#so what's better than blaming each other? and when ambassador is locked away it's more fuel to strongman's fire that he's next

[mirchloe]

rambling about strongman and ambassador under the cut since i'm drafting the next b-movie chapter

i'm really glad i made those archetypes since strongman is who bobby needed to be as a kid (violent, brawny, the king of the castle) while ambassador represents someone he wants to be (still ruthless and confident, but more level-leaded, willing to bend and change, considerate). strongman came from a place of trauma and having enough of his shitty home town and the incident in sasha's lab, a way to no longer be hurt by others if he's strongest and meanest, so strongman is literally strong and mean and cannot change, even as bobby grows up. he still looks like bobby at 12 despite bobby being 18 in b-movie. he's inflexible, but he's scared - he might be strong, but compared to ambassador, he starts to notice that he's not being needed as much when bobby realizes he has archetypes. he's not who bobby needs to be, even when bobby is angry and lashes out. he doesn't want to disappear, doesn't want to be forgotten, so he isn't going to tell bobby his anger and lashing out are wrong. he encourages it, believes it's the right thing to do because he's self-preservation. no one can hurt him. he's going to keep making it, even if he can't see the the depths of the hole bobby dug for himself.

ambassador came from a place of bobby sitting down with chloe and actually designing him (without realizing he was, in fact, making a new archetype pop up in his mind). he has a background that bobby wishes he had. he has a personality that bobby wishes he had. he's bobby's ideal, though at the same time, he's *chloe's ideal.* that distinction is important because bobby started trying to be a better person because of his friendship with chloe, because he believed in her stories about aliens and going to live in space and be among them, to start over. ambassador carries all of the violent horror stories bobby thought of for him, and to him, they are a very real past. he's trying to be better, though, and he's the one willing to tell bobby when he's not acting in the right, but because he, too, is bobby, he can be aggressive and lash out just the same. just like strongman, he's capable of letting his hurt get the best of him. so, even when he's the one bobby needs, and there are times when he can tell bobby stories or calm him down, he'll argue back with bobby. he'll tell bobby he's wrong, and bobby makes him disappear in a burst of paper - scenes that make strongman afraid, because bobby threatens to get rid of him, too. so, when ambassador is locked away for a year, punished for a misconception, he's bitter and vengeful, and he *knows* he should be bobby. he was always bobby, the real bobby, every ounce of self-improvement is because of him.

they're both selfish in their unique ways and blame each other. strongman can be a coward. ambassador can be just as cruel as strongman. bobby is both of them just as they are a part of him, and neither of them could be what bobby needed with "that thing" getting a stronger grasp over bobby as his negative thoughts keep accumulating. no one can self-reflect until it's already too late.

[olivinesea]

No One Else But Me

a/n: Trying this Whumptober situation. No real warnings, things get a little suggestive at the end. ~1.7k

Emily is trying to adjust to new life by running away from her old one.

Whumptober 2021: Day 3: insults - taunting - “Who did this to you?”

She stared out her office window, eyes unfocused as the fog swirled around the buildings, masking their shapes, muting every color to a thin, interminable grey. She didn’t really see any of it, instead it acted as a background upon which she could project her memories. This time of day was always the hardest. Nearly time to leave, the rush of investigations and consultations past, only a few lingering forms to fill out. This was the time when she felt the most homesick. She hated that she knew how that felt now, after having spent the first several decades of her life without a home to be sick for. There had been residences and staff, grounds and gardens, each location only differentiated by the language that wove through the hallways and kitchens. In the ambassador’s presence it was always English. But Emily, so often lost to the shadows and corners of her mother’s political ambitions, was captivated by the intricacies of each new language she encountered. Her quick mind absorbed vocabulary and structure, trying to capture the one thing she could take with her when they inevitably left, searching for something that might connect her back to all the places she’d been.

Her childish hunt for a home in words became a useful skill when she chose her profession, helping her to blend seamlessly into various backstories, to move without notice through foreign countries, never attracting attention as the loud American who insisted on English. She found it a little bitter that of all the foreign places she could have ended up, she’d picked the only one with closer ties to English than America. Conversing in foreign languages didn’t just help with her job, it helped Emily become someone different, someone with roots, with a history of more than loneliness. Supervisors were always pleased to discover the breadth of her ability, thinking they’d lucked out on such valuable tool. They didn’t realize she was using them as much as they were using her. They were her ticket to places farther and farther removed from Emily Prentiss, places she hoped she could find someone different to be, someone worth being.

Now Emily was in London, running a unit for Interpol, having taken the ultimate journey away from herself, all the way into death and back. Despite getting exactly what she’d thought she wanted when she threw herself into different identities, she found herself wishing she could be the old Emily again. She’d been there about six months and still hardly knew anyone. She was purposely keeping distant from her co-workers, not yet recovered from the mess she made back in Virginia.

For a few years there she had allowed herself to believe she had found a home, been part of a family. She’d given everything to keep that family safe, to the point where she could no longer exist for them. Then, against all odds, she’d had a chance to return, to fit back into the space she’d left only to find it would never work. She was a different person to them now. Not in obvious ways but just enough to make it hurt. She wasn’t really leaving them, she reasoned, because they had already left her. Despite their best intentions to make her feel welcome they couldn’t undo their mourning, couldn’t forget the weight of her casket.

Turning away from the window, she repeated her promise to herself. She would’t make that mistake again. She’d lived a life without attachments for so long, this was just a return to form. She could do her job without making friends, without finding a family. The other agents had stopped inviting her out for drinks after too many declined offers. She was aware of their whispers—she was cold, she was aloof, she was calculating. All things she had heard before, insults so unoriginal they were bereft of any power. As she watched the group leave, laughing, jostling, she had a brief moment of unreality, a layering of wistful memories over her vision. Shaking her head, she turned back to her work, twisting away from the feeling. If she didn’t think about it, it didn’t matter.

Later that evening, after the lights in the office had long been turned off, the take out she’d mostly ignored gone cold on the counter, she went out to a bar. It was not one of the ones her coworkers might congregate at. This place was full of dimly lit alcoves, more corners than seemed logical for a standard shaped building. Far too loud for conversation, but no one went there to talk. She drank until her hands were numb, a sensation that reminds her of being dead. Unconcerned, she sipped at another drink while simultaneously drawing in the attention of a stranger, like she has so many nights before. It didn’t even take any effort anymore, she knew all the right moves to make. Her chest felt hollow as she flashed a smile, tilting her head just enough to make her intentions clear. Soon they were stumbling out the side door, ricocheting off one another as they made their way to the other person’s apartment.

Time blurred, sounds and colors fading in and out. Laughing up the stairs, fumbling the lock. Another drink offered and forgotten. A door opened into unlit bedroom—no just leave the lights off. The sheets smelled of a fabric softener she recognized but couldn’t place. Come here. All so familiar, she wasn’t sure if it was happening now or if she’d passed out on her couch again. It all felt the same. But no, she was in this particular bed, the other woman asleep beside her, breathing lightly. Emily stared up at the ceiling, thoughts trailing behind her actions, gradually catching up to herself. She was trying to remember how many times she’d been in this position. Wondering if the count reset when she died.

She was so deep in her memories she didn’t feel a hand slip under her shirt, sliding up her stomach slowly until it stopped abruptly, met with an unexpected change in terrain. The thick knot of scar tissue raised on her chest, just below her sternum.

“What—what is that?”

Startled, she pushed the hand away and sat up, trying to remember the other woman’s name. She twisted her fingers into the soft t-shirt fabric, grounding her thoughts in the present moment. That’s the real difference, she thought. She kept her shirt on these days. This was what differentiated now from her youth of doing all the same things—losing herself in the same kind of bars, the endless string of one night stands, the faces blending together. She didn’t usually stay long enough for anyone to notice this quirk. They’re usually too intoxicated to care, to push at this flimsy boundary. She’d gotten good at managing it, making it seem accidental, too rushed to get every piece of clothing off. Besides, the kinds of people she sought out didn’t care about her specifically, only looking to fill the same sort of void in their life as she was in hers. A body to occupy the invisible hours, the times when there wasn’t anything louder than unchecked thoughts. They were all just looking for passage through the night.

No one had ever asked her about her scar before now. Not even her team back at the BAU. She could tell they had wanted to sometimes—Spencer needing to see the proof of her resurrection like the stigmata, Hotch craving restoration of balance years after she had seen his own marks of mortality. But they were all too afraid to ask, too afraid of this new, not-quite-Emily.

She didn’t respond, but looked at the other woman, trying to hold the specific details of her in her mind. She was tired, too tired to keep running. What did it matter if this one stranger saw? She would’t remember her in the morning. She couldn’t even remember her name right now. When she saw that Emily wasn’t moving away, only waiting, watching for the next move, the woman lifted her hand to the hem of Emily’s shirt again.

“Can I?”

Emily’s nod was tight, already angry with herself for wanting this connection, for allowing this vulnerability. But she didn’t stop her. She lifted the shirt up slowly until the scar was fully exposed. Emily looked away as she traced a fingertip across it, always hating the not-feeling sensation of being touched along the dead nerve endings. Knowing she should feel something and being unable to.

“Who did this to you?”

Her voice was hushed, sounding awed, as if Emily was some sort of mythical creature rather than a human being with a lifetime of stupid mistakes. Like she expected to hear a fairy tale of magic and heroes, like there is some purpose behind the scar. As if it was not the never ending reminder that she had lost everything she ever wanted and only had herself to blame.

She had thought she was so smart, that she could keep everyone safe and handle it on her own. She’d thought that right until the moment she died. Like every other fool, she hadn’t realized what she had until she lost it. She had insisted to herself that things were as they had always been, that she had to handle them the way she always had. She knew now that it could have been different but it was too late.

The scar was a hateful reminder every day when she looked at herself in the mirror. She wished she could avoid looking at it but it pulled her attention like a black hole, taunting her with her frailty, her desire for connection thrown back in her face. He could have just as well stabbed her in the heart, the symbolism would have fit better.

Emily scowled. This wasn’t what she came here for. She just wanted to forget about herself and she knew exactly how to do that. She pulled the hand away again, this time rolling on top of the other woman, knees braced on either side of her hips. She laced their fingers together, bringing the woman’s other hand up to meet the searching one, trapping them against the pillow above her head. Emily leaned forward, her face close to the stranger’s, pupils dilated as anticipation flashed heat across her cheeks, arching her back to try to meet Emily’s body with her own.

