#so i should just post it on ao3 at this point

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

I Am Flesh and I Am Bone (I've Got Fire in My Soul)

My belated Halloween fic is finally posted! Thank you to the marvelous @arisprite for the beautiful artwork they created for this fic, which you can find here, and all the help with brainstorming! You can read the first couple of scenes below or the whole thing here on AO3!

Rating: T

Words: 12K

Warnings: none

Relationships: Payneland with background Palasaki

Summary: On Halloween, when the veil is thinnest between the living and the dead, ghosts are at their most corporeal—and their most vulnerable. When Charles, Crystal, and Niko go to a masquerade and walk into terrible danger, Edwin has no choice but to leave the safety of their warded office to save them.

Excerpt:

“And this is why I have never cared for parties,” Edwin says as he helps Niko up the stairs to the office. She’s leaning against him heavily, looking almost as tired as she did while recovering from the spell that nearly killed her in Port Townsend. She lost her butterfly mask at some point during the evening.

“Soul sucking witches are why you’ve never cared for parties?” There’s no real bite in Crystal’s voice; she looks almost as exhausted as Niko, with her head lolled against Charles’s shoulder. He’s practically carrying her.

“Among other things.” Edwin shudders. “I will say, it was better than some of the dinner parties my parents forced me to attend.”

“Everyone was unconscious by the time you got there, mate,” Charles says.

“Precisely,” Edwin says. “I, for one, do not think I’ll be attending another one anytime soon.”

“It was pretty aces until the soul sucking started.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Edwin is very much not taking his word for it. “I could have told you, Charles, nothing good ever happens on Halloween.”

***

Five days ago

Charles doesn’t realize how close they are to Halloween until he’s walking Crystal and Niko back to the agency’s office, a step ahead of the girls, when he hears a surprised shriek behind him. He whirls around to find Crystal suspended in mid-air, hanging upside down, the coffee she just bought at the shop down the road staining her pale blue blazer and dripping down her face into her hair.

She glares furiously at Charles, blinking coffee out of her eyes. “What the actual fuck, Charles?”

“Oi, why do you assume I did that?” Charles puts his hands up in surrender as Niko starts dabbing at her girlfriend’s cheek ineffectually with a napkin. “Edwin, I think your protection wards work a little too well, mate!”

Edwin’s head appears through the door. When he sees Crystal’s predicament, he sighs. “One moment, please.” He vanishes back into the office.

“Take your time!” Crystal calls after him. “I’ll just be here, showing my ass to the entire hallway.”

“It’s a nice ass,” Niko says helpfully.

Charles politely averts his eyes from the ass in question, focusing instead of the growing puddle of iced coffee on the ground. “No other offices on this floor, mate, so the only people who can see anything are me and Niko.”

“Charles, you’re not helping.”

There’s a hissing sound in the air, like air being released from a tire, and Charles catches Crystal around the waist right before the wards release her. He lowers her to the ground carefully, flipping her over to set her down on her feet. She smooths down the skirt of her uniform, glowering down at her stained blazer and blouse.

With an apologetic smile, Charles opens the door to show the girls into the office. On the other side of the door, Edwin stands with his hands clasped behind his back, looking only slightly sheepish.

Crystal jabs a finger at him. “You owe me a coffee.”

“You really should consume less caffeine,” he tells her. “It will stunt your growth and you’re already considerably shorter than average.”

That earns him the expected hand gesture, which he seems unfazed by.

“What are the added wards for, mate?” Charles goes to press a kiss to his partner’s cheek. He doesn’t think they’ve made any enemies lately. Their last few cases have been almost painfully routine. He hasn’t had to hit anyone with his cricket bat in months.

“I ran some errands while you were out,” Edwin says, cheeks going a little pink at the PDA, as mild as it was. “When I attempted to return home, instead of mirror-walking back to the office, I ended up in the real estate office downstairs. I gave one of the realtors quite a fright, I’m afraid. I don’t believe she could see me, per se, but she certainly knew she wasn’t alone.”

Charles groans. “Bollocks. What day is it?”

“October 26th.” Niko looks between them. “What does that have to do with the wards?”

“Are you afraid the realtor’s going to call an exorcist?” Crystal asks in a tone that suggests she may help out said exorcist.

Charles shakes his head as he slings an arm around Edwin’s shoulders. “It means it’s almost Halloween. Snuck up on us this year, didn’t it, mate? Suppose we’ve had a bit going on.”

Crystal and Niko both stare at him blankly and he remembers that even though it feels like they’ve been part of the Dead Boy Detectives for ages, it’s been less than a year since Port Townsend. There’s still so much that they don’t know.

“Halloween, or Samhain, is the day where the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest,” Edwin says in what Charles privately thinks of as his posh professor voice. “We often see all manner of ridiculousness on that day. Seances, arcane rituals—”

“Long story short.” Charles squeezes Edwin’s shoulder, because as much as he loves his posh professor voice, Crystal is looking increasingly murderous. “Veil being thin means that things are a bit screwy for ghosts around Halloween. Mirror travel doesn’t work, for one. Most people can see us, for another.”

Edwin nods. “Precisely. On Halloween, ghosts experience the closest thing to corporeality that we’re capable of. It makes us vulnerable to far more things than iron and cat scratches. Hence, the wards. My apologies, Crystal. I forgot to make an exception for you so you could pass through untouched.”

“I notice Niko was able to get through with no problem,” Crystal says.

Edwin clears his throat and straightens his bow tie.

“This is awesome!” Niko claps her hands together, eyes shining. “If people can see you, does that mean you can go out and actually interact with people?”

Charles grins at her enthusiasm. “Yeah, it’s brills, isn’t it? It’s almost like being alive again. We can’t eat or sleep or anything, because we’re still ghosts, but we’re a bit more part of the living world. We can feel it when people touch us. We can even smell a bit, right, Edwin? Which isn’t always so brills. Couple of Halloweens ago, all the sewage pipes in the building got backed up. That was a tough one.”

“So what do you normally do on Halloween?” Niko bounces up and down on her toes, like her body can’t contain so much excitement.

“Depends on the year.” Charles shrugs. “Usually, I find a party or a club, go dancing, meet some new people, find a—”

He breaks off, because he was about to say “find a fit girl to snog,” but he’s not about to say that in front of Edwin. It’s only been a few months since Charles pulled Edwin close at the end of a long, harrowing case and kissed him. They’re still figuring out this new aspect of their relationship, feeling each other out (in more ways than one.) They’re taking things slow, but it’s been pretty aces so far. Charles isn’t about to wreck it by bringing up all the girls he used to snog.

“And I layer the office in wards and settle down for the evening with a good book,” Edwin says.

Crystal and Niko turn to him, aghast. “You get one day of being corporeal a year and you spend it hiding in the office?” Crystal demands. “Of course you do.”

“Corporeality means we can be observed and touched, which means we can be harmed.” Edwin sniffs. “I don’t begrudge Charles his evening of revelry, but I prefer to stay where I know I won’t be hit by a bus. I don’t believe we can die again on Samhain, but I will not risk it.”

Crystal opens her mouth, but Charles catches her eye and shakes his head. He and Edwin had this conversation many times in their first few years of friendship. It took Charles a while to realize that his version of having fun—going out and meeting people, flirting with girls, experiencing new things—wasn’t exactly Edwin’s version of hell, but was the closest thing the mortal plane could provide. He doesn’t get Edwin’s insistence on locking himself away every Halloween, but he’s sure Edwin is just as bewildered by Charles always going out.

But this year, Charles has better plans than going to a party and meeting pretty girls. He’s been waiting for months to find out just how soft and warm Edwin’s mouth really is. Ghosts have their own type of physical sensation, so kissing Edwin is always aces, but on Halloween, it will be the closest they’ll ever get to being two flesh and blood boys snogging on the couch. He might even be able to give Edwin a hickey. Charles can’t wait.

A bloodcurdling shriek from the hallway distracts him from imagining kissing his way down Edwin’s throat.

