#so I was scouring my drafts for *something* and came across this (along with a few unfinished short wips that I didn't remember making lmao

[jamlavender]

Unholy Ghosts deleted scene: Chaos Family Christmas

I was reminded of this fic the other day, and after giving it a scan I remembered that the first version of the Christmas scene was very different to the one I ended up including in the posted story. This first draft was longer and more comedic, and I decided to write another because the fic was already so long and the tone had already become more contemplative. Upon giving that first draft a reread, though, I thought it was funny, and have decided to share it here! 

The necessary backstory for this is: Lord Asriel and Mrs Coulter avoided falling into the abyss (though still killed Metatron) and tricked Lyra into coming North five years later. After a rocky start, she spends her winter break with them. This is towards the end of the fic, and if you want to read about how they got to this point (or why she’s calling them Asriel and Marisa) you can read the full story here. Also, for some of the jokes to work, the version of Boreal mentioned in this is the older version from the books. I hope you enjoy! 

One day, Lyra was wandering around the Saariselkä market with her mother, a migraine having confined a foul-tempered Asriel to the bedroom for the afternoon, when she spotted the date on a newspaper stacked outside the post office. Tucked away in the cabin, she’d largely lost track of time. “Look!” she said to Pan, who was rolling around in the snow. “It’s December twenty-third. It’s almost Christmas!”

They arrived home that afternoon with the usual spoils, along with a freshly plucked snow goose and a stack of root vegetables, ideal for roasting. They’d also found some sweet pears and fresh cream, which they could poach in red wine for dessert. Her mother had even let Lyra drive the motorsledge home, the wind whipping through their hair and flushing their cheeks the same bright pink as they charged over the white hills back to the cabin, both of them beaming, unbeknownst to the other.

Her father went off on a tirade when they explained what the purchases were for, of course, ranting and raving, saying that he hadn’t thrown God into an endless abyss to then celebrate his son’s birth like a sycophant. Marisa simply nodded along while she melted chocolatl into milk on the stove and spiked it with brandy, then guided Lyra to the sofa, mugs in hand, and whispered, “Let’s just wait for him to tire himself out, hmm?” which made Lyra laugh, and then she felt guilty for laughing, as she still did whenever they shared a shred of affection.

Lyra assumed that she’d prepare the meal alone on the day itself, but confronted with a sack of dirt-encrusted potatoes and a whole goose carcass, to say nothing of the chard or the gravy or the dessert, she realised that she might benefit from some assistance. She peered across the room to the lounge; her father was stretched on the sofa with a notebook on one leg and a newspaper on the other. She marched over with her hands on her hips. “There are too many potatoes for me to peel on my own, not if I’m going to stuff and season the goose too. I can’t do it all myself. You have to help me.”

He frowned. “I’m working.”

Lyra peered at his sparse scrawls. “You haven’t written a sentence in an hour.”

“I’m mulling,” he said petulantly, though Stelmaria had lifted her head, her ears twitching.  

Lyra folded her arms, spurred on by his dæmon’s mild enthusiasm. “It’s Christmas.”

“You know that means nothing to me.”

“I don’t care.” They stared at each other, an imperious mirror image. She raised an eyebrow. “Marisa’s excited about it, about us celebrating together. I can tell her that you’re refusing to participate, if you’d prefer that.”

The corner of his lip twitched, the hint of a smirk. “Are you trying to play us off each other?”

“Is it working?”

He sighed. “Can’t your mother do it?”

“She’s even more useless than you are. And she’s in the bath.”

Stelmaria got to her feet with a yawn and padded into the kitchen, giving Asriel no choice but to follow, a scowl etched across his face and a triumphant grin sprawled across Lyra’s.

She put him to work preparing the snow goose for the oven while she mixed fennel and star anise and salt together for the seasoning, grinding the spices in an old granite mortar with a chipped pestle and adding a squirt of lemon juice at the end. She’d assumed that he could handle basic meat preparation – her parents’ brutal reindeer butchery had made it clear that he knew his way around a cleaver – but when she checked on his progress, her eyes widened. She’d tasked him with lightly scouring the goose’s legs and breast with a knife to help the fat render, and he’d interpreted that as gouging deep trenches into the bird, burying the knife into the carcass.

“Asriel!” she said, grabbing the knife from him. “God, no, not like that. Like this.”

He rolled his eyes as she instructed him, dragging the fine point of the knife over the goose’s other leg. He tried again and immediately created a deep channel in the bird’s flesh. Lyra glared at him.

“Have you ever been gentle in your life?”

He let his head roll towards her. “What do you think?”

She shook her head and took over, passing him the peeler instead and shoving him towards the pile of potatoes she’d already scrubbed clean. “I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me,” she muttered, tracing delicate scratches into the bird’s skin and then rubbing the seasoning into the fresh grooves. “Threatening to break my arm was your first instinct when I was a child – don’t think I don’t remember you putting me in an armlock in the retiring room, or all those times you dragged me to Mrs Lonsdale by the wrists – and then you tore the bloody sky in half! When it wasn’t even necessary. But that’s just what you’re like, isn’t it – ”

“What?” Asriel had paused, peeler in one hand, semi-shorn potato in the other. Lyra blinked; she’d assumed that he’d just tuned her out.

“Nothing. I was just commenting on your inability to do anything with restraint.”

“What do you mean it wasn’t necessary?”

She stared at him. “Well, there were lots of windows already, weren’t there? Even in Oxford. But no, you had to go all the way to the North – ”

He dropped the peeler onto the countertop with a clatter. “There were other windows? In our world?”

“Yeah,” she said, sharing a nervous glance with Pan. “You – you didn’t know about them?”

“How could I?” he said. “Within days of leaving Svalbard this world was several windows away. I didn’t spare a thought for home until your mother and I returned. How many? Where are they? Did you say Oxford?”

“They’re closed now,” Lyra said, an unwelcome memory of Will’s face disappearing behind a cruel, luminous seam in the air coming to her mind. “And I only knew about a few, the Oxford ones, mostly, though Will’s dad must’ve come through one too. But they’d been around for ages, they must have. I mean, Latrom had been crossing for years.” She tilted her head. “You really didn’t know that there were other windows? Even now?”

“No,” he snapped, Stelmaria grizzling beside him. “No one deigned to tell me. And who’s this Latrom?”

“That creepy collector guy, with the snake-dæmon. Oh, he had a different name in our world…”

“Boreal,” Pantalaimon piped up from beside her. “Lord Boreal.”

Her father’s eyes widened. “Boreal was travelling between worlds?”

Lyra nodded. “He’d been at it for ages. Decades, I suppose. He ran a big company in Will’s world and had travelled all over, collecting things for his weird basement. I think he was trying to impress Marisa. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work.”

That made Stelmaria growl, and Lyra’s heart began to beat a little faster.

“Your mother went with him? To another world?”

“She was looking for me, I think,” Lyra admitted. “Latrom – Boreal – whatever, he’d stolen my alethiometer to force us bring him the knife, and she came to intercept us. That didn’t work either.”

At that moment, her mother swanned into the kitchen, wearing a red cashmere dress and a coal-black shawl, a fragrant bloom of perfume following her, the intertwining notes of rose and myrrh a smell Lyra had come to recognise as soon as it appeared in the air. She smiled at the sight of them, Asriel and Lyra side by side in the kitchen, though the joy was wiped from her face as soon as Asriel exploded, “You went to another world with Boreal?”

Marisa glared at Lyra, and she took Pan in her arms at once and clutched him to her chest. “What did you say to him?”

“I didn’t realise it was a secret!” Lyra said. “It was years ago!”

“When I asked you to go to another world with me, you refused. But when he asked – ”

The golden monkey was pulling gently on Stelmaria’s ears, trying to placate her, but Marisa herself seemed unperturbed. She poured herself a glass of wine, the same deep red as her dress, and leaned against the dining table. “He had something to offer me that served my own interests. You wanted me to simply abandon my life’s work in favour of yours, without a moment’s hesitation or complaint.”

“Semantics,” Asriel growled.

Marisa sipped her wine, pursing her lips, unbearably smug. “Are you jealous, darling? I thought you didn’t care about my lovers.”

Lyra’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? You and he… ugh! That’s disgusting!”

“Thank you, Lyra,” her father said, smirking.

“He was so… so smarmy, and so old, even then!” Lyra said.

“He was not that old,” her mother snapped, shooting daggers at Asriel when he laughed.

“Trust me,” Asriel said, leaning towards Lyra but not lowering his voice, “she went older.”

“I don’t want to know!” Lyra said, at the same time Marisa growled, “Asriel.” The golden monkey’s soothing caresses became a vicious wrench, and then both Asriel and Stelmaria were grimacing.

Lyra shook her head, reaching for the warped tin tray holding the goose and carrying it over to the oven. “Ugh,” she said again, shivering slightly, thinking of Lord Boreal’s oily voice and vault of trinkets. “You did that to find me and I still got away. No wonder you were furious.” She closed the cast-iron door with a smack. “What happened to him, anyhow?”

“An altercation with a spectre,” her mother said smoothly. “If he’d been paying more attention, perhaps he’d have seen it coming. Alas.”  

“You quite certain that the old snake’s heart didn’t just give out?” Asriel said, irritation transformed neatly into amusement. “As your daughter has emphasised so thoroughly, he was getting on.”

“Seems rather hypocritical to be goading me about the age of one’s lovers, hmm?” her mother said, with a sneer. “How old was that Latvian witch? Five hundred? Six?”

“Hard to say, given that she looked younger even than you,” Asriel said, leaning back against the counter with a smug smile. The monkey bit Stelmaria, and Asriel grunted.

“Stop it,” Lyra said, pressing her hands to her ears. “Ugh, just – just stop it! Both of you!”

Her parents glanced at Lyra, and then looked back to each other. Silence fell across the trio, and just as Lyra thought that the ghastly conversation was over, her father said, “She was four hundred, I’ll have you know. The witch you’re thinking of was Siberian, and she was – ”

“You’re both so infuriating!” Lyra said, storming out of the kitchen into her bedroom, closing the door with a slam.  

She sat on her bed and folded her arms, expecting one of them to come and find her, but it soon became clear that her flouncing off had done little to end the argument. She could hear them bickering, two familiar tones resonating through the cabin’s wooden walls, with the occasional sharper snap or outraged shout. Then she heard the sound of glass smashing and a chair scraping across the ground. Lyra lay back on her bed with a groan, slotting her head beneath her pillow and pressing the soft cotton to her ears.

She waited a few minutes before resurfacing, pleased that the brawl had quietened, and then spent several more minutes flicking through her book, hoping that their tempers would have burned themselves out by the time she returned to the kitchen. But when she made her grand reappearance, expecting to see some contrition on their faces, even just a grain of sand’s worth, she found the kitchen empty, the only sound the faint hiss of the kettle on the stove. She looked around the empty room, noting the glass shards on the floor by the sink. “Do you think one of them ran off, and the other followed?” Pan said, peering out of the window.

“Their coats are still here…” Lyra said, frowning.

At that moment, the workshop door swung open and her father appeared in the doorway. His cheeks were flushed, and he was tucking his shirt back into his trousers. “Oh. You’re back.”

Lyra stared at him. He glanced at the oven, chest heaving. “Is that goose ready yet? I’m starving.”

Her mouth fell open. “You – you – ” She shook her head. “Oh my god!”

“Lyra, darling,” her mother said breathlessly, appearing beside Asriel, her face the same deep crimson as the dress she was still straightening.

“You two are a disgrace,” Lyra said, with all the admonition she could muster, but her father only snorted. She turned and stalked back to her bedroom. “Disgusting. Disgusting!”

This time her mother did appear after a few minutes, her wild hair neatened and her face dusted with powder, Lyra scowling beneath the covers and pretending to read when the knock came at the door. Marisa opened it and skulked inside, looking – perhaps for the first time in Lyra’s memory – truly embarrassed, her cheeks still aflame, now for different reasons.

“I’m sorry about that, darling,” she said, running a hand through her curls. “I don’t know what came over me. Now, won’t you join us in the kitchen again, hmm? I’ve mixed you a drink, with the cloudberry jenniver. I know that it’s your favourite.”

Lyra gave her an unimpressed glare. Her mother smiled sweetly, one hand stroking her dæmon’s golden back. “And you know your father doesn’t know what to do with a paring knife, nor a roast potato or a pear. It would be such a shame to see your lovely meal ruined, wouldn’t it? I certainly don’t know when to take the bird out of the oven.”

That got her out of bed, her mother’s hand rubbing gently between her shoulder blades as they returned to the kitchen. Her father was hacking at the pile of potatoes again, a half-finished cocktail by his side.

“There you are,” he said, holding out her drink. Lyra took a sip and suppressed a hum as the sweet spirit hit her throat. He gestured to the countertop. “Now, what do you want me to do with these?” he said. Before long, their workflow had resumed, Asriel scoffing at Lyra’s comments on his knife skills but following her instructions nonetheless, while her mother sat at the table and offered unhelpful suggestions, a glass of wine in her hand and her feet propped up on a chair.

“Merry Christmas to us,” Pan said after Marisa had made a particularly useless remark. Despite herself, Lyra smirked.

This is a deleted scene from my story Unholy Ghosts, in which Lord Asriel and Mrs Coulter survive the abyss and reunite with their daughter. You can read the full story on AO3. 

[theartistichuman]

Tma 200 spoilers

I might post this to my ao3. This is a rough draft so please ignore the subpar writing.

Summary-

Melanie and Georgie heal.

They never did find the bodies in the end. That’s not for lack of trying; they scoured every inch of what used to be The Magnus Institute. They found a plethora of tapes, and some preserved Leitners (Georgie insisted on throwing them out, despite Melanie insisting that they were safe, and even if they weren’t they couldn’t hurt her anyways) but not a single body. Not even of the previous archivists.

Neither of them knew exactly what that meant. Georgie stayed stubbornly optimistic, but Melanie knew better. Georgie may have had her encounters, but Melanie almost was an encounter. She knew what it felt like to be afraid of what you’re becoming, but to want to hurt people anyways. She knew what it felt like to want to burn the world around you, and just keep walking. Melanie wanted to believe what Georgie did- that those two were dead and at rest- but she didn’t have the hope to keep it up. Not like Georgie did.

It takes time to make a new normal. Most days it felt like the world was holding its breath; waiting for the moment that their rest would be interrupted and they would be dragged back into their fear. Georgie started going to therapy, and seemed all the better for it. Melanie saw a psychiatrist every month or so for a check up, but after spending so long with Laverne worshipping her, she knew she needed a bit more time. It wasn’t good to put it off, but Georgie (and, by proxy, Georgie’s therapist) insist she take her time.

Georgie starts her podcast up after Melanie scolds her for getting stir crazy (employment was still fickle). She changed the theme, citing t that people probably wouldn’t want to speculate about the supernatural after they lived it. Instead she starts inviting people to send in her stories.

“Community counseling”Georgie told her over their celebratory dinner (dinosaur chicken nuggets and boxed wine) “people might feel better if they get their stories out there.”

Melanie highly doubted that, but she was the first guest on the newly rebranded ‘What the Apocalypse’ anyways. (It did make her feel better, but she suspects Georgie knows without her admitting it.)

The Admiral is different from how he was before. He didn’t pounce on things and his separation anxiety got so bad the vet put him on meds. The Admiral didn’t seem to like the dark much either, but according to Georgie that might not be because of the end of the world.

Every morning they take their meds together at breakfast. Melanie (with the assistance of her Scanmarker Air, that she refers to as her “sketchmarker air” to Georgie’s dismay) gets The Admiral his tuna, as Georgie makes them cereal.

Every evening they sit together and listen to their favorite books. Georgie will order them Hungarian on Fridays, and Melanie buys a cat carrier for The Admiral for Tuesday walks. It feels like family, and Melanie loves it so much it hurts.

Basira wanders in an out of their lives. Melanie isn’t sure what she’s up to, but she seems lost. Before she always seemed headstrong and powerful: like she knew where she was going and why. But now, without the pressure of the world on her shoulders, Basira seemed... timid almost.

Whenever Basira came over Georgie and Melanie would bring out their board games. They would drink an obscene amount of apple juice, and laugh until the sun came up. Basira never stayed past that, and they never asked her to.

One day Georgie interrupts their newfound evening “Melanie, we should talk.”

“About.....?” Melanie tries to point her face at where she approximates Georgie’s is. Georgie gently touches Melanie’s chin and guides her face up.

“Up here babe,” she says, fondly, “but I’ve told you that you don’t need to do that.”

Melanie knows she doesn’t need to do it, but the hand on her skin makes it worth it.

“I know.” She says back. “But I’m being polite.”

Georgie snorts. “Polite? You? You made Martin cry in your first week of work.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Melanie takes the hand on chin, and rubs her thumb across the knuckles. She ignores the small pang of loss she feels at his name. She thinks that in a different life they would’ve gotten along, maybe even been friends. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Martin, actually. Well, Martin and Jon.” Georgie said. “I was thinking, and I understand if you disagree, that maybe we could... do something for them? Like a funeral or memorial or something? Maybe even just a headstone or something.”

Melanie opens her mouth to respond, but Georgie rushes in before she speaks.

“And I know you and Jon never got along, but I just think that after everything he deserves it. And even if he doesn’t , Martin certainly does. Even if neither of them deserve it I think it would help. My therapist told me I need closure, and I just thought-“

“Babe, babe, slow down,”Melanie interrupts, “I’d love to. Even if Jon and I... even if he was a bit of a wanker, he did sacrifice himself to end the apocalypse. And. Well, I just think t-that-“

Melanie stutters to stop for a moment to think. Georgie seems to understand that she’s not done, and squeezes her hand. Melanie takes a deep breath before continuing.

“I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up. Or after that. It was just me and my dad. When he died, they told me- they told me I couldn’t bury him. I couldn’t even have the ashes. Some bullshit about how he was part of a crime scene, which, looking now, didn’t make any sense. Not that I had enough money or time for a funeral, but... well, any closure would have been nice. I just- I just- I just don’t think I could let anyone close to me go un-un- I don’t know it’s just... it’s just bad.” Melanie winces a bit at her ending.

Georgie doesn’t say anything. Her hand stills from where she was playing with Melanie’s fingers. Melanie realizes a little belatedly, that she’d never talked about her father’s death with Georgie. After all they’d been through it seemed almost silly that Georgie didn’t know.

“And even if Jon was a wanker, Martin certainly wasn’t.” She tacks on in attempt to lighten the mood.

Georgie snorts at that. “Jon was... an acquired taste. He was a lot less uptight in University, but good god sometimes you could actually see the rod in his ass.”

“Hey!” Melanie says in mock offense “don’t speak ill of the dead!”

“You literally just called him a wanker!” Georgie retorts.

“Yeah but I’m allowed to! I don’t like him!” Melanie smacks her arm.

“Anyways. What do you want to do for them?” Georgie says once she stops giggling. “I was thinking a headstone, but that might be too much upkeep.”

“And people may not take kindly to a memorial to ‘The Archivist’ and his plus one.”

“Exactly,” Georgie agrees, “ so out with it. Give me an idea, oh wise prophet.”

Melanie pinches her hand. “Shut it, you. Maybe- maybe like a... bench or something?”

“A bench?” Georgie says teasingly, “that’s the best you’ve got? Not so wise after all.”

“Okay prophet, what have you got?”

“Maybe we could do something here? Like a photo album or something.”

“We don’t have any photos of them.”

“We could, like, write a heartfelt letter and burn it.”

“Maybe.” Melanie says with no small amount of suspicion.

“Okay, fiiiine maybe I don’t have any ideas.” Georgie relents.

They sit in silence for a bit after that. It should be uncomfortable, and probably would have been if it wasn’t Georgie and Melanie. Eventually Georgie gets up to find her phone so they can listen to the next chapter of their book. Melanie tries to lie down in the warm spot Georgie vacated, but The Admiral had already taken up the vacancy.

Melanie’s head lands in his soft fur, and he chirps inquisitively before curling around her head. Melanie buries a hand in his fur, and he rewards her with a content purr.

“Comfortable?” Georgie says when she re-enters the room. Melanie groans.

“Yes yes you fuss pot. Ready for our next chapter?” Georgie sits on the edge of the couch by Melanie’s head, and when she starts to pet her head, Melanie wishes she could purr like The Admiral.

Georgie snorts. “I think I might have a type.”

“And whats that?” Melanie nuzzles further into Georgie’s hand.

“Yeah,” Georgie pokes her cheek, “my type is ‘cats re-incarnated as people’. You can’t tell by looking at him, but Jon would absolutely melt at the slightest hair petting.”

Melanie is just about to protest being compared to Jon when an idea hits her. She sits up abruptly, and she hears Georgie give a little gasp in response.

“That’s it!” Melanie shouts.

“What’s it?” Georgie says, almost as loud.

“I’ve just had a great idea.”

Melanie gives her proposal, and even though she can’t see it, she knows Georgie is smiling the rest of the night.

—————

A week later, Georgie and Melanie walk into their apartment with two boxes. They would have just used one, but they were nervous the little ones would fight in the car ride that Rosie graciously provides them (with the payment of demanding photos).

And so Jon and Martin entered their lives.

One of the kittens is sleek black with golden amber eyes and short hair, and the other is white with blue eyes and so much fluff that he looks three times the size he really is. There were more kittens in the running, but these two were at the top (according to Georgie, they were basically photo copies of their namesakes), but Melanie decided these were the two when the woman at the desk told her they were inseparable.

They were worried about how The Admiral would react to their new additions, but it was proved irrational within three hours. The Admiral seemed to take a liking to them immediately.

“Maybe it really is Jon.” Georgie jokes when she stumbles on the three cuddled together. “Sometimes I thought The Admiral liked him more.”

(That was obviously false; anyone with -or with damaged- eyes could tell The Admiral adored her.)

They barely had to make an adjustment to their routine- the only real difference was the number of bowls during breakfast, and the number of feet that pattered in the halls.

Basira didn’t know what to make of it at first, but Georgie later told her that she stumbled in on Basira apologizing to Jon. Neither of them judge her for it; both of them did the same thing when they got him.

The days stretch to weeks, and the weeks stretch into months. Melanie goes to therapy, and attempts to keep houseplants. Georgie records her podcasts and teases Melanie when she fails to keep a cactus alive. Together they make their home with new cat toys (that The Admiral still refuses to play with), a cat tree (which the Admiral is more than interested in), crotchet throws from Rosie and the occasional mug from Basira.

One morning Melanie wakes to find the last bit of residual anger in her gone, and when she cries Georgie holds her tight.

Melanie loves it so much it hurts, and she wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[alison-anonymous]

flawsome bandits pt. 17 ♡ sonic

Flawsome Firewood

So sorry for the later update, my darlings. Been suffering from some writer’s block and I also was working on an actual novel I’ve been writing too! Let me know if any of you are interested in checking it out and maybe I’ll upload some snippets sometime ;) I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! Much love!

Warnings - immense fluff, what else is new?

♡♡♡

It should be common knowledge by now that going off alone in the woods is a bad idea. And since our favorite four are not complete and utter idiots (like some may believe), they were quick to adapt to the Buddy System. A couple of days had gone by that were pretty uneventful, mostly consisting of more cute moments between Sonic and Y/n and a bunch of plotting from Robotnik as he drafted his Metal Sonic. Plus a couple of mishaps caused by Shadow (who was growing increasingly more distracted by the minute) and some more internal debating coming from Knuckles. Robotnik had finally managed to revive some of his more powerful drones, programming them to shoot at either of the hedgehogs or their little friends on sight so that if one of them ventured a bit too far, then they would be taken care of without him having to do anything but lift a finger. 

He was SUCH a genius; Shadow and Knuckles were lucky they had such a benevolent leader like him. Little did Sonic and Y/n know that all it would take would be one little trip into the woods to understand that.

♡♡♡

“Aww, shoot,” Spirit sighed from her spot kneeling before the fire. Her blue eyes swept across the flames as they crackled before her, lighting up the evening sky. Y/n glanced up at her friend from the top of the truck.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“We’re running low on wood. Want me to go and get some?” 

Y/n’s stomach instantly churned as she pictured venturing out into the woods this late during the day. It made her terrified enough to even be three feet away from her friends anymore thanks to Shadow, her yandere… She shivered in disgust as the thought of him crossed her mind. Him pressing her up against that tree, the amount of fear that she had been under was so debilitating that she couldn’t move… She hated him for it. Hated him with every fiber of her being for making her feel helpless. She wished that she never had to see him again, even though she knew she would have to at some point. After all, he was one of Robotnik’s henchmen. But still. Y/n’s e/c orbs glanced nervously into the dark underbrush of the forest, her ears flickering silently to see if there were any snapping twigs or rustling leaves. She tried her best to not picture Spirit going out on her own and getting stabbed or shot at by one of Robotnik’s plots.

She better go instead.

“No, no,” Y/n stood up, glancing over to see Sonic and Tails going over some of their defense lines again. They had been busying themselves by building defense traps (at Sonic’s suggestion thanks to Shadow and his grabby hands) and were getting along quite well. “I’ll go. Hey, Son?” 

Sonic’s head whipped up the second his nickname left Y/n’s lips. She offered him a warm smile that made his heart skip a beat. 

“Want to go get some firewood with me?” He was already by her side before she even finished her sentence. Throwing his arm around her shoulders, Sonic sent her a sly wink and grinned.

“You need a protector? Don’t worry, M’Lady, I won’t let anyone touch you.” He was just playing around, but it still made Y/n’s heart skip a beat as she smiled appreciatively at him. Spirit and Tails nodded in affirmation, letting them know that they would be alright on their own while the two hedgehogs with super abilities left them for a couple of minutes. Still keeping his arm firmly wrapped around her shoulder, Sonic guided Y/n into the woods. He couldn’t help but notice how the instant they left the warmth of the fire and entered the hangings of the trees that her body tensed. 

As they walked in a light silence, he glanced down at his girlfriend and frowned. Her eyes were scanning the woods before them repetitively, like she was afraid the light was playing tricks on her and that something was going to come popping out of the woods when she least expected it. Slight PTSD, Sonic thought to himself, tightening his grip on Y/n’s shoulders. A slight flare of anger went through him as Shadow’s name crossed his mind. That bastard… Next time he saw that dark hedgehog, he was as good as dead.

“Are you alright?” Sonic asked. Y/n let out a small hum, and rapidly nodded her head.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I’m fin-” She suddenly stopped. Literally, stopped in her tracks. Her ears straightened up and her back arched, like she was trying to be a giraffe. Her e/c eyes flitted across the scene in front of her. “Do you… Do you hear that?” 

“Hear what?” Sonic questioned, growing more concerned by the minute. Was she hearing that strange singing again? 

That didn’t seem to be the case as she put a hand on his lips gently and shushed him once again. The implication of personal space no longer existed between the two, and he wouldn’t have it any other way, as her body was practically pressed up against him. His heart pounded within his chest, and that was when he finally heard it. 

A high-pitched humming noise. Of a laser warming up.

His emerald eyes scoured the trees until they landed on a little red dot hidden within some brambles that was getting brighter by the second. Y/n was searching in a different patch of leaves; she hadn’t seen it yet. Of course, his number one instinct was to protect her at all costs. But… they were alone. And she hadn’t seen where the laser was yet. And Robotnik was probably on the other end, watching them through some security camera like the stalker that he was. And if there was one thing Sonic loved almost as much as Y/n, it was pissing that crazy mustached man. An idea began to formulate its way through his mind, and a small grin began to spread out across his face.

Who said that they couldn’t have some fun?

“Hey, N/n,” He whispered into Y/n’s ear, sensing her shiver from his breath against her neck. She turned to look at him and furrowed her brows when she saw the look on his face. He was up to something. 

“What?”

“Follow my lead.”

Before she even had a second to ask what he meant by that, Sonic quickly grabbed ahold of her hand, wound her up into his chest, and spun her out in such a perfectly timed dance move that by the time their arms were fully extended, she rocked back on her heels just as a laser fired above their arms. Right where Y/n would have been standing. 

Her eyes bugged out in shock and she looked up at her boyfriend, only to see him wink at her. Oh? Ooh! So he wanted to dance, huh? Well, she had never really been one for swing dancing before, but he seemed to be into it. And besides, they needed to have some fun out here, didn’t they? Help lighten the mood a little? A smile plastered itself onto Y/n’s face and she spun herself back into Sonic’s chest, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Another laser zipped through the air, missing her quills just in time. Their hearts raced with the excitement of the revelation of a new way of fighting.