“It doesn’t matter.”

[calenheniel]

Queen of the Ashes, a frozen fanfic | Part VI

Frozen | Alternate Universe | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Drama | T+

They meet as children, each with a secret. Plagued by tragedy, their paths cross again many years later, and their secrets are unraveled.

Author’s Note: I realize that everyone already knows what the “twist” is going to be in this fic from the title and the many unsubtle clues I have left along the way. So I am just going to try to keep you all in suspense anyway with how exactly I’m going to get there. Coincides with Day 7 of (makeup) Helsa Week 2020. @helsa-week​

Read it on: AO3 | FF.Net | Wattpad | or read below

Follow updates: #QueenoftheAshesFrozen

»»————-　❈　————-««

VI.

Breakfast was a considerably more pleasant affair the next morning, the queen demonstrating little of the animosity which had come to dominate her interactions with the prince over the previous week.

“Last night was rather interesting,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone try to recite Shakespearean sonnets and play the violin at the same time. Sort of impressive, in its own way.”

She laughed mid-chew, placing her fork down as she fought to swallow her bread. “Yes. Can’t blame them for trying, anyway.”

“And what about that flautist?” he added with a grin. “I’m all for contemporary, original compositions, but…”

“It sounded like a dying bird,” she finished. “A very loud, dying bird.”

The princess, perplexed by their easy rapport, was quiet as she picked at her food in-between glances at them.

The queen eyed her with a smile. “Anna? You’ve hardly touched your toast. That’s unlike you.”

The younger woman’s nose wrinkled. “I’m just surprised,” she said with a sniff, staring at her sister suspiciously. “You’re not usually so chatty in the morning.”

When the queen looked down in embarrassment, the princess quickly added: “Not that that’s a bad thing. Actually, I like the change. It’s good for us. Plus, who wants to hear me yammer on all the time? We all need a break from that, including me.”

“You don’t ‘yammer,’ Anna,” the prince protested through a half-smirk. “I like how you talk. It’s genuine and… frank.”

“He’s right,” the queen agreed, and admitted: “I can hardly hold a conversation by comparison.”

The princess waved away the comments. “I can tell when you’re lying, Elsa. And Hans—you’re a better liar than she is, but your smooth talk gives you away.”

He leveled a lopsided smile at her. “Is that right?”

“It is,” she replied, her chin raising with confidence. After a beat, she noted with a sly look: “But don’t let that stop you from giving me compliments. Even if they’re fake, I’ll take ‘em.”

The prince and the queen chuckled, and as their gazes met, their faces pinked, and they promptly directed their eyes back down at their plates, resuming their meals in silence.

The princess picked up the conversation again a few moments later, relating some anecdotes from her lessons and recent meetings with ambassadors and various nobles. Her sister and the prince nodded along, adding comments occasionally, until the clock struck nine.

The queen blinked. “I lost track of time,” she excused herself as she dabbed her lips with a napkin and rose from the table. “I have to be off, now. I’ll see you both later.”

“Elsa, wait!” her sister called, rising and rushing to her side. A small, furtive smile played on her lips. “Can we talk for a minute?”

The queen glanced at her pocket watch. “Fine. But only for a minute,” she agreed, and turned to the prince. “If you’ll excuse us, Hans.”

He bowed. “Of course.”

The princess led her older sister away to a secluded corner of a narrow hallway some distance from the dining room, her eyes bright and curious. “So? Did you two kiss and make up?” She grinned. “I saw you leave together last night at the end of the concert.”

The queen’s face flushed. “We… came to an understanding of sorts, yes,” she replied, and frowned. “But no kissing was involved.”

“An ‘understanding,’ huh?” the princess repeated, her grin growing. “What exactly does that mean, Elsa?”

“Not what you think it does, apparently,” her sister said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “We just talked, that’s all.”

The princess raised her hands in surrender. “If you say so. I’m just happy you’re talking to him again.” Her eyebrows waggled with interest. “Did my little speech to you help, after all?”

The queen sighed, her expression relaxing. “Maybe a little bit,” she conceded. When the princess gave her a pointed look, she clarified: “Okay—maybe a lot. Anyway, it’s resolved now.”

“Good,” the princess nodded, smiling. “I’m glad.” She curtsied to the queen, who responded in turn, and then began to walk away. After a brief pause, she looked back at her sister over her shoulder, her smile becoming devious again. “So you won’t be mad if I tell you that I told Hans to meet you this afternoon in the rose garden, right?”

The queen stood stock-still, her skin the color of a ripe strawberry. “Anna, you…” Her hands fell to her sides, and she stuttered, flustered. “That’s the middle of the day, and you know I have—”

“Meetings and paperwork and other business, yes, I know,” her sister finished, her smile unrelenting. “Don’t worry—this won’t interfere with any of that. I checked your schedule with Kai last night while you were gone, and told him that we were going to take a walk together today for a break from all of the guests.” Her expression grew softer. “Don’t be upset with him, though; he seemed really happy about us spending time together. Otherwise, I don’t think he would’ve told me a thing.”

The queen opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out.

The princess smirked. “Anyway, he’ll be expecting you around two. Don’t keep him waiting.”

And with that, the younger woman skipped out into the hallway, humming the strange, cacophonous flautist's tune from the night before.

»» —— ««

Against her better instincts, the queen found herself walking toward the rose garden at the appointed time—though she deliberately walked very slowly so as not to be too punctual, or seem too eager.

She cursed the meeting under her breath as she traveled, as the thought of seeing him in such a place – and of her sister’s maneuvers in arranging it – had distracted her the entire morning, making her appear inattentive and careless at some of her meetings. Recalling the strange warmth of his hand, she had even smudged the ink of her signatures on various papers, and had had to send them back to be re-written.

She had sworn at various points that she would not go to meet him after all, and by noon she had convinced herself that she was going to disappoint him and the princess in order to keep her own sanity intact.

When the old steward had noticed her distraction and asked if she was feeling unwell, she had said yes; this half-truth had given her an excuse to leave her last engagement early, so that she could collect her bearings alone. In solitude, however, the temptation to go grew ever larger in her mind, to the point that when the clock struck quarter past one, she rose from her bed as if possessed, and left.

Initially passing many servants and courtiers on the way to the garden put her in a nervous state, and so the queen took a more circuitous path through discreet hallways until she reached a small side door by the servants’ quarters, exiting onto the kitchen gardens. By that time in the afternoon they were quiet, and she was able to slip relatively unnoticed around them, finding a well-trodden dirt path towards the meeting place.

A tall hedge and locked iron gate separated her from it, and she groaned a little at realizing that she had forgotten her keyring in her bedroom. She jiggled the lock on the door as she peered through the bars on it, and her surprise at seeing no one in the gardens within caused ice to spark from her fingertips, breaking the lock in twain.

The queen jumped back, startled by the sound of the iron as it clattered to the ground below, and then pressed her offending hand to her chest with a red face, exhaling deeply.

“There’s another unlocked gate further down the hedge, you know,” the familiar voice of the prince said from the other side of the hedge, and her head shot up at the intrusion. “No need to inflict more property damage.”

She sighed through her nose. “I didn’t mean to, I just—never mind,” she said, frowning. “Which way is it?”

“To your left,” he replied. “Just follow my voice.”

She continued along the hedge and onto softer grass shadowed by tall trees, keeping her hands close by her sides. Her face was still red. “I don’t know this path,” she said.

“I’m surprised to hear that,” he remarked. “I would’ve thought, being confined for so long, that you’d know every inch of this place by now.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “I was confined indoors, mostly. I’m not as familiar with the gardens, because…”

She paused when she came to the very edge of the natural wall, and she turned to face the hedge, her eyes widening as they met his. The only thing between them was a short wooden gate secured with a latch, which the prince lifted easily.

As she stepped through it and looked up, a soft gasp left her lips.

Tall arches wreathed with red roses in full bloom surrounded a dirt path just a few feet from the gate, and from the state of the vines and leaves encircling the arches, she could tell that they had not been properly pruned for some time. The shine and heat from the afternoon sun was lessened in the wildness of that space, its disuse casting an odd, green light upon the ground where sunlight filtered through the leaves.

“Your parents didn’t allow you here?” the prince resumed their conversation, standing behind her.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, then approached the side of an arch, reaching out to graze the edge of a rose before withdrawing it. “It wasn’t like that. They wanted me to come out more, actually. But… I was afraid to. I didn’t want to spoil things.”

“Spoil? You mean—”

“Well, freeze them, yes,” the queen clarified, irritated. “My mother was very fond of these gardens, though I can’t remember ever coming to this part of them.” Her gaze tightened at the rose she could not bring herself to touch. “I guess the staff haven’t kept it up since she died.”

He was quiet for a while before coming to stand at her side, regarding the same flower. “You haven’t spoken much about them.” At her warning look, he continued: “I know that their passing was unexpected and tragic. But I imagine, before then, that you must have been quite close to them.”

“I was, and I wasn’t,” she said, her lips pressing into a thin line. “They did their best to keep me safe, and love me in their own way, despite the circumstances. But I pushed them away.”

His brow lifted. “‘Loved you in their own way’?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t an easy child to care for; I gave them many hardships. It’s a wonder that I haven’t hurt more people, and I have them to thank for that.”

He was silent at her reply, and then his hand reached out to the rose, his fingers drifting over its petals.

“You know, Elsa,” he began, “roses are actually rather difficult to grow. The conditions have to be just right, with plenty of sunshine, well-drained soil, and in areas free from pests, since they’re so susceptible to disease. Without regular attention, it’s unlikely they’d survive.” He eyed her pointedly as he added: “So it’s a wonder that these are still here, and blooming as beautifully as they are.”

The queen did not miss the look, her eyes darkening. “I’m not a rose, Hans. I don’t require sunlight, or pruning, or ‘regular attention’ to endure.” She stood taller, her chin raised, and directed a withering stare at him. “You’re prying by means of flattery, but I already told you that won’t work.”

His hands came up, yielding to her. “You’re right,” he conceded, “it was a bad comparison. Forgive me.”

She crossed her arms. “What were you trying to say, before?” she said. “It’s not like you to drop a line of questioning, once you’ve started.”

