure out a way to peacefully coexist.” It was, surprisingly, Nym who had spoken up, rather than Duncan. Duncan smiled. This group would do alright without him.

Revas’ ears tipped down, and she looked away from the mage. “Yes ma’am.” She stood for a bit, before grabbing her daggers and walking away from the camp fire. “I’m gonna go wash up. If you need anything, just holler.” When she was no longer visible in the light of the fire she whistled shrilly, and Furgus bounded after her.

Once Nym was sure Revas wasn’t within hearing she turned back to Markov. “So, Markov, you never did manage to say what lead you to being recruited.”

Her fellow recruit smiled slightly. “My family was murdered by another noble whom we had called friend. I’m mainly here to get revenge and to be safe. And to find my brother.”

“And you didn’t tell Revas that? It could probably clear up a lot of issues.”

“I don’t know. I think she’s just angry over what happened at her home. She wasn’t really given a lot of time to come to terms with everything that had happened. I should probably just give her some space. Let her cool down a bit.”

Nym pursed her lips. “If you say so.”

Duncan cleared his throat. “Are you alright with sharing a tent with Revas? I can share with her if you don’t want to deal with her tonight.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to sleeping in a dorm with other people anyways. I think Revas and I will be fine. Besides, it’s not me she’s angry at.”

Duncan nodded his head and started to pack up the food. Nym offered to go clean the cooking pot. With the acceptance from Duncan she left in the direction that Revas had. The woods seemed to speak it’s own language as she made her way towards the river.

Revas had stripped off her clothing and the river was up to her hips. Without the armor Nym was able to see how thin the other elf was. Nym knew she was thin, but Revas was a whole other level. Nym had seen this before on other mages who has just transferred over to the Ferelden Circle from far worse ones, like Kirkwall. The effects of abuse from the templars tended to go far beyond the physical damage. No two Circles were the same, and she had amazingly good luck with being sent to the Ferelden Circle, a Circle that abuse of mages was not actually condoned. It still happened, but when Irving or Greagoir found out the templar responsible was often punished. Granted, that led to the templars finding ways to be more secretive about it. Like in solitary confinement. Usually solitary confinement was reserved for those committed fairly serious crimes, or were repeat offenders. Mages who escaped or severely injured others were normally sent to solitary. But the templars knew that mages in solitary distrustful of the Chantry, and that they wouldn’t speak out. So solitary confinement often was not so solitary after all. Whippings would happen too, but they were not common. At least, not for most mages. Nym and her friend Anders tended to receive more than their fair share of all punishments. But at least they were never starved. Nym knew what it was like to go hungry from before the Circle.

Revas was thin enough that you could count her ribs, and there was a tiny dip to her stomach where her ribs ended. There was a long scar that started at the bottom of her shoulder blade and curved around to her hip. She had muscle on her, but the muscle was mostly from sword work and running away from city guards. Her red hair was wet and looked heavy. Even from this distance Nym could see the matted tangles in the long locks.

“Well, one good thing about you leaving the alienage is that you’ll be able to eat more.”

“Hm?” Revas looked up from where she was bathing.

“You’re really skinny. Like, starving skinny. But hopefully you can gain some weight now.”

“For your information, I’m eating more now than I was before. In the alienage we take care of each other, and if that means the younger elves get our share of food when the food is low, so be it. That wasn’t necessarily common, because we grow our own food and we eat mostly vegetables. But sometimes humans would sneak into our garden and destroy the harvest. So we would have to go a few weeks on a lower food supply. So, yeah, I would give some of my meals away to the younger elves. I’d rather have them eating a full meal then have them starve.”

Nym hummed. “I figured it was something like that. So, I understand you hating nobles, but why don’t you hate humans in general? Most elves who come from alienages seem to hate humans.”

“Because that would be silly. Those who broke into the alienage and would destroy the gardens were children. They didn’t know any better, and were probably dared to do it by older children. Besides, I used to help the city guards train. And I had respect from a lot of them because, well, people can be sick. It’s not always elves that they go after. Sometimes Soris, Shianni and I would have to step in and keep people safe when the guards weren’t around. So, yeah, I don’t hate humans, because they never have done anything against me. It would be hard to hate an entire race because of something that a few humans have done.”

“Shouldn’t you apply that to nobles as well then?”

“What do you mean?”

“I understand hating certain nobles, but what about the ones who have never harmed you or your family? Like Markov. He’s really not that bad.”

“He acted just like every other noble I’ve met when I first met him. He acted like I wasn’t even worth his attention. So, I’m gonna treat him the way I treat every other noble until I’m proven otherwise.”

“Maybe he’s going through some things. People get distracted when life turns to shit. I’m not saying that you have to marry the guy, or even be friends with him, but maybe you should give him a chance to prove that he’s not like like every other noble? It’s going to be extremely difficult for him to prove himself with you expecting him to misstep.”

Revas didn’t respond to that. She moved out of the river towards her cheap leather armor and started the task of putting it back on. Nym sighed and started to wash the pot. “Where’s Furgus?”

“Keeping watch? I mean, that’s what I told him to do if an enemy approached, so? I even got him to tackle Markov once when he approached me while I was bathing.” Revas whistled, and the mabari hound came bouncing out of the woods, a hare between his jaws. “I’m gonna head back to camp and go to sleep. We have an early morning tomorrow.”

“Okay. Think about what I said. If I don’t hate every templar, perhaps you shouldn’t hate every noble.”

Revas paused, but kept walking back to camp with Furgus. Nym shook her head muttering, “Both of them with their heads up their asses...going to give me all the fucking headaches. Now I got to wash a fucking pot...I hate cleaning. But at least I’m out of that fucking prison. No more solitary, no more whippings, no more hearing other mages jump out of or be thrown from windows. Yay me.”