“Oh no.” Niko’s eyes go wide. “Edwin, did you put the wards back up?”

Edwin huffs. “Of course I did. There’s no such thing as being too careful around Halloween.”

“Edwin Payne!” a Scottish-accented voice bellows. “What on earth is the meaning of this?”

***

Four days ago

“I have an idea!”

Edwin has approximately a fifty perfect success rate with Niko Sasaki’s idea. When it comes to detective work, she has shockingly astute instincts for one so young and so new to the world of the supernatural. She’s also quite good at finding books and cartoons that Edwin would enjoy, even if some of them are downright scandalous. However, the last time she said, “I have an idea!” in that tone of voice, she spent a quarter of an hour trying to convince Edwin to manifest himself a mustache.

With great trepidation, Edwin looks up from his report on their latest case. “Yes, Niko?”

She beams down at him. Crystal stands with her arm around her, smirking, which worries Edwin even more. “We should go to a Halloween party.”

Edwin has been expecting this ever since their discussion about Samhain yesterday. “I would rather return to Hell. Not the Dollhouse, but perhaps Limbo.”

“Let’s not joke about that, yeah?” Charles calls from the other side of the office, where he’s sorting the infinite backpack, a process that would be much quicker if he would ever let Edwin inventory the contents.

“But no, this is a party I think you’ll like,” Niko says. “It’s in a new club that used to be an old factory.”

“Niko, you enjoy horror films,” Edwin says. “You should know better.”

“And it’s a masquerade!”

Edwin blinks, confused at her obvious excitement.

“You know, you wear masks, so no one can tell who each other is,” Niko says. “It’s super romantic. You can be dancing with someone and they could turn out to be your mortal enemy.”

“Do you have a mortal enemy, Niko?” Charles asks, amused.

“Mrs. Schafer, my Lit teacher at Gray Wake,” Niko says. “She said manga was for people who can’t read real books.”

Edwin is going to find this Mrs. Schafer and haunt her until the day she dies. “I like to see my enemies coming, so I would prefer them not to be masked.”

Niko sticks her lower lip out in a pout and turns to Crystal. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

“And see you in a pretty costume? Of course.” Crystal looks over her shoulder at Charles. “You in, Charles?”

Charles puts down what looks like a half-eaten sandwich—why he has a sandwich in his bag, Edwin can only imagine—and turns to them. “I don’t know. Don’t think it’s Edwin’s scene.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go,” Edwin says quickly. He’s been worried about this ever since this… thing between them began this past summer. He and Charles both learned much about themselves in Port Townsend. Edwin learned that he could finally put words to the desires he’d been suppressing his whole existence without burning up in shame, that the way he felt could be right and good. Charles learned how desperately he aches to still be part of the living world, to experience the life that was stolen from him so cruelly. Edwin doesn’t want Charles to give up the one day a year he can interact with the world just because Edwin would rather not.

Edwin still doesn’t know exactly what they’re doing. The physical aspect of it is better than he ever could have imagined. He didn’t know he could feel as good as Charles makes him feel on a regular basis. But Edwin still isn’t sure what it all means and he fears asking, lest he upset the delicate balance between them. He knows that Charles loves him, that he’s the one person in the universe Charles Rowland would walk into Hell for. But he doesn’t know if Charles is in love with him, or if he’s just enjoying the novelty of being intimate with someone whose touch he can actually feel.

All Edwin knows is that he doesn’t want it to end. And if he holds Charles back from a night of fun with Niko and Crystal, he fears it’s only a matter of time before Charles starts resenting Edwin’s wallflower tendencies. After all, tolerating an antisocial best friend is one thing; having a romantic partner that walls himself up in their office rather than face the living world is another. Edwin couldn’t blame Charles for growing tired of that.

“I don’t know, mate.” Charles looks doubtful. “I was thinking we could stay in. Maybe you could read one of Niko’s mangas to me.”

That sounds like the best Halloween that Edwin can imagine, but he’s sure it’s not what Charles really wants. “No, I insist. I don’t expect you to pass up an opportunity to go to a party just because I’d rather not. Besides, some peace and quiet will be a welcome change.” For show, he casts a pointed look at Crystal, even though they all know he’s come to accept the additional members of the Dead Boy Detective Agency, even the Night Nurse.

“If you’re sure that’s what you want,” Charles says cheerfully, turning back to his backpack. For a moment, Edwin thinks he detects a hint of strain in the cheer, but then Charles starts whistling as he pulls a garden spade out of his bag.

“You should go enjoy your masquerade,” Edwin says, instead of asking Charles to stay. “But if you’re going to dance with your greatest enemy, I do hope you bring your bag of tricks.”

***

You can find the rest on AO3!

[letteredlettered]

Related to your last post: For me tumblr would work better as a community site if there was a function that would hide reblogs of the same posts. I get overwhelmed if I follow more than ten people in the same fandom because of the repeating posts. With work and everything else, I don't have the hours to find the original things people are saying. Reddit works better sometimes except the subreddits often have very surface level discussions with high amount of newcomers asking the same questions and the topics are quite limited. Maybe I should just try if there is life on Dreamwidth :P

This ask is a response to this post I made about feedback to fic and fandom community.

Anon, I agree 100% regarding the difficulties of tumblr for discussion that builds community. If you're following this discussion, than you may have already seen these follow-ups:

@eleadore added their thoughts about preserving reader spaces in a reblog here

@yiiiiiiiikes25 added thoughts similar to yours re tumblr's poor functionality as a community space here

@thehoneybeet added to the post that sparked my post here, about how to foster the kind of community we're all saying we want.

I'm linking these posts because I want to call attention to them; I think they're great. But I'm linking them in response to you specifically because yes there are multiple vectors to this problem--the web enshittification I described in my post, the splintering of fandom after the death of livejournal, and the difficulty of tumblr as a venue.

But it's that last, the difficulty of tumblr as a venue, that means that even like-minded people who want the community we're discussing can't really have it. Some went to, and are still on, dreamwidth. Frankly, I still find myself deeply irritated that fandom didn't move there, that it accepted AO3 and not DW. But I think a large factor in that particular exodus actually has to do with the fact that AO3 is closer to the direction the enshittified web went than DW ever could be. AO3 has a "like" button and is not built for deep, meaningful interaction. Again, this is because it was meant to be a limb of the fandom community, not replace community entirely. I'm not claiming that AO3 is enshittified but rather that it bears more similarity to current social media sites because it's only one part of a community that was at the time, thriving (yes, in spite of strikethrough and everything that was happening on LJ at the time).

In my opinion, tumblr straddles the divide between that old style of community website and the new one. Like livejournal and DW, you can view tumblr chronologically, without an algorithm feeding you content. You can remain anonymous, and everyone can see anything you post. But like other more modern social media sites, you can reblog and like, which you couldn't do on LJ and DW. The fact that tumblr is sort of both--and that it wasn't sold to the Russians and torn apart, like LJ--is why fandom fled here and why scattered pieces of it remain here, despite so many others moving on.

One thing I wanted to talk about in my original post, but couldn't find a place for, was how so much of the "community" aspects of fandom are now private. I think that's happened partly because tumblr isn't a great place to hold a conversation, so the conversation quickly gets moved elsewhere--but instead of somewhere where everyone is still welcome (ahem, like Dreamwidth), it gets moved to private spaces. Or the conversation never starts and exists only in the kinds of spaces meant for such things.

@thehoneybeet makes great points about this in the post I linked above. They mention "the invite-only server, the private ao3 challenge, groups and experiences that you need to be in-the-know about to even begin to participate in. that, essentially, require an invitation."

@eleadore mentions it at the beginning of their reblog (also linked above), saying, "i feel discussions of this nature have been severely crippled over the yrs, and people prefer to take to private group chats and such instead of engaging [...]" But they go on to mention "private discord book club servers."