He smiled a little at the observation. “Yes, that’s true,” he agreed. The smile faded as his brows knitted together. “It’s just… you speak so poorly about yourself and your powers. Calling yourself a ‘hardship’ to your parents, saying that you pushed them away—all because of one incident from your childhood, which your sister obviously recovered from.”

“It wasn’t just that one incident,” she countered, her hands curling around her biceps. “That was the worst of them, yes, but there were many others after that which created cause for concern. You’ve seen it yourself—what happens when I get worked up, when I feel out of control.”

She pressed a hand to her forehead, cooling the skin there. “This curse is my burden to bear, alone.”

“Curse?” the prince asked. “Is that how you see it?”

She glowered at him. “What else could it be?”

He was quiet for a time, studying her irate features, and then stepped into the shadow of an archway. The green light flickered against his skin, dappled by the roses’ red. “I used to wish that I had your powers, when I was a boy,” he said, staring up at the sunbeams obscured by vines. “When my brothers would torment me, each act of cruelty more petty and vicious than the last, I fantasized about suffocating them with snowdrifts, or turning them into one of your spectacular ice statues—anything that would make them stop.”

His eyes closed tightly, lines of pain visible at the edges. “Even realizing that doing so would make me the same as them, I couldn’t help but imagine it, and it brought me some comfort during the hardest years of my childhood.”

When the prince opened his eyes again, there was a dark honesty in them that the queen had never noticed before. “I know what it’s like to feel cursed, Elsa—to feel like a burden. To feel as if I should never have been born. But I couldn’t have lived this long if I kept feeling that way about myself. And I don’t think you could’ve, either.”

Her face reddened, and her hands throbbed as they fell to her sides.

“Conceal,” she told herself, swallowing. “Don’t feel.”

“What was that?”

She blinked and stared at him, her lips parting but unable to form a reply.

“Don’t let it show.”

“Elsa?”

Snow fell lightly at first, and then all around them as if in a waking dream, and she gripped the sides of her dress tight enough to cause tears in the fabric.

Conceal, she heard the mantra again, don’t feel.

“What are you saying?”

Don’t let it show, she finished, silently mouthing the words.

Through the snow, the prince’s hand reached out to the side of the arch, forcing itself into the barbed stems.

Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show.

He plucked a single rose from the bush.

“Elsa.”

His voice was, at first, intermingled with her father’s, and she found it hard to focus on him through the snowdrifts, her vision obscured.

“Come back, Elsa.”

The second time she heard her name it was clearer, and as she squinted, the drifts began to dissipate.

“I’m here.”

All at once, the snow was suspended in the air, and she could clearly hear – and see – the prince in front of her, holding a single red rose. At his side, his right hand hung loosely, blood trickling from the fingers down into the earth.

She gasped at the sight, instinctively seizing the injured hand and tearing one of her gloves off, wrapping it around his pricked fingers and palm, pressing there. The snow that was suspended, as well as the drifts that covered the earth, disappeared. His skin was hot to touch.

“What were you thinking?” she exclaimed, her face still pale from shock. “You know they have thorns.”

He stood in stunned silence watching her tend to him, her thumbs pressing upon the uncovered skin of his wrist.

“Elsa, you…” he managed before growing quiet again, allowing her to focus.

She glanced up at his red face. “What? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

He gaped at her, fish-like, before closing his mouth, suppressing a larger smile.

“No,” he replied softly. “I suppose I was trying to prove something, but… clearly, I just ended up making a fool out of myself.”

Some color returned to her face, and her grip on him relaxed a little. “Yes, you did,” she agreed, not looking at him.

He nodded, looking down at his hand still in hers. “I see that now,” he said, and her blush deepened. “But what about your glove?”

The queen realized what she had done, and almost recoiled from him in surprise. “I—I’ll just have it washed when I get back. I’ll tell Gerda I tripped.”

“Thank you, Elsa,” the prince said, bowing his head. “I really am grateful.”

She nodded in return, a hot tremor coursing through her hand as it finally let go of his. She caught sight of the rose still in his right hand, and pursed her lips. “You’d better let go of that, before you hurt your other hand.”

He followed her look and examined the flower in question before carefully inserting it into the chest pocket of his jacket. “There, that’s better.”

Her brow rose. “Really?”

He shrugged. “It’s a waste to throw away such a beautiful thing, even if it can hurt me.”

She blushed at the long look from the prince that accompanied his remark, and crossed her arms.

“You’re incredibly unsubtle,” she told him, frowning. “It’s very irritating.”

“Then I shall strive to be cleverer with my innuendos,” he said, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. “Wouldn’t want you to get sick of me—not just yet, anyway.” His humorous expression dissolved as he regarded her for a minute, and then his gaze returned to the glove covering his left hand, the light between the arches casting striped patterns across the stained fabric.

“It seems as though the bleeding has stopped,” he said, and unfurled it from his fingers. “Are you sure you want it back? I’m happy to clean it for you, and return it in a more presentable condition.”

She snatched the glove from his hand. “No, thank you,” she snapped, and then added more gently: “It’s just something I need to take care of on my own.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot,” the prince observed. “Needing to handle things, alone.” He continued before she could interrupt him. “And I understand that, since I’ve often thought that I had to do the same. But…”

The queen swallowed. “But?”

He smiled. “Perhaps we can rely on each other.” He glanced down at his thorn-pricked hand, and then up at her again. “It certainly paid off for me, today.”

She clutched the bloodied glove. “You’re asking a lot of me.”

He nodded. “I know. But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t believe you were capable of it.”

Her blush faded as she stared at the rose in his pocket. “I just… don’t understand why you do.”

He cradled his injured hand thoughtfully. “Because you don’t see what I see in you.”

“No, I don’t,” she admitted, and pressed the stained glove against her stomach, her grip relaxing. Her eyes met his in the next moment, and a deep, unbidden desire was spoken.

“But I want to.”

»» —— ««

She returned to her bedroom a little while later by the same winding route she had taken to go outdoors, her sullied glove balled up in her bare left hand and pressed to her side, out of sight. She exhaled with relief once inside her door, quickly changing out of her torn dress and laying the glove on a side table.

“Your Majesty?”

She held back a sigh at the sound of her trusted steward’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Yes, Kai?”

“May we speak for a minute? I know you still have a many meetings ahead of you today, so I won’t be long.”

She grabbed the dirtied glove from the table and hid it behind her back as she opened the door, waving him in. “Come in,” she said, and nodded at the guards outside to close the doors behind him.

Her brow furrowed a little upon observing his tense expression and bearing, unused to seeing him so concerned. “Is everything all right?”

His lip twitched. “Well, Your Majesty, I heard a slightly… worrying report just now, from one of the kitchen staff.”

The queen’s eyes snapped open. “Oh?” she asked, trying to appear nonplussed. “What did they say?”

The steward’s gaze grew more pointed. “That they saw you going out the back door to the rose garden. They said it looked as if you were meeting someone down the hidden lane to the wood gate—the one your mother and father used to use, when they walked there together.”

At her twitching features, he continued: “The maid who looks after the guestrooms also mentioned that she saw Prince Hans go out not long before then into the same garden, before she lost sight of him.” He paused. “I was surprised to hear this, since I thought you were going on a walk with Princess Anna this afternoon.”

She frowned. “Are you having me followed?”

The steward was mortified by the accusation. “No, of course not, Your Majesty; I wouldn’t dare. I assure you that these reports came in to me independently, completely of the staff’s volition. I gave no orders to them.”

Her stare was still suspicious. “Fine. But what is your purpose in coming to me with these reports? What business is it of theirs, or yours, where or with whom I choose to take an afternoon walk?”

The older man rose to meet her eyes again, and swallowed. “Well, Your Majesty, as you know, your father charged me with looking after your personal well-being before he passed, and so I feel that I must speak up when I observe something that may… endanger your health and happiness.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Endanger my health and happiness.”

“Yes,” he affirmed, his posture more assured. “In this case, endangered by getting too close to a certain southern prince.” At her annoyed look, he continued: “You remember the many months we spent discussing the fires in the Isles, and their curious origins—the research you sent me to do, and that you did in turn about the prince’s family, as well as him? And now suddenly he is here as a valued guest, at the princess’s side during many social events, at family meals, and with you on private walks of the rose garden.”

His lips curled. “You know, Your Majesty, that innocent or not, he is a man of ill repute in his own lands, and is seen as suspect here in your own court, as well. There are already some rumors around him and the princess, and should word reach our guests of your meeting with him today…”

He paused at seeing his queen’s face grow more and more twisted with anger, but went on to conclude: “I can see how his appearance and manners would be charming to you both, and can understand the temptation to overlook his dubious character. But, respectfully, I do not think it wise for you and the princess to associate yourselves further with this young man, Your Majesty.”

The room crackled with an invisible energy, the queen’s power barely contained as she remained silent, her fingernails digging into her palms.

Don’t feel.

She almost spat at the words as they filled the empty air, her seething breaths cold as she swallowed them down.

Don’t let it show.

Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Before my father left on his last journey, he told me to be strong—for myself, as well as for Anna. I told him I would try in order to please him, assuming that he and my mother would be back in a few weeks.” Her expression grew dark. “I thought I could go on as I was, keeping to myself, believing Anna was better off on her own.”

She stopped for a beat, feeling her fingernails draw blood from her palms. “But I was wrong, Kai; they never came back, and Anna was left without parents, and without a sister.” Her eyes were as hard as coals. “But now I am queen, and I must protect her. And I can tell the difference between good and ill intent well enough myself.”

He swallowed again. “Your Majesty, I’m not questioning your judgment. I know you’re—”

“Good,” she interrupted, smiling thinly. “Thank you, Kai. I appreciate your concern. You can go, now.”

He was taken aback by the abrupt cut off, and even shorter dismissal; nonetheless, he bowed, and made his way towards the door. “I’ll see you this evening, Your Majesty,” he said, and left.

Alone, the queen’s hands finally relaxed, and she exhaled through her mouth, sliding down the side of her bedpost to the carpet. Closing her eyes, she lifted her left glove until it was propped up atop bent knees, her heart still racing.

When she opened them again, she saw that the blood from her palms had become intermingled with the prince’s on the fabric.

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Ghosts from the rainforest

Summary: A simple rescue mission will bring him back to a place full of nightmares, and maybe this time he could find redemption. Situated in 1975, 2 years after the events of Skull Island.