“Hey, Egghead,” Sonic called as he swept Y/n off her feet into a dip, causing her to laugh. Another laser missed them by about a foot, barely even getting the chance to scrape Sonic’s quills before they were back up and dancing again. “Wanna give us some awesome dance music?”

A couple more lasers were shot and missed before Robotnik’s voice suddenly came crackling from one of the drones that were hiding in the trees. 

“I’m trying to kill you! You could at least act like it! A scream or two would be nice!” Robotnik growled like an annoyed kid who didn’t get the toy he wanted. But, despite himself, the all too familiar tunes of Die Young by Kesha began crackling through the damaged speakers of his drones. Y/n couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the appropriateness of his song choice as she was picked up and swung around by Sonic to miss some more lasers being shot at them.

“Aww, come on, Eggy,” She giggled, listening to Kesha sing about the beat of the drums. Her heart thumped along to the rhythm. “Can’t you learn to let go of the hate?”

“I literally begin to shoot lasers at you, and what do you do? You dance! YOU FUCKING DANCE!” Robotnik began to lose control through the speakers as Y/n and Sonic dodged more lasers, their movements becoming enhanced from their abilities. As they danced along to the thumping of the bass of Kesha’s song, Y/n and Sonic couldn’t help but laugh. It had been so long since they had had this much fun together. Fighting a cranky Robotnik who seriously needed to try Match.com, using each other’s abilities to build each other up, and making sure that they were always smiling. 

It made them completely forget about the weight of the situation they were in for a little bit. But while Sonic was holding a giggling, happy Y/n in his arms, it seemed like he had all the time in the world to forget. He couldn’t help but wish for this moment to last forever. 

♡♡♡

A couple of days later, Knuckles had finally had enough.

He wasn’t the sharpest echidna in the… box? No. No he was not. But just because he put a rock on a sandwich once and tried to eat it doesn’t mean that he is completely incapable of judging a person’s qualities for himself. And he had finally decided that Robotnik wasn’t the nicest guy on the planet. No, it wasn’t because he had forced him to get electrocuted seventeen times. On the same day. It wasn’t because of him constantly criticising him for being “dumb” or “inconceivable”, which Knuckles didn’t even know the meaning of that word. It wasn’t even because of how drained Knuckles had felt since the day that he started working for the man. Or even because the second he looked into Sonic and Y/n’s eyes, he knew they weren’t evil. No. No, none of these reasons were the ones why Knuckles decided to quit.

Want to know why he decided to quit?

“He took away my bathroom privileges,” Knuckles sighed, looking down at the grass beneath the log he was sitting on. Only silence came from the four shocked teenagers sitting before him. Y/n sat cuddled up underneath the protective arm of her boyfriend, Sonic, while the teenage girl and Tails sat next to each other on the neighboring log. He had gotten swept up into a netting-trap thing of sorts when he had first set foot onto their campsite, but after he had explained to them that he meant them no harm, they decided to hear him out.

“He… took away… your bathroom privileges,” Y/n repeated, scrunching her nose up in confusion. “That was the reason why?”

Knuckles began to nod, then stopped. “Well, there were more reasons. But that was the drawing point. What happens if I need to pee? I have a very weak bladder, and my poo-”

“Stop!” Spirit held up a hand to stop him before he continued, ignoring Sonic trying desperately to stifle his laughter by burying his face in Y/n’s quills. Knuckles was very… bold, wasn’t he? 

“How did you get away from him?” Tails questioned. “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t just let you waltz out because of something like that.”

“Well, he kind of didn’t know…” Knuckles scratched his neck anxiously, clearing his throat. “I sort of slipped away when he was sleeping and Shadow was busy practice-kissing a tree. I really don’t know who he’s trying to impress, but he needs some help.” He paused for a moment, completely oblivious to the range of horrified emotions littering the four teenagers’ faces. “Come to think of it, Robotnik doesn’t seem very mentally stable either. Anyways, I would like to join your team, if you will have me. I know that this may seem like a trap, but I assure you, it isn’t. I just feel like something is… off about Robotnik. I think he might be dealing with power that he shouldn’t be reckoning with.”

Y/n and Sonic slowly nodded, exchanging worried glances with one another. Should they take him on? I mean, Knuckles wasn’t very… threatening to them, so to speak. If anything, Robotnik was crazy and Shadow was a lustful back of dic- I MEAN a very… interesting specimen, to say the least. Talking to Shadow was like trying to swallow a gallon of detergent. It’s not fun for anyone.

But Knuckles…

“Okay,” Sonic finally spoke. “We’ll take you on. BUT if we find out that this was all a trap-”

“I assure you, it isn’t!” Knuckles quickly defended himself. “I promise! I’ll even do a, what is it you humans do? A blood oath?”

“Please don’t,” Tails stressed. “You could get a sexually transmitted disease from blood on blood contact and-”

“STOP!” Spirit whimpered, having enough with the strange conversation topics for today. Y/n found herself getting a headache too as she stood up and extended her gloved hand out towards the echidna. He looked at her with stars in his eyes.

“Let’s just shake on it instead.”

Knuckles eagerly grabbed onto her hand and gave it a firm shake, but with one death-glare from Sonic, he let it go before it went on for a little longer than it should. Y/n rejoined Sonic on the log and he wrapped his arms around her once more, this time pulling her closer to him in protectiveness.

“Welcome to Team Bonnie & Clyde!” Y/n smiled. Knuckles smiled back.

“Pleasure to be here.”

And for once… Knuckles felt like he truly belonged.

♡♡♡

Later that night, Y/n lay wide awake next to Sonic. 

He had his arms wrapped around her to make sure that she wasn’t taken away from him in the middle of the night, and Knuckles had even promised to keep an extra close eye on the forest for her while he took the first watch. And yet, she still couldn’t find a way to sleep. 

The worry of everything had finally become enough to drive her to insomnia. Well, you made it to the fourth week, Y/n, she silently congratulated herself. Fourth week and then the nights finally became a little scarier. Not that she was complaining. The stars were absolutely gorgeous from here. But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was, well, the problem.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the visions she had had. The burning forest. The screaming filling her ears. The figure that she now knew was Shadow forcing her to drink something that might kill her. It was more than enough to drive her crazy wondering why she had to see that, what the little wisp before her had been. Why was it singing to her? Why hadn’t it come back yet to sing to her again? Did it only come to her when there was a time of need? Something to be fixed? Something to be stopped? Like Robotnik, perhaps?

She shivered, but not from the cold.

It was terrifying to even think about having to face him again. Sure, she had already faced him today. But she was with Sonic then. And back when she and Sonic had fought against him in Green Hills, they had been working together against him. Two to one, he would have been outnumbered anyway. But now he had Shadow on his side. And while Knuckles had come over to their side, plus Spirit and Tails, Y/n couldn’t help but worry. 

Shadow. Shadow was… a problem.

He debilitated her. And she couldn’t figure out for the life of her why. It was probably because she had never met anyone that forward and that terrifying before. He loved her, and that was the most dangerous thing. Of course, she had Sonic to protect her if the time ever came, but Sonic wasn’t going to be there twenty four seven. She had to find a way to stand up for herself. But even punching him in the face and verbally saying no didn’t get her anywhere. He made her freeze up in terror. And she didn’t even want to think about what he would do to her friends just in order to make her his. 

And the last thing she wanted was to be his. 

Y/n rolled over to face Sonic and smiled when she saw his sleeping face. His mouth was open a little bit so that a soft snore came out of his nose. She stifled a giggle, feeling her heart flutter within her chest. God. She loved him so much… She would do anything to protect him.

Anything.

Even if… No. No, he would never forgive her if she did that. Y/n instantly shook the ridiculous idea out of her head and thought back to Robotnik. He was planning on making a Metal Sonic, which was what Knuckles had told them. A version of Sonic that was entirely man made and suited for combat. Which meant that he might even have powers that Sonic himself didn’t have. Y/n scrunched up her nose in thought. So they would have to fight Robotnik, his drones, Metal Sonic, and yandere Shadow. And they would all be very angry and blood-lusting. All against herself, Sonic, Spirit (who was actually pretty good with a baseball bat), Tails (who was a techie), and Knuckles, the ex-Robotnik lover. 

Could they defeat him?

She was afraid to know the answer.

♡ a.a.

[pucks-no-fucks]

Long Distance: Kaapo Kakko X Reader (part 3)

*gif isn’t mine, I am sure I found it on here, I have scoured everywhere, can’t find the owner, if you made it tell me so I can give credit where it’s due*

Authors Note: OOP- I think I know where I’m bringing this now (I have 2 ideas) but you guys will hate me for it for a bit if I go with one of them

Summary: Kaapo and the reader are in Vancouver for the draft.

Warnings: *Possibly a curse or two I can’t remember. Also there’s a passive comment in here, I ain’t got anything against New Jersy btw.

Requested: Yes | No

Word Count: 1,060

It took a lot to convince your mom to bring you to Vancouver. She was pissed about what happened in Slovakia. She was really mad. But you were able to do it. The plane ride over you were giddy. You were excited. You were staying in Vancouver for a week. Plenty of time.

When the plane landed you practically bounced off. Your mom starting becoming suspicious about why you wanted to come to Vancouver. You decided to send Kaapo a text to let him know you were here.

You: Hey I’m here, what are you up too?

Immediately you got a text back.

Kaapo: press

You: oh fun

Read

This was going to be a busy time and it wasn’t necessarily his fault. Besides, he just told you he was working with press. You were too happy for him to possibly be upset about it.

The hotel you and your mom were staying at was nice. Fancy. Gorgeous. Had a nice restaurant beside it too, so your mom treated you there.

Mom was giving you weird vibes however.

You were seated at the table and the second you ordered and the waiter took the menus she gave you a look.

She swished the water and ice in her cup. “So. When were you going to tell me you chased a boy here?”, she said simply. She didn’t sound mad or upset.

You slumped I your chair. “Mom I-“, she cut you off.

“Hey hey. I get it. Sometimes you fall for the wrong person at the wrong time. Sometimes the right person at the wrong time. I just would of liked to know why you had Auntie Aada almost call the police for your return”, she said with a chuckle, taking a sip of her water.

Visibly relaxing, you told her everything. She listened and laughed. She sided with you on most of what happened.

“Aada just worries. Long distance is hard”, mom told you. You knew it was true.

“Yea, but Mom something about this feels right. Not like he’s my soulmate or anything. I mean he very well could be, but that’s not the point. Everything is calm between us. There’s a peace and appreciation that no one else has ever shown me. There’s something there. I haven’t known him long enough to say I’m in love with him but Mom I think that spark is the start. That little something is going to be bigger. I know it’s not going to be easy, but life isn’t easy”, you took a deep breath. Mom looked at you in adoration.

“My Baby is growing up”! Her eyes watered as she said this and her hand grabbed yours. “If long distance is okay with you, then I’m okay with it”.

You blinked back happy tears. She got it. Your mother got it. She was going to support you through it. Dinner was calm after that. Conversation flowed easily.

“Draft is tomorrow. Are you going to be there”?