Someone coughed. Nym whipped her head up to see Markov staring at her, eyes wide. “Duncan sent me to tell you to get back to camp...was that true?”

Nym’s face was carefully blank, but the temperature had noticeably dropped. “Which part?”

“Umm...all of it?”

“Well, I do really hate cleaning, and I’m immensely glad to be out of the Tower. And I truly believe that you and Revas figuratively have your heads up your asses and will be the cause of many headaches.”

“What about the stuff about whippings and windows?” Markov looked terrified to even ask, but he felt he had to.

“Whippings were not an overly common punishment, but on occasion, a first offender of a serious offense would get five lashes instead of being sent to solitary. Solitary was absolute shite. I most definitely was on the receiving end of more than a few lashes. But every whipping was better than every stint in solitary.” Nym’s voice was monotone and matter-of-fact, no emotion displayed.

“What was solitary like? And you still didn’t answer about the windows.”

“Solitary was...dark. You were put in a cell in the basement with no light. There were wards and runes carved into the stone, which cut you off from your magic. And the walls were thick enough that you couldn’t really hear anything. So you’d be sitting in the silent, dark cell with no company, no cot, and no magic. No magic...is like someone ripped out a part of your soul. I knew a guy who went insane after being kept in solitary too long. And another girl starved to death because the templar forgot he put her there. Luckily, in both cases, the templars responsible for them were punished and sent away. I just hope they weren’t sent to another Circle. And as for the windows, it’s true. It hasn’t happened in years. After one mage jumped, any windows within reach of people were bricked over. I haven’t seen snow since I was eleven.”

“You said something about people being thrown from windows…”

“Damn it you’re stubborn. Yeah, when I was ten and newly arrived at the Circle, I was sneaking around one night. I heard templars coming down the hallway so I hid in a closet. They entered the room I was in and at first I thought they knew I was in there. But then I realized they had dragged someone else in with them. A young girl, around twelve. There were four templars. They had their fun with her, after breaking her jaw to keep her from screaming too loud. Once they were done, they threw her out the window. I heard the splash she made when she landed in the lake.” Nym drew in a shuddering breath, “The next morning I told Irving, but since I wasn’t sure which templars it had been, he couldn’t do much. He talked to Greagoir though, and later four templars were whipped and dismissed from the Order for their treatment of the mages. That was probably the only time I admitted to breaking curfew, and definitely the only time that I wasn’t punished for it.”

Markov looked horrified and disgusted at the same time. “I didn’t realize the Circles were so horrible…”

“They’re all different. Ferelden’s really isn’t that bad anymore. Once the worst templars were gone, it became almost pleasant. I just can’t stand being trapped.”

“How do you not hate templars?”

“I hate some of them. Honestly, I tend to distrust all templars on principle. I’m willing to give them a chance though, to prove that they are not disgusting little maggots. But I’ve known a few good templars. Knight Commander Greagoir is a hard ass, but he does care about the mages. Don’t think that us mages lived in constant fear of this shit. These incidents were few and far between. Besides, if you think that I’m a perfect little angel who never did anything to deserve a whipping, then you’re a fucking moron. Now then, do be a good man and carry the pot back to camp, would you? Also, not a word of this conversation to anyone.” With that, Nym stood up, brushed off her robes, and started off towards camp. Glancing back over her shoulder at Markov who seemed to be frozen, Nym called, “Come on handsome, we haven’t got all night.”

Markov caught up to Nym, pot in hand, and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Handsome?”

“Maybe next time we can share a tent,” Nym smirked, glad to not see any pity in his eyes. Markov’s mouth tipped up slightly. It wasn’t a full smile, but it was something. Nym felt an irrational burst of pride at getting a somewhat happy response from Markov. As they came close to the camp they could hear the barking of Furgus and laughter. When they entered the clearing it was clear to see that Revas was telling a story to Duncan. Her ears were tipped up and she was gesturing wildly. She quieted down when she saw Nym and Markov enter the clearing, until Nym asked, “What’d we miss?”

Duncan raised his eyebrow. “I think we should be asking you that. I wouldn’t have thought it would take so long to walk back from the river. And do my eyes deceive me, or is Markov smiling?”

“Whatever are you implying Duncan?” Nym asked as she settled down on her log. “And you appear to have interrupted Revas’ story. How rude. Please, Revas darling, continue.”

Revas smirked. “It wasn’t really that funny. I was just telling Duncan about my Mother and how she used to train us. Apparently, he knew my Mother before she died. Said that how she trained us sounded like something that she would do.” When Nym continued to stare at Revas, Revas sighed and started over. “I was six. Shianni was a year younger than me and Soris was a year older. My Mom was teaching us how to steal. Or, that’s what we thought anyway. She would take us to the market about once a week, always at different times and at different days, and she would tell us who are target was, and what to take from them. It’s probably her fault that I steal things all the time, even if the person is a team mate. Anyway, she basically told us that our target was a wealthy noble, and that we were to take an article of clothing from him. Something he wouldn’t notice right away. I don’t know why, but at the time I decided to take his belt. I wanted to show off, maybe? But, it turns out, my Mother was helping the guards train. She alerted the noble to what we were doing, and he called to the guards. During all the chaos I actually managed to grab the noble’s belt, but I was caught by the guards. They ended up letting me go after some convincing from the head of the city guards. When I was released back into my Mother’s care I showed her the belt. We managed to pawn it off. The alienage ate well that night.” Revas smirk fell from her face. “I’m going to head to bed. I’ll take second watch.” She stood from her log and went into the far tent on the right, not waiting for anyone to complain or object.