Warnings: Violence, blood, wounds, mentions of war, cursing, implied smut, smoking, angst.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 6: Family

The piercing blue eyes search for you in the dim light that came from the sunrise outside the shack, he found you and attempt to stand up getting down immediately from the pain.

"Don't even try" You said to him, sad to look at his face covered in dry blood and a still fresh cut on his cheekbone. Two days after arriving Walker had decided to inspire moral in his troops by beating him and putting you to treat their wounds "I suspect they broke one of your ribs when you call them bastards, also even if you could move there is also this" you pointed to the fetter around his ankle and he looked at yours too, your shorts were stained from the truck and the dirt floor of the shack, and the clear sign of a lash on the naked skin that you cover with a blanket when he looked at it.

"How is your head?" He asked finally trying to sit still "How long have we been here?"

"It has been better, it will take more than that to take me down, don't worry" You said taking a piece of cloth and wetting it on a small bowl "Well after you passed out I kept fixing a couple wounds here an there in the camp, so he won't kill you, that was three days ago, at least they left me this to fix you up, hold still" You approach as much as you could to him and start cleaning up his wounds.

"I have nowhere else to be love... hey!!" He pull apart when the alcohol touch the open skin, and gave you a panicked look when you show him the suture you will use to close the cut

"Oh Captain don't be a baby" You hold his face on your hand while continuing to clean the cut "You must be used to deal with vicious animals like that by now, because that frien of yours can call himself a man"

"You are right, Walker is a poisonous snake who will kill anyone on his way, the only reason we are alive is because he believes he may get something valuable out of you, which reminds me, what did he ment by next time he'll go for the throat?" He had his hand was clenched and his eyes firmly shut down when you passed the needle trough the skin.

"I have met Walker before, Shukri used to help him pass his weapons and stuff through the border so he send me as a symbol of friendship, but the man he wanted me to help die, wich of course he will because he had severe sepsis and many bullet holes, and I'm far from being an actual medical doctor"

"You really have a way to reassure people" He joke and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Anyway he went crazy and kill the men Shukri send to guard me and stab me in the stomach, and leave me for dead in the jungle, thankfully it wasn't a cut deep enough and I managed to walk to the next village". You finish and he looked at you surprised by how casually you talk about those horrible memories. "What does he meant by your taste still being constant?" His face darkened and the guilt and remorse appear again in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't meant..." You tried to stand up but he grab your wrist and you sit next to him.

"As I told you Jenny's mom was the lover of a British ambassador, and we actually met before we were send to find her, one night Sargent Walker was drunk and tried to force himself on her, and I stop her" He said with a sad smile on his face.

"You were together? You and her mother I mean" You tried to hide a hint of jealousy in your voice, it was funny that in this threatening situation you could still be thinking about you two.

"Of course not" He said and a grin of satisfaction show on his face when you sigh in relief "Although I had feelings for her, and maybe she had them too, but I knew I had a mission, then Walker betrayed us and Jenny die... well I guess she blamed me for it" you didn't say anything and just let him lay his head on your lap, the fetter was biting in your skin and your ankle was about to start bleeding but you feel the need of comforting him.

"How could you look this handsome aan peaceful cover in bruises, and cuts?" You ask yourself outloud after a couple minutes once you thought he was asleep.

"I could ask you the same Y/N" He responded opening his blue eyes, and you almost pushed him down but remember his bad shape. "Don't worry, the guys are looking for us, they will get help in Borneo and come back"

"That's what I'm afraid of, I heard them talking about asking for ransom money to the US Embassy in Borneo, what if they get too late, he is gonna kill me when he realizes I lie to him".

"I will like to him try" He said trying to stand hurting himself again.

"Easy there prince charming" You said holding him still and locking your hands together in the process, neither of you trying to pull apart. "I do know what I will do if we actually get out of here".

"And what is that?" Conrad asked trying to ignore how helpless your if was.

"I'm writing a strong worded letter to Houston Brooks about the terrible job of his tracker, since he keeps trying to charm the women he works for" You said and he smiled at you.

"Is it working?" He asked, trying to incorporate.

"Maybe" you said but before you could follow your instinct, some loud steps approach to the shack and you gently put him on the floor to curl in your corner pretending to be asleep.

"Ibu? Cepat! Kita perlu pergi" Mother? Quick! We have to go A young boy enter the shack carrying a big shotgun, and he open the fetter setting you free.

"Dia akan datang bersama kami" He is coming with us You said and he went to set a surprised James free.

"What is going on? Ibu?" He asked once you help him stand up, he was not as hurt as you thought since he could walk without help, but he was definitely not in his prime.

"You have your family Captain, I have mine" And since that explanation was not enough you had to continue "One of the men guarding me years ago was Shukri's nephew, he hates Wlker ever since, and has many of his children inside his little army so he can eventually sell them to the authorities"

"He is a layered man isn't he?" He said while you and the boy help him walk outside the camp, another infiltrator was already waiting next to a truck ready for you to flee, waving in the distance, and then the sound of a thunder brake the morning air, and he made a funny surprise face, and a blood stain start growing in his chest and he just fall on his back, and then all hell broke loose.

Walker men were following you, and since James was hurt it was so little that your young hero could do for you.

You run into the jungle just to be stopped in an open area where a tree had fallen an then four men were surrounding you, ready to kill.

"Drop it big guy!" Reles voice said, making your hear stop and race with happiness. The man in front of you turned around to meet Reels surprised by how calm he was.

"Didn't you listen? Drop it!" Slivko said coming out of the jungle with another six guys that you were sure were part of Shukri's village.

"I got you doc" Glenn said passing between the men who were already unarmed.

"I'm fine, help the Captain" you said and without thinking you took one of the weapons that had been dropped in the ground.

"I thought you didn't like those" Slivko said while Reels help the boy tie Walkers men.

"Desperate times Reg" You said, and hug him. "How did you find us so quickly?"

"Oh wow, sorry Captain" He said looking embarrassed "The guy, the weird guy that says he is your husband he meet us half way when we came after you guys, apparently one of the guys here told him what happened and he came with us and many men along to help"

"I knew it! Wait a minute Shukri is here?" You hold your breath because the feeling that something was wrong was strongly hurting your chest, and Conrad's words about Walker resonated in your ears.

You run back to the campsite, the ambush had worked out, the rest of Walker's men were dead or prisoners and unarmed, only their Sargent was too stubborn to surrender and both him and Shukri were aiming at each other in the middle of the camp. Shukri with a shotgun and Walker with two pistols.

Again without thinking and with the adrenaline running through your veins you pointed your gun at him and order him to drop it. As all response he aimed one of his pistols at you.

"You can't win this" You said to him not backing off and looking James concerned face approaching, but he was not looking at you, all his attention seemed to be focus on Shukri.

"Oh I know that doctor, but I have a question for you, who will be faster? Me or this little idiot here who came to rescue his princess??"

Things happened in the fraction of a second and by the time you understand what have happened both men where in the ground.

In the moment Shukri nod to James and he jump to take you out of the line of fire, Walker shoot his guns missing you, but not Shukri, but he didn't miss either.

"Hey, hey Shukri man, come on" Mills said approaching pressuring the wound, you stood up and walk away from James who was breathing difficulty from the jump, but overall okay.

"Shukri, you win, he is dead, please don't give up now" You said now no longer holding on the tears.

"Tears? Isteri if I had known that this is what I needed to do I would have let someone shoot me long ago." He said holding your hand with almost no strength. "Captain Prince charming?" He called for James and he kneeled by his side respectfully "Anda menjaga isteri saya" You take care of my wife

"I will" James said solemnly, and Shukri nod, then he hold your hand tightly and then after one last breath he and a quiet smile to you he was gone.

After a couple minutes people dispersed and you could hear his men arranging how will they move him, but it was wrong and you couldn't yet set what had happened in your brain, after one hour you felt like if you keep looking long enough he will smile again and wake up to tease you and life will be normal again.

"It's time" James said but he didn't force you to stand, he only gave you his hand, and stood there waiting, after a minute that felt like an eternity you took his hand stand up, and then you let all your unspoken feelings to come out, about Randa, about Shukri, about watching him almost be beaten to death two days ago, you cried and cried and he simply hold you, even when his rib was probably killing him, even when you were nothing to him but a job, he keep holding you.

[kaoruyogi]

How to Win Wars and Influence Nobles (Ch. 29)

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content!

Check it out on AO3!

You’d think a video game lawyer could just drop into a pseudo-medieval universe filled with magic and demons and be totally okay with it, right?

Nah.

In the wake of her brother, Spencer’s, disappearance, Belle dropped into Thedas with luggage, but without a clue. After a brief but memorable panic attack, she resolved to be the best goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. Even if she was the only goddamn lawyer Thedas had ever seen. And even if that obstinate asshole, Cullen, wouldn’t stop giving her the side-eye every time she walked into a room…Or every time he walked into a room with her in it…Or every time they walked into a room together…Or–Fuck it. You get it.

Chapter 29: Fucking Lying to Fucking Everyone

“Ooh. Ooooh Jesus fucking balls.” Belle reached up and hammered the roof of the carriage with the side of her fist to signal the driver to stop. “Ahhh.” She hissed in a breath.

“Is something the matter?” said Josephine from her seat opposite Belle. The ambassador had long since become accustomed to Belle’s persistently foul mouth, and she no longer got quite so scandalized when Belle issued a string of curses.

Belle hissed in another breath. “Ooh. Gotta pee.” She shut her eyes and tilted her head back. The carriage didn’t stop. It kept rocking away, sloshing the full capacity of her bladder from side to side. “Gotta pee, pee, pee.”

She banged on the ceiling again. “It’s a right fucking now sorta thing, dude!” she said from deep in her diaphragm.

Josie leaned her head out of the small window. “Please stop,” she said just once at a very reasonable volume.