“Of course”.

~~~~~~~~~

You and your mom sat up with Kaapo and his family. You waited patiently with him, soothing and comforting him. This was big. Obviously, his childhood dream was coming true.

“Your okay babe”, you whispered to him. He had a straight face and was thinking hard.

“Thank you”. He looked over at you and some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared. But not all of it.

You massaged his hand. It always helped you calm down when you were younger. You hoped this would help him. The pad of your thumb ran along the palm of his hand, rubbing slow circles.

“You have small hands”.

You looked up at him with a smirk. “No my hands are average sized. You just have really big hands”.

He smirked but quickly returned his attention to the stage. You rested your head on his shoulder, continuing to massage his hand. Everyone was talking and being loud but the two of you were content with being silent.

New Jersey had taken their place on the stage to announce their selection. Martin Brodeur was announcing it. “For first over all, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select from the US program”, Kappos face fell, “Jack Hughes”.

“New Jersey sucks anyway”, you whispered while clapping for Hughes. You doubted it would help comfort him but it was something. They took their pictures and whatever.

It was a no brainer when the New York Rangers have Kaapo as their selection. It all blurred together, him getting up and hugging you first and then everyone else around him, his walk up, the pictures. The everything.

You were fucking proud.

You knew he was going to be occupied for a long time. You took your phone out and opened Instagram. Multiple notifications came up quickly on your phone.

“Was that you”?

“Are you at the draft”?

“You went to Vancouver”?

You ignored them. Your followers started slowly increasing. You changed your account to private for the time being. Kaapo has found your account making you smile and follow him back.

Opening the explore page, you searched for the Rangers. You followed them. Their page was already quickly filling up with Kakko posts.

New notification: “Is Kakko your boyfriend”?

You didn’t know what to say. Was he? No, the two of you haven’t talked about that. You read it over and over. The question upset you more then it should of. What were you guys? You were too easily upset, you pinned it on a lot of change.

You exited and started scrolling through your feed. Nothing interesting. Basic selfies, basic vacation pics, basic ads.

It was getting late, you had to leave with mom to go back to the hotel. You hugged the Kakko’s congratulations, and left. Kaapo was still busy with the rangers team and press. Mom talked about how much she loved the draft and how she wanted to go to another one.

That made you happy. When you reached the hotel room, only then you realized how tired you were. Almost immediately you fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~

You slept in, but woke up well rested. Quickly, you noticed mom wasn’t in the hotel room. She left a note for you on the clock.

‘Out with the girls, will be back before 5’

It was 11 am. What felt like hundreds of messages spammed your phone. Kaapo had texted you too.

Kaapo: When you get up text me?

You: Sorry I slept in. What’s your plan today?

Your phone dinged almost immediately.

Kaapo: No plans yet. Waited for you.

You: Think we could go somewhere to talk?

You left your phone on the nightstand and started getting ready. Your favourite summer clothes was a good choice. Flip flops and you were almost ready to go. Your hair was put into a lazily done bun before you sat back onto the bed.

Kaapo: Sure

You both decided to meet at the Tim Hortons closest to where he was staying. It wasn’t a far walk for you. Even though you could of taken the bus, you wanted to enjoy Vancouver.

The bell dinged as you opened the door. A quick scan of the Tims was all you needed. An awkward, out of place Kaapo sat in the back corner. You smiled but walked over.

“Is this seat taken”, you said in a deep voice.

Kaapos head snapped up to look at you. He chuckled, but motioned to the chair. You slid into the chair with ease. You rest your chin on your hand and looked intently at Kaapo.

“What are we?”, you asked loudly.

Kaapo went tense. “What do you mean?”, he mumbled, tracing random patterns on the table.

“Like. Are we together? Are we not?”, you sighed.

“I-“, he paused. “I don’t know. What do you want to be?”, he finished.

You smiled softly at him. “I want to be your girlfriend”, you said in a teasing tone.

He smiled. “Y/n, will you be my girlfriend”, he smirked.

“I, Y/n, agree to be your girlfriend”, you said dramatically. You both stopped for a second before bursting into loud fits of laughter. It wasn’t even that funny, so you weren’t sure why. You were wiping tears from your eyes, still trying to hold back laughter.

You reached for his hands. He reached for yours. Locking fingers together, you both giggled. Stupid teenager babble.

“Oh my god! Tell me how everything was for you!”, you exclaimed. You jumped out of your chair and almost leaped across the table to embrace him. His arms wrapped around you as he hummed in delight.

“Was good”.

“No no like TELL me about it”, you said excitedly.

So he did. He sat there and talked to you about it. He tried to be conservative about it. It was obvious he didn’t want to make everything about him.

You loved it. You loved hearing him talk about something so important to him. You loved just hearing him talk. You loved that this was a big part of his life, and inevitably yours too.

“I love you”, you blurted.

He froze. Kaapo looked at you like you had three heads. You were mentally beating yourself up over it. You didn’t even mean it. You didn’t know if you loved him yet. It was all too fast and all too soon. It was a spur of the moment. Your face went red. You regretted it immediately.

“You what”?

[jarry-land]

Bluma Barker and the Treacherous Toy Taker

(This was a short story I did for my creative writing class. I revised it a while ago so may as well post the final draft. If you have any feedback I would love to hear it!)

Tap-tap-tap. A tapping that echoes as far and wide as the room’s walls allow it to. A Tapping from the tip of a fountain pen as it firmly strikes the wooden top of a table. A tapping that remains constant and consistent, like the pulsating urge of a heart. A tapping that prevents the suffocation of silence. And above all, a tapping of impatience and frustration, as if the tapper is unable to do anything else but their namesake.

Officer Bluma Barker taps her pen as she reads her papers. Her table is littered with private documents, elaborate diagrams, and a map of the city. Her eyes dart between them as she scrutinizes the printed words and rudely inked drawings. It appears she is trying to piece all her evidence together to form one simple solution. But she’s having as much success with it as she does with a horseshoe puzzle, both leaving her with a tangled mess.

Barker puts down her pen and sighs. It is 10:30 am at the time she is working in her office. Despite being the head sergeant, her room is rather small and unadorned. She prefers it that way; no embellishes and no distractions. Her walls are painted sky blue, appearing monochrome from the lack of light. She has one narrow window behind her, with shades hanging over it. For reading purposes, she has a small desk lamp with a curvy neck.

Very suddenly, the door creaks open. “Did you forget something?” Barker spoke up sharply. The door closes very swiftly, followed by a soft knock. “You can come in now,” she said. The door opens entirely, revealing officer Tom, dressed in the standard police uniform. His badge gleams faintly on his chest. He looks a little intimidated by her response. “My apologies ma'am...just dropping off some more papers…” He walks up slowly and pulls out a bulky, black binder. She takes it and briefly skims through the binder’s contents. Appearing hesitant to speak, he chimes in quietly, “You’ve been rummaging through those papers all morning... I and the guys think that you should take a break...at least for a little while.”

Barker was about to open her mouth and shred this man a new one. Take a break? There is a city infested with criminals threatening the lives of millions of civilians. It is her and her squadron’s jobs to work day and night to squash any threats to peace. The mere suggestion of a break offends her.

But instead, Barker spun her chair around and faced her window. She opened the shades with her fingers and peered outside. Her office was on the ground level, and the streets were void of anyone. She closed them and turned back to Tom. “Sure, why not. I could use some fresh air. Make sure the others are keeping busy,” she said in a low voice as she got up. Tom let her pass by and followed her on the way out. Outside her door was the main hub, where the other officers work. They were typing on their computers, addressing phone calls, and examining their own paperwork. As if they all had the same thought, they all glanced up at Barker but quickly resumed to their work. Barker neither noticed nor paid mind to them, as she knows they can operate without her supervision. She’s trained them well.

Barker stepped out the police department and into the daylight.  Not that there was much of it anyways. The buildings jumble so high up from the ground that the sun never gets to shine downwards. Everything looks pale and washed-out, with the skyscrapers appearing dark at the bottom and light at their tips. Barker strolled along, wearing her mulberry-colored trench coat and pitch-black fedora. She much prefers a shaded attire over the shinier clothing of the police, as hers draw much less attention. Doesn’t really matter right now, as there are very few souls outside. People would rather hide inside than linger in the open and be vulnerable. Anyone that did pass her usually kept their distance, likely out of both fear and awe. Who wouldn’t be impressed by Officer Bluma Barker? The toughest and most tenacious investigator in all of Downtown Dilemma? The one who stopped such heinous criminals like the Shoe Slipper, the Joule Jumper, and the Clockwork Cranker?

She supposes that they look at her like a lion. Intimidating, revered, and steadfast. But they would not want to get too close to a lion, now would they?

Barker turned around the corner and sees her favorite coffee house: Sumptuous Sinkers. She enters the familiar doors and walks toward the front counter. The cashier, dressed in a stained apron and flimsy visor, instantly recognizes Barker and straightens his posture. “A-Afternoon Chief! I assume you want your usual?” he stutters. He appears to be around 19 and just starting the job. Barker gestures with a finger gun, prompting him to clumsily rush to the back. She stands there and takes in the comfy surroundings. Her eyes land on the display of freshly baked donuts, protected by a hard, plastic display glass. This is her and her squadron’s go-to place, whether for a few minutes or an hour.

The cashier came back and, in a soft plastic wrapping, brought her the prized delicacy. A soft, plump, blueberry-filled donut. A very thin coating of sugar sprinkles swaddles it, making it look exceptionally shiny. Its roundness and powderiness rival that of the moon. This isn’t just any standard, factory-produced pastry; this is baking at its finest.

Barker was about to pay when the cashier hands it to her. “Oh please, it’s on the house.” He says with an awkward smile.

“How generous.  I assume you just started here?” She replies softly as she takes it.

“Oh well, you know how it goes. Just a temporary job to save up for college and such,” he says, trying to keep his cool. Perhaps he’s a fan. She drops a couple of dollars into the tip mug and sits down by the window. Barker gets comfortable and starts taking small bites into the donut, starting with the outer crust and getting into the pleasurable blue goop. She enjoys savoring it.

As she eats, Barker gazes out the window reflectively. The streets and buildings look sketched with graphite out of a notebook. She’s worked in this city for several years now, knows every nook and cranny, and went toe-to-toe with dozens of baddies. She wonders how much longer will it remain this way. Perhaps forever. She grew up in this city and was completely oblivious to the issues and threats as a child. Until...

As she continued enjoying her donut, Barker notices she’s aligned nearly perfectly with the alleyway across the street. It cuts into the buildings like a deep ravine in the ocean. A common occurrence in the city...though, something looked off. Barker squints her eyes and focuses. The alleyway is nearly pitch-black, but she can make out someone creeping, their clothes flowing ominously. It could be just a drifter...but she’s not really sure. She would rather trust her gut instinct than let it slide. She finished her donut and made her leave.

Conspicuously, she crosses the street and enters the alleyway. The place is devoid of any light. Barker takes out her flashlight and looks around. Just a couple of dumpsters and some rats curiously reading the sprawled newspapers.

“So the mouse has fallen for the bait,” a voice comes from behind her. Barker turns around to face a dimmed figure. The tattered edges of the jacket, the unshaved fuzz on his chin, the bowler hiding his eyes. It was Defunct Detective Daler, once a renowned investigator in Downtown Dilemma now a washout who backstabs both law enforcers and criminals.

“Ha...ha...did I pull you away from your indulgence?” he said amusingly. Barker crosses her arms and sighs annoyingly. She rebuttals, “And are you enjoying your time loitering the streets with nothing to do?” Daler is notorious for being a double-crosser, but Barker finds him to be a waste of time and waste of space. She’s rather unimpressed with his word folly.

“Aw come on, don’t you want some juicy tidbits from your good friend Detective Daler?” He snickers quietly. Barker starts to leave when he adds, “tidbits about the...Toy Taker?” He emphasizes the name. She stops. Is Daler in cahoots with the Toy Taker?

It could be a bluff. She turns her head slightly to see him. “And what would you know about him, you lowlife?”

He wears a smug grin. “More than probably you’ll ever find ou-” Barker swiftly pins him against the wall.

“You better quit wasting my time or I’ll make sure you won’t be able to speak again.” She asserted, agitated with his antics. He didn’t let up his amused expression.

“Oh but Barker...I think you would love to know...that the Toy Taker has his eyes on...a valuable relic being displayed at the Museum of Trifling Trinkets.”

She stared at him for a moment then released him. “It would be too obvious of a heist,” she scoffed.

After collecting himself, Daler turned away and shrugged. “Well, he could already have plans to go tonight. Or maybe he’s going to scour the shop halfway across the city. Or maybe he’s sneaking into an unsuspecting apartment.” He turns away and starts walking slowly to the other side. “Whatever you wish to believe. If you do see him, maybe you can retrieve your precious axolotl…,” he follows that last part with a laugh.

“And maybe you can shut your mout-” Barker turned around steaming when Daler was already gone. How did he get this information? She rubbed her hand on her chin and thought for a moment. This could be another ruse...but Daler has never mentioned the Toy Taker before. She’s had no luck tracking him down, so at this point, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. Or it could be a waste of time. What a quandary.

It is now nearly 11 pm in Downtown Dilemma. Barker finds herself in the Museum of Trifling Trinkets. After speaking with the city’s mayor, she got permission to set up a stakeout in the Museum of Trifling Trinkets. She brought some of her squadrons with her and scattered the rest of them in other potential locations. As of now, she waits.

It’s difficult to make out the inside of the museum. The only source of light that breaks the darkness is the moon. Numerous pedestals erect from the ground, holding the namesake of the museum: beloved and antique toys of all sorts and all generations. This museum specializes in toys from given out at restaurants, particularly those from fast food joints. This would seem like an odd choice for an exhibition, but they’re quite valuable due to their rarity and uniqueness in the market. These are the Toy Taker’s favorite choice of theft, making his crimes especially expensive.

Ah yes, the Toy Taker. Insane and absurd, cunning and slippery. He’s only got one thing on his mind: to snatch up as many toys as he can. Doesn’t matter where and doesn’t matter who, if he fancies it, he’ll steal it. His motives are quite muddled; perhaps he never grew out of his youth and desires to preserve it? Or he is an avid, albeit extreme, collector? Maybe he’s a sadist who enjoys watching little kids cry?

What started as a trivial problem became enormous losses for everyone involved. People in Downtown Dilemma like giving their children toys for comfort, or still have their own from days of youth. It’s tough growing up in a city like Downtown Dilemma, and the kids need all they can get. Barker has seen many tearful and devastated young ones, heartbroken over the toy-shaped holes in their hands. All the Toy Taker’s doing.

In her daydreaming from the strain of watching in the dark, Barker nearly lost focus. The museum recently imported a new item: “Robo-Busters Clash n’ Smash Rugged Rover ©.” It’s a little mechanical buggy with a useless claw hanging from its back, perfect condition and all. A perfect target for the Toy Taker’s dirty hands.

...If it was still there at the moment. Barker rubbed her eyes and looked again. The buggy was gone. She was scoping the toy behind a few displays back, but neither heard nor saw any unusual activity. She gestured to one of her officers adjacent to her and he promptly turned on the lights. The entire room lit up, revealing a figure scurrying up the wall and trying to exit through the opened window. One of the officers yelled “Stay where you are!” and all the officers pointed their shotguns at him. It only made the crook squirm faster. One of them fired a bullet; it missed and ricochet off the window, but it was enough to startle the man and knock him onto the floor. Very swiftly, he got onto his feet and dashed into the room behind him. In his fall he dropped a pair “Super Spies’ Guaranteed Sticker Suckers ©.”

Barker ran in pursuit, with the other officers following. She was a jiffy too late, as the crook hopped up on one of the pedestals and smashed the window using his “Beefy Boy Builders’ Real Hammer ©.” Without the need for a command, two officers formed a base for Barker. She hopped on their arms and they hoisted her up. She got through and nearly fell off the paper thin ledge outside. She started scaling the building and faintly heard one of her men cry “Be careful!”

After climbing two stories, Barker gripped onto the roof. She got her footing but nearly slipped on the smooth, limestone-encrusted dome. She could hear someone laughing at her. She has her sights on the culprit: the Toy Taker himself. Looks like Daler wasn’t fibbing.

Compared to Barker, the Taker is twice her height with very lanky limbs. He dons a purple jester outfit, with black spandex pants and long, black-and-white striped socks. His hat has bells sticking out and doubled as a hoodie. His eyes, a dark violet, have dark circles under them. Unshaven and tired, yet diabolical and slimy.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the Taker paces, “Too late Officer Barker. Your ignorance has allowed me to procure my latest prize.” He holds up the buggy in one hand, with a wicked smirk on his face.

“Well there’s nothing stopping me now from pummeling you all the way down to the sewers,” she rolls up one of her sleeves and makes her way to him, trying not to slip. He dances around her teasingly and chuckles. He’s sporting his “Bumble Ballerina’s Buzzing Ballad Shoes ©.”

“Why bother trying? It seems like Barker can’t get her holding.” He comes close and sticks out his foot. She didn’t fall for it but wobbled regardless. “You may think you are helping this city. People may praise you for your heroism. But all you are is a clown who can’t stop a fellow clown like me! Ahahaha!” He sounds pleased with his monologue. “I have way too many gizmos for you to keep up! You can’t do anything! You couldn’t even save your precious axolotl!”

Closed wounds have been ripped once more. Barker’s childhood comes to her mind, whether she wanted to think about it or not. The memories are centered around her favorite plushie: a soft, pink axolotl name Kippy. Her parents gave it to her when she was six. Since she had very few friends as a kid, Kippy became her best one. Since then, she was inseparable from it. They did everything together. Kippy was one thing keeping Barker naive to the chaos of Downtown Dilemma. With him at her side, life was perfect.

And he ripped him away from her.

Like. He Just. Ran past her. And grabbed him. That’s it. Really. Really?? He didn’t use any special tricks?? Was he really that self-assured with stealing a toy from a child in broad daylight?? Disrespectful.

“Ahahaha! That must bring up unpleasant memories. Poor Officer Barker, sad and lonesome without her best friend in the whole wide wor-”

BAM.  The Taker was so consumed with his babbling, he did not notice Barker get up and wind up a punch straight to his face. He twisted back and fell over, still gripping firmly onto the buggy. He looks up, his left eye blackened and bleeding.

Barker stands over the Toy Taker, cracking her knuckles. “Well, we wouldn’t be here now if you stole it huh?” Ready to kick your ass?” she spoke fiercely.

Without the Taker’s nab, Barker wouldn’t have made it her goal to beat crime to a bloody pulp, or train day and night to become the strongest officer, or rise in the ranks to become head of the police department. Ironic.

The Taker looked on with distraught under the wrath of the officer, a streak of blood rolling down his cheek. But his smirk came back. “Not quite…,” he busted out his “Angst Kids Gotta-Get-Away Grappling Shot ©” and aimed it at the building behind him. He fired the hook, which seemed modified given its incredibly long rope. He slipped away from her and while in midair, he opened his “Fly High Beginner’s Hang Glider ©” and began soaring. Quite the devious pair of tools.

She wasn’t going to let the Taker steal another t. She couldn’t. Right As he slipped away, Barker took off her hat and aimed carefully. After a moment, she launched it with full force. Her last resort - a reinforced fedora known to knockout if it hits. Witnesses have dubbed this her “New Moon.”

The hat curved like a sharply hit the Taker’s side. It didn't knock him from the grapple, but it did knock off the buggy. The Toy Taker managed to escape, profusely yelling faintly in the distance.

The buggy plummets down to the surface, surely doomed once it hits the unforgiving concrete. Suddenly, a passerby rushes under it and barely catches it in their hands. Right before it went splat.

Some time passes, and the museum owner and more officers are inspecting the crime scene. There was damage to the window, but the buggy’s safety is all that matters right now. The Toy Taker was able to escape, but his heist ultimately failed. After this experience, perhaps Barker can better track the Taker’s shifty movements.

And the person that caught the buggy? The cashier from Sumptuous Sinkers, who happened to be at the right place and right time. After returning the buggy and the commotion died down, Barker privately met the adolescent.

“That was a nice catch earlier, donut boy. What were you doing out so late?”

“Oh heh, thanks...my closing shifts end pretty late. It was nothin’ special, anyone could’ve saved it...,” he folds his arms behind his back.

“Don’t push your merits aside. You did a great job for both the museum and my department,” she told him sincerely.

“G-Gee Officer Barker...it’s an honor for you to say that,” he says flustered yet excited. Yep, definitely a fan.

“Say, it’s a little dangerous out for anyone to be walking out alone. How about an escort?”

“That would be sweet! T-Thanks officer…”

So the two began strolling into the dead of the night, not another person or creature to disturb the moment. The fog envelopes them as they become silhouettes, vanishing like a couple of specters.

“My apologies, I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“It’s Mikey.”

[scribeofmara]

”The Handbook to Tyleerian Religion by Kerrin Teyska”

(completed first draft)

A Handbook to Tyleerian Religion by Kerrin Teyska.

All information in this handbook has been gathered from the spoken word of the Zauwans, the Phix, the Mermiads and the Nymphs, and the written word of previous Teleios.

It is said that before the dawn of light, all that existed within the darkness was Ligero, the creator. One day, he looked around him and felt lonely. So Ligero focused his power and desire for companionship into the void and from nothingness came Vatra. They enjoyed each other’s company, no words, just being.

But one day Vatra spoke. He said, “my friend, you are all that I need. But, if I may say, I wish for more.” Ligero did not understand what Vatra was saying. For how could he want more if he had everything he needed?

But Ligero loved his companion, and so to Vatra he said, “I will give you anything.” It was then that Vatra convinced Ligero to banish the dark. Out of the dark emerged our world, but not as we know it today. The landscape in front of the two divine beings was nothing but touha, a reflective black stone. Vatra was impressed by the sight, as the mountains - such as the Prima Mountians from our precious home Tyleeria - were violently sharp and appealed to his new appearing destructive nature.

Ligero on the other hand, looked at the barren rock and felt loneliness yet again, this time accompanied by what can only be best described as disgust. He spoke to Vatra of his thoughts, but Vatra had forgotten his love for Ligero and begun to obsess over the lifeless stone. Ligero went away from Vatra, feeling only sadness. Ligero felt lonelier than he ever had before, and using all the good he had in his heart, Terre came into existence. Her delicate hands reached down to the glassy ground, and at her touch, the soulless rock turned to dirt, soil and sand. She continued her work across the world, only to be stopped at the Prima Mountains by Ligero.

He spoke to her, “no, for I wish not to steal all from Vatra.” She looked around in search of Ligero’s companion, but did not see him.

“My love,” she spoke softly, “I see not who you speak of.” Then, an aura of anger fell upon the space they occupied. Neither Ligero or Terre were sure of what to make of the foreign emotion, and Terre felt afraid.

“You monster You have ruined everything I ever cared about,” Vatra appeared and cried at Terre, paying no attention to Ligero.

Ligero stepped between his two companions, shielding the gentler and saying to the angered, “My friend, we did not change every par-“

“No. I refuse to hear. You are no friend of mine, for I make not friends out of monsters,” Vatra insulted and ran off back to the void in search of a place no one would take from him. Ligero, although not lonely, felt so much sorrow that a miracle occured - Ligero began to cry.

“My love,” Terre whispered, and they began to dance. From the tears of Ligero, the flow of their movements, and the love they had for each other, Mizu and Iska emerged. The four immortals danced together.

Mizu’s slow, gentle movements created the rivers, her pauses created the lakes, and when her brother tripped her, her stumble created the oceans. Iska tried to dance along with his family, but felt as if he was too light, too limitless. So he created the air to slow him down, and the sky to give himself boundaries. Although Ligero still felt sorrow for his lost companion, he knew that his family would love him unconditionally.

And they did. They happily spent an eternity together, content in the beautiful world they had created. Over time, the family’s spirits helped grow luscious plants all across the world. From shrubs on the mountains, to the tall trees of the east, to the moss that carpeted the ground, to the algae in Mizu’s Rest, the flora brought joy to the family. But the family felt as thought there was something off, something missing.

He told unto them, “create life.” And so they did.

Iska started with the dragon, then was inspired to make more creatures of the sky.

Mizu started with the shark, then was inspired to make more creatures of the water.

Terre looked upon the creatures her children had created. Inspired my the elegance of Mizu’s shark, the ferocity of Iska’s dragon, and her own motherly nature, Terre created the bear. After, she listened to the silence the land still harboured and decided to create all the creatures of the land, from forest to desert, plain to mountain.

After his family had concluded their creating, Ligero looked upon the life that bustled across the planet. He wanted to create life of his own, but he was afraid that they would hurt him as Vatra had.

His family came to him and Terre spoke, “let us create something together. Let us focus gentleness and love into them, and they will be our proudest creation.”

Terre made bodies for the Teleios. Every part she crafted with careful hands, but the bodies were stiff and immovable. When she finished, she looked to Mizu and Iska. Mizu filled the shells her mother had created with blood, and Iska provided them with the ability to move. The family looked to Ligero who looked at the gently swaying lifeforms in front of him. He breathed into their hearts goodness, joy and life.

The Teleois lived happily on the paradise their creators had made. They praised the creators with unfailing faith, and loved each other unconditionally. The four divines helped them survive by sending them select creatures they had created before, but forbade them to kill the three holy animals - the dragon, the shark, and the bear. Because they lacked individuality, imagination and sin, the Teleios followed the divines’ orders to the letter, and this pleased them. The family finally felt as though their world was perfect, and settled atop the Prima Mountains for another eternity.

The world turned peacefully for a while, but one day Vatra returned. He came from the void with haste, bearing no sign of ill intention. In fact, it seemed as though he was happy, like he had discovered something new out in the void - or maybe within himself. But in mere moments after his return, he saw the creatures and life the other gods had made. It angered him, but the sight of the Teleois and the idea his fellow divines created something together in his absence put him into a rage that led him on a violent fit. He began to tear apart the Teleois and their small village.

The other gods came to their people’s aid as soon as they could. Terre reached into the void, created the moon, and carried as many people to it as she could. Mizu and Iska slowed Vatra by thickening the air around him and freezing his feet in place. Ligero called out to Vatra, begging for the destruction to end. Unable to move, Vatra turned his glare to Ligero.

“You took everything I loved about this world we found together. Then in my absence you covered it in mindless pests. Not only that, it was with them and especially her,” Vatra spit, gesturing towards Terre. Ligero looked at his old friend with a sad smile. He stepped aside, letting the Prima Mountains enter Vatra’s sight. The hate left Vatra’s face as he recognized the black stone he had scoured the whole void for. He returned his gaze to Ligero then to the blood soaked ground, speechless and ashamed.

“Do not fret my friend. Forgiveness is all I have for you,” Ligero said, motioning to Mizu and Iska to release their binds, in which they did. Vatra looked to Terre who had just finished moving the surviving Teleios to the moon.

“Please, I am undeserving, but I wish to help rebuild and better what you had here,” he pleaded. Terre reluctantly nodded her head and created the mold for the gods’ second creation - us, the elves. Mizu gave us blood and Iska gave us the ability to move. Ligero finished by giving us life and he turned his head to Vatra. Vatra looked at the collection of unfinished and identical elves, same both in appearance and soul, and he knew what his gift would be.

He started by giving us desire, then free will and emotional strength. Then he put poison on a part of our souls, creating sin. The other four watched with worry, but didn’t interrupt. He then moved to each one of our ancestors individually, changing their appearance in some way or another. He made some of them short, some tall. To give some hair the colour of fire, he stole the tail hair of foxes. To give some hair the colour of onyx, he stole the tail hair of wolves. To give some hair the colour of rich soil, he stole the tail hair of horses. And finally, to give some hair the colour desert sands, he stole the mane hair of lions. He looked into their mono-colour eyes and decided to encompass the colour of the shifting sands of the ocean, the swaying leaves of the earth and the soaring heights of the sky into their eyes.

And then he was finished. He turned to Ligero and the others. They looked at our ancestors and were in awe of their beauty, and Vatra was proud. The family turned to retire to the Prima Mountains, but Vatra stopped them.

“Friends, I discovered something on my journey I wish you to see,” he smiled.

“But, my friend, our people cannot fend for themselves,” Ligero defended.

“Give them a gift that will help them survive,” Vatra suggested. The family stared at the elves, deep in thought of what gift they could give. Mizu decided first. She instilled us with the gift of adaptability, so we could overcome anything if our world decided to shift in the gods’ absence. Iska followed after his sister, and gave us the gift of skills such as hunting and building so we could protect and feed ourselves. Ligero went last, and gave us the gift of intelligence. Sure that we, their people, would be fine, Vatra, Iska, Mizu and Ligero headed for the void.

But Terre called out, “but what of the poison you put on their souls? If we leave them, it’ll spread and consume them, turning them into mindless vessels bent on destroying each other.” The others stopped in their path and searched for a solution. As Terre thought, she mindlessly watched the wild creatures below her interact. She saw a snake ruthlessly attack an unsuspecting mouse, and rest to digest it’s food. In mere seconds, an eagle swooped down, turning the snake from predator to prey. This spectacle brought the idea of mortality to her head.

“What if the earth consumed them before the poison could?” Terre suggested.

“But how would their species survive then?” Vatra questioned. Terre looked to Mizu and Iska, her children.

“Children. They are born pure,” she countered. The other gods nodded and so Terre went to give our ancestors her gifts. But the idea of stopping our lives so short made Terre sad. So she said to our ancestors, “do not forget your creators. Pray to us and we will make your soul pure again. Do not do anything to speed up the blight on your heart. Live your lives peacefully, happily and humbly as you can, and remember to always respect each other.” And so, she bestowed upon us the gift of long but mortal lives, and the gift of children. Confident we would survive, she joined the others.

“Wait one more moment friends,” Ligero said. He returned to the site where Vatra had massacred the Teleios and drew their blood from the ground and put it in a carved rock. He motioned one of our ancestors over to where he stood. He set the blood in her hands and said, “drink. Every time one is needed, I will send a Teleios to lead your people and they will be born to one of your descendants.” Our ancestor drank the blood of the Teleios and became known to us as Mother Veri. And then the gods entered the void, but left a part of them so they were always near. Ligero became the sun and it’s light; Vatra the flames of our fires; Mizu the rapids and currents; Iska the winds, gentle and strong; and Terre became the flora.

And, save for Ligero, each god left a prophet race need they contact us. For Iska, it was the Zauwans of the south, a race that resemble harpies in appearance but are thoughtful and free. For Mizu, it was mermaids of the ocean, a race that looked half elf and half fish. They are peaceful but protective of their ocean home. For Terre, it was the nymphs of the great forest, a race of women born from trees. They are playful and mischievous, but retain the compassion of their goddess. For Vatra, it was the Phix, a race of elf-like people who embody the traits of a phoenix - immune to fire and at death they are reborn in a fiery explosion. Their striking red hair and eyes that glow like fire make them easily recognizable.

For Ligero, his prophets were the Teleios. Unlike the other prophet races, the Teleios can commune with all the gods, but they must be at a temple to said god. The Teleios only come to us in a time of need, and if one is born, it should be sign to us that we as a people have strayed from our path. We should correct ourselves, lest we be consumed by the poison of our souls, and destroy ourselves and the beautiful world the gods have made. I, Kerrin Teyska, hope that by the time we realize, it won’t be too late.

[stretchjournalemerson]

The Words She Knows, The Tune She Hums

By Julia Slaughter

I know no one in the world who loves Elton John more than my mother. Born in the year of JFK’s inauguration and the Freedom Riders, she went to high school with feathered bangs and bell bottom jeans, collecting the Rocketman’s records and merchandise everywhere she went. One time I was helping her clean out her closet and we found pages and pages of yellowed notebook paper with her favorite lyrics and songs from the Goodbye Yellow Brick Road album in her curly teenaged handwriting, the pages saturated with forty-year-old highlighter ink and eraser streaks from her annotations.

My godmother, her childhood best friend and next-door-neighbor, Sandy, was her partner in Elton fever, and she often tells me of the time when he came to TD Garden in Boston in September of 1973 and the two twelve-year-olds could not get tickets in time: so the night of the concert, Sandy came over and they listened to her Goodbye Yellow Brick Road LP and cried on the hot pink shag carpet of my mother’s bedroom all night long.