To be clear, I'm 100% with @eleadore about the necessity for spaces for readers, and also 100% with them at the idea that there can be spaces authors don't have to touch. Writers don't "deserve" to hear every single thing anyone's ever said about their fic, positive or negative. Earlier this year I in fact made an impassioned post about the fact that I believe that bookmarks are for readers, not writers, and that making them a space purely for an author's comfort limits the functionality of bookmarks for readers, both in terms of finding fic but also in terms of finding friends.

So, yes, I agree that it's okay to have private discord book club servers. But the mention of discord did make me do a double-take, because in my opinion, discord is a huge part of what I perceive as the problem. You can't find a discord for your chosen fandom by searching discord. You have to have the link. Even if the discord isn't invite-only--which many of them are, you can usually only get the link by knowing someone.

There are all kinds of reasons for why discord is so private. Discords are run by mods, who feel responsible for what happens to people in spaces for which they are responsible. And mods who take a laissez-faire "everyone just do what they want" approach often have servers dominated by people who make the environment difficult, sometimes through racism, sometimes through bullying, sometimes by constantly bringing up traumatic or triggering content, sometimes just by making everything about them all the time. It's not like lj or even tumblr, where you can just unfollow. You're kind of stuck, unless you've got a mod who is policing vigorously, which is a huge job and impossible to do in ways that will make everyone happy. It's just easier if you don't have anyone and everyone wandering through.

I hate that. It makes me want to throw things. To me, fandom is about a space that's for anyone and everyone. You shouldn't have to know someone to get to have discussions about the thing you love. That's not why I'm here. In fact, in some ways I'm in fandom to get away from that kind of bullshit, so I don't have to construct some kind of social persona that is palatable enough to be accepted. I'm hear to talk about blorbos and read porn, maybe write a thing or two. A private discord book club made intentionally as a safe space for readers is a great use for discord. But discord as a place for fandom actually makes me feel a little ill.

I don't have a good suggestion of where fandom community should be built. To me, the best place is dreamwidth, and I think that after fifteen years, I really need to give up on the idea that enough people will move there (in this economy????) to really get the numbers you need to be able to find the people with whom you really click and connect. When tumblr tried to ban nudes, a lot of people talked up other possibilities--and some people went, to Mastadon, to pillowfort, even to twitter and IG. But those spaces all have their downsides, and none of them have the critical mass to be a real fandom home. As before, I have no conclusions about this. I just wanted to highlight some other aspects of this problem and describe some other food for thought.

[sparklepocalypse]

Soapbox moment incoming --

We love a rarepair writer, but -- there's evidence that one of the most prolific Alex/Raf posters on Ao3 right now is using ChatGPT to generate their fics instead of actually writing them. They removed the line when they were called out on it, but when they initially posted one of their works, they left "Chat GPT said..." at the top of a chapter. They've also evidently systematically deleted any comments suggesting they're using AI.

This same user "wrote" a POV switch of a fic that another person in the fandom put actual, significant mental energy and time into creating, and there's no doubt in my mind that this was also ChatGPT-generated. I have blocked this user on Ao3, but blocking someone on the site only prevents their works from showing up in search for you, and prevents them from commenting on yours. It doesn't prevent them from seeing your works, or you know, copying and pasting them wholesale into a natural language processing site or app and having it word vomit out "their" version of a work so they can post it as their own "writing."

If your immediate response to this is "Telling people not to use AI to write is ableist," you can shove that bullshit right up your ass, because they're stealing words that other people in the fandom have created and claiming they put the same sort of time and energy into them as people who actually write. But, if your immediate response is "Yeah, fuck this noise, who the fuck does this person think they are," then you are precisely my sort of person.

And listen, I'm not saying AI isn't useful. There are certainly a lot of practical applications for AI. However, there's a line about a mile wide between using AI as a tool to help you when you're stuck or looking for ideas (or hell, using it professionally to turn your recorded meeting transcript into meeting notes), and just saying "fuck it," and passing off AI's regurgitation as your own work. It's not your work, nor will it ever be; it's other people's work and you are using AI to steal it, and then basking in the easy dopamine hit from the recognition that it gets once you hit post. Fucking stoppit.

If you find works on Ao3 that are generated by AI, please note that while AI-generated works are not in and of themselves banned by the site (because, sadly, it'd be almost impossible for the Ao3 team to identify and ban them all at this point), plagiarism is explicitly against the site's Terms of Service and you should report plagiarized works for content violations. (Don't submit more than one report per user; their small but mighty team of volunteers doesn't need to be spammed about the same person to address a concern.)

[iamanartichoke]

I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -

I am fine with "the audience" -

downloading my fics

printing my fics

copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics

sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3

making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss

doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc

I am not fine with "the audience"

doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity

feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever

Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.

Enjoy the fandom things.

[spainkitty]

There Isn't

Part II / III / IV

Takes place a year after the end of the main game, after Solas has ~mysteriously~ disappeared, and a year before Trespasser. Both Descent and JoH take place after the end of the main game in this 'verse.

tw: pretty heavy discussion & break up BUT there is a planned happy ending and it's almost finished 😀 Also, this is a hella long post. my bad?

Lanil's Pieces Masterlist

Sigrid Gulsdotten is a very, shall we say, interesting choice of recruit, Inquisitor. Commander Cullen has had a great deal to say on the matter. Still, we've had interest from scholars and mages beside themselves at the chance to speak with a "stable" abomination. (Especially since the Chantry is too weak to forbid it with any force.) I believe that Gulsdotten, with a guide and some guards for her own protection, would be a valuable guest to send to select lectures and salons.

Ambassador Montilyet

You cannot be serious.

Commander Cullen

.

"This is a great idea, Ambassador!" Lanil walked, well, more like ran, into the war room on her first morning back from the Frostback Basin.

She was definitely not thinking of the conversation she'd had with Dorian about him leaving soon. Or that Varric hadn't even come back to Skyhold with them, instead heading straight to Amaranthine to catch a ship to the Free Marches. Or that the Iron Bull, Cole, and Cassandra were the last ones of her close-knit friend group still in Skyhold since Sera went off to Nevarra to meet with the newest Red Jenny, someone named Johi, to help 'kick arseholes in their holes'.

No, of course not. She was only and entirely excited by the missive in her hand that she'd almost forgotten about in the hectic mess of finding Ameridan and stopping yet another god-dragon-creature from stirring up shit. If only Solas could be here to see that people were beginning to care, to ask questions, about the Fade and Spirits! She herself couldn't wait to sit with Sigrid and get to know her and her teacher.

"My Lady?" Josephine startled in place, nearly dropping her writing tablet.

Cullen and Leliana also did a double-take at her sudden appearance, but Lanil didn't bother looking at them. Her attention was solely on Josephine. She slapped the paper down on the table and leaned across it towards Josephine.

"You're serious about this? The lectures and salons and universities?" Lanil demanded.

"Oh! You mean about Lady Gulsdotten. Enchanter Sigrid?"

"No, I don't think either of those work. You can ask later. But yes, about her and her teacher!"

"Her teacher?" Cullen repeated.

His tone sounded... off, but Josephine was riffling through papers and handing them over to Lanil. She snatched them and read through the invitations and requests eagerly.

"They've been pouring in since I sent out a few... discreet messages to a few more renowned professors and Enchanters," Josephine said with a strained smile. She glanced towards Cullen, who was suddenly standing at his full height, arms crossed over his chest, a frown slowly growing darker and heavier on his face. "We all assumed you didn't like the idea when you didn't reply."

"It wasn't exactly an emergency or a priority. The god-possessed dragon was a bit more pressing at the time. But this is a great idea! I'll ask Sigrid myself how she feels about it--"

"You cannot really be serious," Cullen interrupted.

Lanil finally noticed his expression and her eyes began to narrow. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

"A problem?! You used the words 'god possessed dragon' in the same breath as offering to send a possessed mage around Orlais for, what, tea and demon summoning?" Cullen snapped.

"If you noticed, she's not a dragon nor is she trying to be a god or summon demons," Lanil retorted. "She's a mage, an Avvar mage, and the Spirit is her teacher. This is a chance for people to understand Spirits and the Fade better. A chance that most mages across Thedas would never have otherwise."