The carriage stopped. Belle squinted her pained gratitude to her friend before flinging the door open. On this stupid carriage ride from Skyhold to Halamshiral, she had gone from thirty-seven weeks pregnant to thirty-eight weeks pregnant. As a result, she had to piss. Always. The only time she didn’t have to piss was the five second window after she had just finished taking a piss. Even then, there was a little tingle. And it was always urgent. There was no slow buildup to the moment her schoolteachers would have called “an emergency,” no ten or twenty minutes during which she could just hold it. There was only ever the terrifying sensation that her bladder would evacuate everywhere and on everything in ten, nine, eight…

She exited the carriage, half hopping and half sliding, like an elephant seal, and she waddled past several Inquisition soldiers toward a small ridge. They saluted her, because of course they did. Only men under Cullen’s instruction would salute a beached whale as it ran past to piss behind a bush.

Belle muttered to herself as she shuffled. “Oh God. OhGodohGodohGodohGod.” Her feet kicked up dirt because her hips and legs had shifted to make bending her knees a gargantuan effort. She ducked behind a shrub just large enough to cover her when she squatted. She was grateful she’d chosen only Antivan-tailored maternity wear to bring to the Winter Palace when she wasn’t in her expanded Inquisition uniform. It was easiest to pull up and down. Fereldan would have been better, but she didn’t want to piss any Orlesians off. Of the more neutral nations’ alternatives, Antiva’s puffed sleeves and empire waisted long gowns seemed the best option. Nevarrans cut their pregnant women’s clothes too tight, and they seemed to enjoy slapping little pieces of armor on everything. Tevinter, aside from being a non-option because it was Tevinter, belted their garb to the point of ridiculousness. Rivaini maternity gowns were essentially shifts, meant for an easy transition from pregnancy to nursing—Belle ordered several of them in bright colors for use at Skyhold. The Anderfells didn’t send a tailor.

When Belle finished, and her bladder twinge returned to a level that didn’t induce blind panic, she tottered back toward her carriage at the center of the caravan. Cullen stood beside his blue roan stallion, both having taken up a strategic position between her and the blissful discomfort of her seat. Her husband’s face was marked up with stress, pinched and crinkled in too many places.

“Are you alright?” he said when she was still a few feet away. “Did something happen?”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Same thing that happened the last fifty billion hojillion times I stopped the caravan. I had to pee. She’s sitting on my fucking bladder.” She gave him a peck on the lips when she got close enough. “You gotta quit worrying.”

Some of the crinkles smoothed. “You can hardly blame me. She’s due in two weeks’ time. Rosalie was born two weeks before she was expected.”

“That may be true, but Rosalie was baby number four. First babies are pretty much always late. I bet Mia was late.”

“By nearly a week.”

“See? We’ll be in Halamshiral in a couple hours, and this Exalted Council thing should only last a few days. Then we’ll turn around and be home in Skyhold just in time to wait another week. So chill.”

Belle kissed him again, and he held her hand to help her back into the carriage before the caravan spurred on. With the rocking recommenced, she retreated into her thoughts for a while. If she was honest, she was as worried as Cullen about when their baby would decide to burst onto the scene. She believed what she’d said. Most first babies arrived late. But there was no certainty in those statistics. If anything, the fact that every first baby she’d ever met came late, herself included, meant she was bound to be the exception that proved the rule.

She was all too glad to be torn from her spiraling thoughts when Josie suggested they go over their strategy once more before they reached the edge of the city. Max would lead the negotiations as the figurehead of the organization, and he understood enough about nobility from his upbringing to do a fair job with some assistance. Belle and Josie were there to back him up and chime in as needed.

Belle’s extra duties included playing the roles of both the sympathetic pregnant woman and the pitbull attorney. She was happy enough to do the latter, should the opportunity arise, but the former annoyed her. She hated playing the pregnancy pity card when it came to matters of professionalism. In Washington, an opposing counsellor once told her to take a break—not asked, told—and she threatened to have him sanctioned for discrimination. It hadn’t mattered one iota that she really needed to piss at the time.

The towering white and gold heights of the Winter Palace came over the horizon first, and soon the low built slums of the rest of Halamshiral appeared. As the Inquisition retinue rolled through the city streets, Belle noted that not enough had changed since Max helped elevate Briala into power behind Celene and Gaspard. The elves living within the city looked to be as impoverished as ever. Children, thin even for their lithe builds and covered in filth, stared in awe of the soldiers and carriages as they passed. The whole situation nauseated Belle. It felt too familiar. She watched as Sera, who had been riding ahead near Max and Cassandra, stopped her horse to lean down and speak to two or three of the children and toss them a bag of coin for whatever information they’d passed along.

As the gates of the Winter Palace closed behind the last of the Inquisition soldiers, Belle couldn’t help but feel hypocritical. With all the power she’d been granted, she was there for a purpose other than freeing the impoverished from their Thedosian ghettos. In that moment, her duties felt selfish. The gates ensconced the guilty away from their atrocities and their neglect, and now she was locked in with the monsters, trapped and masquerading as one of them. It was no wonder Cullen hated the nobility with such fervor.

Josephine accompanied Max around the gardens to socialize with the nobles whose asses he was expected to kiss. The two had become much more open with their relationship while Belle was gone, and they allowed each other a number of adorable favors and little intimacies that made her smile from across the courtyard. It brought her some relief to see nobles from all over Thedas seem to be kind and accepting of the full-bloomed love between the Inquisitor and his ambassador.

Cullen helped Belle out of the carriage and saw to it she was hydrated. He fetched two dainty glasses of water, gave one to her, and held the other until she needed it. He asked after her welfare every few minutes. It was very sweet, but he was helicoptering. She couldn’t entirely blame him, though. She had been stabbed the last time they were there, after all. It made her feel safer to have him so close, especially knowing he wouldn’t be in the chamber for most of the Exalted Council’s proceedings. So she let him hover.

They found all their friends as they meandered and mingled. Varric had been waiting just inside the gates to waylay everyone for a little while with all his new stories of being Viscount. Belle told him she would have hugged him, but that she was pretty sure her belly would knock him flat on his ass. He said it wouldn’t have been the first time.

Thom Rainier had finally decided to go by his real name, and he gave Cullen a jolt of a handshake when they met again. He congratulated them on the pregnancy and caught them up on his dealings of the past two years. Belle was pleased to hear of all the good work he’d being doing with the surviving men from his battalion and with those imprisoned for crimes they did not commit. She offered her legal assistance should he ever find someone who might benefit from it, and he told her he would start a list form which she could take her pick. A scintilla of regret eked into the back of her mind at the thought of so much pro bono.

Vivienne had remained very much herself with the passage of time. She proffered her felicitations for the marriage and pregnancy, but she made an offhanded remark about Belle’s willingness to marry down. Belle reminded her Cullen was at least five inches taller, which meant she’d married quite a ways up. Vivienne offered to treat her to a proper spa day after the baby was born, and she gave Cullen a backhanded compliment about the inevitable but conciliatory handsomeness of the child. The couple moved on with a foul taste in their mouths and promises of free pampering. At least they had broken even with the woman.

Dorian and Iron Bull lingered near one another in the tavern, making eyes across the room while everyone caught up. “You’ve become rather rotund since the last time I saw you,” said Dorian with a jaunty lift of an eyebrow.

“And somehow you’ve become even shinier,” said Belle. She poked one of the dozen little silvery diamond plates on his chest.

He laughed and drew her into his arms. “I have missed you very much, you know. Things can get very dull without your sharp tongue around.”

“I doubt anything could be dull with his sharp tongue around.” She stuck out a thumb toward Bull.

“Ah.” Dorian cleared his throat. “Yes, well, never dull there.”

“I am glad you two found each other,” said Cullen, much to Belle’s grinning surprise. “It’s good to know you’ve found something close to the happiness I feel with Belle.”

Dorian rolled his eyes and groaned. “Maferath’s balls, Commander. Must you always be so sweet and endearing? It’s enough to make my teeth rot.”

“Oh shush, butthead,” said Belle as she let her head fall to rest on Cullen’s shoulder. “I like him sweet and endearing. Don’t ruin him.”

The newly appointed Magister laughed. “I’m not the one who ruined him. The Cullen I first met would have run away gagging if he heard someone talking like that. You, my dear, are the one who ruined him.”

“Fine. So don’t un-ruin him.”

“I’m still standing right here,” said Cullen.

“Cutting your usual dashing figure. I will miss you both when I return home at the end of all this. Bull and I can never seem to finish a game of chess.”

“Then stop playing strip chess you fucking fiend,” said Belle.

“Now let’s not be hasty.”

“How long will you be in Tevinter?” said Cullen.

“For the foreseeable future, I’m afraid. If I truly mean to change things, I need to do my part in the changing. You two could always visit. I go to the border of the Free Marches several times a month if you’re not inclined to fear for your life every moment in Minrathous.”

“For your chess games, huh?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Dorian peacocked a little.

“We’ll see what we can do after she gets here in a few weeks.” Belle rubbed a single circle over her belly. “Shit’s about to get weird.”

A doleful, longing expression passed over his face. “You know, I envy you that.”

“You guys could always adopt. I’m sure there are a zillion little orphan boys and girls who would kill for such rad dads. And you know you’d be able to protect them cause Bull’s a fucking murder machine. You’re no slouch in the death-dealing department, either, mind you.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps once I’ve managed to fix enough that Bull can actually live in Minrathous. But for now, I’ll settle for seeing your little bundle grow up on your very frequent visits.” He glanced in Bull’s direction, and Belle’s eyes followed. Bull tilted his head toward the door and stood. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m feeling a bit exhausted from my travels and am in rather desperate need of a long nap.”

Belle nodded with a licentious smile. “Oh I’ll bet. A real long nap. I bet you’ll feel so good after your real long nap. Looonn—”

“You are one of my dearest friends. With that in mind, do shut up.”

She giggled, and he headed for the exit. She called out after him. “Enjoy your long nap!” He swatted the air behind him before vanishing through the doorway. She took a sip of the second glass of water she’d finally removed from her husband’s hand.

“I suppose that’s one more chess game they won’t finish,” said Cullen.

Belle spat her water everywhere.

After she finished apologizing to the three people she’d moistened, and after sitting with Cole to listen to some of Maryden’s newest tunes, Belle and Cullen decided to peruse the wares of the merchants set up in the courtyard for the occasion. The goods were mostly useless. Baubles and vanity weapons meant to hang from walls instead of belts. When they were midway through the makeshift marketplace, a booming bark thundered from a stall behind them. Belle lurched, nearly spilling what remained of her water down the front of her dress. Cullen spun around, prepared to defend his wife with nothing but his balled fists.