Fortunately, this tragic night was later redeemed by the fact that Mom and Sandy ended up seeing Elton in concert together something like fifteen times after that over the years. I think about this story a lot, though, because it resonates with me to my core. My best friend Miguel and I had tickets to see Harry Styles at TD Garden - the very same stadium Mom and Sandy wanted to see Elton John at all those years ago - on Halloween of 2020, but the concert was cancelled because of the COVID-19 pandemic. In true fan fashion, Miguel and I FaceTimed all night long on Halloween, both laying on our bedroom floors listening to Harry’s Fine Line album and crying for what could have been.

I love my favorite artists - musical, visual, or otherwise - with every fiber of my being, and I believe wholeheartedly that this trait has to have been from the influence of my mom, who owns every single deluxe version of Elton’s discography on vinyl (which is something like thirty studio albums) and has a T-shirt from every concert she’s ever been to. I look around my bedroom at the stack of every deluxe version of Taylor Swift’s albums in CD, at the pictures of her that I’ve cut from magazines and plastered all over my walls, at the playlists upon playlists of her songs for every conceivable situation or mood, at the lyrics of hers I’ve printed out and annotated myself, the ticket stubs from past concerts pinned to my bulletin board. This obsession is a manifestation of the emotional connection my mother and I both have to music and the artists that make it, and the unashamed expression of being a fan of something.

But my experience in this expression is often met with judgement with that unmistakable, underlying current of misogyny. Why is it when I say Taylor Swift is my favorite artist, I am met with eye rolls? Or when I say that One Direction contributed as much, if not more, to the music industry than The Beatles (maybe this is a bit of an overstatement, but a hilarious one that I

believe wholeheartedly), I am met with the rage of a thousand suns from men? Do they not remember the time before The Beatles became music for pretentious white guys, and were a British boy band with a largely female audience, just like One Direction?

Truth be told, I used to hate my mom’s music. I used to whine and whine when she put her CDs into the stereo, arguing that my friends’ parents let them listen to Lady Gaga and Ke$ha in the car. She would roll her eyes and turn the volume up just to tease me - this was her music and no one, not even her five year old daughter, could convince her to change it, unless I could come up with a better alternative (it wasn’t too hard - she vibed with Hannah Montana a lot more than a grown adult probably should have). She taught me to be proud of the things I love, because despite growing up in a time when gender roles were even stricter than they are now, she never let anyone, especially any man, give her a hard time for crying tears of joy when she got tickets to see Sonny and Cher at TD Garden in 1971.

It was - and always has been - young women like my mother and myself who have shaped and influenced the music industry, and I firmly believe that this passion and emotional connection to things is passed down from mother to daughter, from sister to sister, from friend to friend. It was certainly passed down when my mom took me to see Taylor Swift at Gillette Stadium twice, once when I was thirteen, and the other when I was sixteen. She watched Miguel and I scream and sing and dance in our nosebleed seats at the top of the stadium, and laughed, posting even more photos and videos than I did because I knew she would have killed to have videos of her and Sandy at their favorite artists’ shows when they were our age. She danced along in that unabashedly awkward way that all moms do, the way that normally would have embarrassed me into the next century, however this was no normal night: the crowd was roaring, the music was blaring, and my favorite singer in the entire world was right in front of me.

Now when we go for car rides, my mom always hands me the aux cord, and in this transfer of power, I feel like the student surpassing the master. She drove me to every single college tour I went on the summer before my senior year - which was something like ten different colleges across New England, ironically not a single one of them being the school I ended up attending - and I would scour my playlists to queue up songs I thought she would like for the two hour car rides. We would chat about whatever was on our minds, or nothing at all. Sometimes I’d fall asleep in the passenger seat, other times I’d go on and on about whatever show I was watching at the time, or drama with boys and friends, all with my favorite songs as the soundtrack. We’d laugh about getting horribly lost, or stop for fast food, or just sit quietly and zone out.

“I like this one,” she’d say every so often. Or I’d later hear her humming one of my songs to herself. These moments feel like the world’s greatest honor coming from someone who helped make the music industry what it is today. Singing along to “Tiny Dancer” one moment and “Love Story” the next, we create a space that is beautifully simple, lighthearted, and joyful, a space where our voices, however off-key they may be at times, are heard.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank Professor Mary Kovaleski Byrnes for introducing the concept of memoir to our class, and for her helpful feedback on the first draft of this piece. Many thanks to Sarah Sweeney for her fascinating insight on memoir writing, and to Jasmine Suk for peer reviewing this piece. I’d also like to thank my roommate Megan for enduring my writer’s block and for bouncing ideas around with me. Finally, I’d obviously like to thank Mrs. Carol Slaughter, my mom, for inspiring this memoir, and also for everything else.

[borderlinesyberian]

Another Thing I’m Never Going to Finish

Emily furiously scribbled out the previous sentence she had written on the parchment and threw her pen onto the desk in defeat, leaning back in her chair and ruffling her already messy hair. Her entire schedule for the day was surprisingly empty, and she gladly took this rare opportunity to dive into the pile of paperwork stacked upon her desk, waiting to be acknowledged and reviewed. The joints, tendons, and muscle in her left hand throbbed, but the pain was worthwhile when she compared the stack to the state it was in the morning to the same state it was in now. As with everything dealing with politics, there were bumps along the way, but it was nothing compared to what she had seen and been through. It seemed humorously appropriate and ironic she was only now beginning to work on the papers she had received before the Coup. However, it seemed irony had a twisted way of earning itself a laugh. She had been trying her damnedest to write a letter in response to Tyvia’s Trade Commissions for the past half-hour, but found herself completely stumped.

Karnaca and Tyvia both relied too heavily on each other for their respective goods for trade to cease altogether. Tyvia provided Karnaca with ore and manual labor needed in the nation's silver mines and fields, whereas Karnaca provided Tyvia with bountiful, fresh fruit and vegetables that could not be grown in the frozen dirt of the cold land. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, but a single small problem stood in the way, even after the Coup had ended. Pirates may have taken a “break” from raiding trading ships because of an increase of patrolling ships along trade routes, but bloodflies hadn’t. Emily knew firsthand how terrible the insects could be, and grimaced at the thought of them. Her first experience with bloodflies left her with a high fever and a terrible burning sensation upon inhaling a breath of air, barely able to move as she struggled to open her eyes and stare at the ceiling of her cabin in the Dreadful Wale. Doctor Hypatia had managed to soothe the symptoms enough for her body to heal itself, but she would never forget the days she spent in bed, suffering and pleading to whoever could hear her thoughts to make the fiery insects crawling under the surface of her skin to vanish.

Emily looked at the draft on her desk and picked it up, examining it with irritation. The elegance in her handwriting slowly waned throughout the day, and now appeared sloppy and almost illegible on the paper. Most of what was written on the document was scribbled out in frustration. Her mind was brimmed with ideas of what the letter must consist of, but completely blanked on how to work them to paper. Picking her pen up and pressing it against the paper again, she paused for a second before letting it fall from her hand, deciding she had done enough work for that day. It was nearing evening, and Father had requested a private dinner the day before to discuss news about the discovery of a pod of whales migrating south a few miles off the coast of Gristol.

She glanced at the small clock on her desk and took note of the time. Father would be knocking on her door any minute now, and she wanted to tidy up some before his arrival. She grabbed a small stack of letters and prepared to file them away for later review. However, the moment she grabbed the knob to open the desk drawer and pulled it, she came to the immediate realization the drawer would not budge, and the sleek, mahogany wood desk had lost its warm hue.

“Emily.”

Emily didn't need to hear his voice to know the Outsider was in the room. She set the papers down on the desk and lifted her head, looking at him as he stood across the room, inspecting the model of the ISS Jessamine in its glass case. He was turned away from her, but she could see his hands balled into fists behind his back.

“Something’s wrong.” Emily stood up from her seat and maneuvered around to the front of the desk. “What’s wrong?”

“The Abbey has reason to believe you are affiliated with the Void, and me.”

Emily could feel her heart plummet into her stomach. She scoured the events in her mind to find the one slip-up she committed that would bring the Abbey’s attention to her. However, nothing stood out, as the Church had spent most of its time rebuilding itself after the loss of so many Overseers, including the death of the High Overseer himself and the “disappearance” of the Vice Overseer (he was probably in Tyvia, trying to find some way to collect enough coin to return to Dunwall, or Serkonos, perhaps). She had been careful to conceal her Mark and came up with lies and half-truths to any nosy noble who asked her why she covered her left hand in black leather. Only during special occasions did she use her Powers in Dunwall Tower, and even then she used them minimally as to not alert any servants their Empress was withholding more secrets- “blasphemous secrets”- from them and the citizens of the Empire. She had been so meticulous and careful with every move she made. The only possible way the Abbey would be suspicious of her wa-

“The Music Box,” she murmured, eyes widening in realisation.

“Holger’s Device was the catalyst for this,” the Outsider confirmed. “Then, Overseers began talking, and words have the power to be as dangerous as blades if used correctly.” He turned his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. “The lines between rumor and truth are so blurred nowadays.”

Emily shook her head in disbelief and disappointment. “The Abbey doesn’t have concrete evidence of my involvement with you. The accounts of two Overseers shouldn’t have the power to convince those in the Church of anything.” She closed her eyes briefly and swallowed. “This isn’t like the Time of the Rat Plague where the Abbey could throw accusations to anyone to obtain more power within Dunwall and the Empire.”

The Outsider disappeared in fragments of ash and reappeared next to her. “The Abbey has slowly relinquished its foothold alongside the Empire of the Isles since your instatement of the Empress. However, older members- members who were of your mother's and even your grandfather's time- fear the consequences of this loss of control.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you implying?”

“They believe they need someone to throw suspicion and blame on- someone who the citizens of the Empire would never suspect of being affiliated with the Void.”

“They need a scapegoat,” she realised, fury boiling inside her at the very thought. “Why are you telling me this?”

The Outsider remained silent and kept his gaze to the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. She took a step forward and remained standing in front of him, the tips of their boots touching. With a scrutinizing gaze, she studied his face, trying to decipher what he refused to tell her. His body remained stiff and tense, his eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed. It almost looked like-

“You’re worried about me,” Emily realised, not concerned she had spoken it out loud.

The Outsider breathed a heavy sigh. “Does that surprise you?”

“It-,” she hesitated for a few seconds. “It does a little bit.”

He raised his head and looked at her, his black eyes making it difficult to discern his emotions. However, Emily knew he was worried about her, and her safety. If the god of the Void- her lover, who swore to himself to never directly interfere with the lives of mortals- found it reason enough to directly tell her this, she knew the Abbey was going to take action soon. There had already been arguments in the past when she petitioned to Parliament to turn the remains of the Chapel in Dunwall Tower into a memorial room for those who perished during Delilah’s reign. The decision was nearly unanimously declined by every person in the room, save for a small handful who had lost people during those harsh two months or found the idea to be sentimental. The idea the very people who dedicated their goal to destroying anyone and anything related to the Outsider having easy accessibility to Dunwall Tower made her feel uneasy.

“I’ll find a way to make them see the errors in their thinking,” she said with determination. “Karnaca taught me to not run away from my problems; not to stoke the flames to make them worse.”

“It will happen soon- sooner than you hope.”

“I’ll be ready.”

The Outsider seemed to contemplate something for a moment before he finally murmured, “You’re about to sail through dangerous waters. I doubt I need to warn you to tread carefully.”

Before Emily could retort, the room returned to its former color, and the Outsider had vanished from in front of her, leaving only the smell of ash in his departure. She expected to hear the ticking of the small clock behind her and muffled sound of ocean waves crashing against the side of Dunwall Tower. Instead what she heard, to her mild surprise and bewilderment, were heavy footsteps running in the direction of the door to her study. On instinct, her fingers swiftly reached inside her coat, grasping the handle of Pathmaker, the folding blade Father passed down to her once he learned of the adjustments she had made to it. The familiar weight of it in her hand as she discretely hid it behind her back gave her some relief, if just for that moment. The door to her study was violently thrown open, bouncing off the wall from the impact. In the door frame stood the person who Emily knew would reach her before anyone else.

Father's brow was covered in a light sheen of sweat and he was having difficulty in attempting to regulate his breathing into slow, deep breaths. From the way he looked, it seemed he had scaled the Tower instead of taking the elevator like any normal person would. Then again, it dawned on her he might not have been able to take the elevator if what the Outsider suggested was true. She loosened her hold on Pathmaker and swiftly strode over to him.

“Father.” Emily cupped his cheek to force him to look at her. “Father, breath. Toksvig said any strenuous activity might rip open your stitches.”

He swallowed and breathed in deeply, slowly letting it out. Nearly a week and a half ago, a hired assassin attempted to kill her as she visited the Waterfront to speak with a few ship captains about the quality of trade with the other nations of the Isles. Even though she insisted she didn't need an escort, he had decided to come anyway. When they reached the docks, a man in tattered rags charged straight towards them, brandishing a rusty shiv. She could have easily parried him with Pathmaker, but Father stood in the way of the assailant. The blade had missed any organs and the would-be assassin was sent to Coldridge Prison to await trial, and Father was immediately sent to Xander Toksvig. Even though he was ordered to rest until the stitches could be removed, she knew he would ignore the Royal Physician’s instructions.

After a sharp inhale, Father wheezed, “Ther-”

“I know, Father,” she interrupted him, using the sleeve of her coat to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “Overseers are on their way here.”

Father straightened his posture, clutching his right side. “He warned you?”

“Yes, he did.” Emily tucked Pathmaker back inside her coat. “It’s completely ludicrous.”

[thetourguidebarbie]

More hogwarts founders au smut, please 😇

I finally fucking finished this and I’m so sorry it took so long. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DONE PRE-EXAMS!!

Part I here & Part II here.

Caroline wrinkled her nose as she carefully dragged her wand over the fabric of Klaus’s robes, which were still slightly soaked from rain and had patches of dirt in places as though he’d been on the ground. She hadn’t asked where he’d been while he was gone, but she noticed a few stains on the fabric that weren’t coming off with a scouring charm. She pressed her lips together as she poked at them, quickly realizing that they weren’t dirt at all.

“Klaus?”

He was writing what looked like a letter at his ornate oak desk with the basilisk curled by his feet, boredly nudging a dead rat with its nose.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asked, looking up.

“Get up,” she ordered, walking over to him. “Take your robes and tunic off.”

“Caroline, as much as I’d love to I do have to finish this–”

“Now,” she growled. “Or I’ll vanish them.”

He sighed, standing up and doing as she asked, frowning when she immediately dragged her wand along his arm, murmuring a diagnostic charm that detected abnormalities or badly-performed medical spells. “Caroline, what are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out whether you patched yourself up the right way. You’re awful at medical spells.”

“Why would I need to patch myself up?” he asked slowly, though she had a feeling that he had an inkling of what she’d found and was trying to dodge the question.

“Klaus, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. It wasn’t my blood,” he said matter-of-factly. “May I redress now, sweetheart? Or would you rather I write correspondence without a tunic? I suppose I can indulge your penchant for watching.”

She ignored his blatant attempt to redirect her with a shake of her head. “Whose blood, then?”

He was silent for a moment before he spoke, “Katerina’s parents,” he said, his tone very clearly indicating that he thought he was absolutely right but knew that she wouldn’t like it. “Slaughtered her whole village, actually. Most of them had quick deaths. Her parents suffered.”

Caroline ran a hand through her hair, sitting down on the sofa by Klaus’s desk and breathing out sharply. She knew that she should feel sick or guilty or something, but she’d also watched Katerina grow up before their eyes for five years and was just as angry about her death as Klaus was. She didn’t blame Klaus for getting all murderey (she had a few elaborate murder fantasies herself, to be honest), though she did think it might not have been the best life choice to follow through with it.

“When?”

“It took me two nights to find her village, since Bonnie was the one to originally visit, and I couldn’t exactly ask her.”

She nodded, staying silent.

“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked warily, searching her face for any hint of what she might feel, and she sighed, trying to come to terms with how little sympathy she had to spare for Katerina’s parents. Finally she swallowed, setting her wand down on the side table and tracing the carvings on the wooden armrest with her fingers, looking up at him.

“Yeah. I’m… I’m fine.”

“Not angry?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral, and she gave him a weak smile, patting the cushion next to her, and he sat without hesitation, snaking his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side, combing through her wet hair with his fingers. She let her head drop onto his shoulder, her eyes closing, and she felt him press a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“No. I mean…I don’t endorse murder, but they kind of deserved it. Well, and…” she trailed off, trying to figure out a polite way to phrase what she wanted to say.

“And?”

“I know who I married,” she said firmly, tangling her fingers with his. “You literally keep a venomous snake that can kill you by making eye contact as a pet. This isn’t news.”

He laughed quietly, squeezing her hand and glancing at her, and she found herself snuggling even closer, cold from the drafts in the castle despite being wrapped in a set of his winter robes. She’d missed him so much the past few weeks. Waking up without him undeniably sucked. Even if she put warming charms on his side of the mattress and slept with her face buried in his pillow it wasn’t even close to the same. She’d craved his warmth and touch, the scent of his skin and the low rumble in his chest when she kissed his neck. Now that he was back, she just wanted to feel his arms around her and press herself as close to him as possible. She wasn’t satisfied with just nestling against his side, desperately needing more contact. “If you really want to make up for leaving–”

“I do.”

“Good. I want you to hold me,” she said, swinging her legs over his lap and smiling when he immediately pressed his hand to her lower back and slid his arm under her knees, shifting her over to settle her against his chest, his arms looping around her to pull her close. “I missed you,” she whispered, kind of hating the waver in her voice that she couldn’t seem to fight off.

He tightened his arms around her in response and she felt his lips press against her temple, the brush of stubble at her hairline a familiar comfort. “And I you, my love.”

She leaned back against him and tilted her chin so that she could meet his eyes. Though others often accused him of keeping a blank, cold expression, all she found when he looked at her was warmth and affection, a small smile twisting his lips that only seemed to appear for her. She reached up and ran her thumb across his cheekbone before leaning forward to catch his lips with hers.

Klaus responded immediately, one hand resting on her hip to steady her, the other tangling in her hair as he met each slow stroke of her lips with his own. He always seemed to know exactly what she needed, and he didn’t push or rush, simply allowing her to taste him, her hands slowly stroking his chest and shoulders to refamiliarize herself with his skin.

He groaned low in his throat when her fingers brushed across the tattoo of the flying birds inked on his shoulder, and she smiled as she pulled away, tracing the stem of the feather. She could hear his breath catch when she looked up at him through thick lashes, and it always felt good to know that he was as affected by her as she was by him. She let her palm skim down his bare chest to rest on the growing bulge in his trousers, gently palming him as she sat up straighter to run her tongue along his jaw, grinning at how he groaned out her name.

“I tried the pensieve trick while you were gone,” she whispered, nipping his ear.

“Did you?”

“It wasn’t as good as the real thing,” she admitted.

He laughed quietly, catching her lips again. “It never is.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t left,” she pointed out, fiddling with the small stone threaded on one of the leather cords around his neck.

“True enough,” he said, gently prying her wrist from his necklaces and bringing it to his lips, flicking his tongue against the sensitive skin. She felt her cheeks heat. The way he looked at her was intoxicating, the pure need almost making her melt.

Almost.

She smoothly disentangled herself from his arms, ignoring his soft grumble, and began to walk to the bedroom, glancing over her shoulder with raised eyebrows to ensure that he’d follow. She heard the creak of the sofa as she walked away followed by a low hissing that she assumed was him telling the snake to kindly fuck off for a few hours. She fiddled with the metal fastenings of the borrowed robe as she looked out the window, her breath hitching in surprise when Klaus’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his teeth scraping lightly against her ear. “I love the way you look in my clothing, sweetheart.”

“It’s warm.”

It smells like you.

He pressed a soft kiss to her neck before nimbly undoing the fastenings, letting the robe drop off her shoulders to puddle on the floor. He cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs across her nipples until they puckered into stiff peaks, her head tipping to the side so that he could press sucking kisses to her neck that she knew would leave marks. “More.”

He chuckled, adding a scrape of his teeth now and then as he marked her, and she hissed out his name, rubbing her thighs together, hoping for some semblance of friction.

“Like that, sweetheart?” he murmured against her neck, and she hummed, arching into him, her eyes closing. “Spread your legs for me.”

He didn’t seem to be in the mood to tease, which was good since she wasn’t sure that she would be able to stand it if he did, and she was soon leaning on him for support as he rubbed her clit while her legs shook, her high intense after the unsatisfying week-long wait. She turned once she came down, slinging her arms around his neck and kissing him softly. “I want more,” she said between kisses. “You can make up for being an inattentive husband.”

He chuckled, his hands settling on her hips and backing her up until her legs hit the bed, though his grip was firm enough to keep her upright. She chased his lips as he pulled away, her teeth sinking into her lower lip when she caught sight of his swollen lips and dark eyes. “I missed you, my love,” he murmured, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear in an uncharacteristically tender gesture before his hands skimmed down her sides and thighs as he sunk to his knees, and her eyes widened, her breath hitching as he gently nudged her thighs apart with his hand.

Klaus often told her how much he enjoyed the sounds she made when he flicked her clit with his tongue, describing in detail how beautiful she looked with her legs spread wide on their bed her pussy soaking from anticipation. He tasted her often, soaking in her encouragements and her pleading for more. He had always preferred her on her back on their bed or sitting against the headboard, his hands burning against the backs of her thighs as he pushed them towards her chest, creating a deliciously familiar ache that lingered the next day. Occasionally he’d even lie down and hold her hips while she rode his tongue or moan as he tonguefucked her while she sucked his cock.

He’d never knelt at her feet like this.

He watched her with heated eyes as he dragged the tip of his tongue along her hipbone before scraping his teeth against her inner thigh, soothing the bite with a soft kiss. “Sit, sweetheart. Spread your legs for me,” he said softly, though she heard the note of firmness that sent an anticipatory shiver down her spine. “I want to make you come on my tongue.”

She sank down on the bed, and he guided her hips forward until she was seated on the edge of the mattress. She held eye contact with him as she slowly parted her thighs, her breathing speeding up as he bent forward to flick her clit with his tongue. She moaned as he gave her entrance a few slow, flat licks, groaning softly at her taste. Her head fell back as his movements sped up and she let out an irritated whine when he stopped. “I want you to watch me,” he said, his stubble scraping pleasurable against her slick, sensitive skin.

She made eye contact with him again and he drank in her reactions as he slipped two fingers inside of her soaking pussy, pumping them slowly in rhythm with his tongue swirling around her clit.

Her lips parted, fingers curling in the sheets as she watched his other hand wrap around his cock, stroking himself lazily, though his motions sped up once she couldn’t stifle her moans anymore, her embarrassingly loud gasps of his name and pleas for more escaping her lips.

She was already over-sensitive from coming around his fingers minutes before, and the combination of the almost too intense pleasure and the way he seemed to worship her just by watching her made her high build quickly. She moaned his name as she came on his tongue, her breathing heavy, and he lapped it up eagerly, leaning back to finish himself off, her come still wet on his lips and chin. He groaned her name as he came on his hand.

He reached for a spare piece of clothing to wipe it off, but before he could she sank to her knees as well so that they were almost nose to nose. His breath caught as she grabbed his wrists, sucking her own arousal off his fingers before licking his palm clean, moaning softly as she pulled away.

“I love you,” she breathed, wrinkling her nose when he laughed quietly. “What?”

“Do you say that to everyone who makes you come, sweetheart?” he teased, and she huffed, pushing him down to their carpet and straddling him.

“Well, since you’re the only man I’ve ever been with and I also definitely love myself, yes.”

“Fair enough,” he murmured, lacing their fingers together. “And in case there was any doubt—“

She bent to kiss him softly. “Not anymore.”

[izzym-art]

Promise

You guys. I am absolutely excited and extremely elated to share Athelas’ Post Trespasser story. The brainchild of my imagination and @solverne‘s genius ways of translating them into words and thus, creating this magnificent piece about Athelas and Solas’ experiences post Trespasser. 

It has always been a dream for me to have her full story written out and @solverne, the gorgeous and lovely @solverne offered to take on this and write them out for me, after I shared the rough draft of the story with her. She was magnificent and she captured Athelas so perfectly it made me cried so much, and having it completed, right in front of my eyes after a week of discussions.. I’m just so overwhelmed with emotions, it’s a dream come true and this just made me fell more and more in love with my girl and Solas. 

I really do hope they get their happy ending down the road.

Please enjoy it. :’)

Athelas Lavellan x Solas | Post-Trespasser | Angst central, Mild fluff | 20K Words

Original story by me, the lovely writing by @solverne ♥

“My love… I will never forget you.”

In the silent rotunda, the words seemed to bounce off the walls, echoing in Athelas’ ears. She sat completely still in the chair where she used to so often find Solas. His desk was still littered with notes, books, and half burned candles, just as it had been the night before the battle with Corypheus all those years ago now. After the would-be god’s defeat and Solas’ disappearance, Athelas couldn’t bear to have anything shifted. She held onto the hope that he would return to her.

He wouldn’t just leave her.

As fate would have it, they crossed paths again just months ago. When she’d heard his voice for the first time in two years, she’d nearly frozen to the spot. She’d shaken her head in disbelief. She could have sworn many times that she’d heard his voice, only to wake and find it had only been a dream. She didn’t want this to be another one of those moments.

It hadn’t been... but the longer it dragged out, the more she wished it had been a dream. She learned so much about who Solas really was, what he had done, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be with him. She wanted him to forget about this mad plan to destroy the world in order to restore an old one. She just wanted him. When he knelt before her, taking her burning hand in his, she knew he was going to leave again. No matter how much she pleaded, she could see the pain in his eyes, but his determination didn’t waver. She could still feel his lips on hers, still hear his voice whispering in her ear, “Vhenan.”

Skyhold was all but empty now. She disbanded the Inquisition, which had been a process in and of itself. The halls that used to be filled with chatter were now eerily silent, save for the reverberating footsteps of the few that remained. Athelas gazed up at Solas’ murals, wishing they held answers for her. How could she change his mind? There had to be some way to make him see that there had to be another way. Surely he didn’t have to threaten the lives of those with no magic in their veins. There had to be a safer way for him to achieve his goal, but he was being impatient and reckless.

Her left arm ached. Though it had been several months, her severed limb was not healing well. Perhaps she was partially doing it to herself, but she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t hungry, so she didn’t eat much, not even when the cook, Bron, made her favorite food. She’d lost weight and her body was malnourished,  it wasn’t getting the energy it needed to heal. She had no energy, nor did she particularly want any. With each passing day, she felt more and more defeated. She didn’t understand why Solas wouldn’t see reason. Maybe it was her. He claimed he would always love her, but maybe he was just saying so. If he really did love her, why wouldn’t he listen to her? Did she chase him away? Was it something she did?

These thoughts plagued her mind day in and day out, etching deep down inside her. It chipped away at her hour by hour, even turning what used to be pleasant dreams into nightmares. It seemed like she had them every night. She’d wake up screaming or crying, sometimes even hyperventilating. Even in moments like that, she could hear his voice calming her down.

 “Just look at me. Hold a moment… Good. Now look past me and relax. Listen carefully.”

His voice would fade away as she came back to herself and seeing that the figure in front of her was not Solas, much to her dismay every night. It was her own personal healer, a human named Galena. Athelas had been against the woman spending the night in her own room, but it grew to the point where it became necessary. When she would jerk awake from her nightmares, her stump of an arm would bleed profusely, her blood soaking everything. Galena was there to tend to her and help her heal as much as she could. While Athelas appreciated it, she felt that it wasn’t necessary. If she couldn’t be at Solas’ side and if she couldn’t make him see reason, what was the point?

What was the point in anything anymore?

She didn’t hear the footsteps bouncing off the walls as someone approached her from behind. It didn’t matter who it was. If it was a friend, they were likely to nag her, to try and force her to eat or take a stroll through the gardens. If it was a foe...well, they could do as they pleased.

“I knew I’d find you here,��� a woman’s voice said firmly.

It took a moment for the voice to register, her brows furrowed. She recognized that voice. Athelas turned in the chair, bemused. Her closest friend, Cassandra, the new Divine, stood in the rotunda with her, complete with her armor, as though nothing had changed. A spark of joy lit somewhere inside Athelas. She stood and embraced Cassandra with her one good arm. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hoarse from little to no use.

“I took a small break to come and see you.” Cassandra made a gesture. “Care to walk along the battlements with me?”

“Sure.”

The two walked at a leisurely pace as they left the rotunda and made their way towards the tower that once housed Commander Cullen. It, too, was as empty as the rest of the fortress. Still, when they passed through, Athelas half expected to see him there, bent over his desk, glaring at his paperwork, but not even a parchment was left. She scoffed at herself quietly.

Stepping back outside on the battlements, Cassandra gazed out at the frozen river. “How are you doing, Athelas?”

“I’m fine,” she replied almost instantly.

Cassandra stared at her with scrutiny. “You and I both know that isn’t true.”

“I know that Leliana still sends you reports, so I’m not sure why you bothered asking,” she snapped. A moment passed, her words lingering in the air before she sighed. “...I’m sorry.”

The Divine stopped walking and faced the Dalish woman with her arms crossed. “Athelas… You are my friend - one of my closest friends. You know I care about you. I do not want you to just... waste away here. Look at you,” she gestured to her thin form, “I daresay a nug could pick you up and throw you. Why aren’t you taking care of yourself?”

Here it came. The nagging. Athelas knew she meant well, but it still irritated her. “I’m not hungry.”

“Do you even do anything to occupy yourself or do you just sit there in that room all day, staring at the murals?” Athelas flinched and saw recognition flicker across Cassandra’s face. She could always tell when something struck a nerve. “You need to do something. Change something. Please.”

“I read,” she mumbled lamely.

“You read Solas’ things. You’re still desperately looking for something that might tip you off to where he is. You haven’t found anything in more than two years.” Cassandra’s voice lowered. “There isn’t anything there.”

“Leliana will find a lead.”

“Now you are grasping at straws. Solas has eluded her this long. He can continue to do so.”

Silence fell between them. A strong gust blew and both woman shuddered. Athelas pulled her cloak tighter around her. She avoided meeting Cassandra’s gaze. Part of her felt ashamed. Every word her friend had said was true, but what was she supposed to do? With no idea where Solas was, she had no goal. She knew Leliana was trying her hardest to uncover anything, but as Cassandra said, the Nightingale still had nothing. Athelas had scoured through every note Solas had ever written, looking for things that weren’t there, hoping to find a code of some kind. The numerous books he had collected also held no hints. With each determined try, she was easily defeated, beaten down so much at this point that she didn’t even want to pull herself out of bed in the mornings. She had not even been hunting since she lost her left arm. She was certain she could find a way, but a few things stopped her. It would no longer be the same as before and she couldn’t just go off without having Galena nearby to tend to her arm when it would undoubtedly begin bleeding again.

“You need to get out of Skyhold,” Cassandra stated, breaking through the silence. “You need to go somewhere, forget about all of this for a short time. You need time to rest; both your body and your mind.”