"Unless they decide to use blood magic and possess themselves or others," Cullen said sharply. Lanil bared her teeth, ready to bite out something caustic.

"Excuse me, Inquisitor, Commander, we don't even know if she'll agree. Perhaps we could wait--" Josephine tried to interrupt, her voice gentle and soothing.

"It shouldn't be an option at all!" Cullen slapped his open palm on the table. "This is madness. If you must, have this Avvar abomination meet with our own scholars. In a small room. Far from anything. With a templar present."

Leliana's eyes closed. Josephine inhaled sharply. Lanil, however, slammed both her hands on the table and leaned across it, eyes burning silver.

"She is not an abomination."

"She is possessed. Of course she is. Don't be naive, Inquisitor."

"By your Chantry terms. Your Chantry rules," Lanil snarled. "In Avvar culture she is a mage. Her Spirit is her friend, her family."

"My Chantry? Did you forget you're part of the Inquisition? A Chantry organization?"

"Barely a Chantry organization! And I'm Dalish!"

"You were raised in a Circle!"

"And they were going to cut my soul in half! I'm Inquisitor because you broke the Chantry rules!"

Cullen threw up his hands and backed away from the table. "This is not the same."

"Josie, maybe we should--" Leliana murmured.

"No, we're not done here," Lanil snapped. "Ambassador, how soon can you organize this tour?"

"Oh, um, only a few--" Josephine stammered.

"You can't do this. I won't allow it." Cullen ordered firmly.

"You won't allow it?" Lanil hissed.

"As your Commander, I have to think about the safety of the people. Maybe you don't think she's dangerous, but I knew a mage who allowed a Spirit to possess him, and he blew up Kirkwall."

"Maybe he was right!" Lanil shouted. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine all reared back. "Maybe it had nothing to do with the Spirit, maybe it did, but if you hadn't noticed, the world is always on the verge of exploding! If I had stayed there, if I had lived through the utter bullshit of the Gallows, it was called the Gallows, Commander, maybe I would've helped!"

"You can't possibly mean that," Cullen managed to force out, sounding strangled.

For a moment, Lanil wanted to stick to it. To plant both feet and stand firm. But it had been obstinacy more than belief that had her spitting out those words. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at a far wall.

"I... I don't know..." Lanil said, barely more calmly, her control in tatters. "Maybe not. I knew Anders, too. He was my friend once. I believe that he believed it was the only path he had. Maybe Justice pushed that in him, maybe they... they sickened each other. But some of what I've done here has been just as bloody, and I have as high a body count, if not higher. I didn't need to be possessed to do it."

"This was a war that you didn't start, it's not the same," Cullen argued, shaking his head. "And what of Varric? He knew Anders in Kirkwall. What did he think of your decision to bring Gulsdotten here?"

Lanil scowled fiercely. And was silent.

"Exactly. It's dangerous. It stops here, at Skyhold, where we can make sure--"

"No." Lanil tipped up her chin and met Cullen's gaze. "No. Ambassador, make the arrangements."

"Lanil--!"

"If anything goes wrong, I'll take full responsibility. A single person gets hurt, and you'll have yourself a new Inquisitor when I leave to take accountability for it. I hope that assuages any misgivings, Commander." Lanil turned on her heel and left.

"Void take it, Lanil!"

Josephine and Leliana watched as Cullen followed right on her heels. Slowly, Josephine met Leliana's eyes. Leliana rubbed her temples and sighed.

"I really don't know what to do here. I didn't think it would turn out like this," Josephine said, rather unnerved and rattled.

"It was bound to happen eventually. You're going have to choose by yourself now."

"What?!"

"Who do you want to anger more, the Commander or the Inquisitor?" Leliana asked with a humorless smirk.

"Oh, dear Maker," Josephine whispered.

...

Lanil stormed towards the main doors. She was going to go and find Sigrid. Or Dorian. She paused. Sigrid was probably in the mage tower, but Dorian prefered the library in the Rotunda. Actually, Sigrid might be there, too. She turned abruptly left and headed that way.

A hand grabbed her elbow.

"Lanil, we were not done--"

"Yes, yes, we were."

Lanil yanked her arm away and glared up the foot of difference in height. She had never seen Cullen this angry, his frown a snarl that almost matched her own. The closest he'd been was when he'd told her about Samson, or anything to do with Samson. Which had her blood immediately boiling--not very difficult when she was already furious.

"You can't just walk out of a meeting and consider it closed."

"And yet, I did." Lanil jabbed her finger in the middle of his chest. "You pushed me there. Not allow? Not allow me, Cullen? I am not a child."

"I..." He stopped mid-word and looked around. There weren't many guests or visitors a year after Corypheus' defeat, but every single one of them was obviously hanging onto every word they said. "We should speak privately?"

"Fine." Lanil snapped and began walking towards the door to the Undercroft.

"My office would--"

"No. It's not private enough and you're not coming to my room." She ugly-snorted and shook her head. "That's right, my room. More than a year later."

"Lanil, you're not going to derail this conversation with that," Cullen muttered under his breath as they stomped their way down the stairs.

"Screw you, Cullen."

"Damn it, Lanil."

She glared at him hotly. He shouldered his way through the bottom door, scowling just as darkly.

"Commander! And the Inquisitor, too! Uh oh..." Dagna set down the tools and wiped off her hands on her leather apron. "Something is not right in the state of the world again."

"Another darkspawn god coming down on our heads, Inquisitor?" Herrit asked, mostly confused but a little concerned despite himself.

"Nothing like that. This is rude, but could you two get out. Until we're done..." she glanced at Cullen and then back at them, "discussing."

"You got it, boss. C'mon, Herrit, let's go enjoy the sunshine."

"There's sunshine coming through that big hole there."

"Okay, let's go enjoy it anywhere not here." Dagna shoved and pushed Herrit past the angrily seething couple, then up the stairs and out the door.

The moment it closed, Cullen dragged both hands through his hair, wincing when it caught on his gauntlets. Lanil crossed her arms, her stance wide, and glared silently. Furiously. Somewhere in the back of her head, deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt it coming.

Mythal, let her be wrong. ...little odd praying to Mythal after meeting her in person...

Cullen finally spoke, "Let's get the easy thing out of the way--" Lanil snorted and barely kept from tossing her head like a horse, too. "I said I wanted our relationship private, and you agreed. Moving into your room is not private."

"That was over a year ago. Everyone in the Inquisition knows by now, so who cares?"

"I do!" Cullen inhaled sharply. "It's one thing for our people to know, but it's another for... for everyone else. Rumors and gossip, fine, but it's not gossip anymore when a dozen nosy nobles see me follow you up to your private rooms every night."

"But you do sleep up there almost every night! You just sneak in like a damned thief instead of my lover."

"You're the Inquisitor! You need to be above reproach--"

"So you'll fuck me, but won't publicly stand beside me," Lanil retorted dryly.

"Don't talk about us like that. It is not like that and you know it," Cullen snapped.

"Do I? Do I really? Sure feels like you're ashamed of us being an us," Lanil said through gritted teeth. "Are you scared your Templar friends will judge you, or your precious Chantry?"

"Lanil, now you're being an ass."

"Yes. Yes, I am. I'm pissed."

"We can talk like adults--"

"Argue. We are arguing like adults. And I, for one, am an angry adult who doesn't like being patronized."

"Then, stop throwing my faith in my face like it's something that makes me less, or like it makes me love you any less!"

"Your faith has drilled into your brain that me, and all my people, not ours, my people can't be trusted. That Spirits can only be evil, awful, destructive things! You know that's wrong! But every time, every time this comes up, you're suspicious and close-minded first!"

"Because every time it ends badly!"

"That's obviously a lie since the Avvar have been doing things their way for hundreds or thousands of years, Cullen! Sigrid and her teacher are not violent. They aren't sickened. They choose to be together, to work and learn together, they are family and they keep each other safe, and they keep others safe. They know things and understand things about Spirits and the Fade in a way Circles and Dalish don't."