She turned around to meet her would-be attacker. Instead, she saw a massive gray dog that looked exactly like a Cane Corso. Its pointed nub of a tail twitched back and forth, dragging its ass into an ecstatic wag. Its mouth hung open, pink tongue lolling out over too many teeth.

“Whose mabari is this?” said Cullen, loosening his fists so as not to scare the shopkeeper.

The masked man answered with a thick Orlesian accent that Belle almost didn’t mistake for French first. “As of this moment, Ser, he is no one’s.”

“No one’s?”

“Someone brought him to the palace, that much is certain. I saw him drinking from one of the fountains. Then he tried to catch one of the fish. Rather than letting the guards kill him, I took him to see if I might find his owner. No one has claimed him since yesterday.”

Belle and Cullen approached the dog, and Belle held out her hand like a paw. The mabari gave it a few short sniffs before licking all of her knuckles at once. She smiled and scratched behind his ear. Cullen took a knee in front of the dog.

“Another Fereldan stranded in Orlais,” he said, sounding somewhat faraway. He held up his fist like a SWAT team member signaling his partners to stop. The dog’s intelligent brown eyes snapped to Cullen’s hand, and he sat. Cullen laid his hand flat, palm down, and the dog laid down. Belle shot a quizzical glance at her husband.

“How much do you want for him?” said Cullen to the merchant.

“What?” said Belle. “Hey wait a second, this is a conversation. You can’t just unilaterally decide we’re getting a dog now.”

A stitch knit itself between his brows. “But you love dogs.”

“Yeah, and it’s a big decision to get one. One we have to make together. We’re in the middle of a goddamn upheaval. We don’t even know if we’ll be living in the same place next month.”

Cullen turned his attention to the mabari. “You don’t mind where you live, do you?”

The dog barked and licked her hand again.

Belle’s eyes widened. She shook her head and chided them both with her tongue against her teeth. “Don’t try to weaponize his cuteness. It’s beneath both of you.” The dog barked again. “Hey now,” she said to him. “Cullen, we’re already about to have another mouth we have to figure out how to feed. I want a dog too, but this is something we should talk about.”

“Aren’t we talking about it now?”

She felt the incredulity spreading over her face before she heard it in her voice. “Well, yeah, but—I mean—Cooler heads, right?”

Cullen stood, taking her hands in his and looking her in the eye. The glowing amber of his gaze still made her just a bit weak in the knees. “Mabari are very intelligent. He will be the perfect protector for our daughter. And in the unlikely event we need to hunt for our food, we would have a much better chance at catching something with his help. He’s a Fereldan. He cannot be left alone in Orlais. It’s a travesty.”

Belle stared at her husband for a long while. The stich in his brow rose and rose until it threatened to meet his hairline. She looked at the mabari panting beside her. “What are we going to call him?”

She watched her husband all but leap out of his skin. She had never seen him so giddy. It made her laugh despite herself.

“Charles,” he said.

“Charles? Like Charlie?”

“No. Charles.”

“That’s weird, though.”

“It’s not weird.” Cullen turned to the giant dog. “You like the name Charles, don’t you?”

Charles barked. His tongue flapped up against his nose.

Belle bit back a laugh. “Fine. Charles it is. But I reserve the right to call him Charles Barkley.”

Cullen narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that the name of a person?”

“The world may never know.”

*****

The sister moons cast sibling shadows in every direction when they rose high over Thedas on the third night in Halamshiral. They propagated at dozens upon dozens of angles to create a complex mosaic of light and dark. Belle stared out the window of the immaculate room she shared with Cullen, tracing through the maze of varied darkness to find the blinding reflections that glinted off the nearby gold and silver towers. Her hair had gotten too long, she thought just then, though she couldn’t say why she thought it.

She made her way back toward the bed where Cullen and Charles slept. Her restlessness left the sheets on her side in tousled disarray, and she sat in the blank spot she’d abandoned when she gave up on sleep and stood however long ago. She watched her husband sleep while her mind ticked like a broken clock stuck in time. His lips moved a little, and he murmured something about a chicken, and she smiled. It almost always made her smile when he talked in his sleep.

But Belle knew she wouldn’t sleep for some time yet. Too many things rattled through her thoughts, not the least of which was the unshakable feeling that she was fucking lying to fucking everyone. She was lying to the Exalted Council, save for Divine Leliana Victoria, about the extent of the very real Qunari threat Max kept running off to handle. She and Josephine spun up an easily punctured tale of the Inquisitor’s valiant efforts to stop a spy or two, knowing full well a small army had plans to blow up the Winter Palace. All of it to save her client’s—the Inquisition’s—ass. The bar ethics committee would have had a field day. She would have become a cautionary tale spread through every professional responsibility class in every law school in every state where she was licensed. That there was no bar ethics committee in Thedas brought her little comfort. She had managed to maintain her oaths until now.

She was lying to Josephine about the extent of her concern over Max’s growing mark. Just after he followed the first dead Qunari’s trail through an eluvian, his mark began to glow more brightly than ever. And it was spreading. As Belle sat awake that third night in Halamshiral, Max’s mark had already crept like toxic vines up and up, pausing just below his elbow. It hurt him. She saw him grimacing as he clutched his cracked fist when he thought no one was looking. Josephine asked Belle if she thought it could kill him, and Belle said no. It was a lie intended to bring comfort, but it sat like acrimony in her gut.

She was lying to her husband about the extent of her fear of their baby being born on the road to Skyhold. She told him over and over that the baby was going to be late. First babies were always late. But she’d had her bloody show last night. It happened in the dark, and she told Cullen about it when he woke to her scrambling to clean up. He said they should leave for Skyhold at first light, and she told him it could still be weeks before the birth. That part wasn’t a lie. She put her hand on his cheek and kissed his forehead, and she told him not to worry because she wasn’t. That part was a lie.

Belle laid her too-long hair back on her pillow to try to sleep again. She counted tiles on the ceiling and stones in the walls, and she wondered when Arl Teagan had turned into such a tumbling dickweed. He’d been so friendly when they corresponded in the past. Now he’d spent two days ranting about the Inquisition’s invasion of Ferelden with Grey Wardens in its ranks and touting his country’s exile of the Wardens, like he hadn’t helped the Wardens a decade ago and been a key supporter of Fereleden’s Warden king and queen. Belle contemplated who could have shifted his perspective in such drastic fashion while she counted. She fell asleep before she got very far.

The third day of the Exalted Council proceeded exactly as the first two. Teagan was snarling his nonsense, Duke Cyril de Montfort was oozing praise and sprinkling less than subtle hints about the Inquisition marching under Orlais’s banners, and Divine Leliana Victoria was playing the skillful foil to help buy time. Max and his horrifying arm were off God knows where with Sera, Rainier, and Vivienne to try and put a stop to the Qunari demolition crew. All Belle could hope for at his point was that he would come back with some tale of triumph and bravery to save everyone’s asses by convincing the Exalted Council of the Inquisition’s continued utility and necessity. And for her wicked Braxton Hicks contractions to cut the shit already.

“Arl Teagan,” said Duke Cyril, “I fail to understand how the Inquisition’s continued presence at your Caer Bronach—” his pronunciation of the keep’s name seemed intentionally atrocious “—constitutes an invasion. It has been far from exclusive, from what I am told, and your country maintained no control over the place for decades.”

Teagan sneered past Divine Leliana Victoria at the Orlesian. “Of course you don’t understand. Your country has been trying to invade Ferelden for more than a hundred years. Far be it from you to claim to know the appearance of an invading force.”

“On the contrary, Arl. It is for that very reason that an Orlesian, above all others, would know precisely what an invading force looks like. We could produce one with little more than a flick of the quill.”

“And that’s exactly what you’re trying to do now, twisting the Inquisition into Orlais’s control.”

Belle couldn’t believe they were still on about this. Three days of the same thing. Circular arguments upon circular arguments. She hated circular arguments.

She cleared her throat, drawing the eyes of the dais. “As Ambassador Montilyet and I have mentioned,” several times, “the Inquisition has already substantially decreased its presence at Caer Bronach over the past two years, and we would be more than happy to release primary control of the keep to Fereleden on the conditions that we be allowed to maintain a small number of troops and scouts there, and that Ferelden would not allow the keep to fall prey to highwaymen or other dangerous influences. But you have refused to provide such assurances, Arl Teagan.”

“And I will continue to refuse.”

Belle glanced at Josephine before replying. The ambassador had dark circles under her eyes, and her posture listed here and there under her exhaustion. Tiny strands of frayed hair spoiled her usually perfect coiffure. Belle had never seen her friend in such ragged shape.

“Why is that?” said Belle, turning her attention back to Teagan.

“I will not promise to allow a foreign force to maintain even the slightest presence on in a fortress on Ferelden soil.”

“With respect, the Inquisition is far from foreign. Almost every person in Caer Bronach today is Ferelden. But what about the second condition? Why are you refusing to give us the assurance that Ferelden won’t let the keep fall into the wrong hands?”

“I do not rule Ferelden. I do not presume to assure you or anyone else of our willingness to maintain our own forces anywhere.”

“So, to clarify, you want the Inquisition to abandon a keep we took from murdering bandits to protect the citizens of Crestwood because you don’t want us there, but you can’t say you’re willing to garrison soldiers there to provide that same protection? I’m not certain the citizens of Crestwood would be so thrilled to hear how quickly you’re tossing away their safety for the sake of removing the Inquisition’s presence. Not to mention those who have started families with the Inquisition personnel stationed at the keep for the past three years.”

“I am not implying anything of the sort,” said Teagan, whose cheeks were turning pinker by the second. “I am simply not empowered to make any guarantees on behalf of King Alistair.”

Out of the corner of Belle’s eye, she saw a blonde elf scurrying up to Josephine. The young woman leaned in to whisper something in Josie’s ear. “Well, you may not be empowered to make guarantees, but I am,” said Belle, struggling to focus. “I can guarantee that if the Inquisition remains at Caer Bronach, no Ferelden property will be turned over to bandits or marauders, and the citizens of Crestwood and their families will be safe.”

Without warning, Josephine gasped and leapt up from her chair. She didn’t say a word to Belle or anyone else. She just ran out of the chamber, nearly clipping the elf’s heels with her toes. The audience to the hearing erupted into a riot of whispers. Belle winced as another phony contraction squeezed through her.