A change of scenery? It did sound nice, no matter how much she’d rather stay and stare at the remnants of her Vhenan, clinging to them like a crutch. At the same time, Athelas knew that by remaining, she would only continue to sink further beneath the suffocating waters of her broken heart until, finally, she would never resurface.

“I assume you have something in mind?”

A relieved smile crept to Cassandra’s lips. “You assume correct.”

With Cassandra’s encouragement, Athelas finally agreed to leave Skyhold for a time. The two of them picked a location just across the Waking Sea and not far from Kirkwall. There was a cottage deep within the Planasene Forest not too far from one of the rivers leading out to the sea they felt would be a good location. Cassandra, naturally, would not let Athelas go alone. Her companions consisted of Galena, Bron, and an elf named Enfenim that was going along with them for protection. He was one of the few that refused to leave Skyhold, saying he had nowhere to return to. Cullen had attested to Enfenim’s skills and loyalty, so Athelas allowed him to stay with them.

The cottage was a two week journey from Skyhold. Thankfully, the journey itself was uneventful. Galena sent Divine Cassandra a report every single day to inform her of their progress and Athelas’ condition. Even when it was a quiet night out with the stars shining and crickets chirping, Athelas was still tense and not far away from her daggers, waiting for something to jump out at them in the night. Her tension kept her from sleeping much. When she did sleep, it wasn’t long before she jerked awake from a nightmare, hissing through her teeth in pain at her arm.

When they arrived, everyone was glad to relax with a roof over their heads. Enfenim checked the cottage first to make sure everything was okay before the others went inside. Once he cleared it, the others followed in behind him, unloading their things. Bron’s first order of business was to ensure that he could get more food for them to cook. He had enough for maybe only another day or two, so a trip to Kirkwall would be in order for him to resupply. Galena agreed, pointing out that she needed more bandages for Athelas’ arm. In no way was the kind woman calling Athelas out, but she couldn’t help but feel like it was entirely her fault and that she was inconveniencing all of them. They were such nice people to her, but she felt that they were only with her out of obligation. Someone needed to protect the weak ex-Inquisitor.

A couple of days passed and Enfenim and Bron made their trip to Kirkwall, returning with plenty of food and extra bandages. They even picked up a book for Athelas that they thought she might be interested in. She forced a smile to her lips and thanked them as she accepted it. That night, Bron prepared a feast consisting of Athelas’ absolute favorites: grilled lamb with asparagus and mashed potatoes. The cottage smelled positively delectable and mouth-watering by time he set the table and served the food. He gave a smile and a wink to Athelas as he took his own bite of the potatoes. Athelas smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes, and nibbled on the food, trying to force herself to eat some of it so that she wouldn’t insult Bron and his hard efforts. Still, his face fell slightly when she didn’t dive right into it like she used to.

When she had stomached all she could, she thanked Bron and excused herself from the table, ignoring the concerning looks aimed in her direction. She stepped outside the cottage, taking a deep breath of fresh air. She tilted her head to look towards the sky. A crushing disappointment ached in her gut when she saw that the sky was cloudy, hiding any stars there may be from view. Her stomach twisted painfully as she took a few stumbling steps forward, eyes still focused on the clouds.

Her breath caught in her throat. She felt as though she were suffocating. She could feel the burn behind her eyes as tears began to form, but they didn’t fall. Why? She rubbed at her eyes. Why can’t I cry?

Perhaps she’d cried too much the last couple of months over the departure of Solas and her inability to stop him. She had no tears left to give, try as she might. That realization made her feel completely hollow inside.

Behind her, she heard the cottage door creak open. “Inquis- Lady Lavellan,” Enfenim corrected himself. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. It may not be safe.”

Athelas didn’t argue as she turned around and dragged her feet, making her way back inside silently. She knew that Enfenim, uptight, strict Enfenim, was just doing his job, but she wanted to be left alone. She went into the bedroom she shared with Galena and closed the door. She sat down on the bed, leaning over with her elbow on her knee, glaring at her left stump. All she wanted was to feel whole again. She didn’t necessarily need her arm for that, though it could help. She wanted to go to sleep, tangled up in Solas’ warm arms with his fingers running through her hair. She wanted to listen to his stories all night long. She wanted to laugh and eat those damn frilly cakes with him.

She wanted everything that she couldn’t have.

She could hear the soft chatter on the other side of the door, but paid it no mind. She just sat there, stewing in her thoughts, when a gentle knock came at the door. Turning her head upwards, she called quietly, “Come in.”

Galena slowly opened the door, a cup of hot tea in her hand. She stepped in with a sad smile, making sure to close the door behind her. “Athelas, I’m not going to say something stupid like ‘I understand how you feel’ or ‘cheer up’. I can’t even imagine the beginnings of what you’re going through. However, at the same time, the Divine sent us here so that you could get away from everything and relax. May I?” She gestured to the open spot on the bed beside Athelas. The Dalish woman nodded and Galena took a seat. “No one is rushing you to try and move past what happened, but maybe, you should try to put in a little more effort? No one likes to see such a strong woman like you stuck in a horrible, dark pit like you currently are.” She held up the teacup, passing it over. “Here. The men forgot to get any coffee, but they got this strange hibiscus tea you like.”

Athelas listened to Galena’s words in silence. The woman was just doing what she felt was best: offering a comforting drink, some gentle, yet harsh words, and some company. Athelas appreciated it, deep down, but she couldn’t get past her feelings on the surface. She was tempted to ask Galena to leave her in peace, but she went ahead and took a sip of the tea. Its warmth rushed down her throat, pooling in her belly. The scent and taste brought a small sense of ease to her mind. She took another long sip.

Galena smiled warmly. “Would you like me to make you another cup?”

“...Please? If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course not.” Galena patted Athelas’ leg as she stood. “I’ll go brew you some more right this moment. You’ll get through this, Athelas. I know you will.”

Galena excused herself from the room and entered back into the small kitchen, Bron and Enfenim’s eyes upon her. She sighed, her shoulders sagging. “Well, she wants more tea, so that’s good, right?”

“You used the last of the water with that cup,” Bron pointed out. “I’ll go and get some more.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Enfenim lifted their bucket they were using to transport the liquid. “Who knows if there’s anyone out there while it’s dark. I’ll go fill the bucket and come back.”

“Our hero, our guardian!” Bron grinned and gave a teasing wink to Enfenim, to which he responded with a good-natured groan and rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be back soon.” Enfenim opened the door and glared up at the sky. “It’s raining,” he muttered, stepping outside.

Once he left, Galena helped Bron finish off the last of his meal he’d prepared, assuring him that the food was incredible. He set the dishes in the sink and began to scrub them. “I know it was,” he said, none too humbly. “She’s just...getting weaker and weaker. I thought maybe along with the change of scenery, her favorite meal might help perk her up. Obviously, that didn’t work. I just don’t know what can get through to her anymore.”

“Just give her some more time. Think about all she went through with the Inquisition, fighting Corypheus, trying to avoid war with Fereldan and Orlais...then all of what went down at the Winter Palace. I mean, on top of the attempt of a qunari invasion, but…” Galena trailed off, not wanting to finish what she was saying.

Bron huffed, passing her a plate to dry. “I know. I just...wish I could help her somehow.”

“Let’s get some more of that awful tea, for starters!”

He scrunched his nose. “I don’t see how she likes the stuff.”

From their spot in the kitchen, they heard a soft thud and a clinking sound. The two exchanged worried looks. Galena dried her hands and rushed to the bedroom, knocking again. “Athelas? Dear, are you okay?”

There was only silence. Galena slowly turned the knob, giving Athelas plenty of opportunity to shoo her away. When she opened the door all the way, she gasped. Athelas had fallen forward off the bed, the teacup and saucer not far away, the tea spilt on the floor. Galena rushed over and rolled Athelas on her back, checking her vitals. Bron came in behind her, hurrying to Athelas’ other side. “Maker’s breath! What happened?”

“I’m...not sure. Here, help me get her up.” The two carefully lifted her and set her down on her bed. “Everything seems normal, just… Perhaps her fatigue finally caught up to her?”

Bron furrowed his brows, looking towards the tea. He knelt and picked up the cup and saucer, passing it to Galena. He dipped his finger in the liquid and brought it up to his nose, sniffing it before tasting it with the tip of his tongue. “This doesn’t taste like normal hibiscus tea.”

“What?” Galena breathed in astonishment. “What do you think-?”

Crash!

Bron reached for the sword that would normally be at his hip, but he only grabbed at thin air. His sword was in the kitchen, where it sounded like someone had just broken down the door. Galena jumped to her feet and grabbed her staff from the corner, her heart pounding quickly. Bron sucked air in between his teeth, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. His eyes landed on Athelas’ daggers. As he unsheathed them, he thought quickly, Sorry, My Lady. I’ll try not to ruin them.

Heavy footsteps approached the room at an achingly slow pace. Bron gripped the daggers so tight that his knuckles turned white. A bead of sweat formed on his brow as he held his breath. Several men in armor, more than he and Galena could handle alone, stood outside the room, weapons brandished. The man in front, a mace in his grasp, eyed Athelas on the bed. “Step aside,” he snapped, “and we may not kill you.”

Bron snarled. “Don’t touch her.”

“Last warning.”

Galena cried out and wrapped the three of them in a protective barrier, Bron lunging forward. He sliced with the knives, only for them to either be blocked or smack harmlessly against the armor. The leader stepped into the room, swinging his mace. Bron did his best to try and block the attacks, but he wasn’t strong enough to hold his ground. The man crouched low and brought his elbow up to jab Bron in the gut. As he wheezed, fighting to remain steadfast, one of the other men came into the room behind him. He brought two fingers up to his brow and without warning, Bron and Galena were thrown backwards into the wall. Bron’s head collided with the corner of a window and he slumped to the ground, motionless. Galena picked herself up, trying to hold her staff in as menacing a manner as possible. The men laughed at her, throwing their heads back. Galena narrowed her eyes and started to summon the energy for a spell, but the leader charged at her, wrapped his fingers around her neck, and slammed her back against the wall. She dropped her staff and began clawing at the man’s tight grip.

“I warned you,” the man whispered in her ear. Galena’s face began to turn bright red as she choked, her struggles to pry him off weakening. When her eyes rolled into the back of her head, he released her, letting her fall heavily to the floor. He secured his mace at his waist and gestured with a lazy wave of his hand. “Get the Inquisitor. We’re heading out.”

Twenty minutes away, Enfenim finally dipped the bucket into the river, which was already beginning to swell from the heavy downpour that had started not too long ago. He’d just finished making a quick report on the other end of a nearby eluvian for someone to take to Fen’harel. Enfenim had long been Fen’harel’s servant and joined the Inquisition long ago as a spy, so that someone would remain behind after the Dread Wolf left their rank. Ever since the elvhen god left, Enfenim reported to him in secret whenever he was able to. He was able to gather information on Fen’harel’s possible whereabouts from the few spies that remained with the disbanded organization, giving him ample opportunity to stay a few steps ahead. It seemed like it was more important to Fen’harel to hear of Athelas’ wellbeing.

Enfenim didn’t quite understand everything. He knew why Fen’harel wanted the information gathered on him by the Nightingale and the Divine, but why did he care so much about the former Inquisitor, one of the few people in Thedas that could stand in his way? He had heard the rumors when he joined that Fen’harel, known as Solas, had been in a relationship with the Inquisitor. Enfenim always assumed it was just another ruse to throw everyone off the scent. However, with how insistent Fen’harel had been with knowing Athelas’ condition, he was beginning to second guess that original thought. He’d seen how fervently Athelas chased after Fen’harel and how thinking of him was consuming her to the point where she was making herself ill and not allowing herself to heal.

He finally decided that the two truly did care for one another. While he understood why they couldn’t be together, there was a small part of him that silently wished the two could, and forget about all the madness in the world. But that was just a wish and this was reality. Still, he would guard Athelas with his life. He respected her and all that she had done.

Which was why, when he returned to the cottage and he saw the door wide open, his gut churned. He immediately dropped the bucket of water and drew his sword, stepping inside, his eyes examining everything. Bron’s sword rested against the wall in the kitchen, untouched. He saw where a few things had been shifted around. When he glanced inside Athelas’ and Galena’s bedroom, he held his breath. He took quick steps and examined Bron and Galena, prepared for the worst. He exhaled softly with relief. They were still alive. Athelas, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found.

He snarled and spun on his heel, breaking out into a sprint once he exited the cottage and got back out into the pouring rain. He looked around in the dark desperately, searching for any signs of tracks.

Wait. If someone overpowered them and took the Inquisitor, he wasn’t sure that he could handle it alone. He dashed off towards the eluvian. Fen’harel would come to help, no doubt about it.

The first thing she registered was a pounding headache as she slowly began to regain consciousness. Athelas moaned, trying to reach a hand up to massage her temples, but found that she couldn’t move. She tried again, but met resistance. She cracked open her eyes and lifted her head, which felt much heavier than usual. It was because not only did she have a migraine, her hair was entirely soaked and clinging to her skin.

“So you’re finally awake.”

The gravelly voice before her snapped her more quickly to her senses. She began to observe the room she was in and what was going on. She was leaning against a wall on the floor, her arms bound to her side and her ankles tied together. The man standing in front of her was also thoroughly damp, water dripping off of his armor. He had his helmet tucked under his arm, revealing his face to her. He had dark hair, dark brown eyes, scruff around his jaw and mouth, and a scar trailing horizontally across the left side of his forehead. The room, other than the two of them, was entirely empty with just a single torch on the wall to provide light. She swallowed thickly, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who are you?” she demanded, sounding much like her old self.

“You don’t know, former Inquisitor? I’m hurt.” The man took a step closer. “We are the last of the Venatori and finally, after all this time, we have you in our custody.”

“Oh. I’m very impressed.” Athelas sneered. “May I ask my gracious host what you plan on doing with me?”

“It’s quite simple.” He set his helmet on the ground and knelt in front of her, grabbing her by the front of her shirt. “You have powerful friends that would like you back. If they don’t do precisely as we ask, we’ll just go ahead and rid the world of you. It’d be better off that way, anyway.”

Athelas scoffed at him, refusing to back down. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not anyone important anymore. What you’re doing is pointless.”

“Please.” The scarred man forced her up to her feet, pinning her against the wall with his arm. “You may not have that crazy magic in your hand anymore, but you were the Inquisitor. You’ll always be someone important, whether you like it or not. Besides, just look at you.” He released her and took a couple of steps back, gesturing at her thin, frail body. “You seriously think that in that shape that you could take me on?”

“With one hand tied behind my back,” she spat.

“Is that so?” He threw his back and cackled. Then, without warning, he brought his hand up and backhanded her with enough force to send her crashing back down to the ground. She coughed, sucking in air, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her cheek. She managed to sit back up, then tasted the metallic burn of blood in her mouth. He bent at his knee once more, shoving his face in hers. “Just go ahead and admit defeat, Inquisitor. There’s no way you’re getting out of this one. Anyone that knows you’re missing can’t help and everyone else just doesn’t know. Yet. We can’t be tracked here, thanks to the rain. You’re ours.”

Athelas spat in his face. He reeled back in disgust, wiping her saliva and blood off his skin. His hand lashed out, grabbing a fistful of her long locks, and pulled upwards. Athelas tried to fight it, but she couldn’t swallow the quick scream of pain as he yanked on her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, a few hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

“You will regret that, Inquisitor,” he hissed lowly, throwing her back down to the floor. He snatched his helmet and stormed from the room, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Athelas remained still for a short period of time, waiting for the pain to subside from her head. Her cheek, she knew, was swelling and would undoubtedly be bruised. Her scalp felt like it was on fire, pounding against her skull. She winced as she struggled to sit up again, leaning against the wall behind her with a heavy sigh. Okay. It was time to pull herself together and figure out how she was going to get out of this.

Firstly, where was she? It looked almost like some sort of abandoned hunting cabin or something of the nature. The floor and walls all looked like older wood, carved right out of the trees. Past the loud talking she could hear on the other side of the door, she could hear the heavy rain hammering down on the roof. If they were still in the rain, they couldn’t have gone too far away from their cottage. She had made a brief note of hearing the rain while she’d been drinking her tea.

Her tea.

That must have been what happened. If they had somehow found out she was in the area and they tailed her, they must have watched Bron and Enfenim in the market of Kirkwall. They must have found a way to drug the tea. Knowing her luck, she was the only one who liked it, so the others wouldn’t have been affected by it. She hoped they were all okay. She didn’t want to be the reason of them…

No. They had to be okay.

She tried to focus and get an idea of how many Venatori were on the other side of the door, but it was hard to. There was so much talking and they all seemed to be moving around. Her best guess was maybe four or five. The scarred man might have had a point about her not being able to fight back very well in her condition, but she wasn’t about to back down and give in. If she was going to die, she was going to give them a hell of a time. If she could just give her companions enough time to track her, she could get away. Unfortunately, the man was partially right. The rain would make it hard, though not necessarily impossible.

She just needed to be strong.

Her captors, naturally, would not give her much of a chance to be. She had tried to stay awake and gather more information, but her eyelids grew heavy and she fell asleep at some point in the night. Thankfully, she didn’t wake from a nightmare. Instead, it was because one of the Venatori dragged her off of the floor and tossed her into a chair. She jerked into her conscious state and struggled in any way she could. She tried to wriggle or kick out at them, but her attempts were futile against them. Once they set her down in the chair, she tried to stand back up and squirm out of the ropes, but they just shoved her back down and wrapped a rope around her waist, keeping her attached to the chair.

A rumble of thunder shook the cabin. The scarred man stood before her, stripped out of his armor, but he still had his mace at his hip. He crossed his arms and looked at the other men in the room with a sickening grin. Athelas glanced around and counted four of them, none of them in their armor. Clearly, they weren’t expecting to be tracked or under any kind of attack at all. More than one of them had daggers attached to their belts. If she could just get an opening, she could get out of her binds and give herself a better fighting chance.

“What are you looking at, Inquisitor?” The leader of the group reached out and grabbed Athelas’ cheeks, forcing her to look at him.

She jerked her head out of his grasp, her eyes burning with loathing. “I’m just deciding which of you will die first, but you’re making my decision pretty easy, shemlen.”

She was backhanded again on the same cheek, her head snapping to the side. With the ringing in her ears, she barely managed to hear him scoff, “Wow, knife-eared bitch. That really hurt. You know that we only have to keep you barely alive in order to get what we want? We have a lot to pay you back for.”

Athelas knew what was coming, but she had no time to prepare herself. The ringing still dominant in her ears, the air rushed from her body with a sickening thud from a fist colliding with her stomach. She gasped for air, trying to will it back in, but she was struck again in the same spot. Her head hung as she coughed, fighting to fill her lungs. When she managed to suck in a breath, she lifted her head and spat more blood and saliva at the nearest man.

She was met with an iron fist to her face, whiplashing her head backwards and knocking the chair off balance. One of the men caught her and righted her. She hissed in pain and felt the blood dripping out of her nose, over her lips, and down her chin. She didn’t need a healer to tell her that her nose was broken.

The leader leaned over her from behind, his hot breath blowing across her ear. “Why bother, Inquisitor? You know you aren’t going to win. You may as well give up.”

“And let you have the satisfaction of winning? Never,” she spat.

“Have it your way.”

Athelas endured blow after blow. Blood oozed from her nose and trickled from her mouth. Her insides felt like they were caving inward. Still, she struggled. She fought against the ropes. She spat and cursed at them. She even shouted angrily a couple of times like a crazed woman. Anything to let them know they weren’t beating her. They eventually threw a nasty rag into her mouth to try and gag her, which she responded to by biting down on the fingers of the man who shoved it in. The next blow to her head made her so incredibly lightheaded that she passed out.

She briefly came to sometime later. Her best guess was late afternoon or evening. It was hard to tell when she didn’t have any windows. She could still hear the rain pouring outside. The voices of the men floated towards her ears.

“...enough food…”

“Well, then...go...wall first...rrow…”

“Who will stay…”

“...I will...”

The pain was too much for her to bear and she slipped into unconsciousness once more.

She desperately wished that once, just once, she would see Solas in the fade. Not just an image or a memory, but actually him. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him, touch him, feel his fingers running lazily through her hair as he lulled her to sleep with the sound of his voice.

Why did she cling to those thoughts with all her heart? Yes, Solas had taken a piece of her with him when he vanished. Not just the first time, but the second time, too. Athelas felt that there wasn’t much of herself left after that. She was just a hollow shell with no purpose. Now, just because of who she had been, a woman forced into a role she never wanted in first place, she was being beaten bloody with no one coming to help her. Why? Why was she fighting so hard?

Why?

Sure, a few people may notice her absence, but would it really be a bad thing if she was killed in this cabin? Solas wasn’t coming back, so what was the point? There was no point. None whatsoever.

She was just tired. She wanted all this fighting to be over. Bron and Galena and maybe even Enfenim had been injured because of her. She was tired of people being put in harm’s way because of her. What had she done to warrant that? She didn’t want anyone else getting hurt because of her.

She just wanted it all to end. For her to close her eyes and never wake up again.

“No matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had was real.”

Athelas’ emerald eyes snapped open, but all she saw was darkness. There was nothing around her to the point where she felt like she was floating in mid-air. She glanced down and saw her hand in front of her, clear as day. Though she saw him nowhere, she heard Solas’ voice and her own all around her.

“Solas, var lath vir suledin!”

“I wish it could, vhenan.”

Athelas heard her own cry of pain, remembering the burning in her palm, stretching up her arm, all caused by the anchor. She could still imagine the expression Solas had. The regret, the sorrow, the love.

“My love… I will never forget you.”

Those parting words were the last Athelas had heard of his voice. It seemed like she heard them all the time, not only in her dreams, right before they become nightmares, but when she was awake. She recalled the determined fire that burned within her for those first few weeks after the Winter Palace. She wanted to stop Solas, to bring him away from the brink of what she believed to be a horrible mistake. No...she didn’t want to.

She needed to.

What was she doing? She couldn’t just quit on him. If she were to allow herself to give in and die, who else would stop him? She knew that there was a part of him that didn’t truly want to go through with his plan, but he felt that he had no other choice. She could make him see the other choices, whatever they may be.

He needed her. She needed him. She couldn’t just give up.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She needed to wake up and figure out a way to get out of her situation. No one else was coming for her, so she needed to handle it on her own. She could do this.

The next time she opened her eyes, she was in the waking world. She knew that for sure because of the horrid pain she felt all over her body. Both her right eye and cheek were swollen and bruised, her nose was broken, though the blood had stopped flowing. Her stomach ached when she breathed and she still had a headache. She glanced around slowly thanks to a crick in her neck. There was no one else in the room. It was quiet.

She vaguely remembered hearing a conversation, but she couldn’t put the pieces together about what she’d heard. Her tongue licked her lips, trying to moisten them, but she was beginning to feel the effects of dehydration.

Dehydration. That gave her an idea. She started working at the ropes that were binding her hand to the chair. Though the men had tied it tightly yesterday, that was yesterday, and from all the straining she’d been doing helped to loosen them ever so slightly. If she were able to get them just a little looser, she could slip her wrist out and have use of her hand. She cracked a small grin to herself when she got it to just the right adjustment.

It took her a try or two to find her voice, but she croaked, “Hey! Venatori!”

A couple of stomping feet came to the door, unlocked it, and it swung open. It wasn’t the scarred man, but was one of the Venatori group. He shot her an angry look and snapped, “What do you want?”

“I need some water...and food.” When the man gave her a disbelieving expression, she added, “I kind of need those if you want to keep me alive, after all.”

“You’ll have to wait on the food until the others get back.” He walked towards her after picking up a canteen off of the floor. “But I suppose I’ll give you just a few sips of water.”

Until the others get back. They were gone somewhere. Was this the only man left guarding her? That made her plan much easier if she didn’t have to worry about the others coming in and trying to overwhelm her. She had confidence in taking down this one man, even with the shape she was in.

He opened the canteen and carefully lifted it over her mouth. She guzzled down two large gulps and when he started to lean it away, she held the rest in her mouth. Once the canteen was out of her face, she spat all the water she held at him. He jumped backwards and wiped at his face with a disgusted noise. Ire flashed in his eyes. He threw the canteen down on the ground and unsheathed his knife, walking around the backside of Athelas. She tensed in preparation.

His hand shot out and grabbed her hair. Not just some of it, but all of her long, straight locks. He bunched it up in his hand and pulled hard. Athelas thought for a split second that if he pulled much harder, he would rip her entire scalp off. She cried out in pain, keeping her hand on the arm of the chair for the moment. The timing wasn’t right.

“You think you’re tough, do you?!” the man bellowed, enraged. He took his knife and hacked away at her hair, chopping it incredibly short. He laughed and took the fistful of hair and walked back in front of her, letting her watch it flow to the ground.

Her hair. Her long hair that Solas would run his fingers through to help her relax. When they were wrapped in each other’s arms at night, trying to go to sleep. When they had a moment of peace together. When he took her to Crestwood and told her how beautiful she was. When he kissed her.

Now.

She pulled her wrist free and reached out, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisted it as quick as she could. He hissed in pain and dropped the knife. Athelas snatched it before it hit the ground. In a quick, fluid motion, she cut the rope at her waist and the one binding her ankles together. She jumped to her feet, refusing to wobble in front of this man, and pointed the weapon at him. She could see how cross he was as he questioned internally how he let that just happen. Athelas narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m leaving.”

“I won’t let you!” He darted towards her, hands reaching for the knife. She ducked and sidestepped out of his reach, keeping her gaze glued on him. He spun around and crouched, rushing towards her, trying to bowl into her and knock her against the wall. She gave a quick, habitual prayer to Mythal to not let her legs fail her, and she jumped over him in just the nick of time. She twisted in the air so that she would be facing him, her knife at the ready. Her legs shook under her as she landed, causing her to fall to her knees. The man picked himself up off of the ground and started to turn back around to face her, but Athelas threw the knife with deadly accuracy, the blade lodging in his chest. One last vexed look crossed his face as he fell forward, all the breath rushing from his body in an exhale.

Athelas held her breath, listening for others approaching. All she heard was the rain outside. It didn’t seem like the others were around, after all. She couldn’t linger. She didn’t know how long she’d been unconscious or even what time of day it was. She didn’t know how long they’d been gone or when they’d be back.

She pushed herself back up to her feet and made her way towards the exit. She glanced around, just in case there was any food or potions laying around, but the rest of the cabin was empty, save for a few bottles of ale. There wasn’t even a cloak for her to use to try and shelter herself a little from the rain. No matter. She’d just have to get soaked again. It didn’t matter, so long as she could get away.

 Solas and Enfenim ducked down behind some large bushes, hoods drawn over their heads, dusk upon them. Enfenim had gotten a message to him a little more than a day ago that Athelas had been abducted and that he was going to try and track them down. Solas abandoned everything he had been doing and caught up to his agent. They’d been looking everywhere they could think of, but because of the deluge they were caught in, any reliable tracks the perpetrators would have left had been washed away. It didn’t matter. Solas wasn’t going to give up. How could he, when his vhenan was missing, potentially injured?

When Enfenim practically fell to his knees in the mud, Solas followed suit, his eyes scanning the area. He saw what Enfenim had spotted. Just through the trees, there was a small cabin that blended in well with the surroundings. It could have easily been missed. Perhaps that was where Athelas had been taken to.

“We need to get closer,” Solas said as softly as he could over the rain.

“Wait.” Enfenim put an arm out, discouraging Solas from rising. He pointed. Approaching the cabin was three men on horseback, clad in armor. The two elves couldn’t move without being spotted by them.

Suddenly, the door to the cabin swung open and Solas felt his breath hitch in his throat. It was Athelas, no doubt about it. He could tell from there that she looked to be in terrible shape and her hair had been cut, but he could never mistake her for another. It was his vhenan. She whirled around and saw the approaching men. Shouts rose from them and Athelas took a few steps back before turning on her heel and breaking out into a sprint. The men started to tap their horses into a gait. Enfenim stood and drew his sword, already charging towards them. “Go after her! I’ll handle them!”

Solas didn’t question it. Enfenim managed to dart in front of two of the horses, spooking them into stopping, but the third rushed by him, charging after Athelas. Solas ran faster than he ever had before. If he could just get the man within range of his magic…

Athelas’ lungs burned as she pushed herself harder than she ever had before. She could feel herself losing energy in her limbs as she ran, darting between the trees, veering off the path, hoping to lose the men that were undoubtedly pursuing her. It was hard for her to keep her footing in the slick mud, but she did her best. More than once, she slipped, smacking into a tree and using it as a crutch to balance herself before taking off again. She wouldn’t let herself be caught by them again. She couldn’t.

She could hear the horse whinny in the distance, but she knew they had to be gaining. She couldn’t stop. She pressed on, the rain stinging her skin as it fell onto her bruised and battered body. When she wiped at her face, trying to clear her vision, she saw the smudges of watery blood on her hand. Looking up again, she shouted in surprise as she scrambled to stop. Just before her was the river, but it was the river she remembered. It was now swollen from all the rain, muddied, and with an aggressive current, carrying several large limbs downstream. Athelas’ heart was pounding so heavily, she thought for sure it was going to burst out of her chest. She had seen a river similar to this one before, when she was a child.

She fell in and went under, came up, and went under, gasping for breath, clawing for solid ground-

“Inquisitor!”

Athelas turned quickly and instinctively took a step back, a step closer towards the river. It was the scarred man, a sadistic expression of glee on his face. As his hand moved, she saw a glimmer of steel. Her heart sunk into her stomach. She couldn’t dodge anything, not on this muddy, unstable ground.

“Harellan!” a child yelled, leading the group. There were several children all cheering in agreement, lifting their arms and throwing rocks at her as she fled them. One struck her across her head and she slipped, falling into the rushing currents-

His arm came up and he threw the knife. Athelas raised her hand, trying to block it. More rain fell into her eyes, stinging them. She shut them and took another step backwards. The ground underneath her crumbled-

Her small body fell into the water and immediately was swept up, throwing her against everything in her path. She tried to breathe, but kept swallowing water and choking. She reached out with her hands, pleading desperately for help-

Solas, having just caught up to them, saw the knife the man was getting ready to throw, shouted a curse in elvhen and raised his hands, casting a quick spell. He had raised an ice wall between Athelas and the knife and simultaneously froze the bastard who dared to throw it at her. As he turned his focus back towards her, wanting to make sure she was okay, an icy feeling gripped his heart.

Athelas had fallen into the river.

In an instant, he threw off his cloak and dove into the water after her. He did his best to not wear himself out fighting the current. He just did everything in his power to stay above the surface, his eyes searching in desperation for a glimpse of Athelas.

There! He spotted her head bob just above the surface, her one hand splashing, trying to keep herself afloat. He could tell she was struggling to breathe. She slipped under.

He tried to swim further ahead to catch up to her, but when he didn’t see her again, his gut twisted painfully and he stopped swimming forward, hunting for her. A swift current tore at him and dragged him under. He fought against it and pushed himself back up towards the surface, gasping for air. Momentarily disoriented, he looked around in circles. Athelas… Where are you?!