"You said yourself she was supposed to get rid of the Spirit and she left because she refused to. She's bucking the very tradition you're defending."

"The augur said that some mages never lose their Spirits. The same kind of mages that your Chantry brands with lyrium! Maddox, and people like Maddox, like Anders' Karl, they didn't have to be Tranquils. They didn't have to die. If we had lived with Spirits like the Avvar--"

"You can't be serious," Cullen scoffed, turning away and rubbing his face.

"Say that one fucking more time, Cullen, I swear!" Lanil dug her hands in her hair and growled. "Yes, I am serious! Me and Solas used to talk about it. What kind of world would it be if there was no Veil, if the Fade was like... like a state of being, like the weather, always around us. What would it take for Spirits to live among us peacefully. I used to imagine it, all the things he'd tell me, all the places and Spirits he'd seen. I want that world, Cullen. A world with less fear and more magic, more wonder. Learning from the Avvar, living a little more like they do, we could get closer to that."

"Worshipping Spirits as gods and sticking them in dragons to destroy us all?" Cullen asked tightly.

"That was one clan. Fen'Harel's bloody teeth, Cullen, some Templars rape mages, but you don't see me calling you a rapist."

"For fuck's sake, Lanil." Cullen punched the nearest bench and Dagna's tools rattled. "That is out of line."

"No, it's not. Or you wouldn't be so damned angry about it."

"How much of this sudden crusade to make the world more like the Fade is because of Gulsdotten, and how much of it is you hoping Solas is going to come back?"

Lanil froze, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. "What?" she wheezed.

"I know you miss him, but he left," Cullen said, his voice softer, his gaze heavy. As if he was being gentle. As if his words were fair. "He left, he didn't say good-bye, and he's not coming back. Making friends with every Spirit and abomination you meet isn't going to bring him back."

Her rage was no longer a fire. It was lightning. A storm. It raged and howled and thundered through every nerve ending. Solas once said her magic felt overwhelming, that if he listened, it drowned out everything else. She understood what he meant now.

The next thing that came out of her mouth was going to shatter something fundamental. Break it perhaps beyond repair. She felt the words burning her throat, her tongue, scraping at the back of her teeth.

"How much are you worried about another Kirkwall, and how much are you terrified of me?" she asked.

Cullen stepped back, his face a picture of bewildered shock. "What, I'm not--"

"What if I meet the right Spirit, Commander? What if I meet a teacher like Sigrid's who promises to show me the Fade in a way I can't see it alone? What if it promises to teach me lost Elvehn magic? What if one night, while you're sleeping next me, I say yes?"

Cullen turned white.

"That's what you're scared of. You're scared that Sigrid is an excuse for me to try it. You're terrified I'll become an abomination. That you'll make up one morning and a demon will be lying beside you. You don't trust me."

"Lanil, that isn't true. Of course I trust you," Cullen said. He was shaking his head, but his skin was too pale, too sweaty, his gaze nowhere near hers.

"You can't even look at me." Cullen's shoulders went tight. "You will always be scared of that part of me. Cullen, we can't work if you hate what I am."

His head snapped up and he stepped towards her, paused, and then crossed the short distance in long, determined strides. Gently, he cupped her face in both his hands, something he'd done a thousand times. His hands were shaking like the last leaves on a tree in winter. But his thumbs traced along the lines of her vallaslin. Gentle. Loving. Her chest cracked down the middle.

"This is--I do not and can never hate you, Lanil. This has nothing to do with how I feel about you."

"A part of me is of the Fade and the Fade is in me. My soul and whatever Spirits are made of... we're like... like cousins. Family. And you hate it. You'll never trust it. So you'll never fully trust me."

"Lanil. Don't do this."

"We're over."

His forehead bumped hers and she felt wooden. Empty. Like maybe she'd already carved out where he fit inside her. A hole in her chest where she'd kept him.

Vhenan. How many times had that words slipped past her lips to brand his?

"I'm the Inquisitor," she forced past numb lips that ached for the shape of different words.

"Lane."

"You're the Commander."

She gently took his hands. Pulled them away. Thanked the Creators that he wore gloves so his skin, his pulse, were hidden under leather and metal.

"Lanil. Don't. We can still talk about this."

"Don't worry, Commander," she smiled, a useless emotionless thing, as she met Cullen's too-wide eyes, "you don't have to worry about my reputation now."

She dropped his hands and it didn't feel like her fingers, her hands, her arms were moving. Someone else's feet encased in leather boots scraped over stone. Someone else's legs moved, carried someone else's body up the stairs.

"Lanil, there has to be..."

He couldn't even finish it. Because how could he? There has to be a compromise? A middle ground?

"There isn't."

She closed the door before he could make another sound. Her footsteps echoed. One after another. One more. And then another. The sounds in the main hall rang weirdly through her ears. Like trying to listen through thick glass. She didn't remember how she made it through, or how long it took to get to the doors. She didn't remember crossing the courtyard down to the stables.

But she saw Faith. Shining white and silver and beautiful. Cloven hooves picking their way delicately over grass and dirt to stand in front of her.

"Could we run, my friend? Could you take me anywhere but here?" she asked. Her lips still felt numb. Her skin icy. Faith lowered herself enough for Lanil to slip onto her back. "Ma serannas, falon. Ma ghilana mir atish'an."

When Faith ran, it felt like flying. The halla leapt with a grace and strength that belied her tiny frame and slender legs. They rushed past the guards so fast, they didn't have enough time to see Lanil's face let alone salute. She tucked herself as low and close as possible on Faith's back, her face whipped by the soft white hair stinging and sharp against Lanil's eyelids. Down her cheeks.

She gritted her teeth and let the halla guide her. Mountain air, the smell of wild heather and gorse crushed under hoof, the cries of wild birds; she thought of nothing else. No words. No broken expressions and brown eyes too dark and too bright. Just Skyhold's mountains and Faith.

It wasn't quite dinner time when Lanil returned. She gave Faith a few carrot and dried apple pieces from Dennet's secret stash. With a gentle rub of her bony chin to Lanil's head, mussing her already tangled hair, Faith went into the barn. Probably to ruin a bale of hay to lay indolently over it like a queen. Lanil had heard Dennet curse about it plenty of times. Finally, Lanil went on her way. There was someone, a few someones, she needed to speak with.

...

"Lady Lavellan? Lady Montilyet told me... My lady?!" Therilla gasped, eyes wide and mouth dropping open.

Lanil grunted, kicked the bed's headboard, and then cursed.

"Yes, I asked her to send you. Would you mind helping me pack for a long journey? In those bags there?" Lanil waved at the tattered and weather-beaten saddlebags in question.

"Um. Of course, but. Why are you stripping the bed? And moving the furniture?

Lanil huffed. All her sheets and blankets had been thrown onto the balcony. Her bureau and desk had switched places. The bed was halfway across the room, where Lanil was now standing.

"I realized I have that whole... um... loft? Indoor balcony? Up there. And I'm going to put my bed there. Make room for some sofas and a table. A little sitting room for guests, like what Vivienne did for her room when she was here."

"That sounds like a lovely idea. Perhaps I could go ask for some help?"

"No need." Lanil raised both her hands, scowled, and then hefted the entire bed up onto the loft area with a loud thud as her hands glowed blue. "I just wanted the right angle for it. Didn't want to accidentally break a leg. The bed's leg, not mine."

"I see. And the bedclothes?"

"I was half hoping the wind would take them. You can give them away." Lanil shrugged and started up the ladder. "I'm going to Val Royeaux to shop with Vivienne."

"Shop. You're going shopping with Madame de Fer?"

"Yup. It'll all be sent here. Make sure they make it look nice, won't you? I trust your taste better than mine. If Josephine wants to help, I don't mind, either, but I think Leliana will officially be in Val Royeaux as Divine by then. Any day now, she said."

"You won't do that yourself? The arranging?" Therilla asked. She slowly opened the saddlebags. Everything Lanil owned could probably fit inside.