“This is highly irregular. Does Ambassador Montilyet have something better to do than argue the Inquisition’s case?” said Teagan, every seething syllable overenunciated.

“I apologize. Ambassador Montilyet has been called away on a minor emergency,” said Belle, lying again through her gritted teeth. This practice contraction hurt more than the last batch. “We can continue with your leave.”

And continue they did. After about fifteen minutes of back and forth between the Arl and the Duke, with Belle’s occasional interjection, she watched as another young messenger slid up behind Divine Leliana Victoria and whisper something into the side of her huge hat. A hand on Belle’s shoulder startled her, and she whipped her head around to see Cullen’s face very close to her own. He wore a familiar expression, unreadable to those who didn’t know him well, but painted over with unease to her. His autumnal eyes flicked about before locking with hers.

“Max has been seriously wounded,” he said quietly.

“Jesus.”

“He asked me to retrieve you for a few moments. He was very insistent.”

Belle was halfway to her feet when Divine Leliana Victoria said, “Duke Cyril, Arl Teagan, perhaps we should take a short recess. A matter has just come to my attention that I must see to.”

“Of course, Your Holiness,” said the Duke.

“Of course,” said the Arl.

“Excuse me,” said Belle, and she waddled out of the chamber with her husband.

Cullen held her hand as they started their trek across almost the full length of the palace to get to Max’s quarters. “What happened?”

He shook his head. “I’m not entirely certain. Rainier was carrying Max over his shoulder when they came back through the eluvian, and half of Max’s marked arm was missing.”

“What the fuck? Missing? Arms don’t go missing.”

“Rainier said Max cut it off himself. Max ran ahead after the Viddasala while the others stayed back to fight a number of Qunari she’d left behind. He came back screaming, holding his arm, and he took Rainier’s sword and cut it off.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Vivienne did what she could to stop the bleeding, and they brought him back. He’s been raving. Something about Solas.”

“Solas?”

“I don’t know why. But he told me to bring you to him at least five times before I agreed.”

“I don’t get why he was so insis—Gah!” Another fraudulent contraction wrapped Belle up in a tight torment, stopping her words and her feet. She hunched over with her eyes clamped shut. She squeezed Cullen’s hand so hard it stung.

“Belle! What’s happening?”

She blew out a long, slow breath with the ebb of the pain. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Braxton Hicks. Just more Braxton Hicks.”

“That was not like the others,” he said. He looked angry.

She smiled at him, though from the furrow in his brow it wasn’t terribly convincing. “Yeah it was. I’m fine. Just all this walking. Let’s go, come on.”

They managed to make it to make it to Max’s room without further incident, and Belle managed to persuade herself into believing her own words. The contractions weren’t real. They were practice for when the baby would come in two or three weeks. They hurt worse, but it was just because her idiot body needed a bit of a dress rehearsal.

The scene in Max’s quarters was the calmest version of a horror show Belle had ever seen. She reckoned that was because most of the horror happened before she got there. Divine Leliana Victoria was already there, holding the free hand of a weeping Josephine. The Antivan’s other hand carded through Max’s sweaty hairline in a soft rhythm. His pallor was somewhat gray, and half his arm was gone. White bandages smattered with dark red blood and yellowed plasma clung to what remained. Belle covered her mouth to keep from cursing.

“You’re here,” said Max upon catching his mildly delirious gaze on her. “Good.”

She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to ask why he went berserk and hacked off his own arm. She wanted to ask if he was okay. She wanted to ask if he’d been listening to her all those times she’d told him to be safe. All those times she’d thanked God he came back in one piece. For the first time, he hadn’t done either.

“I’m here,” she said instead, and she walked to his bedside.

“I had to tell you,” he said, more than a little weak and more than a little frantic. “Now. Before you worry about it for another second.”

“Tell me what?” A thousand possibilities streamed through her mind. She stilled herself with her mantra. Predict, prepare, preempt.

“Solas. Solas wanted me to tell you he’s sorry.”

“Sorry? For leaving the Inquisition? I don’t—”

“Sorry for tearing you and Spencer from your lives.”

Belle’s stomach churned, and she thought for a second she might throw up where she stood. “What?”

“It was his fault. His hubris, he said. The very first time, with Spencer, he thought he could take advantage of the Breach to tear down the Veil.”

“Tear down the Veil?” said Divine Leliana Victoria.

“It’s his aim. Fen’Harel. Solas. He gave Corypheus the orb. Didn’t know he’d do so much wrong with it. He thought he’d just tear down the Veil. Then Solas—Fen’Harel could take everything back.”

Belle felt Cullen’s tense breaths splash across the back of her neck. His features were just as tight. “He caused all of this.”

“He thought he could do it,” said Max. “But all he did was pull Spencer through. He thinks it happened because of where Spencer was. I didn’t really understand any of that. But it latched onto your blood, Belle.”

“And he just…kept trying?” She fought her tears and her urge to vomit.

“After we sealed the Breach, he tried again. Then after Corypheus. Then again two months ago. The last two times, he really thought it would work. Hubris,” said Max again. “He won’t try again until he’s certain. He’s sorry it happened.”

It was Solas. Solas who she thought was nice. Solas who had always seemed just a touch off. He was the cause of her thrice ruined life. Belle’s entire body trembled. Her rage boiled. “He’s fucking sorry?”

“We have to stop him. It’ll kill everyone. Everyone. If he does it.”

Cullen’s large hands found her shoulders. “We will,” he said.

“I’ll fucking kill him myself, I swear to God.” A tear raced down her cheek.

Max lifted his partial arm as if to take her hand. He looked embarrassed when he realized what he’d done. Another tear loosed itself, and she reached down to take his other hand. He gave her a weak smile.

His eyes darted between Belle and Divine Leliana Victoria. “Can you two try to adjourn the Exalted Council for the day? Tell them I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” said Josephine, still weeping. “No, you must rest. Two days, at least. Please, my love.”

“It has to be tomorrow. I promise, it won’t take long.”

“I can do that,” said Belle.

“Of course,” said Divine Leliana Victoria.

“Thank you.”

Belle held her husband’s hand all the way back to the Exalted Council chamber, her rage bubbling and frothing in the space made by their pensive silence. Leliana parted from them several minutes before, wisely choosing to avoid the appearance of favoritism. She was already seated when they entered the room.

Belle stepped forward. Cullen hung back. She stood before the center of the dais to address the council.

“I apologize for the unusual nature of this request, but the Inquisitor has asked that the Exalted Council adjourn for the remainder of the day so that he might personally address all of your concerns tomorrow.”

“I see no problem with that,” said Duke Cyril.

“Nor do I,” said Divine Leliana Victoria.

“I do,” said Arl Teagan. Of course. “There is no point in delaying this process to wait for his defenses any longer. If he was able to request our adjournment, he is just as able to come here and speak for himself.”

“He’s not, actually,” said Belle. “He’s been wounded, and he needs to rest for the evening. He has assured me he will explain everything himselllll—”

Pain ripped through her body like a scythe. She curled in on herself for a moment, made blind and breathless by the purity of her agony, and she grunted against it. She tried to straighten her torso, to explain that it was just a dress rehearsal, but the excruciating Gehenna only continued to build. She held onto her round belly, and she screamed, and she was one hundred percent sure her asshole was about to fall out.

Strong arms, Cullen’s arms, lifted her and carried her away. He was shouting something to someone, but all she could hear was the cacophony made by her body’s attempts to rive itself in half. That idiot body had skipped dress rehearsal and jumped right to opening fucking night with a sold out crowd. And she was furious.

*****

[imaginemycroftholmes]

Pretty pretty please, imagine Mycroft and his little brother being drunk and accidentally over emotional with eachother? And just maybe being awkward in the hungover? 😌

As loathe as he was to admit it Captain Watson was afraid to enter the quarters of Ambassador Holmes especially when his second in command Sherlock had been suspiciously absent for more than one rotation.

For almost a year and a half into their four year mission on board the U.S.S. Bakerstreet Sherlock had made it no secret that he and his older brother Mycroft had some issues. 

Some of it stemming from their half Vulcan heritage, parts from upbringing, a large part due to their different paths both career and spiritual and then there was a small part, that not even Sherlock could deny was just plain sibling rivalry that transcended all species.

When John had broken the news to Sherlock that the Bakerstreet had been given orders from central command to charter the elder Holmes to the next starbase to act as a mediator for a much needed truce between the Amdomials and Cruicans the half Vulcan hybrid was absolutely livid.

Well, as livid as John could tell.

Sherlock liked to pride himself in not showing any emotion better than that of his older brother who he claims “was just oozing it in a way that was most unfitting for anyone of the Vulcan high council” (something John had yet to see with his own eyes as the ambassador’s face appeared to be chiseled with but one expression that Sherlock often echoes throughout their missions-bored and annoyed) but even after the news hit that twitch in his commander Sherlock’s left eye had not stopped and only seemed to increase as the elder Holmes materialized on board.

And to make matters worse once ambassador Holmes had settled into his quarters Sherlock had seemed to make it his own personal mission to remain scarce wherever his brother roamed which sucked for John because that meant more often than not Mycroft was stuck in his company.

Sure, Mycroft might be found chatting idly with his chief security officer Lestrade assigned to keep him safe or even chatting up Molly in the science labs, however any rapport that the elder Holmes tried to establish with Dr. Hudson was shut down effectively and forbidden to enter medical bay unless he had a 98% chance of fatally dying.

Now John suspects that Sherlock may have turned Dr. Hudson off to his brother by his horror stories of growing up with Mycroft but those people were used to Sherlock, they liked Sherlock and were willing to make an effort to create some sort of acquaintance as opposed to most of the crew  who Sherlock either pissed off in the Academy or were simply put off by his demeanor. 

And while Mycroft is on the surface more polite than Sherlock and far more complimentary has ever been in their year into the service John feels that he is far colder, more disassociated than he has ever felt with Sherlock.

Like an alien ghost in the shell of a human form Mycroft would ask questions concerning Sherlock mostly in a clinical way that made his skin crawl and express far too much interest in Sherlock’s personal relationships with the few crew members that one could loosely label his “friends” that John would try to dodge whenever he could.

Its creepy but as captain he can’t let his passenger feel alienated and is bound by code to keep him company in his off hours.