He spotted her again--she had just broken the surface and looked exhausted. Not far behind her downstream, a large log was bobbing along in the current. She still reached for the bank, hoping to try and grab hold of anything solid that she could use to pull herself back up to land. She went back under for just a moment before popping back up, spitting out water. Solas’ heart raced when he watched, almost as if second by second, Athelas’ head snap against the log. In the next instant, she slipped under the water and did not resurface.

Solas started swimming again as fast as he could, reaching the spot where she’d gone under. He took a large gulp of air and dove into the water. His hands reached out, searching for her, but it was nearly impossible to see with how muddy the water was. He kept reaching and grabbing at nothing but water. With each failed attempt, it felt as though a knife was creeping deeper and deeper into his heart. He was beginning to run out of air. He made one more strive to find her and his fingers brushed against something that felt like wet clothing. He took hold of it and pulled it closer. He brushed against skin and hair. He’d found her.

He’d found her.

He wrapped an arm around her midsection and swam with as much strength as he could muster, gasping for air as they broke the surface. Athelas remained motionless in his arms, her eyes not opening. He kept a tight hold of her. His eyes stung from the water, so he tried to blink rapidly to clear them as he made his way towards the shore. He tried to grab onto anything that he could use to help pull them to safety. His snagged a low tree branch, but they were swept away with too much force. His hand scraped painfully across a jagged rock, drawing blood. Athelas began to slip a little from his hold. He made sure to tighten his grip on her first. He wasn’t going to let her go.

He kept trying, but he felt exhaustion creeping into his limbs. The current was too strong for him to be able to take hold of anything well enough. At this rate, they’d either be swept out to sea or he would grow too tired and they would both go under. His magic couldn’t help him here.

Looking downriver, he squinted. Something was moving through the rain. Once they got closer, he made out Enfenim and a few of his other agents, grabbing hold of each other and leaning out towards the river. Enfenim extended his arm out, being held by two other elves from behind so that he wouldn’t get dragged in. Solas narrowed his eyes, determined. He kicked to keep them afloat and reached out, gripping Enfenim’s arm as tightly as he could. They came to a halt, though Solas hissed through his teeth. His arm had popped in a rather unpleasant manner, but he refused to let go. Enfenim started trying to pull both of them to shore, but Solas shook his head. “Take her!” he shouted, twisting around to get Athelas closer.

The agents reached for her and took her from Solas’ arms, dragging her out of the water and laying her down gently on shore. With a lighter load, Enfenim managed to pull Solas out, the elvhen man nearly collapsing on the ground. He couldn’t yet. He needed to make sure Athelas was okay. He shuffled over to her, his agents making room. “My lord… She isn’t breathing,” one of them stated hesitantly.

It was as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. No. He wasn’t able to let this happen. He held a hand over her mouth, her lips parted. No breath blew across his skin. He lowered his head to her chest. He could just barely make out her heartbeat. It was faint. Too faint. He pinched her nose, took a deep breath, and enclosed his lips around hers, forcing his air into her body. Her lips were so cold. He gave her several breaths, then began pressing on her chest rhythmically, something that he’d actually learned from a healer a long time ago. Though his arm throbbed in pain from the use, he pushed through it. She didn’t respond. He pressed his lips to hers again. He felt her body convulse and he moved away. She began coughing violently, turned her head to the side, and spat up the water she’d swallowed. Solas allowed himself an exhale of relief once she started gasping for breath between her coughs.

She was alive. She was breathing. She was going to be okay.

He watched her face, her beautiful face that had been battered and discolored, and felt his heart skip a beat when her eyes slid open. Her emerald gaze, as lovely as he’d remembered, stared at him distantly for a few seconds before they rolled back into her head. He jerked and leaned over her. No, she was okay. She had just passed out.

“My Lord.” Enfenim rested a hand on Solas’ shoulder. “We should get out of the rain.”

“I brought a couple of harts, My Lord,” another one of his agents said. “We can rest the Inquisitor on one of them and take her to the cave.”

Solas nodded and stood, his legs shaking slightly. “Yes, bring them. We’ll bring her back to the cave until it stops raining and treat her.”

Enfenim gave Solas a concerned look. “My Lord, you need some healing as well.”

He waved his bloodied hand in dismissal. “Not until we’ve treated her. She is in much worse shape.”

Enfenim couldn’t argue with that, so he fell silent.

Thankfully, the agents had brought enough harts so that none of them had to walk. With assistance, Solas propped Athelas up on one of them, her limp body leaning over the hart’s neck, and he slipped into the saddle behind her, leaning her back against his chest. He took hold of the reins with his sore arm and wrapped his good one around her waist, holding her close as he urged the hart forward.

Enfenim looked at the back of his god. In those long moments as they made their way along the muddied paths back to the cave that contained their eluvian, he had a feeling that nagged him at the back of his mind. Fen’harel didn’t seem like an all-powerful god. He seemed like just another man. An exhausted man who was sick with worry over the woman he loved. His shoulders sagged as he kept a tight hold on her, clearly not wanting to let her go. Though he wished it were under much better circumstances, that small part of Enfenim was happy to see them together. It just seemed...right.

When they reached the cave, Enfenim helped Fen’harel lower Athelas to the ground while the others began working on building a fire and pulling healing supplies out from their saddlebags. They rolled out a few blankets for Athelas to lay on, rolling one up to use as a pillow so that her head could be better propped. With a wave of his hand, Fen’harel lit the wood that they’d had stored in the cave, bringing with it light and warmth. His stormy blue eyes never left the former Inquisitor’s face. He at least allowed Enfenim to examine his arm and with a quick, fluid motion, he popped it back into socket. The only discomfort Enfenim saw was a spasm of muscles in his face. One of the other agents then wrapped Fen’harel’s hand and the god went to work on Athelas. The others turned away to give him room and privacy while he examined her.

Solas’ innards twisted with rage as he took into account all of Athelas’ injuries. She could have a possible concussion from the log hitting her head in the river, but he had no way of knowing yet. She had a black eye, broken nose, swollen cheek, bruises on her neck, shoulders, arms, and stomach, a few fractured ribs, scrapes here and there all over her body, and a swollen and discolored ankle that she may have twisted when she fell into the river. On top of all of that, he could see how thin and frail she was. Enfenim hadn’t been exaggerating when he sent his reports. When Solas lifted her shirt to check her torso, he could nearly see the outline of her ribs. Her eyes were sunken. An agonizing feeling of guilt overcame him as he stared, a hollow pit forming in his stomach. He had done this to her. He brushed some hair out of her face as his sorrowful look was replaced with determination. He couldn’t linger right now. He needed to help her.

He began by casting a heating spell to dry their clothes. He wouldn’t get far if she stayed wet and developed a fever. Once they were both dry, he lifted his hands, enveloping them with healing magic, and set to work. He did his best to fix her nose, ribs, and ankle first. Once he was satisfied with it for the moment, he took a sip of lyrium potion and started on her head and face. His healing session took quite some time. He spoke to no one while he concentrated and was glad that none of the others did so that he could focus. When he began to shake and felt lightheaded, he leaned back and covered Athelas with several blankets. She was still chilly to the touch, her lips a light blue color.

“My Lord?” Solas shifted to face Enfenim, who rubbed the back of his neck and seemed a little uncomfortable about something. “You should get some rest. We’ll… We’ll keep watch tonight, at the entrance of the cave and at the other end of the eluvian, so you won’t be disturbed.”

Solas frowned a little, but Enfenim headed back to the mouth of the cave, saying no more. Glancing around, he saw that his other agents had spoken the password to the eluvian and had stepped through, the large mirror dimming as it deactivated. He and Athelas were alone. Save for the crackling of the fire and the dripping of the rain, it was entirely silent. He looked back to Athelas and reached out to her, his fingers entangling themselves in her much shorter hair. He pulled the blanket back off of her and slid underneath it, wrapping his arms around her. He would return her to the cottage she’d been at in the morning, when the rain hopefully stopped. For tonight, he just wanted her in his arms. He wanted nothing else. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and his eyes slid closed.

With the morning came sunshine and singing birds. The horrible storm had finally cleared. The first thing Solas did when he woke was check on Athelas. Thanks to a mixture of the fire, the blankets, and his own warmth, she was much warmer with better color in her cheeks and lips. Some of her swelling had gone down and most of the scrapes were looking better. The bruising and fractures would take several more healing sessions. She was still unconscious, though she didn’t look to be in any pain. Still, he hoped she would wake sooner rather than later so that he could ensure her head wasn’t too badly affected from the hit she received yesterday.

He sat up and immediately began to work his magic on her once more. He wanted her to be in much better shape as soon as possible. Once he finished this round of healing, he stood and stretched, wincing slightly at the ache he still had in his arm. He dug through one of the bags and found a healing draught. He drained its contents and went to check on Enfenim. The man looked tired, but was still keeping a vigilant watch alongside one of the other agents. Solas asked them to go get the others that were on the other side of the Eluvian and they would be on their way shortly.

It didn’t take long for them to pack everything back up. Solas set Athelas in the same manner on the hart as he had the previous evening, making sure he held her securely. Once they were all set, they urged their mounts forward. From their current location, they weren’t too far away from the cottage. They’d gotten swept downriver quite a bit, Enfenim had told Solas that they wouldn’t have been able to catch up if it hadn’t been for the harts.

Having Athelas leaning against his chest, Solas just wanted to take her and leave. Take her somewhere far away to a cottage of their own and live out their lives together. Forget about everything else. He almost wished he didn’t have this deep obligation to help the elvhen people, but he’d come too far. He had no other choice. He needed to follow through with it and he refused to let Athelas see the man he would become in order to make that happen. Better that they be apart and have her remember him as just Solas, not as Fen’harel.

When they came into view of the cottage, Bron and Galena came running outside, relief washing across their faces when they saw Athelas. Bron looked to Solas, then Enfenim, his expression shifting into puzzlement. The light skinned human asked Solas, “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“We tracked her down,” Enfenim explained, hoping the news would be better received from him. “Venatori remnants captured her. We need to get her inside and lay her down so she can rest.”

Bron and Galena exchanged unsure glances. Solas recognized them both, so he knew they had to know who he was. If it came down to it, he would leave Athelas in their care, though he wouldn’t wander far until help came from Cassandra. One of his spies reported to him, saying that the day Athelas was captured, Cassandra sent out soldiers the next day to march for the cottage. The Divine had known something was up when she didn’t receive an update from them. That meant that they were still about eight days away. Solas wasn’t taking any chances with her safety.

Galena nodded at last. “Come. Bring her inside. Bron, if you could start warming some water for me so I can get her cleaned up…”

Solas and Enfenim helped get Athelas inside, setting her down on her bed. Galena shooed them while she stripped Athelas and began to wash her and change the bandages on her arm. They obliged and headed back outside where the other agents were waiting patiently. Solas rested his hands behind his back and said, “You go and get some rest. I will keep watch on everything here.”

“Are you sure, My Lord?” Enfenim frowned slightly. He knew their god could handle himself, but he didn’t feel like a loyal soldier, being ordered to go rest and leave Fen’harel alone.

“I am sure. Thank you all for your assistance yesterday.”

All his men nodded in acknowledgment and turned their mounts, going to find somewhere nearby to rest their eyes for a little while. Solas remained in the trees surrounding the cottage. He paced around it slowly in a circle, setting wards as he walked. He wasn’t going to let anything come near Athelas.

It felt like an eternity, but Galena finally emerged from the hut and looked in Solas’ direction. He walked over to her, keeping a respectable distance. She wiped some sweat from her brow. “She is presentable now. I’ve bandaged her up. Whatever healing you’ve done on her so far was very helpful. I…” She inhaled sharply and narrowed her eyes at Solas, looking much like a scolding mother. “I can’t say I’m happy about this. You, being here. You did this to her. Had you not left her, she would not be in this shape or be here at all.”

Her harsh, but true, words cut into Solas. He knew what she was saying was true. It was all his fault.

“With that said…,” she continued, “You may stay here for now. I can sense all your wards, so I imagine you don’t plan on leaving yet. Perhaps seeing you will...boost her spirits. Maybe you can actually get her to start eating again. Even just seeing a smile again would be nice.” She raised an accusing finger at him. “But don’t you dare leave like last time.”

Like last time. He could do a better job. He would have to leave her, but he could spend about a week with her. An entire week. He wouldn’t let that time go to waste. He nodded silently at Galena and she stepped aside, letting him into the cottage. As Solas made his way through the kitchen, he could smell something quite delicious as Bron moved about, cooking up some lunch. He went into the bedroom and gently closed the door behind him.

Athelas looked much better, even just in her face. She was tucked underneath a blanket, but he could tell Galena had scrubbed her clean, removing every bit of dirt she could. Athelas was no longer grimy and covered in blood. If it weren’t for the swollen and bruised areas on her fact, she would look positively radiant. Even her hair had a shine to it. Galena had bandaged her head, her cheek, and had new wrappings on her left arm. He took slow strides over to her side, brushing her bangs from her face. He gazed at her, wishing he could will her awake so that he could look into her eyes and talk to her.

For now, he would have to wait. He shifted a chair around to the bedside and settled into it, watching over her as she slept.

Athelas felt foggy as she came to with a low moan. Her body ached all over, especially her head. She raised her hand to rub her temples, wincing at the pain. She heard someone near her shift, so she cracked open her eyes. Immediately, a sob built in her throat. It would be Solas that she would dream about while she was suffering. She wanted him to come, whisk her away, and erase all her agony. She reached out to him and a slow, wistful smile crept to his lips and brightened his eyes. He took her hand in his and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. She shuddered.

It felt so real.

She whispered, “Solas...are you a dream? A figment of my memory in the Fade?” She paused. Even in her dreams, she’d never imagined Solas looking like he did. She could tell he was a little thinner and his eyes were sunken, as though he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest in some time. Why was her mind conjuring such a sad image?

He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “No, Vhenan. I am here.”

Athelas gasped softly, her tears welling up in her eyes. She stared at him, his eyes, his scar, his freckles, his lips… It was more realistic than she could have imagined. Was it truly him? Why, after all this time, would he appear now?

Did it really matter? He was here. Creators, he was at her bedside. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes. “You… You really are? Because if you aren’t...I don’t think I want to ever wake up.”

Though he knew what she meant, the thought of Athelas never opening her eyes again made his stomach churn. He’d come so close to that being a reality and he never wanted to venture that close to losing her ever again. He helped her to sit up and propped pillows behind her to make her more comfortable. “I promise you that you are awake, Athelas. You were kidnapped and you escaped, do you remember?”

Hearing her name leave his lips elated her. She had missed the sound of his voice. When he asked her a question, she narrowed her eyes, straining to remember what had happened. “Yes, the Venatori… I killed one of them and escaped, but their leader chased after me. I’m...not sure what happened to the others. I know they were there with him. But he cornered me by the river and…” She exhaled slowly. “I thought he’d killed me.”

“You fell into the river,” he supplied. “I was there and I blocked his dagger from ever reaching you, but...the ground gave way.”

“You… Did you save me?”

“With some help, we got you out.”

Athelas vaguely remembered. She recalled clawing for something to grab onto to pull herself to safety and choking on the water since she could barely keep herself afloat. After that...she couldn’t think of what happened next. She looked back over to her lover. “But how? How are you here? How did you know?”

He shifted in his chair, leaning closer towards the bed, closer to her. “Enfenim. He was one of mine. He came back here after going to the river and found you gone. He immediately contacted me and we tracked you down.”

So he had another spy still within her ranks even though she’d gotten rid of the Inquisition. She couldn’t say she was surprised. Truthfully, she wasn’t even angry. If it weren’t for Enfenim being planted where he was, Athelas could very well be dead. Instead, she was alive. Injured and in pain, but alive. Solas was there with her.

He was there.

She leaned over and embraced him tightly, feeling him tense for a split moment before relaxing in her arms. She shut her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder, her tears spilling from her eyes. She felt so conflicted and overwhelmed, multiple emotions swirling around inside. He’d left her, crushed her heart. She spiraled down into her depression because of losing him. He never contacted her. He never found her in the Fade. She’d gone to a foreign place to try and get back on her feet. She’d been taken and abused. Honestly, for a little bit there, she was hoping to die so that she wouldn’t feel any more pain. Thoughts of him snapped her out of it. She killed a man. She’d been run down like an animal, her back against the wall with nowhere to go. She had fallen into a powerful river and grew scared. She’d just managed to escape and found a reason to live, but she was just going to drown instead? She had been scared. But now, after everything, here he was.

She loved him. She couldn’t ever stop those feelings.

Pulling away from him just a little, she began planting kisses anywhere she could. They weren’t rushed or slow, somewhere just in between. She wanted to shower him with affection, as much as she can. She kissed his neck, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, and finally, his lips. She let that one linger, sighing happily. She’d missed the feeling of his lips against hers. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, being careful of her injuries, and returned her kiss more fervently. When they broke apart for air, he leaned his forehead against her, a soft, shuddering breath escaping him. “Vhenan,” he whispered.

How she had yearned for his voice. Now that she’d heard it again, she didn’t want him to stop talking. At the same time, she didn’t know what to ask him. It seemed silly for them to engage in small talk after everything that had happened between them and after everything she now knew about him. Thankfully, he leaned back and took care of that for her.

“Are you okay? Do you feel any discomfort? It’s been several hours since your healer tended to you.”

“Umm…” She released him and tested her limb, wincing when she felt a sharp pain. “My head, my nose, my ribs, and my ankle. Those are what hurts most.”

Solas’ lips pursed with determination as he stood, taking hold of her blanket in his hand. “May I?” When she nodded, he peeled the blankets off of her so that he could work on her ankle. He called on his magic and began.

Athelas sighed softly in relief as she felt his healing power washing over her. Her headache subsided somewhat, the throbbing pain in her nose dull, breathing hurt just a little less, and she didn’t entirely want to just cut off her ankle and be done with it. As he pulled her blankets back up, he murmured, “Ir abelas, my love. This is… This is all my fault. I... I’m worried about you. I know I don’t have the right to be, but...”

A feeling of guilt slammed into her, making it hard to breathe for a moment. She averted her eyes shamefully, staring down at the blanket. “It is not your fault, Vhenan. I... I just didn’t have any energy. I was never hungry. I guess I got lost without you there. You were elusive enough that Leliana nor Cassandra could ever truly get a lead on your whereabouts and that just…” She huffed in frustration, irritated she couldn’t put her feelings into words. “I felt like I’d chased you away for good.”

Solas’ brows furrowed. Her? Chase him away? Hadn’t it been exactly the opposite? “Nonsense, Vhenan. You did no such thing. I just...had to take extreme measures to ensure that you couldn’t catch up to me. I meant what I said, when I told you I didn’t want you to see what I would become.”

Athelas opened her mouth to reply, but a knock on the door cut her off. Galena stuck her head in and smiled at the young woman. “I’m so glad you see you up, Athelas. How are you feeling? Are you hungry at all?”

She took a moment to consider her answer. “I’m fine. Solas just did some more healing for me.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I think I am a bit hungry.”

“Excellent. Bron made you some stew, just in case you couldn’t stomach solid food.” Galena walked in, already carrying a bowl. “Here we are. You let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Athelas accepted the stew, resting it carefully in her lap. “Are you and Bron okay?”

Galena squeezed Athelas’ shoulder. “We’re fine, My Lady. Thank you. For now, I’ll excuse myself.”

Once Galena had slipped from the room, shutting the door, Athelas blew on the stew before taking a sip. Solas settled back into the chair and she frowned. “Do you need food? She didn’t offer you any?”

Solas dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “It’s perfectly fine. I don’t think she’s too happy with me right now, not that I don’t deserve it.”

“That’s no excuse to let you go hungry.”

“I’m fine, I promise.”

Athelas twisted her lips up, not fully believing him, but she dropped it. She tried to grip the spoon, but it slipped from out of her grasp, clinking back down into the bowl. She frowned at it and started to try again, but Solas leaned over and took hold of the bowl. Athelas gave him a puzzling look, but quickly flushed when he dipped the spoon in the stew and held it out to her. She awkwardly opened her mouth and leaned towards the spoon, taking it into her mouth. She worked on the stew slowly, enjoying the warm feeling it gave her, eventually not feeling as embarrassed about Solas feeding her. His eyes never left her. Once she finished, he took the bowl and set it aside. Her bangs fell in her face and she remembered that her hair had been sliced off. She slowly reached up and touched it, feeling the uneven ends and how it fell to just below her ears now, rather than her lower back. Her face fell.

Solas, not missing any detail, reached over and tucked the bangs back behind her ear. Being careful of the bandages on her head, he rubbed his fingers on her scalp and ran them through her hair. He knew that she was upset and wanted to do whatever he could to comfort her. He didn’t care that her beautiful hair had been cut off. He was just glad she's alive and within his reach. He trailed down from her hair to her uninjured cheek and cupped it, lazily drawing circles with his thumb. Athelas leaned into his hand, a few more tears springing free.

They sat in silence for a time, just enjoying each other's touch. At one point, Athelas scooted over on the bed and encouraged Solas to sit with her. He couldn’t deny her and slid onto the bed beside her, staying on top of the covers. He wrapped an arm around her and she leaned against him, resting her head on his chest. By time Solas was about to speak with her, he found that she’d already dozed off. He remained perfectly still, not wanting to disturb her.

Galena came in to check on them, being as quiet as she could once she saw Athelas had fallen asleep again. With a slight begrudging look, she offered to get Solas something if he needed anything. He declined politely, but recommended a pitcher of water for Athelas when she woke up next. She’d likely need to rehydrate more. Galena agreed and brought a pitcher and two cups in, setting them on the small table near the bed.

Solas let her sleep throughout the afternoon. He wanted to join her in the Fade, but he needed to make sure to keep an eye on things outside. He was able to see outside one of the windows in the room and at one point, saw one of his agents stroll by in the treeline. They must have all rested up and began a patrol. Feeling a little more relaxed, he focused on his love, sleeping in his embrace.

His arm tingled and ached slightly from remaining in a single position for so long, but he refused to move. He was beginning to feel warm with Athelas leaning on him and he reached up with his free hand, feeling her forehead. It felt exceptionally warm. He felt his own forehead in comparison. She must be breaking out into a fever. He shifted slowly, slipping out from under her and laying her back down in the bed. Her cheeks were flushed and a small sweat was beginning to break out. He stepped out to inform Galena.

Athelas slept for the rest of the day and through most of the night with Solas and Galena taking turns watching her and trying to keep her cooled off. When Solas was keeping an eye on her, she began to murmur in her sleep, alerting him. He leaned over and tried to make out what she was saying, but it sounded like delusional mutterings. However, she grew louder and began to twist around in the sheets, her calm breathing turning into rapid pants. He set a hand upon her shoulder, trying to shake her free from her dream. She suddenly flew up with a scream, her eyes wide and her body shuddering. Her hair clung to her face with sweat and she cut her scream off with a hissing inhale between her teeth. She looked to her arm, where it had begun bleeding through the bandages again. Galena rushed into the room and took charge, shushing Athelas and rubbing her back before setting to work changing out her bandages. Solas was stunned, unsure of what was happening.

Galena managed to get Athelas to drink a glass of water before the woman slipped back into her fitful rest. Just as Solas opened his mouth to speak, Galena cut him off. “It’s been like this for several months.”

Several months? Athelas had been suffering from terrifying nightmares, unable to sleep through the night for months? And her arm...why wasn’t it healing? He could imagine that part of it was because she hadn’t been properly taking care of herself and making sure she’d gotten the right nutrition. On top of that, she wasn’t sleeping well, either? She wasn’t going to get better without a good night’s rest. Perhaps Galena could take watch over her tomorrow night so that he could slip into the Fade and help relieve whatever was ailing her dreams.

She finally woke the next afternoon. She’d all but broken through her fever and was famished, which Bron was pleased to hear. With Solas’ help, Athelas made her way to the kitchen to sit down at the table, Bron presenting her with plenty of food to choose from. She cracked a tired smile in thanks as she began to eat, Solas occasionally assisting her, while Galena washed the sheets on the bed.

It was hard, at least for Athelas, to try and pretend like things were normal again. She wanted it to be, probably more than anything. But while Solas spoke to her, telling her of journeys he’d taken into the Fade since they’d last spoken about it years ago, she couldn’t help but have the feeling in the back of her mind: He wants to rip down the Veil and destroy the world as they knew it. Still, she amused him with weary smiles and conversation. Though she couldn’t forget about that fact, she also couldn’t suppress the part of her that was overjoyed at him being there with her. Bron and Galena barely bothered the two of them throughout the afternoon, letting them have time to themselves. That didn’t stop Galena from occasionally raising an eyebrow in Solas’ direction whenever their eyes met. When Bron caught her once, he tutted at her and gave her a gentle jab in her side.

When Athelas began to doze again, apologizing while she yawned, Solas insisted, “You have nothing to apologize for. Your body is exhausted and needs lots of rest to recover.”

“You look like you could use some rest, too,” she commented sleepily, lying down in bed. “You aren’t the only one who’s worried, Solas.”

His breath hitched, unsure of how to respond. Her tired eyes slid closed while she held tightly onto his hand. He hung his head guiltily, taking a slow breath. So she had noticed. She wasn’t the only one who had suffered during their separation. He’d found himself constantly worrying about her and when he read through Enfenim’s reports, learning that she had been worsening, it only made him worry more. He lost sleep. He didn’t want to risk going into the Fade more than he had to, because if he felt the pull of her presence, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist it anymore.

There was a soft knock as Galena stepped inside. Solas slid his hand out of Athelas’ and stood, giving a small nod to her. She returned it and sat down in her bed, ready to turn in for the night, but she would be right there when Athelas awoke. Solas left the room after casting one more longing look at Athelas and headed for the men’s bedroom. Thankfully, Bron was already settled in and sleeping. Solas laid down in the second bed and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

When he opened his eyes next, he was in the Fade. A few wisps in a peaceful forest floated around him curiously, but didn’t get too close. He took a moment to allow them to examine him, but he was then soon on the move. He focused, feeling for Athelas’ presence, trying to enter into her dreams. The scene before him shifted.

A chill trickled down his spine. He could feel the heavy dread in the atmosphere, as if it were physically weighing down on his shoulders. He frowned and checked his surroundings. He was by Haven’s front gates. Why would she be dreaming about Haven? He started walking through the gates, moving around all the people. It seemed more crowded than he remembered.

He spotted her up near the Chantry, looking out at all the people. Her expression was that of relief. He glanced upwards and saw that the Breach was not there, but it looked as if the sky was still recovering. Was she thinking about the night of the party and Corypheus’ attack?

As if reading his mind, all of Haven suddenly caught fire. The people ran around, screaming, throwing themselves into the snow. Athelas and Solas were the only ones not affected, but she couldn’t see him yet. He tried calling out to her over the chaos, but his words died amongst the shrieks. Athelas looked around frantically in horror, her own lips parted in a wail, tears welling in her eyes. As she fell to her knees in despair, Corypheus’ voice echoed around them, “You are a failure, ‘Herald’! Look upon all the misfortune you unleashed on your devout followers!”

“Athelas, don’t listen to him!” Solas shouted, trying to hurry and reach her.

The scene shifted again. He stopped moving and checked his surroundings. Nothing was on fire anymore, all the screams had faded. It was entirely silent. It was Adamant Fortress, all the bodies of Inquisition soldiers and Grey Wardens alike strewn everywhere. He couldn’t see Athelas anywhere, so he started walking.

He stepped carefully around the bodies, trying not to look at them too closely. They were laying on top of each other, swords, spears, and arrows sticking out of them, blood still flowing and pooling around them. He left behind bloody footprints on the stone. He had just started to make his way further in when he caught a glimpse of Athelas up on the battlements. She was taking achingly slow steps, gazing down at the dead, though not in his direction. Even from where he was, he could see her shoulders shaking.

“Do you see, Inquisitor?” Solas frowned. Was that Erimond’s voice? “You bring nothing but death, no matter where you go. You have been cursed since the moment you were born!”

Solas opened his mouth to speak, but the surroundings changed almost instantly. He was now standing right behind Athelas, who was gazing downward. Her ever present golden choker was clutched tightly in her hand. The sound of her sobs broke his heart. He peered over her shoulder and saw two graves. He knew this from when she’d told him before.

Her mother and father.

“Athelas,” two voices echoed, a man and a woman’s. “You are the cause of everyone’s suffering. Everyone you meet will end up just like we did.”

"You are the Bringer of Misfortune."

Solas heard the tiniest whimper come from Athelas. “No….”

“Athelas.” He brought his hand up and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m here. It’s alright. You’re only having nightmares.”

She flinched from the touch and turned around. As she did, their surroundings became that of the last time they parted before the eluvian. Her emerald eyes were completely awash with tears. She shook her head at him, taking a step back, her entire body shaking. He frowned with concern. “My love, what’s wr-?”

“Look what you have done, Vhenan,” Solas’ voice whispered, though it did not come from him.

Solas then realized Athelas wasn’t truly looking at him. He turned and saw his own body, battered and bloodied on the ground, a dagger impaled in his chest.

 Athelas’ dagger.

 A mournful wail tore from Athelas as she ran over to his body, gasping for breath. Just as she tried to touch him, the body vanished. “No!!” she shouted. “Vhenan, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to leave you alone…! I don't want to let that come true… I don’t want you to die alone… I don’t want you to die…”

It felt then as if Solas had truly been stabbed in the heart. He had nearly forgotten that Athelas had seen his darkest fear when she fell into the Fade at Adamant. She’d never come out and told him, but she hinted at it, promising she’d never leave him alone.

He sunk to his knees beside her and wrapped his arms around her. “Athelas, my heart,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m right here. I’m real. I’m not dead. I’m here with you.”

She froze just before slowly turning her head to look at him. He’d never seen more relief and love wash over someone’s face before. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. He shushed her and held her, rubbing his hands along her back, trying to comfort her. When she finally pulled away from him, she gave him a smile through her tears, as if apologetic. Her eyes then trailed down a little, towards his chest, and her smile fell away. Puzzled as to what she was looking at, Solas glanced down.

There was a knife in his chest, blood trickling down his body. Though he felt no pain. He started to look up to her, to assure her he was fine and that she had done nothing, she was gone. His eyes darted around, but she had completely disappeared. He no longer felt her presence. Her nightmare had torn her back to the waking world. He sat there in silence for a moment, his rage building.

Why couldn’t he protect her? It seemed like every time he tried to, she slipped further and further into the darkness. He loved her with all his being. His heart belonged entirely to her. He should be able to help her through the nightmares plaguing her every step…

Even if he was one of them.

With a frustrated shout, he slammed his fists onto the ground and stood. He glared at the eluvian before letting himself slip back towards the waking world. He could try and be there for her at least.

 When he woke, he could hear the heavy breathing and gasping coming from the other bedroom and felt the pulse of magic as Galena tended to Athelas. He threw the covers off and made his way in there. Galena paid him no mind as she focused on her task at hand. When Athelas noticed Solas standing there, tear stains on her cheeks, he saw the relief wash over her. She shifted to move, against Galena’s protests, so Solas rushed over to her. He knelt beside the bed and Athelas threw her arms around him, sobbing into his shoulder, blood from her arm staining his clothes. It took some time to calm her and help ease her back to sleep. When she did, Galena sighed softly. “All I want is for her to be free of her nightmares and get a good night’s rest again. Anything else could come later.”