"Nope. After Val Royeaux, I'm going around with Sigrid Gulsdotten to sit in on some of her salons. Dorian wanted to see a few of the lectures himself, so it works out great. Then, Dorian, the Iron Bull, and I are going to meet up with Varric in Amaranthine and we're going to the Free Marches together. We already sent him a raven, so he should wait for us, or he'll meet us in Kirkwall and show us around. After that, I'll escort Dorian to the border, I want a glimpse of Tevinter, but that's it. Then, I'm going to Wycome to make sure everything really is stable, visit where my clan..." She broke off slightly, hands freezing mid-air where she held a stack of books, then continued with that same overly perky voice, "Of course, since I'll be travelling, I should go to Nevarra to visit the Enchanters' College they're rebuilding, help out a bit. I'll probably stop at a few of our holdings and keeps around Orlais and Ferelden, too, make sure everyone is satisfied and doing well. Check out any rumors of rifts or demons or darkspawn. I'm pretty excited about it."

The entire time, Lanil was pushing and shoving her bed into the perfect position. Then, came down to start throwing clothes in the bags while Therilla rushed to fold and pack them neatly. She paced to and fro, grabbing books from the shelf, her portable writing desk, more clothes. Barely stopping to breathe, all the while with a fixed and crooked smile on her face. Flitting about like a bird branch to branch.

Therilla huffed and a frizz of hair fluttered over her nose. She was surrounded by clothes and books and a strange number of knives for a mage. Perhaps she cut a lot of herbs?

"What brought this on, my lady? It seems like you're planning to be gone years! Is the Comman--"

"A year at most. Before I forget." Lanil went into her closet and came back out with a large satchel. It was mostly empty, but it felt like it weighed more than a trunk filled with bricks of gold.

A pair of gloves. A handful of styluses worn down to the nub. A tin filled with a solution of elderflower and oakmoss that he swore to everyone else he didn’t use. Papers covered in bold, too-heavy handwriting not her own. Books with feathers or ribbons or dried elfroot for bookmarks, whatever had been nearby. Letters from South Reach carefully kept in their envelopes to preserve them as long as possible. The coin they passed back and forth. Slipped into a pocket or under a pillow or in a boot.

He'd laughed that time. He hadn't been able to figure out how she'd managed to get in it there while he was wearing it.

The satchel dropped with a sad little rattle and thwap.

She was not going to morbidly and symbolically compare it to the past eighteen months.

"That should be returned to the Commander's office. Maybe at dinner or before breakfast, when no one notices."

"Oh. Oh." Therilla's brown eyes glistened and her hand covered her mouth.

"It's nothing. I have a journey to finish packing for." Lanil grinned and spun on her heel. "Do you know what the weather is like in Val Royeaux?"

"Sunny, my lady. The weather should hold for a few weeks yet," Therilla murmured.

"Excellent."

...

Lanil hefted the saddlebags a little higher and shoved through the door into the main hall. Therilla had offered to help carry, but Lanil was more than capable of doing it alone. They weren't even full. Early dawn light trickled through the high stained-glass windows. Soon enough, the hall would be filled with so much sunlight it'd be impossible to walk through without squinting. But for now, the stone beneath her feet took on an unearthly quality, a pearly sheen that reminded Lanil of the Fade.

Dorian met her at the door and raised an eyebrow at her armful.

"You realize you have paid servants to do that for you?"

Lanil scowled at him. With an exasperated sigh, he took hold of the wide strap nearest him. She scowled a little harder, but they walked out the front doors with the saddlebags hanging between them. Funnily enough, even at this early hour, there was a large crowd forming at the front gates. By the time they got close enough to hear the words, Lanil also picked out a familiar voice. And then she saw his blond hair, curlier than ever, and dark fur ruff in the middle of the crowd.

She was surprised dust didn't rise around her boots, she reined herself to a stop so fast. Dorian jerked to a startled halt beside her.

"Lane, what--" He stopped, concern creasing his forehead deeply. She was staring at him, mute and ashen-faced, lips pressed into a thin, white line. He turned back to the crowd and saw Cullen bracing his hands on his hips and arguing heatedly with an Avvar stranger.

"I need to--stables. Go to the stables," Lanil said hoarsely.

"I knew this sudden plan to travel like a migrating goose was rushed and odd. Darling, you can't just run off after a fight," Dorian scolded. She didn't even bother frowning. Just stared at him. Slowly, the vague niggles of amusement ebbed. "Lanil, it wasn't just a fight, was it?"

Still nothing.

"Inquisitor!"

Lanil flinched, then drew herself up straight and square-shouldered so fast Dorian almost missed the first, involuntary motion. He turned to see Cullen striding towards them as suspicions mounted. Seeing the untamed curls and too dark circles in Cullen's wan and weary face more than confirmed them. The way both of them resolutely met eyes with entirely blank expressions, facades as perfectly painted as any Orlesian mask, made Dorian want to sigh. Or cuff them both 'round the head. Or shake what happened out of them.

Of course Lanil was running. Of course Cullen would say nothing.

"Commander," Lanil greeted blandly.

"Care to explain why--" Cullen stopped mid-sentence and stared at the bags hanging between Dorian and Lanil. "What are you doing?"

Dorian rolled his eyes skyward. Of course Lanil was running and hadn't warned Cullen.

"Leaving."

"Andraste's ass, Lane," Dorian whispered. He cleared his throat, though Cullen couldn't tear his eyes from the saddlebags. "We're accompanying Gulsdotten for the start of her tour before heading to the Free Marches. I will be going on to Tevinter after that."

"I said I'd take responsibility. The least I could do if be there to take the blast if Sigrid loses control," Lanil stated. Inflection still flat. Tightly and completely controlled. Cullen frowned darkly, but Dorian could see his hands shaking before he crossed his arms over his chest.

"No one likes a matyr, darling. Stop being so dramatic. We'll all be fine," Dorian said smoothly.

"We're going to be late," Lanil retorted, turning again towards the stables.

"What about the bear?" Cullen gritted out.

Lanil's facade broke as her head tilted. "The bear?"

"That man over there brought a bear and claims you know all about it," he said, waving towards the Avvar man.

Dorian couldn't help smirking at the bare-chested, fur-wearing man amid all the armored and multi-layered soldiers. For all their oddities, at least the Avvar knew how to appreciate the male chest. It was too early for the courtiers to be out & about, which was both disappointing for the scandalized twittering he was surely missing out on, but very fortunate for Lanil and Cullen's sake. Who, despite their carefully dull expressions and monitered voices, were as obvious as the Breach-made scar in the sky.

Suddenly Lanil's eyes lit up as the Avvar man neared them and she almost smiled.

"Storvacker!" she exclaimed.

Dorian couldn't quite repress his grin. "They actually sent Storvacker here?"

"You knew about this?" Cullen demanded. "Both of you?"

"Of course." Lanil tilted up her chin, mulish and stubborn. "I made the judgement. Storvacker is your agent now, Commander. Treat her with all due respect."

Cullen sputtered. The Avvar nodded to Lanil and grinned, all wide and toothsome and handsome. Alas that the only Avvar in Tevinter were those ne'er-do-wells causing mayhem with the goat-throwing Movran.

"Augur, it is a pleasure to see you again," the Avvar greeted.

Alas that this one only had eyes for women, it seemed.

Lanil nodded and then paused, head tilting again as she squinted.

"I know you. You were the first one up the wall at the Fortress."

"Tommar, augur. It's not often lowlanders tell us apart," Tommar said, obviously looking her up and down.

"You did an impressive job. Of course I remember. Where is Storvacker?" Lanil asked without a pause. Not noticing either Tommar's sudden prideful posturing or Cullen burying his face in his hand.

"Could this morning get any worse," Cullen whispered hoarsely.

Dorian's heart went out to him.

"She's down at the river, augur. She'll come up whenever she's ready," Tommar said. "I could take you to her now? I volunteered to come visit your Sky's Hold and offer you my services."