Solas couldn’t agree more, but he felt that he shouldn’t say that out loud. He wasn’t Galena. He wasn’t by Athelas’ bedside night after night taking care of her. He should be...but he couldn’t.

The next several days were like a routine. When they woke, Solas helped Athelas to eat until she couldn’t stomach anything more. He assisted her in getting out of bed and walking her outside the cottage, where there was a small bench. She grew a little frustrated when she couldn’t do such easy tasks on her own, but it melted away since it was Solas that was there constantly. As they sat on the bench, Solas had taken the book that Bron and Enfenim had gotten for Athelas in Kirkwall. She hadn’t even truly looked at it. It was one of Viscount Tethras’ new books and that brought a wistful smile to her face. Solas read it aloud to her, thankful it didn’t fall under the category of his ‘smutty literature’.

When night came around, Solas kept going into the Fade and rushing into her nightmares, trying to rid her of them. One night, Athelas was chased by a pack of wolves, teeth snapping and claws swiping at her. It was how her mother had died - protecting her from wolves. Another night, she was back in the river, getting helplessly swept away but trying her hardest to swim. She was then magically on the riverbank, screaming and looking at something downstream. That was how her father had died. Another night, she relived their experience when she had gone to the Fade physically, but she was facing down Fear all alone, the bodies of everyone she’d loved littering the ground. Each night was one terror after another. Each time Solas felt that he’d eased her mind, the Fade would spiral out of control and she’d be swept up in another continuation of horror.

He was beginning to lose faith in himself.

 With each day that came, Solas tried his hardest not to think about the fact that the Divine’s forces were only a few days away and they would soon be apart again. He focused on the present. Athelas was beginning to eat more. Her wounds were healing. Her ankle was back to normal and the bruising and black eye on her face were all but a bad memory. Her ribs were going to take a little more time, but she could at least breathe without any real pain. What encouraged him the most was that her arm was beginning to bleed a little less each night. He was wrought with guilt when he realized that it was amazing what lifting someone’s spirits could do to help them heal. Even he found himself eating more, though he wasn’t necessarily getting more rest. The bags under his eyes weren’t as bad as they had been, he supposed.

Athelas was starting to feel more like her old self again with Solas there. When he had helped her heal enough to take the bandages from her head, she gazed into a mirror, touching the uneven strands of her hair with a knot in her throat. Galena had gently offered to try and help even it out for her, assuring her that it would make her feel a bit better. She agreed, not watching while Galena carefully cut at her hair with a knife. Once she finished and presented Athelas with the mirror again, she nearly sobbed. Galena was right. Though it was so much shorter than she would have ever preferred, she at least had control now over it and how it looked. She was just happy that there was enough for Solas to still play with, no matter how little it was.

As she felt better and better, she and Solas went through slow strolls through the forest, not wanting to strain herself. One of the first things she did was approach Enfenim and thank him for looking after her on Solas’ behalf. The elf flushed lightly with embarrassment but assured her he needed no thanks, that he was just doing his job.

The two sometimes even ended up near the river, which looked as it usually should. It was still large with a decent current leading out to the sea, but it was no longer swollen and overly powerful. Still, Solas made sure to put himself between her and the river. It was a subtle gesture, but Athelas was grateful for it. They held hands and reveled in each other’s company. He had only mentioned once, passing along the message he’d gotten, that Cassandra had sent people to come check on her. Since then, they didn’t mention it. She didn’t want to think about it. Still, in the back of her mind, a part of her sadly ticked off each day.

Athelas was still tired every morning when she woke up. She was still unable to get a decent night of sleep, try as she might. She just couldn’t get her mind to relax at night, no matter if she tried meditating or used the childish method of counting halla. It always veered back towards all the horrid things that had happened in her life. When Solas kept appearing, she could never tell if he was real or if it was another demon wearing his skin. She’d been plagued by many of those, so now she couldn’t trust anything she saw in the Fade. It was both exhausting and discouraging, not being able to look at the face of the man she loved and know if he was real or an illusion.

Day thirteen of fourteen came around and Athelas was feeling particularly tired. She figured she had probably pushed herself too hard the past few days before her body was ready for it. She sighed in defeat and spent most of the day laying in bed, Solas at her side with whatever she needed. She felt antsy, but didn’t have the energy to get up and support herself. Thankfully, talking with Solas tended to make time fly by without her noticing much. They opened the window by her bed to let fresh air in and the birds singing helped her feel better about not truly being outside.

She wolfed down Bron’s feast that he’d prepared for dinner that evening (Enfenim always came and passed some out to his fellow guards), consisting of her favorite foods. Bron smiled happily when looking at her clean plate, even wiping a tear. Athelas found herself also smiling and thanking him for all he’d done. He chuckled and said, “I’m just glad you’ve got your appetite back, My Lady.”

As the sun went down and everyone finished eating, Solas pulled out the book he’d been reading to her, not too far away from the ending. She closed her eyes as she leaned against the headboard, listening to the sound of his voice and feeling the light breeze blowing across her skin. She was trying to listen to the words he was speaking, but it was hard for her to not just fall into the lull of his tone. When he paused at one point, she glanced at him and insisted with a soft laugh, “I’m listening!”

He grinned and quirked an eyebrow before continuing to read the last few pages. Athelas gazed up towards the sky as she focused on listening to the beautiful way Varric had strung his words together, tying everything together in a satisfying ending to a whirlwind story. Solas closed the book and set it on the table. He looked at Athelas, wondering if she was going to comment on any of it, like she had the previous days. However, she seemed to be distracted by something. She was gazing out the window with an intense thought, but gave no indication as to what. He took this chance to admire her. Her skin was back to its healthy, light yellow tint, her cheeks rosy and her lips red. He watched her tongue dart out and wet them just before she spoke.

“Solas?”

“Yes?”

“Can we go for a walk?”

He furrowed his brows in concern. “Do you feel well enough?”

“I think so, but you can help me if I stumble.” She swung her legs out, her feet touching the cold floor. Solas wrapped a cloak around her shoulders, fastening it so she wouldn’t have to hold it, and offered his arm to her. She smiled, looped her own arm through his, and the two walked quietly out of the cottage.

They walked slowly, Solas doing most of the guiding while Athelas stared up at the stars. She felt a swell of mixed emotions, of both joy and sadness. She was glad to see that tonight, the sky was all but free of clouds, the stars twinkling as far as she could see past the treeline. Solas started to take them towards the bench, but she shook her head. “May we go out into the trees?” Though he gave her a curious look, he didn’t question her.

Enfenim tensed when he saw Fen’harel and the former Inquisitor walk out of the cottage. He gestured to the two other guards that could see him and they widened their perimeter around the area. Thankfully, there hadn’t been any further issues on their end. None that were violent, at least. There were a few travelers that wandered a little too close for comfort, so the elves shooed them off in another direction. Enfenim couldn’t complain about he and his brethren just playing guardians, rather than being out on a mission, gathering intel. It was a nice break for them. For himself, it wasn’t anything much different. He was touched when Galena and Bron had given him quick hugs when they’d returned, even after they learned he was a spy. He still got to eat Bron’s lovely cooking, so he was more than content.

He kept moving back, trying to stay out of their line of sight so that they would feel like they truly were alone together. He was glad when they stopped moving in a small clearing that was out of view of the cottage. Athelas was gazing upwards while Fen’harel’s eyes were nowhere but on her. He briefly recalled the few times he’d walked around Skyhold late and night and found Athelas up on top of one of the lookout towers, a thin blanket around her shoulders, looking out at the stars. What he saw before him now was strikingly intimate, so he averted his gaze, as did the others, keeping an eye out.

Athelas watched the stars for a few more long moments before bringing her eyes back down, settling on Solas’ face. He hadn’t been looking up at the stars, but at her. He’d been constantly looking at her for the whole time he’d been there, as if memorizing her every little detail. He stared with such intensity and love that her heart fluttered. Now, however, it made a pit form in her stomach. She swallowed the bulge in her throat and felt the tears coming. Solas must have seen it to, because his expression shifted quickly to innocent concern. “Is something wrong, my heart?” he asked quietly.

“Solas, I-...” She paused, taking quick, shallow breaths. “I’m sorry, I didn’t me-mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to..?” he urged when she stopped speaking.

“This.” She gestured to her tears and furiously tried to wipe them away.

Solas frowned, setting his hands on her shoulders. “My heart. Breathe with me. Calm down. In… Out… You have nothing to apologize for. In… Out… You should always be honest with your feelings, especially to me. In… There you go. Out…”

Athelas mimicked his breathing, managing to calm herself, but her tears continued flowing. “Just… The last few days have been all I’ve ever wanted. You, here with me, both of us together, away from the rest of the world.” She looked up at him with desperation, her hand cupping his cheek, caressing it with the touch of a feather. “Please, my love. Can’t it stay this way?”

His face fell and his shoulders sagged forward. He brought his hands up to her cheeks, wiping at her tears. He forced a small, sad smile to his lips, not wanting her to be so upset. He wasn’t going to tell her to stop crying because if he was honest with himself, he was holding back his own tears. “Ir abelas, Vhenan...but I can’t stay.”

She shuddered as she sighed deeply, her head hanging. Her hand slowly moved down from his cheek, down his chest, and settled on his wolf jawbone. She fidgeted with it in her fingers, tracing over its details. Solas observed her, his mind and heart pulling him in two separate directions. Impulsively, he took hold of the cords holding the object and lifted it over his head. As Athelas watched him with confusion, he slipped it on over her head, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Keep it, Athelas. It is yours.”

While Athelas was overjoyed to have it, part of her felt conflicted. Why was he giving it to her, if it wasn’t some sort of silent promise to return? Was he changing his mind on tearing down the Veil? Was he going to try and find another way?

Was he going to come back for her?

That thought gave her courage. She reached around to the backside of her neck and with just a moment of difficulty, she unlatched her golden choker and held it in her hand, staring at it. It was her most treasured possession, carrying a lot of meaning to her. When her father married her mother, he made her this necklace. When her mother died, her father removed it from her body, cleaned it, and passed it to Athelas. This necklace was all she had left of them and she’d rarely ever taken it off. Now, she held it out to Solas, not saying a word, but showing insistence through her tears.

Solas’ eyes widened. He knew precisely what the golden choker meant to her. “Athelas, are you…?”

She set the choker into his hand and let it go, wiping away her tears. She looked back at him with a look of sternness he hadn’t seen in a very long time. “Yes. I’m sure. Keep that, Solas. Take it... along with the rest of my heart.” She paused, watching his expression soften. “But one day, I promise. I will come to you, and claim it back,” she told him.

He took a deep breath and nodded slowly. He took the choker and looped it a few times around his left wrist before latching it. He made sure it was secure and won't fall off. Once he was certain, he looked back to Athelas and cupped her cheeks softly, pulling her in for a slow and passionate kiss. Many silent words and vows passed between them in that moment. When they pulled apart, Solas kept her close, resting his forehead atop hers. “Ar lath ma, Vhenan.”

Athelas wrapped her arm around him, closing her eyes. “Ar lath ma,” she whispered in return.

For the first time in a long time, when Athelas realized she was in the Fade, probably about to spiral down into a nightmare, the first thing she saw was Solas. He must have seen how she tensed involuntarily, as he held his hands up in truce. “It’s really me, my heart. I am no demon.”

Athelas’ eyes trailed down to her golden choker around his wrist and felt more at ease. He held a hand out to her and she slowly took it. With the reassuring squeeze he gave her and the familiar presence of his magic around them, she felt the rest of her worries melt away. With a wave of his free hand, the Fade shifted around them until they were standing in a sea of grass, just above a hill. It was dark out. Solas tugged Athelas so that she lowered herself down into the grass beside her. She glanced upward and gasped audibly, her hand shooting her to her mouth.

The sky was the biggest she’d ever seen. The moon wasn’t present, its blinding light didn’t drown out the delicate glow of the stars. It stretched as far as she could see in all directions. Happy tears sprung to her eyes, though at the same time, she felt impossibly small. Having Solas there beside her, his hand slowly rubbing her back, was a large comfort. As she examined them and awed at their different colors, a part of her was waiting. Waiting for this peaceful moment to shatter before her. Waiting for the bodies of her loved ones to scatter about in the grass. Waiting for the voices of those who haunted her to echo around her endlessly.

 But they never came.

She looked back over to Solas, who was only watching her, eyes filled with love and adoration. A strong feeling of desire swelled in her. She leaned over and captured his lips, slowly pressing harder and harder against him. She could feel him hesitate, but he gave in to his own wants, one hand clutching the back of her head, the other trailing down to her lower back. She grasped at the bottom of his simple tunic he was wearing in the Fade and pulled it slowly upwards. Once she had it high enough, Solas broke away from her and finished pulling it over his head, leaving his torso naked.

Athelas drank in the sight of him. She rest her hand on the lowest point of his side, just above his breeches. They shifted so they were facing each other, a gentle breeze rustling the grass around them. Athelas let her hand drift upwards, lightly caressing Solas’ skin. She watched the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed deeply, clearly relaxing at her touch. She shifted her touch when she reached the top of his rib cage and went around, pressing just a little more firmly on his chest. He was clearly focused on what she was doing, his hands resting on her hips, his thumbs drawing lazy circles.

When she reached the nape of his neck, she pushed gently. He obliged, leaning until his back was against the ground. She climbed on top of him and hovered low, pressing her lips to his torso, trying to cover every inch. Her hand raised up and she lightly dragged her nails across his scalp. She felt him shudder. He slid one hand underneath her shirt, his fingers rubbing lightly up her spine. With the other, he ran it through her hair a little more aggressively than normal, massaging her scalp.

Her hand dragged back down to his chest, where she rested it overtop his heart, feeling his increasing heartbeat pounding against her palm. She pecked more kisses across his chest, making her way up to his neck, where she put more passion and effort into them. Solas’ breath caught in his throat as she moved higher, kissing his chin, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, then finally planting one on his lips, which he gladly returned. She pulled away and quickly gave him a light nip on his jaw, flashing him a teasing smile.

How he’d missed that smile. How he’d missed her. How he'd missed all of this.

He gave her a grin of his own as he sat up abruptly, bracing her with his hands, then working her own shirt off, leaving her in her underclothes. His hands roamed her body, feeling every little bit of her that he hadn’t gotten to touch in too long. Much too long. He gave her slightly rougher, but not rushed, kisses everywhere that he could reach. Her happy sighs sounded like music to his ears as his pride swelled. He raised a hand back up to her hair, playing with the short locks before taking hold of a small fistful and tugging gently. A soft moan left Athelas’ lips.

He darted up and ensnared her mouth, sneaking his tongue into it, a low moan of his own rumbling in his throat. Athelas’ arm looped over his neck, holding him as close as she could, a flush rising to her cheeks and chest. Solas felt his reasoning and ration melt away, burned to ashes by his desire.

“Athelas,” he whispered hotly into her ear, placing gentle kisses on them from the base to the tip.

How was he going to just let her go? He wanted to come back to her, he truly did. With all his heart, that was his most selfish desire he’d ever had.

He kissed down her jaw and neck, in every place he could think of that she loved, that made her shiver in his hold. Their breathing grew deep and ragged, both trying to suck in the cooler air to calm themselves. Only once Solas had thoroughly covered her chest with his lips did he sit back up straight and rest his forehead against her. He held her tightly, not wanting to ever let her go.

He cleared his throat and spoke softly. “This could be a nice spot for a cottage of our own one day, wouldn’t you say?”

A spark, no, a fire of hope lit inside Athelas as she absorbed his words. “Yes, ma vhenan,” she murmured against his lips as she began to smother him with kisses.

 “You mean everything to me, Solas.”

He chuckled low in his throat, holding her tightly.

  “As you are to me, Athelas.”

Solas rose early the next morning before any of the others inside the cottage. He didn’t even stop to watch Athelas’ sleeping face as he slowly untangled their limbs, slipping out of her hold. He couldn’t stop yet. He walked as quietly as he could, not even making a floorboard creak. He dressed himself in his armor and rested his staff against the wall near the door. His shoulders heaved in a silently sigh as he stared at the door. Walking through that was going to the hardest thing he’d ever done.

He turned back. He hovered over Athelas, burning every detail of her into his memory. She looked so peaceful, her eyes shut, her lips parted slightly, her breathing steady and her right arm draped over her stomach. She finally managed to sleep through the night without jerking awake from a nightmare. With a quick examination, he saw that her left arm had not bled at all, either. He had at least managed to do one thing for her. He gave her a good night’s rest.

He leaned over and allowed himself to touch her again. He brushed his fingers through her short locks, gazing at them wistfully. Perhaps the next time he saw her - if he saw her again - it would be more grown out.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there watching her and playing with her hair. Longer than he should have. Too long. He didn’t have to look out the window to know that daylight was beginning to break. The gentle glow of it began to drift into the room, bathing Athelas in an otherworldly light. He smiled sadly, a few tears breaking free from his eyes and trailing slowly down his cheeks.

He leaned over and gently pressed his lips to hers. For that one moment, he felt as though the entire world stopped moving, giving him more time than he deserved to say goodbye. He pulled back and his lips moved, barely speaking even a whisper to her.

He finally turned his back and took hold of his staff, pausing before the door. His eyes glanced down to Athelas’ gold choker around his wrist. He took a deep breath, gripping the staff tightly.

He had to do this.

As he silently stepped through the door, a single tear slid down Athelas’ cheek.

 Once he’d left the cottage, he took long strides, determined to put space between him and Athelas so that he wouldn’t cave and return, slide into bed beside her and pretend like he hadn’t just tried to leave. He exhaled sharply and set his mask of authority back into place. He spotted Enfenim in the treeline heading towards him, two harts at his side. “My Lord. The eluvian has been moved to a new location, as you wished.”

“Well done,” he replied curtly. “All of you go on ahead. I will catch up with you shortly.”

Solas saw the briefest unsure expression on Enfenim’s face before it was gone in the blink of an eye. “Yes, My Lord.”

Enfenim and the other guards mounted up on the harts and rode off, heading for the new area where the eluvian now stood. That left just Solas and his own hart standing there together. The beast lowed quietly and Solas rubbed its neck, shushing it. He dared to glance over his shoulder at the cottage before his gaze fell. He climbed up onto the saddle.

When she woke, the birds were singing merry tunes. Warm sunlight filled the room. She felt more rested than she had in months. Her left arm didn’t ache and it hadn’t bled. She hadn’t had nightmares.

But the other side of her bed was cold.

She sat up, her hand immediately grabbing at the wolf jawbone, her eyes darting around the room.

 He had gone.

 His armor and staff were gone. He must have been gone for some time. She knew this was going to happen, yet it still cut through to her like a knife to the heart. She had given him all of her heart and she could feel him leaving. She couldn’t control the sobs that escaped her.

 She loved him. She loved him with all her being and she could never stop.

She opened the window and stared out from it, her emerald eyes searching the treeline for any sign of Solas, Enfenim, or the other guards. She saw nothing. Once or twice, she could have sworn she’d seen a shadow move, but when she turned her gaze to it, it had just been her eyes playing tricks on her.

Though she wanted to see him one last time, perhaps this was for the best. After all, she had made him a promise to claim what was hers and she had no intention of breaking it. Whether it be months or years down the road, though she longed for shorter, she would find him for the last time and they would be together. With that determination in her heart, she wouldn’t allow herself to slip down the slope into darkness again.

A knock at the door jerked her from her thoughts. “Athelas?” Though she wasn’t expecting less, her spirits dampened slightly when she heard Galena’s voice. “Bron has breakfast ready.”

With a shaky exhale, Athelas wiped away her tears and tore herself away from the window. She stood on her own two feet and gathered her courage. She put her hand on the knob and opened the door, leaving the bedroom.

Out in the trees, Solas wiped his eyes with his arm. He had circled the cottage for a while on his own, refusing to leave until he knew Cassandra’s people were closing in. They weren’t far now. He had seen Athelas sit up through the window and pulled his hart to a stop. He watched her longingly as he saw her scanning through the treeline for him. Once or twice, he felt as though her eyes passed right over his own, but she didn’t see him.

When he saw her rid herself of her tears and put on a determined expression, he knew she would be okay.

 If she was going to be okay, so would he. With a yearning smile, he turned his hart and rode off into the forest.

 "I will always love you, ma vhenan."

[quills-and-quaffles-blog]

Perfect (George Weasley x Reader)

"Request:  ‘2 & 11 for george weasley from the prompt list? thank you! 💝’ ~ @bookthrills

A/N: Here, we see an example of my horribly inconsistent writing style. I spent far too long looking up idioms to see whether they were recognised worldwide or if they were just British or Scottish. Also, I’m an idiot and hit Save as Draft rather than post, so this is up later than I had originally expected.

Summary: Your plans to prank your boyfriend backfire when you inadvertantly ruin his plans to ask you a huge question.

Words: Approx. 1292

Prompts:

2. “After everything you did, you’re asking ME to apologize for snapping at you ONCE?”

11. “Be my wife.”

Hiding behind the counter, you waited expectantly for your boyfriend to return. George had spent a lot of your relationship pranking and teasing you- in fact, the very reason you got together in your fifth year was the aftermath of one of his pranks- and, today, you had decided that it was time for a little revenge.

It had taken you a while to set everything up, but you were proud of the fact that you had come up with this plan all on your own. Many people seemed to think that you were the level-headed, sensible one in the relationship, and that was true to an extent. Still, the people who seemed to think that you weren't any fun because of that were absolutely wrong- you loved a good practical joke as much as the next person and you could get... creative with your pranks too.

Still, though, the classics never hurt either. You had spent the best part of the morning making sure that everything was perfect- you had spent the best part of the morning making sure that everything was perfect- you had rigged a large bucket of feathers mixed with rotten eggs above your kitchen down, ready to rain down on your unexpecting boyfriend when he returned home from work.   While there was a lot worse you could do, you thought that this would be the perfect way to have a bit of harmless fun with George. The plan was set. It was simple really- a Stickfast Hex to make sure that he stayed in place and wouldn't move during the feather downpour, and that was basically it. Nothing to it. Simple yet effective and all that, right?

"I'm home!" You heard George shout from the entrance. As a grin spread across your face, you had to place a hand to muffle a laugh in anticipation of what would happen. "[Y/N]?" George called again after a short pause, wondering why you weren't responding to him. His footsteps got closer, and you smirked excitedly as you heard him turning the doorknob.

Peeking out a little from the counter, you silently cast a Stickfast Hex on your boyfriend, securing his feet in place. As he looked down, confused, a shower of the feathers and eggs rained down upon him, coating him whilst he stood frozen in place.

You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of George standing there, unable to move, with feathers and rotten eggs covering his clothes. It was this that alerted him to your presence in the room- in the downpour, he obviously hadn't noticed you peeking out slightly from your hiding spot.

"[Y/N]..." He said slowly, as if he wasn't quite sure how to react to what was going on. Finally, you fully emerged, still chuckling from how well your joke had gone. However, the smile started to fall from your face when you saw that George's expression wasn't anything like you had expected- when you were planning the prank, you envisioned your boyfriend standing there, laughing along with you, or teasingly mocking and criticising your lack of imagination when it came to your pranking methods; but the George in front of you was doing none of these things. Instead, he was standing there with a face like thunder, looking thoroughly unhappy.

"Uh... what's wrong?" You questioned cautiously, beginning to regret your actions. You had just thought that it would be a little bit of fun, but right now, it seemed like you had just triggered an argument.

"Well, if you hadn't noticed, [Y/N], I appear to be covered in feathers and eggs. And rotten eggs, at that." George snapped sarcastically, causing you to be taken aback. You frowned slightly, scoffing.

"What's your problem? Have you forgotten how to take a joke or something? That's unlike you. There's no need to get so angry with me- I was just trying to have a bit of fun. Or have you forgotten what fun is too?" You quipped back, crossing your arms across your chest.

“After everything you did, you’re asking ME to apologise for snapping at you ONCE?” George retorted indignantly. For a moment, confusion clouded your face. 'Everything you did'? Surely he wasn't just talking about the feathers incident here. Yes, there had been times when you hadn't taken his pranks in the best nature either, which had led to arguments between the two of you, but you thought that you two had resolved those conflicts.

"Look, [Y/N], I'm sorry," George said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, "I'm just... I guess that you could say I had plans for things to do today that didn't really include being covered in a disgusting mix of rotten eggs and feathers." He trailed off with a chuckle, making to move towards you to apologise properly. It was at this moment you realised that you still hadn't cast the counter-spell for the hex you had placed upon him, evident by the fact that it was impossible for him to move his feet even an inch. Mumbling something which could be interpreted as an apology, you hurriedly cast another spell and released your boyfriend.

He took the opportunity to dash forward and wrap you in a hug, spreading some of the feathers and rotten eggs to you. You let out a shriek, but his arms just wrapped around you tighter, until both of you spontaneously broke down into laughter about how ridiculous the incident seemed to be.

"You got even, at least." You said with a grimace, looking down at the mess that now covered both of your clothes. Still, a small smile spread across your face as you looked back into George's eyes, glad that the pair of you hadn't descended into any sort of fight. You were about to cast a Scouring Charm on the pair of you, when something that George had said earlier snatched your attention. "What were those plans that you had today, anyway?" You questioned, genuinely curious.

"Well, that's..." George said, appearing to be nervous. Something resembling a blush crossed his cheeks, which only piqued your curiosity more. When you raised an eyebrow to urge him on, George only sighed.

"I really wasn't expecting to do this with the pair of us covered in rotten eggs and feathers, but here goes." He said, taking a deep breath. You watched as he filled with something in his pocket, and your eyes widened as he drew a small box from it. Was he going to...?

"[Y/N] [Y/L/N], I love you. I've loved you since the first time we ever interacted- since the time you charmed my hair to change colours for a week in retaliation for Fred and I pranking you." The memory couldn't help but make you grin, and you felt your heart pounding with every second that passed. "And, well... I was wondering if you would do me the honour of spending a lifetime with me. Be my wife." He concluded, opening the box to reveal a beautiful, shining ring.

Almost immediately, you squealed with joy. "Yes! Of course! I love you." You practically shouted, your heart swelling. George grinned, slipping the ring onto your finger, before securing you in yet another embrace and further dispersing the mess on your clothes between the pair of you.

"Sorry if the whole feathers thing ruined the moment." You murmured as his arms wrapped around you. You felt the vibrations of a chuckle from your now-fiancé, who pulled back, looking you straight in the eye.

"For us, it's perfect. As long as it's us, it'll always be perfect."

[naomiknight-17]

Spooky Story Time

Okay this may not be the spookiest story ever, but I was chatting with my pal @allhailweegee recently about phobias and such and this came up, so I thought I’d share it here. I don’t think I’ve ever told this story online.

Behind a cut due to length.

So way back when, when I was a tiny little baby 9-year-old and my younger brother (who I will refer to as ‘Duck’ for the purposes of this tale) was around 4 or 5, some spooky things went down in our little apartment complex.

Now this probably wasn’t the first time we had spooky encounters in that apartment, and it wasn’t the last - we had mysterious shadows walking around when there was nothing to cast them, we had unexplained noises, cupboards opening and closing themselves when you left the room, all that kind of generic paranormal junk. But this particular week or two I’m about to tell you about was the peak of activity in that home, as far as we experienced.

To rewind a little and fill in a bit of background info, this apartment complex was run by a non-profit organization, and the rent was subsidized, so we and everyone else living there were pretty damn poor and had nowhere else to go. There were a few families like ours where our parents were out of work, some disabled folks, addicts, mentally ill people, retirees low on savings - all kinds of different people with different backgrounds, all struggling one way or another.

One neighbor we had at the time was a thin, tiny, friendly old man. He was also terribly lonely, and would come by our apartment to borrow very basic things as an excuse to stand in the doorway and chat with my Mom for however long he could keep her there. So one day he’d come by to borrow a broom, the next day, to borrow a plunger, always returning things in a timely fashion so he’d have another chance to chat.

Occasionally my brother or I would come to try to pull Mom away from the door for whatever reason, and he’d pull us into the conversation, asking about school or what have you. Frankly, I was caught up in my own priorities at the time and don’t really remember what we chatted about.

In any case, to the spooky happenings.

One day, a few days after the old man’s last visit, I was using the washroom. Beside the toilet was the plunger, one we had often lent to our neighbor. I was not touching it, it was neatly and tidily tucked between the toilet and bathtub in our tiny washroom. Without any provocation, the plunger flipped over - end over end, and came to rest beside my feet. I looked around in alarm, but of course, it was only me in the washroom. I convinced myself I must have knocked it over by accident somehow, and went on with my day.

At the time, my brother had a small collection of Fisher Price Little People play sets. Does anyone remember those? The old ones from the early nineties, where the toys were barely heads on round pegs? Anyway, we were playing with those. We had watched a good deal of Looney Tunes lately, and I was semi-reciting one of the bits from the cartoon, something along the lines of “Which way did he go, George? Which way did he goooo” as my brother giggled and played along, when we were very rudely interrupted.

The sound of a music box cut through the room, and my brother and I both turned to find its source. On top of a wardrobe - too high for my brother to reach, but just short enough that I could touch the shelf on tiptoe, stood a clown doll. It was the type where if you wound it up, it would play a song.

And there it was, its head slowly moving to the music, as it played a few seconds of ‘It’s a Small World After All’. 

We stared in awe. No-one had touched that toy in ages, it shouldn’t have been wound at all. No-one and nothing was near it that should have been able to set it off. It stopped after a few slow notes, and we went back to playing. I shrugged it off, rationalizing that some adult must have been messing with it recently, and it was malfunctioning. I told my brother it was probably just broken, and not to worry.

But the next day, it happened again. Again my brother and I were playing in his room, and as soon as I started quoting the Looney Tunes bit, the damn clown started moving and playing its song. This time we were spooked, and ran downstairs to play Nintendo instead.

That night, I was laying in bed trying to sleep, and trying not to think about the weird and spooky things that had been happening. My room was small, and crowded with a twin bed, a desk, a dresser and a nightstand. The only really clear space was in front of my window, where a blackout roller shade hung, to shield my room from the harsh streetlights outside. This was directly across the room from my bed. As I stared at the shade, unable to sleep, it began to move.

The bottom of the roller shade drifted away from the windowsill by a couple inches. I thought I was seeing things until THWACK! It slammed back against the sill! I watched in silent horror as this repeated, increasing in frequency, until I reached the point of panic where I leaped out of bed and ran to the hallway, screaming for my Mom.

She must have been busy with something downstairs, because she didn’t come up to check on me, but simply shouted back, trying to tell me that if my blinds were moving, I should close my window.

Of course, it must just be the wind! I tried to convince myself of this as I warily went back into the room. The blinds were still. I gingerly lifted the shade to check the window. It was closed. No draft was coming through at all. The tree outside my window showed no movement - it wasn’t even breezy outside. 

My terror renewed, and certain that my Mom would not come to help me, I dove back into bed and pulled the covers up over my head. Moments later, I heard it again - tap, TAP, THWACK! - as the blinds resumed moving on their own. I don’t know how long I endured the noise and fear, but at some point I became frustrated and yelled, “STOP IT! JUST STOP!!!”