Dorian would not laugh. He caught the look on Cullen's face and, no, he really wouldn't laugh. Cullen met Dorian's eyes. Dorian hadn't seen him look like that since he'd watched Lanil training to face spiders again while she was slowly overwhelmed by her own panic.

Heartbroken and unable to say a thing.

"I'm about to leave Skyhold for the foreseeable future, Tommar, but you're welcome to the Inquisition. Commander Rutherford here is the leader of our forces, you should speak with him. About joining and Storvacker." She waved a hand at Cullen.

Tommar sized Cullen up, arms crossed. Cullen raised an eyebrow.

"My services were to you alone, augur. I'll return to Stone-Bear Hold once Storvacker is settled."

Lanil blinked. "All right." Her eyes suddenly widened. "Faith!" She shoved her saddlebags into Dorian's arms. He oofed loudly. She pointed at Tommar and ordered briskly, "You, with me. Dorian, I'll meet you by the river."

She ran past without a single glance back. Tommar shrugged with a grin and jogged after her. What was left of the crowd watched her leave before slowly dispersing, all muttering and whispering and carefully not looking at Cullen. He stood too still in the courtyard, hand clenching and unclenching and clenching into fists at his sides. Dorian hefted the saddlebags over a shoulder and approached him.

"Whatever it was, she'll come back," Dorian said quietly. Cullen startled, as if he had forgotten anyone else was around. "She'll come back and then you two can figure things out."

"No," Cullen whispered. "I don't think we will."

"If I may ask--" Dorian tried to ask without sounding like he prying. He didn't get far.

"You may not."

Dorian sighed. "I suppose this is our farewell, Commander. You are a good man and I am glad I got to know you, I hope you know that."

"I do now. Thank you." Cullen closed his eyes and his head lowered. "Please, watch out for her. As much as she'll allow."

"For as long as I'm able," Dorian agreed. He reached out to grip Cullen's shoulder. "She's the best friend I ever had, and that means... more than I can describe."

"Good. I..." Cullen broke off. His voice too thick and low. "Good. Safe travels, Dorian."

"Commander... Cullen, you are also are a good friend. Quite unexpectedly."

Cullen's shoulders tightened briefly, then he abruptly marched away. Dorian's hand left hanging in mid-air. Dorian frowned at his broad back, wishing there was any way, any words he could say, to help. In the end, he could only turn towards the stables and get started on those safe travels.

Part II

[deiaiko]

#23 - Kiss

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[sircantus]

Hi! Do you have a beta for your fics? Or do you just release them into the wild without outside feedback first?

Oh yeahh no i just straight up post my chapters with only myself as my own proofreader. No beta i die like cwilbur. A while back i think?? I used to ask for people to look over my writing? Like as i was still making the chapters i would tweet “would anyone like to look over this i cant tell if its good” and if they said yet i instantly sent them a google doc. But im really impatient and i have to usually post my things the second they are done so thats why i didnt always bother with the feedback as i made it

Technically im now on a posting schedule so i could theoretically get a proper beta reader now but like. I fear being perceived in the proximity of my google doc

[alfhildr-the-word-weaver]

When I think about it, I think one of my favorite things about the Curse of DarKastle lore is how it presents an almost comical inversion of the classic Beauty and the Beast story. Instead of being rude to and angering a witch who curses him to be trapped in a beastly form until true love can break his curse, Prince Ludwig gets startled by a witch and howls, to which she responds by bestowing werewolf powers upon him--I don't think the ride specifies, but it seems like he can turn at will? Or it may have been more emotionally linked. But in any case, it's not presented as a curse (in spite of the ride's name -- I think that comes later when everyone gets trapped as ghosts, at least in my interpretation) but rather as a gift in service of his "dark destiny". She prophetically tells him that he's going to become the "wicked ruler of a corrupt kingdom" and then turns into a wolf herself and actively guides him in overthrowing his parents and ruling the kingdom with an iron fist. It's like the same setup as the witch in Beauty and the Beast, only instead of trying to teach him a moral lesson, the witch in Curse of DarKastle looked at this awful little prince and went "I can make him worse" and then enabled and encouraged his many subsequent murders. It's such a wild story setup for a ride and I kind of love how bonkers it is.

[discobrainrot]

PERCEPTION (Hearing) [Trivial: Success] - Uh-oh...

1. What do you mean by "uh-oh"? What's happening?

PERCEPTION (Hearing) - Footsteps. Heavy, thudding, angry footsteps are heading your way.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The sound of RCM-issue boots against the Old Silk Mill's floor is unmistakable. Only one person in the building can make his brisk walk sound intimidating from across the bullpen. Satellite Officer Vicquemare is headed your way, and he is not pleased.

COMPOSURE - I don't mean to alarm you, Harry, but you might want to put on your best "I'm Innocent!" face. Fast.

1. [Composure - Formidable] Keep it together, man. 2. [Drama - Impossible] Feign absolute innocence. 3. [Esprit De Corps - Godly] Why is Jean mad? 4. Just let it happen. He'll fill you in.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Godly: Failure] - Where to start? Since you returned from sick leave, you haven't submitted your paperwork on time. Your desk is a mess. You lost his pen the other day...

1. Okay, I think I get it...

ESPRIT DE CORPS - ...You chew your lunch at an alarming decibel. You remembered how he takes his coffee, but not anything else about him. You're closer to Lieutenant Kitsuragi than him these days. You can't figure out what's wrong. God, the list goes on and on, Detective.

DAMAGED MORALE (-1)

LOGIC - No time to worry about it now. He's at your desk, and he does not look happy.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Is this your idea of a joke, Shitkid?" He growls, slamming his RCM issue ledger on your desk. A flurry of loose papers drifts up as he does, emphasizing the sorry state of your desk.

1. "I have no idea what you're talking about."  2. "Yeah! Pretty funny, right? Just like old times! ... Right?" 3. [Logic - Challenging] Figure out why Jean is mad, for real, this time.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] - You open Jean's ledger, flipping through forms and case files.

VICQUEMARE'S LEDGER - Most of the names are familiar. You and Kim have helped him work on some of the more recent ones.

EMPATHY [Impossible: Failure] - Is he upset that you're working with Kim? You thought he didn't want to work with you anymore.

PERCEPTION (Sight) - No -- look, there! On the most recent closed case!

VICQUEMARE'S LEDGER - Jean's most recently closed case (THE FOOTLOOSE FIGHTER) stands apart from the rest. Not only because of the exceptional detective work he demonstrated but because of a small addition to the first page. A yellow sticker in the shape of a star, no more than 1.5cm x 1.5cm, has been placed on the top right-hand corner. The words "Good Job!" are printed in the centre.

HALF LIGHT - He thinks you put it there to demean him.

1. What?! Why?

LOGIC - Because when you complete a task, you get a sticker. Either dispensed by lieutenant Kitsuragi or yourself.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - This is based on the concept of positive reinforcement. After displaying the desired behaviour, you're exposed to positive stimuli. Several varieties of positive reinforcement exist, including natural reinforcers, token reinforcers, social reinforcers, and tangible reinforcers.

VOLITION - As it stands, you receive star stickers of various colours with phrases such as "Good Job!" and "Great Work!" and "Wow!" when you complete your paperwork, drink enough water, eat on your lunch break, and a variety of other tasks.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - It's not as fun as speed and booze, but I'll take all the damn dopamine I can get.

EMPATHY - As you look up to meet Jean's eyes, there's no question about his feelings. The pockmarked skin of his cheeks is practically glowing red from rage and embarrassment.

PAIN THRESHOLD - He doesn't like that you need these infantile rewards to do the bare minimum. The assumption that he needs them as well? It's more than he can take.

1. But I didn't put the sticker there!

DRAMA - He's not likely to believe that, ssssire.

1. [Rhetoric - Impossible] Explain that you didn't give him the sticker. 2. [Suggestion - Godly] Calm him down. 3. [Half Light - Medium] Lean into it and make fun of him. 4. [Composure - Legendary] Keep your cool and brush it off.

RHETORIC [Impossible: Failure] - Oh, god, Harry, there's nothing you can say to make this better. But, thankfully, it seems like someone's coming to your rescue.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Khm. Officers." At some point, while you were withering under Jean's glare, Kim arrived at your desk. "What--"

OFFICER JEAN VICQUEMARE - "I'll tell you what's going on!" He snaps before Kim can get the whole question out. "Shitkid over here decided if he has to go back to fucking kindergarten, the rest of us are going with him! Isn't that right, Harry?"

YOU - "Jean--"

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Don't you Jean, me." He points a finger in your face, hissing through gritted teeth. "You think everything's a big joke, don't you? Well, let me tell you, I--"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Officer Vicquemare." Kim cuts him off, holding up a gloved hand.

PERCEPTION (Sight) [Challenging: Success] - The tips of the lieutenant's ears are turning red.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I... Think I understand what this is about. I-- Khm-- I apologize."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "You don't have to go around cleaning up Shitkid's messes, Kitsuragi."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I'm not 'cleaning up' after detective Du Bois." He sighs, taking off his glasses to clean them.

VISUAL CALCULUS - They're already exceptionally clean.

KIM KITSURAGI - "This is about the sticker in your ledger, isn't it?" Having spent enough time dawdling on the left lens, he moves on to polishing the right. "He didn't put it there. I did."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "...What?" The reaction is delayed, as though he's trying to parse a hidden meaning to the lieutenant's words.

1. "... What?" 2. "See, Jean! I was trying to tell you I didn't do it!" 3. Say nothing.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Khm. Yes, well..." Donning his glasses again, Kim looks just about anywhere except in Jean's direction. "I... overheard you the other day saying that you felt unappreciated."

CONCEPTUALIZATION - He's summarizing quite a bit. You were also privy to the tail end of Jean's self-deprecating muttering. It's a little concerning how little he thinks of himself - and that's coming from you.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I assumed that a more... overt display of recognition would be unwelcome. I see now that I overstepped professional boundaries - it won't happen again."

1. [Rhetoric - Formidable] Back Kim up. 2. [Half Light - Trivial] Throw Kim under the bus. 3. [Esprit De Corps - Challenging] What's Jean feeling?

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Challenging: Success] - Officer Vicquemare is an experienced officer and resourceful man. The RCM is lucky to have him. You are fortunate to have him. He can count the number of times someone told him those things on the one hand.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - In short, he doesn't know what to feel.

1. [Rhetoric - Formidable] Back Kim up. 2. [Half Light - Trivial] Throw Kim under the bus. 3. [Esprit De Corps - Challenging] What's Jean feeling?

RHETORIC [Formidable: Success] - This is difficult for me to say, but… Words won't be as effective as actions in this instance.

1. Give Jean a pat on the back. 2. Punch Jean's shoulder (gently). 3. Hand Jean his ledger.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - He opens and closes his mouth, unsure what to say to either of you. Looking between his ledger and Kim, he eventually decides to take it from your hand.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "It's... alright." He mutters. "Your heart was in the right place. I'm uh..."

JEAN VICQUEMARE - The look he gives you borders on horrified.

1. "Don't worry about it, Jean." 2. "Oh, this'll be good! Apologize. Make it worth my time." 3. Say nothing.

JEAN VICQUEMARE - "Good. I won't." He stiffens, steeling himself behind the bulwark of rage. "I--I have more important things to be doing! Get back to work, Shitkid."

KIM KITSURAGI - Once Jean retreats to his desk, Kim practically collapses at yours. His gloved hands cover his ever-reddening ears, and he lets out a groan only you can hear.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can't believe I did that." He mutters, looking almost as ashamed as Jean.

COMPOSURE - The lieutenant keeps his shit together with far, far more grace than Jean.

1. "What are you talking about? I thought it was sweet!" 2. "Yeah, Kim, you shit the bed." 3. [Empathy - Challenging] Peek at what Jean is doing.

EMPATHY [Challenging: Success] - Jean sits at his desk across the bullpen. His cheeks are still flushed despite his best attempts to temper himself. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - He can't focus right now. Instead, he runs his fingers over a little yellow sticker on the top right hand of his paperwork. 

EMPATHY - It's not a jab, but he won't be able to believe it. Not yet. But this is a step in the right direction. 

INLAND EMPIRE - One day, a day closer than any of you realize, he'll start to believe that people do care about him. The road from there is long and fraught with pitfalls and setbacks. 

VOLITION - You know that better than most.

INLAND EMPIRE - But you'll be there. And so will Kim. Your time in this world is limited, and you're more intent on making the best of it now than ever. 

1. "I think you did the right thing, Kim." 

KIM KITSURAGI - He looks up from your desk, eyebrow raised (but not yet to the level of psionic control).

1. "Trust me. I he needed to see people believe in him. Especially someone like you."

KIM KITSURAGI - He looks over his shoulder to Jean's desk, taking a long moment to silently observe him. 

EMPATHY - He doesn't know Jean like you once did, but he trusts you. 

KIM KITSURAGI - "...Fine. But I think I'll limit my sticker-giving to you and Officers McLaine and Torson."

1. "That sounds fa--Wait! Since when did Mack and Torso get stickers?!"

KIM KITSURAGI - He heaves a deep, long-suffering sigh that you know is more for comedic effect than anything else. As Jean looks up across the room, he doesn't notice the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. 

[hecatesbroom]

After a lot of rewriting, and breaking my own heart doing some research, here it finally is: a second part to the finish line, except this time it's Blanche who can't sleep. (Yup, more post-finale angst. You're very welcome)

Summary

Blanche lies awake at night, thinking. Wondering where she went wrong — wondering if maybe, it's her fault that Dorothy left them. (An additional scene from Blanche's pov for the finish line, but can be read as a standalone)

[longagoitwastuesday]

I'm three interactions away from spreading my Ijichi/Gojo agenda

[master-gatherer]

It's fascinating how in reaction to the crab day idea half my dashboard is like "Tumblr is awful do not give them one red cent let the motherfucker burn" and the other half is like "let's save the rec center 🙂"

[compacflt]

okay so obviously the whole point of ESTD is that ice is unhappy because he cannot accept that he loves maverick because he must serve his country and at the end he realizes how stupid that is when maverick dies!! but…do you think that your ice and maverick could have ever been happy had maverick forced ice to talk about it earlier on? do you see any potential for them to live their lives not publicly but also not as a complete secret? a world where slider would have known ice was happy and seen what caused that (his love for maverick)?

maverick, venice Italy, 2002: um i 🥺👉🏻👈🏻 love you actually

ice: 😳🤯😗 ok! I love you too let’s make this work!

…

ice, 2002: ok i think we should follow caroles orders and pull Bradley’s papers from the academy and also i am leaving you to get my second star because my career still comes first sry

maverick: i know we literally just codified our relationship but uh you suck i am breaking up with you forever fuck you

(relationship ends .)

[your-dads-filing-cabinet]

Alright, sit your shit because clearly a discussion needs to be had.

You can write whatever the hell you want on AO3 (that's their rules, set up your own site if you don't like it IDC) but you need to tag what you write. You need to tag it in its entirety.

This includes characters being killed, s/h, sexual assault, EDs and whatever the hell else I'm not thinking of. This means tagging "implied rape/non-con" and not "implied sexual content". This means tagging "suicide" and not "minor character death".

If you really really don't want to tag that because it spoils the fic, clarify that there is untagged elements in the fic and include the more detailed warnings in a dropdown in your author's note (there's a tutorial somewhere) or in the end notes of the fic.

Write whatever your heart desires, but please let your readers know what they're signing up for.

TL;DR: write whatever you want as long as you tag it appropriately

[shinraelectricpowercom]

so there's a new campaign going round hoping to Make Fandom Less Racist by... pushing for moderation on ao3. no way this could Possibly go wrong :)

[the-kipsabian]

if something tho, i have gotten better about writing just to share with one person and just enjoying creating that way so. thats very nice