And I’ll be damned - it stopped. The blind ‘thwack’ed one last time as it came to rest against the sill, and was silent. Finally, I calmed down and somehow got to sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, the strange events of the last few days were still on my mind, and I was starting to piece together that something paranormal may have been happening in my home. But I had to be sure.

That day, Mom had gone on some errand - probably to buy groceries, and Dad was out scouring for construction and renovation jobs as usual, so I was left very briefly in charge of the house. This was my chance.

I walked into my brother’s room, where he was quietly playing with his Thomas the Tank Engine toys. Without warning him of what I was up to - and maybe I should have - I started quoting the Looney Tunes bit again. Right on queue, that damn clown doll started playing. Duck started crying. I got mad.

I rushed to the medicine cabinet where I knew my very, VERY religious, very superstitious Italian grandmother had left us a gift on her last visit. Several vials of holy water. I grabbed one of these, and then dashed into my room to find the rosary Nana had gifted to me some time before. I knew nothing about exorcisms or ghosts save for what I’d learned through the media and Nana’s stories, so I was running blind - but I felt like I had to do something. I had to confront this thing that was terrorizing my brother and I!

So I went back into my brother’s room. Duck had fled at some point, and if I recall correctly, was hiding in our parents’ room where he felt safe.

I stood in the middle of the room, holding up the cross of my rosary at the doll, and with my other hand sprinkling holy water about the space as I’d often seen my Nana do on her visits. I can’t recall my exact words, but it was something along the lines of:

“If there’s a ghost here, you are not welcome! You need to go to heaven now! You’re scaring my brother and we don’t want you here!”

The clown did not respond.

The clown never responded again.

Later that very day, Mom came home with the groceries. She had actually taken a bit longer than expected, and apologized for such - but then told me to sit down so she could explain why.

You see, Mom had run into another neighbour on her way home, and found out that the old man who so often visited us to chat had been found dead in his home the previous day. He’d probably been dead for 2 or 3 days when he was found, because a neighbour had gone to check on him and gotten no response. Some of these details I learned a little later (my Mom wasn’t super forthcoming with this kind of information) but she gave me the basic facts that our neighbour had passed away a few days back and that we wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

His name, which I had never known while he lived, had been George Atkinson.

[allonsysilvertongue]

Silver Pen

During a particularly long stretch of writer’s block, Haymitch Abernathy discovered a world of his own making. (AU)

Epilogue - There, and Back Again.

They left as suddenly as they came.

Haymitch had no way to explain that 'phenomenon' either.

He had a feeling that it would happen the night before so after he had written the very last sentence to the Hunger Games, he said his goodbyes to Effie, the only self-aware individual among them, and she said hers.

He kissed her and made love to her. He held her as she fell asleep while trying to keep his own eyes open so he could watch her for as long as he could but that was a battle he lost eventually. Haymitch fell asleep with his nose buried in her hair and an arm slung across her torso.

When he woke up to find the house harrowingly empty, an indescribable feeling of loss consumed him. He fled to the kitchen for a bottle, his trusted crutch all those years. It was only much later that he ventured out to scour the village and saw exactly what he expected.

Katniss and Peeta were nowhere to be seen. He grasped the edge of the fountain, feeling his knees going weak. He couldn't will himself to make the walk to town because if Katniss and Peeta were not here then Finnick and Annie would be gone just as well.

It took him a full week before he mustered enough energy to leave the house and made the drive to meet his editor. He wondered then if the week spent wallowing in abject grief was evident on his expression. Trying to explain the reason behind it would be a hell of a story in itself.

“Took you long enough,” Chaff remarked, his gaze drifting to the brown folder Haymitch was clutching in his hand.

Grunting under his breath, Haymitch dropped the manuscript of his desk.

“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t expecting the sequel from you – thought you buried that idea altogether.”

“Yeah, well…” Haymitch rubbed the back of his neck. “Have a read, you might like it.”

For a long second there, Chaff studied him and Haymitch shifted under his gaze. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah,” he gave a simple nod and left the office before there could be any further questions.

Chaff called three days later with a booming laugh reverberating through the phone receiver.

“I’m in it,” he chortled. “What? Is that your way to compensate for makin’ me wait too long?”

“Maybe,” Haymitch smirked.

“I like where you’re going with this,” Chaff commented. “Hell, I even like my character. I’m assuming I got into all sort of trouble with this Cloyd guy, yeah? Twelve’s mentor…”

That earned a chuckle from Haymitch because while that backstory did not make it to the main plot, he certainly envisioned it so when he wrote it.

"That could have been you, man," Chaff mentioned off-hand.

For a few weeks after dropping off the manuscript, Haymitch tried to get used once more to the oppressing sense of loneliness. With no novel to write and no one to distract him, it was inevitable that he picked up drinking again.

When Chaff called with an update that his manuscript was being sent for peer review and that he was interested in drafting a contract for the continuation of the series, Haymitch hung up the phone. He was not in the best of mood to be pressurised into writing something again so soon and with a deadline dangling in front of him to boot.

Ever since he left Chaff’s office, something his friend said had been nagging at the back of his mind. It felt important except that Haymitch couldn’t understand the significance of it or how it could help him at all.

At his wits’ end, he decided to call Chaff and only then did it occur to him that the phone calls had stopped coming. Chaff had been ringing every once a week hoping to convince him into signing a contract but the fact that it had stopped for a while now seemed odd to him.

“Put me to Chaff,” he said once someone answered his call on the third ring.

“I beg your – Mr. Abernathy?”

“Yeah, Julia, it’s me,” he affirmed. “Is Chaff there?”

“Chaff?” the receptionist repeated which only drew an irritable sigh from Haymitch. “You are being funny, aren’t you?”

"What? I’m not. He went out for a drink or something?"

“Mr. Abernathy,” Julia said impatiently, “I really am quite busy. Your manuscript is still being reviewed and I will definitely give you an update when there is one to give.”

"Listen," Haymitch raised his voice a little. "Get me Chaff now."

“Why do you keep asking for Chaff? The only other person I know with that name is that character in your book. Stop messing around, Mr. Abernathy.”

For a long time after Julia had hung up, Haymitch was still staring at the phone receiver, his ears buzzing from the conversation he just had.

That could have been you, man.

The only other person… character in your book…

Could have been you, man… Could have been you…

“Oh, shit,” his head snapped back as the realisation dawned on him.

Haymitch scrambled up the stairs to his study.

He stared at the extra copy of his novel and then to his typewriter, tilting his head contemplatively.

The truth was plain and simple. Chaff was gone, and he had a terrible suspicion of what just happened.

His oldest friend was nowhere to be found.

Which meant that Haymitch had no one left and nothing to lose.

Effie was in that world he created along with Katniss and Peeta. All the people he cared and had grown to care were not around leaving this an empty and desolate place for him. He knew he couldn’t return to the life before them. He had tried for weeks and struggled.

There was a way for him to change this. He could change his own fate and his own story.

That very night, he painstakingly edited Cloyd out of the narrative.

Life was about taking risk except it would only be a risk if he actually had something to lose. With a frightening determination, his fingers flew across the keyboards, typing his name into the tale.

Haymitch Abernathy, the only surviving mentor of District Twelve.

XxX

When day light broke and fell across his face, he blinked awake. Stretching to loosen the crick that had developed overnight on his neck, he took in his surroundings. He had fallen asleep on his desk and he was sorely regretting it.

Haymitch glanced around, a crease between his brows. He was quite certain that he had fallen asleep on the desk in his study, not the kitchen where he woke up but he could be wrong. If the bottle on the table was anything to go by, he had been drinking.

It seemed that nothing had changed, he thought with disappointment. He was still in his house wearing the clothes he wore yesterday.

Haymitch sighed.

Perhaps it had not worked.

Stepping out of the house, Haymitch grabbed the bucket and his eyes went wild, darting here and there, looking for his geese that were clearly missing.

"Of course," he gasped. "I don't have any fucking geese. Cloyd didn’t have any damn geese."

He could almost shout in jubilant if he was the sort but he didn’t. Haymitch rounded the house and skidded to a stop when he saw a woman clad in dark purple blouse and matching skirt with a pastel purple wig tottering on her heels. She was making her way over.

“Effie,” he whispered once he recognised who she was.

She walked closer and then shot him a startled look.

"Oh," she blinked and then she smiled that wonderful smile which convinced him he had made the right decision. "I was not expecting you to be up already. What a pleasant surprise!"

“Yeah,” was all he could say because he was still staring at her.

"Will it be foolish of me to hope that you will be up and ready for the Reaping as well next year or is this a one-time miracle that I should be thankful to have?"

Her tone was teasing as she tugged on the collar of shirt before smoothing the creases. When she realised it was futile, she dropped her hands to her sides with a small pout.

"Effie..."

Her gaze flew to his face.

"Well, well," she beamed. "You finally did learn my name."

Haymitch blinked. She was acting as she didn’t really know him and perhaps she didn’t. He paused to internalise this and played the entire conversation back in his head.

The dialogues they just exchanged were never in the book but the book was written in Katniss’ point of view which meant that this conversation was entirely possible.

"What – which reaping is this?"

She shook her head at the oddity of his question and promptly turned on her heels. Haymitch followed since there was nothing else to do but that. Just before they reached the Justice Building, he stopped.

"We're going for the Hunger Games reaping, yeah?"

"Yes," she answered in a clipped tone, as if the Reaping was the last place she wanted to be. The change in demeanour was not lost on him. "What else could there be?"

Grabbing her arm, he spun her towards him.

"Sweetheart, it's me."

In that moment, Haymitch struggled to keep control of himself instead of crushing her into a hug or a kiss. He missed her. He missed her and it was very apparent to him that she had no memories of what they used to share but he needed to try in case there was a memory that needed to be jogged.

"Yes, Haymitch, I am quite aware of who you are.” She looked at him a little oddly and he let out a frustrated breath. “Do take your seat. It is time."

He tuned out everything else. He already knew it. He wrote it all; the Capitol propaganda, the tired, terrified faces of children standing in the square, the unbearable heat in Twelve and to the parents fidgeting with restless, anxious energy at the back. This was a dystopian, terrible world and he had written himself into it. One day he might regret it but right now, he couldn’t take his eyes away from Effie Trinket, and she was all that mattered.

Without thinking of it, he stood up and enveloped her in a hug. She was stiff in his arms, nothing at all like how his Effie would have reacted and he knew right then that he couldn't just pick up where they left off.

When he released her, Effie patted and righted her wig, and if the look she sent his way was anything to go by, she was furious.

They would get where they were, he promised. She wasn't the Effie that he knew, not yet, but there were layers to her that needed to peel away to get to the person she was hiding underneath. She was not a puppet, he knew that, but right now, she was here and so was he.

They were existing in the same world again, together.

This might be her world and his alternate universe but he remembered telling her about alternate universes once. No matter how the world was carved, the fate of the characters was bound to follow the same path and their path had just crossed again.

He knew how this story would end the moment Effie called out Primrose' name. While he might not have written the sequel to the Hunger Games, he had a vague idea the direction they were all heading sooner or later. He could have had an easy, boring life as a writer but here, he would have a family; a dysfunctional, adopted family but still one nonetheless.

Right now, he was about to meet Katniss and Peeta.

Yep, I am perfectly aware this story is insane. It's over now but I still had fun writing it. As usual, please drop a review to share your thoughts. Were you guys expecting him to write himself in ?

[anonymousafterthoughts]

This week has been PACKED with edits for Five Glass Flowers and navigating round one of the Feedback Phase of #WriterInMotion.  First off, I was BLESSED to be paired with Jeff and Sara as Critique Partners for this round. They’re both writing Science Fiction as well and are familiar with some of the genre-specific elements I brought to my story.  So a massive THANK YOU to both of them for their invaluable insight, suggestions, and, of course, for trusting me with their work as well.

Market & Genre: Science Fiction, Literary lean, Dystopian

Word Count: 1,210

Loose Comparisons & Inspirations: Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer, Orange by Ichigo Takano, and Inception.

Trigger Warning: Five Glass Flowers is set in a world with assisted suicide and touches on mental health. This isn’t fleshed out entirely at the moment, but it’s pretty obvious in this draft. The completed version will also allude to a light rail bombing (so, warn future you maybe) but this isn’t touched on yet.

I read the feedback side-by-side and made lists based on areas of concern: 1) what did both CPs like? 2) What was unclear to them? 3) Did the haunted, dystopian vibes come through? 4) Was everything balanced?

Most of the suggestions were minor–a need for clarity here, an awkward sentence there–but the real joy was seeing how they interacted with and processed the content. It’s been a LONG TIME since I’ve written any sort of science fiction, so I was concerned it didn’t fit enough within the genre or that the story, given its literary lean, might be confusing in some way. However, Jeff and Sara both swept those worries out the door! I love how Jeff came across the title of this chapter (The Janus Project) and did his own little research about it. I’d deliberately picked JANUS because it’s the name of the Roman God of doorways, time, transitions, and endings. I enjoy embedding meaning everywhere, and was tickled when Jeff picked up on this right away.

I also appreciated his attention to detail, such as pointing out the awkwardness of Asra’s position in the opening line or prodding me to elaborate on how the tally on the hologlass was discreet. His style of critiquing is similar to mine: stream of consciousness, reader reaction, and the occasional quill stab for needed edits (only I think he’s nicer at that than me LOL).  Both Jeff and Sara has similar suggestions, which indicated certain things SANG and a few things SUNK, but I liked the consistency in feedback. For example, there’s a line where the narrator points out that priets “don’t usually help someone die” and both CPs countered that, technically, one could argue they DID. So I adjusted the sentence to flat out say suicide so that a line is drawn between guiding one to their natural death versus allowing something a priest wouldn’t normally condone.

Sara’s style was a little more sparse and less reader reaction, but her insight was so helpful to catching potential world-holes and unclear exposition. For example, I’d never explained the whole reason behind Asra having THREE Caseworkers during her year of mandatory therapy. At the time, I wondered if that kind of info was even needed and left it out because I didn’t want to drag the story down with too much setting/backstory. However, Sara’s feedback revealed how unclear that section of the scene was and the kinds of questions it raised. I really appreciated her attention to details like this, especially since I have a tendency to be either painfully vague or vomit details everywhere. Her feedback gave me an idea of where to balance hints and reveals. She was also great at catching some of those little typos that like to sneak in!

My biggest concern was the atmosphere. I was shooting for haunting, mysterious, and poignant. I didn’t want the disturbing aspects of the world to overshadow the inescapable strangeness colliding with Asra Aeilstrom’s life. I worked to deepen her own backstory (settling on a traumatic subway bombing) about where her affliction came from. The first two versions were too vague in doing this, I think. The atmosphere was there, but the characterization…wasn’t. So I guess that was, more or less, my second big concern. Sara and Jeff expressed wanting to know more about Oblivion and why Asra is seeking it, so I think, to an extent, I’ve achieved building her character, but will need to also add her backstory in throughout the next few revisions. Here’s the overall feedback received:

1.

The Janus Project

The causes of death on the state-issued certificates gently floated along the tinted hologlass walls. Asra stared up at them with permanent conviction, dark sunglasses lessening the glare of light:

Xu Heng, 32, Inconsolable sorrow after absorbing displaced emotions.

Torin Thallos, 17, An uncontrollable desire to be full.

Lucho Gálvez, 23, The belief that nothing–including oneself–exists.

Ella Walsh, 47, A longing for things that cannot be named.

Lorne Thale, 50, Fell Hopelessly In Love With Annihilation.

Ian Ito, 38, Hysterical fear of drowning in air.

Every forty seconds, the certificates flickered out of existence, new ones appeared, and this cycle repeated. A discreet tally sat in the bottom right corner of the glass, where the day’s successful journeys to Oblivion tick, tick, ticked like a 24-hour clock: 66, 000. 70,200. 82,350. 93,800. The clock never seemed to stop, even after it reset to zero.

“It’s a painless, peaceful process.”

The office door hissed open and the Caseworker shuffled in. He gave Asra a reassuring smile, gray eyes shining with plastic empathy through crooked frames.

“Are they all…have they chosen to…” Die.

Asra tore her gaze away from the hologlass, and settled it on the pamphlet in front of her. She’d read it countless times in her year of therapy after she made her decision.  It was a requirement to know all the available options, even if one couldn’t afford them. Or, in her case, want them. If she closed her eyes, she could recite the entire pamphlet word-for-word, and yet, she couldn’t even recall–

“They chose Oblivion.”

As if rehearsed to a habit, the Caseworker reached out to console her with a light squeeze of a gloved hand. This, too, Asra was familiar with; she’d had three Caseworkers before this—completely normal for those of her particular situation—but they all behaved the same: a pitying smile here, a kind hand there, voice never above what was considered appropriate for a funeral. Asra slipped her hands off the table and into her lap, trying not to look at the slash of scars across her fingers. The Caseworker said nothing as he pulled up her chart and settled into his seat. A clinical silence hung between them.

Somewhere down the hall, whimpering began. A tea kettle whistled. A cheerful voice called for the head psychiatrist over the speakers. Caseworkers walked down the halls as if they had all the time in the world. Maybe they did. The smell of something sterile clung to air. Fingers tapped against a tablet. The hologlass tick, tick, ticked with new certificates. Shifting in her chair—one of those hard, plastic ones bolted to the floor—Asra tried not to interact with her surrounds, to listen too closely, but restlessness prevailed.

Once again, her eyes scoured the room one last time: the glass box of an office (or counseling room, depending on who you asked), walls of frosted hologlass and floors of snowy quartz. Everything was bleached with the brightness of the UV lights overhead. Absently, she pushed the darkened shades she wore up the bridge of her nose and pulled the hood of her jacket over her forehead. The offices were always kept at a constant 59 degrees. She’d never thought to ask why.

At last, her gaze settled on the man across the desk. Like all Oblivion Caseworkers, or OCs as everyone generally called them, he wore the standard lapis lazuli tunic that covered him from neck to ankles. An inverted triangular insignia sat snug against his Adam’s apple, shifting every time he swallowed, which wasn’t often. The name tag on his chest said Julian, and she wondered, doubted, whether that was even his real name. The OCs all looked freakishly similar, almost like priests.

 Except priests didn’t usually help people commit suicide.

Asra cleared her throat. It was a harsh sound in the manufactured silence of the office. Those silver scars on her hands seemed to gleam in the lighting. “How long will it take?”

“Less than the time you’ve been suffering.” Julian’s smile grew softer, more pitiful. “The Janus Project prides itself on providing only the most compassionate state-issued Oblivion in the country. It will only take as long as you need it to. You’ll be transported to the doorway at –” he checked the location on his tablet “–the Howlan House. It’s as close to the site of the accident we can get you. Everything you need is already there, including the funeral materials, and alternative pathways, should you want them.”

           “I don’t.”

“It’s there if you do.”

“There’s no point to it.”

The words broke the air as a hoarse whisper. She pulled the cuffs of her sweater over her hands, blinking furiously as spots clouded her vision. Alternative pathways, she wanted to scoff. As if she were a candidate for Transplant or Reboot. Asra waited for anxiety to wash over her, as the pamphlets had warned, but none came. She searched herself for pangs of regret or second thoughts, but as always, she felt nothing. Even as she touched the tablet the Caseworker slid across the table, she could sense neither the warmth of where his hands had been nor the coldness of the glass. Not even the weight of it registered. She caught an unfocused glimpse of her cheerless pale face and muted green eyes on the screen, though she couldn’t be sure it was her face anymore; it was diluted with their images–a jagged collage of features that belonged to other versions of herself living in alternate worlds. Other versions she had, unfortunately, collided with that harrowing day.

            And since then, she felt nothing of herself.

            Sensed nothing of this world.

            Remembered nothing of her life.

Nothing except November the 20th, but she didn’t want the memory.

“Given your…. situation…. we want you to be as comfortable as possible. When you’re ready for Oblivion, it will embrace you. You will find peace, Asra.” He sounded so sure, she had no choice, but to believe him. The Caseworker indicated to the tinted walls and nodded at the tablet. “Shall we announce it?”

She pulled the tablet closer and froze, a hollowness burrowing deep into her chest. Her thumb brushed the photo of a house in a twilight-kissed field, the black shadows of mountains hovering in the distance. She wondered if she would have once found it beautiful, the fireflies drifting up like falling stars caught in reverse, or what the breeze caressing the patches of weeds would have felt like. She couldn’t see the suspended railway of the old Muika train line over the water, but she knew it was there.

“It’s as close as we could get you to the Fragmentation Zone.”

A memory skipped across Asra’s mind–a kaleidoscope of twisted metal, the snap of bones against water, putrid smoke–before it faded back into the shoebox she’d buried it in.  She blinked, waiting for a voice of reason to echo, to say live, live, live. But nothing came. Nothing but a wetness sliding over her chilled cheeks, dropping in time with the relentless tick, tick, ticks of the walls, and onto the glass tomb housing her death certificate:

Asra Aeilstrom, 26, Fractured, Irreparable feeling of being out of place & time.

Five Glass Flowers Playlist

Writer In Motion | Round One of CP Revisions This week has been PACKED with edits for Five Glass Flowers and navigating round one of the Feedback Phase of #WriterInMotion. 

[alexevagora]

What a day in the life of a Sales/Lettings Negotiator SHOULD look like in this market.

I hear a lot of 'dead market' chat these days which is quite frankly getting on my nerves.

Did you guys not learn how to create activity? To create the market? To create urgency or generate leads?

If not, luckily you came across my post.

Are you finding it impossible to find applicants or to even book in a viewing and thus get a deal? Do you think Brexit is the reason why your estate agency or your office is not doing well? Are you finding yourself on Facebook all day waiting for the phone to ring? Or have you found yourself scrolling through the Daily Mail for the 27th time? Look no further.

This is what you do:

Tonight when you get home, after you've had your tea and spent some time with your other half (unless you're single, count yourself lucky - you can get stuck in straight away): get a piece of paper and write down:

9.00 - 9.10 - Confirm viewings and sort diary.

9.15 -12.00 - TIME BLOCK - LEAD GENERATION.

12.00 - 14.00 - Back to back to back viewings.

14.00 - 15.00 - TIME BLOCK - paperwork/emails.

15.00 - 17.30 - Back to back to back viewings.

17.30-19.00 - Emails (unless you have a viewing).

You're now probably wondering what the above magical formula actually means.

So this is it:

If your office opens at 9, I want you on the chair of your desk at 8.29 LATEST. If you are there at 8.30, you've already failed, go back to your old ways and scour the Daily Mail, this article is for winners only.

From 8.29 - 8.59: I want you sifting through Rightmove and looking at all of the new instructions in your 'patch' (I will come to why, later), you can have your breakfast whilst doing this. After this - many of you may have a morning team meeting so preparation for that is also fine, once the above is complete. If you find yourself with more time, feel free to also go through the other portals, industry news can also be useful. LettingAgentToday.co.uk, EstateAgentToday.com and LonRes are good for this.

9.00 - 9.10: - When you're confirming your viewings: DO NOT say the following: "just confirming our 3pm?" or, "just making sure you can still make the viewing at 1pm?" If you you're finding your applicants cancelling your viewings, THIS IS WHY! You might as well say - "just giving you 1 last chance to cancel, are you sure you want to come out in the rain and see this property?" (rain is actually good for our job but I will come to this later too!) Not to worry - remember, you came across this article. So that's the old you, this is what you say tomorrow: "Hi Tony, it's Alex from xxxx, just making sure you got the address of where to meet me at 3pm later? Perfect - there wouldn't be any reason why you'd be late would there? OK that's great - just because I have to be somewhere at 3.30pm so pleeaassee do let me know if you're running late" (something called tone, pitch, pace and tonality also come into this which I will talk about another time). Remember - confirming your appointments is NOT to give them the option to cancel. This is to remind them of the appointment and also to make sure they're prompt because you are a busy Negotiator (it is also another opportunity to instil urgency but again I will touch on this another time as it is a whole other article within itself).

9.10/15 - 12.00: You NEED to block out time in your diary for lead-gen. Some companies name it 'call out' time, which is too vague for me. Between the hours of 9am and 12.00 midday, you cannot text your girlfriend, look at Instagram, email anyone unless it is a prospect about an offer or a viewing. If you must, close down your emails or put an out-of-office on so that people know you are in a meeting or busy until midday. If you have an office with a door, put a sign on it saying: 'busy until 12.00' or 'do not disturb'. I cannot stress the importance of this time enough. It is paramount. If you tell me that you have no leads to call or you've run out of applicants, you're probably not looking hard enough - go through your colleagues' applicants. If your colleague is based in another office, ask the applicants if they'd look in your patch. Swap a few cold apps with your colleagues so that they hear a different voice and a different number on their phone. If you really and truly have gone through every single app (which is probably a lie), call some concierges, porters and building managers - see how they're doing. You should've built up enough rapport when collecting keys from them for your viewings, to tell them something along the lines of: "Haven't seen you in ages! How've you been? Do you know of any Landlords in the block looking to rent out their flats? / Anyone in the block looking to sell their flat?". No worries if the answer is no! Ask them kindly to bear you in mind and that you have a referral scheme in place which they could benefit from should a referral become successful - you'll be surprised! During Lead-Gen time, make sure you are selling your calendar space and not your properties. You cannot sell a property over the phone. It isn't a stock and you aren't Jordan Belfort. You need to get that person on the other end of the phone, inside your client's property, only then can you start selling and using your negative interrogatives (wtf is a NI I hear you cry? More on this later ;-)). The only way to do this is to sell your calendar space. Give people 2 options when booking viewings: "what's best for you? AM or PM?" ... "OK I only have 3pm or 4.30pm tomorrow - which is best for you?". Done. Send them a follow-up email INSTANTANEOUSLY. Other agents are so bad at this so this is your time to shine. Luckily, our industry is filled with people who fell into the job and don't really want to do it, so it is very easy to stand out. Standing out is by doing this like this - sending a viewing confirmation email instantly upon hanging up the phone. Have you every enquired about a property and had to beg/email or call them a few times before you get that email with the address of where to meet them? Annoying isn't it! It's important you do this - you're selling yourself at this stage and the idea of going into a business relationship with that person. Be quick. Be responsive - make sure they have your mobile number, which should be underneath your name on the email footer. Let them know that you're happy to answer any questions whenever they like and that you're always on your mobile if they need to catch you as you're out and about on viewings all day.

14.00- 15.00: This is your time to answer the backlog of emails, do your admin. and paperwork i.e. tenant referencing, contract drafting, offer letters etc.

Do this again the next day, and the next day, and the next day.

I really do hope this helps. Let me know how you get on.

I've promised you a lot of 'I'll go into this later' chat, so watch this space.

Alex Evagora.

X

[in-hindsite-blog]

Begin again

I’m a month short of reaching almost a year of not publishing any write up. That is why I will already I will claim the publication of such before I get to the end of this. Obviously, I don’t usually just write out of habit or out of routine. Lately, however, I’ve been caught up in a rut of sluggish days only to be put to sleep by mental exhaustion from unnecessary overthinking. I guess I am at that point in my life where I am smacked by doubt’s sister every morning - the inevitable existential crisis.

To be honest, I never thought I would experience this. A year ago, I remember being almost certain about what I wanted to do and where I wanted to be. Now, it feels as if I’m waiting for something I’m not sure exists.

I often hear voices, including my own, telling me that great things are about to happen.

Things aren’t just happening.

With the things I’ve read, seen, and absorbed during my duration of being a bum, I felt the pressure of creating a name for myself this early on. So many people my age have done far greater things - interning in Google, starring in a renowned musical, publishing a book, touring the world, producing art for esteemed clients - great things I wish I was also doing.

Sometimes I look back in my past and imagine, what if I never stopped swimming? Would I have been granted a sports scholarship? What if I never stopped dancing? Would I have been a part of a world-class dance troupe? What if I never stopped singing? Would I have been expressing myself through song and not through this half-baked write up? I realized I quit on so many things to focus on my academics. Well you know what, nobody cares about grades in the real world. Perhaps, because I don’t really have something I can hold on to and be proud of, I have allowed fear to loom within and fill up my cup. 

It’s funny how people never suspect me to have fears or anxiety over the future. I’ve always been dubbed as being the jack of all trades, which directly translates to having no problem laying out a path for myself because hey, anything goes, right? It is true that I want a lot of things and I know very well that I possess enough drive to pursue something I’m really passionate about. The thing is, what if I try out one thing and lose my passion for it? 

Recently I have finally summed up what I’m passionate about into one word - storytelling. If I am to take a job, for instance, it would have to be one that will enable me to move people and touch lives through compelling stories. 

And stories themselves are creations - of the artist, of the writer, of whoever has the mind and heart to impart pieces of themselves. This got me thinking. I have always been creating ever since I was a kid. I believe I knew how to draw figures before I could even write. However, what came with being an artist at heart was also being an innate perfectionist. I figured, maybe this is why I never get anything done or never start with anything, for that matter. For someone like me, I feel more comfortable not seeing an artwork come to life than be dissatisfied with its outcome. But this is exactly why the process of perfection often bring artists to their own demise. We expel so much energy on circling around one point leaving us none for the next step.

I’ve embodied this principle of delayed gratification until I came across this tweet:

“The easiest way to kill creativity is to judge your own work as you produce it. Creativity thrives on curiosity and flexibility. Quality control depends on precision. Resist the temptation to edit as you create. Save revising for a separate phase.” - Adam Grant

At this point, nothing resonates with me more than the statement in bold. This is exactly why I have more drafts than published entries. I am so tempted to reach perfection immediately that I fail to relish in the slow and steady process of producing good work. Performance-wise, things haven’t been going well for me and I realized it’s time for a lifestyle change. With this, I will write. Freely.

Unexpectedly, it is in writing that I am able to bring back structure in my life. It is in jotting down words and creating rhythm through sentences that I am able to tinker with the thoughts that run aimlessly in my mind. I wouldn’t call it a passion, but writing has always been a companion whenever I needed one. That is why, I have always wondered how big of a lapsed writer I’ve become if it was something that meant a lot to me.

As I was scouring through websites that I hope would serve as an inspiration for creating my own, I stumbled upon an article that talked about getting started with writing. What struck me the most was this:

“I write because it’s a way for me to process, reflect, and work ideas out. I write because if enough people ask for my opinion on a topic, I might as well have somewhere to point them to. I write because I learn things along the way. And I share in the hopes that the lessons I’m learning can help a greater group of people — not just me.” - Ximena Vengoechea, For the Love of Writing

This statement unmistakably hits home as I’ve always upheld the principle of doing things for others or rather, thinking of others in doing things. Whenever I couldn’t hold myself up to carry on, I immediately think of who can benefit from what I am about to offer if I’m able to accomplish a task. I find it much easier that way. And it is the same flame that keeps my desire to create alive. In fact, as much as I find myself stuck and uncertain about where I should be heading, there are so many stepping stones I want to leap onto. Here they are to name a few:

1. Conduct a 15-minute journaling session in the morning and at night.

2. Finish one watercolor painting and one digital artwork a week until December.

3. Write at least 2 reviews of a movie/documentary a month.

4. Read one book a month.

5. Exercise at least 4 times a week including cardio, yoga, strength training, and HIIT

As you can see, all of them revolve around self-improvement through creating something - and I am looking forward to where this feat will take me. I am not entirely sure if I can pursue this but I badly want a difference in my life and this time, I promise to commit to it. At least, I will try.

As I end, here’s to the first entry of many.

*pats self on the back for finishing this*