 On the fifth day on course to the next starbase John all but ordered for Sherlock to spend time with Mycroft just to get some time to himself.

“He’s your brother Sherlock and all he ever does is ask questions about you that I’m not comfortable answering so the least you can do is humor him by spending the minimum of an hour to settle them,” John had shouted through the door separating them as Sherlock’s hiding place this time appeared to be Molly’s bathroom.

Molly of course looked rather conflicted as the he continued to bang on the shower’s door and John can’t exactly blame her.

Since the Academy its no secret that Hooper had been holding a torch for the half human hybrid and had gone to great lengths to prove herself to Sherlock with very few successes. 

Having Sherlock in her personal space seemed like a win for someone that  had been pining for Sherlock for so long but to have him hiding in her personal bathroom with all her feminine and personal effects? Not so much.

“I would rather launch myself out the nearest trash compactor than spending a single second with that gluttonous emotional genetic abomination,” Sherlock declared coldly from within the locked bathroom.

John has to stop himself from snorting. “And you don’t think you’re not being emotional right now? For Christ’s sake Sherlock he’s your brother and for all his invasive question it sounds like he misses you and cares.”

“That’s simply him manipulating you much like he tried to do with me as a child.”

John is this close to just using his captain’s override to open the door when Molly walks timidly to her locked bathroom door and says, “Then why don’t you prove it Sherlock. Think of it like an experiment and prove your hypothesis correct. If your brother truly is as bad as you say you should be able to prove it with an hour’s meeting right?”

The other side of the door grows silent.

“Sherlock,” Molly calls again.

The suddenness of his voice nearly causes John to back into Molly as Sherlock replies, “And how would you expect me to capture my evidence ensign Hooper?”

“Through the starship’s logs. Everyone has access to them and can be turned on before you even enter your cabin anyway,” Molly explains quickly, “You could even livestream it if you’re so certain that the meeting will fly afoul. It’s not that hard.”

A beat passes and then another before Molly’s bathroom door is opened to reveal Sherlock’s even more stonier looking mug. “Then I shall prove my convictions valid with concrete evidence and you will all understand why I loathe my brother,”  Sherlock declares before walking rigidly out of Molly’s quarters leaving John gobsmacked and Molly relieved.

“Finally,” Molly sighs as she rushed into the bathroom with very little acknowledgement to her captain that she effectively shuts out the second the front door closes behind Sherlock.

Leading himself out of Molly’s quarters John sets a timer before he decides that he should go “save” his second in command from their passenger and waits.

Now standing outside the ambassador’s quarters and finding that not only does his captain’s override doesn’t work or Dr. Hudson’s medical override John finds himself in a panic.

No one can get into the room without causing structural damage that would impede upon the safety of not only the ship but the other crew members on-board.

This is not good not good at all John worries as he rushes down a jefferies tube  to Greg’s office hoping that he could find some solution to all of this. 

Upon entering Greg’s office John is rather frank. “Greg, Sherlock’s been holed up in his older brother’s quarters for more than one ship rotation and I’m worried that they’ve killed each other or worse.”

Vulcan strength was nothing to sneeze at as John has been a wittiness it first hand both as an opponent and on the field and John could only imagine how much damage two Vulcans even if they were only half could do in an enclosed space.

Greg being the sensible man that he is quickly puts away his replicated doughnuts and starts to try and establish a connection to the ambassador’s room.

“It won’t let me send any communications to the room,” Greg complains after the fifth time trying to patch his way in.

“How about video,” John asks anxiously. Ever minute that goes by could be another minute that Sherlock or Mycroft could use his interference. 

Pushing some more buttons and typing some more code Greg gives an annoyed, “Negative. That’s been blocked as well.”

Feeling far more unease John is desperately trying to devise a way to get access to the room when it hits him.

Pulling out his communicator and scrolling through the screen before showing it to Greg. “Try connecting to this frequency code,” John rushes while pointing to the line.

“What the hell is that,” Greg questions but nevertheless obeys his captain.

“Its the frequency to a device I gave Sherlock for his last birthday,” John elaborates,”It allows us to communicate and share video along with coordinates should we ever be separated or kidnapped like on Theas 5. We should be able to access it and finally see what’s going on in there.”

Shrugging Greg finishes typing in the code manually when the big screen lights up with a picture that John though he’d never see and sounds that he would only assume would only happen in a fictional world.

“I*hic* I don’t care that you’re just tryin’ to be compliant to Mummy I *hic* just want my brother back,” Sherlock complained whilst draped upon his brother’s back like a woeful child in need of consoling.

His face was fraught with emotion and color that John had never witnessed before that sent chills to his very core.

“I too wish *hic* to have our *hic* previously estb*hic* relationship prior toward my enro*hic* into the Vulcan Academy but you know that *hic* it was the only way to regain some honor into Mummy’s line *hic* and we both know you *hic* wouldn’t do *hic*” Mycroft defended as he was slumped forward onto the desk next to his bed thanks to Sherlock’s weight.

Like his younger brother Mycroft was suddenly the portrait of emotion surrounded by what looked like five bottles of chocolate liquor and two empty boxes of fancy earth chocolates with tiny wrappers littered about.

“I just *hic* love you is all and I hic* hate that you won’t acknowledge me as I *hic* am.”

“I have *hic* always *hic* acknowledged and *hic* accepted you for *hic* who you *hic* are.”

The elder Holmes pulls his younger brother into a sloppy hug and there is no mistaking the sound of tears coming from the speakers within Greg’s office.

“This gets out to no one agreed,” John says sternly.

“Of course not Captain-”

“And any and all files of this will not be saved on any file aboard my ship for any reasons.”

“Come on John, what do you take me for Sally?” 

John looks Greg in the eye and states, “Just so we’re clear.”

“Like crystal,” Greg complies before shutting off the feed and effectively terminating the connection.

As John made the journey back up to his quarters he reflected on the nature of Vulcans and the stereotypes surrounding them. Devoid of emotion and feelings indeed.

[danithebookaholic-blog]

COMING SOON! - Rival

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Rival (Fate of the Stars, #2)

By Arwen Paris

Publication date: November 1st 2018 Genres: Science Fiction, Urban Fantasy,Young Adult

Synopsis:

It’s a role she didn’t want…

One deadly week has passed since seventeen year old Allison Delaney realized she must save Earth from the parasitic race of Ma’tiok. But the task is even more complicated than Allison feared, and she’s being set up to fail. Blamed for a fatal blow to the Alliance fleet that killed dozens of soldiers, Allison must face judgment for their deaths. The High Priestess Kiobaan is Allison’s only hope. Kiobaan sees the warrior spirit in Allison, along with her potential both politically and physically and agrees to train her.

And a game she can’t afford to lose.

Meanwhile, though Allison is the human host of Eenoki, protector of life, she’s not yet ready to harness their combined energy. Their bond is unpredictable at best—volatile at worst. Time is running out for Eenoki and Allison to trust each other—all or nothing—or she’ll never gain the power she needs to defeat the Ma’tiok and save Earth. When Allison is marked for death by an unknown enemy, the High Priestess Kiobaan must step-up and fight. But in return Kiobaan extracts a pledge from Allison, one that will compromise her new status and make her a target.

Goodreads

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Excerpt:

Staring out of the tinted bulletproof windows of the limo, I can't tell for sure how gray the clouds are that gather above us. I hope it doesn't rain again. It's unsettling to come back here. To see the complete destruction of the California ocean side town that I once called home—Avilene Beach. It's a ghost-like cemetery of charred, crumbling homes and palm trees turned askew and broken apart. Just like me.

This is the direct result of my decisions.

Wind skitters across the surface of black puddles racing by, reminding me of the oily blood of the Ma'tiok. It's been just one week since my old life, my human life, ended and this new one exploded into existence. Acid rises in the back of my throat, burning hot, and I crush my jaw together hard until my lips press into a thin line. Why did Eenoki pick me?

"Priestess, do you understand what I said?"

Katok's sharp telepathic tone startles me out of my immersive guilt. "Stick to the speech the High Priestess provided. Yes. I got it." I swallow hard against the rising bile being pressed there by the trembling in my gut. What if this press conference makes things worse?

"Allison, don't worry so much. You'll be safe." Stephen reaches out to me and Katok snatches his hand midair, crushing it in his huge taloned palm.

"Ow! Dammit, Katok!" Stephen clutches his wounded limb.

I swear, that's almost a smirk on the massive Vongjar commander's leopard-like face. Katok's lips curl back menacingly to reveal his white fangs and piercing resolve.  Stephen knows better than to try and touch me.

I sigh, and can't help but glare at Stephen who sits across from me. His dark muscular arms are crossed hard against his white Navy button up shirt. Even with the blotchy purple and yellow bruises healing across his tense neck and face, he's still handsome. But his haircut, shaved in military style, makes me miss his longer tawny surfer hair.  

"Stephen, if I can't be the bridge between the Alliance and Earth, our world won't survive the Ma'tiok. You understand that, right?"

His angry blue eyes lock on me, softening, and he smiles. 

I look away and clench my fists on the cold, empty, black leather seats beside me. We can never make it work. He'll never understand what I am, or what I have to do. I have to serve the Alliance to have any chance of getting them to fight the Ma'tiok on the ground, instead of glassing the Earth like they have so many other infected worlds.

The blue tint to the air thickens as we get closer to our destination. What if I had just gone with Z'iram and left Earth behind? Maybe he would have spared those who died here.

No. If we left, there would be no hope of the Alliance helping this world fight back. Any other choice would have meant the total destruction of Earth without any chance of survival.

I know Eenoki is right, but the truth still hurts.

The High Priestess will arrive soon, aboard the planet killer Star Fire, to judge and test me. This speech is another test, one that I can't afford to mess up. If Kiobaan doesn't publicly declare me a Priestess, of Earth, then there will be no ambassador to the Alliance or protection for our world.

I take a deep breath and straighten the pale gown Tarem made me wear, irritated at how ridiculous I look. Not that I own any clothes besides what the Alliance has provided me. Before we left, my reflection shocked me. The way they pinned up my long auburn waves under a small crystalline hairpiece that stands a few inches high, reminded me of my vision of Aakina. The memory Eenoki shared with me from her last day alive, before she and her world were wiped out by the Ma'tiok. 

"How much longer Katok, until there are too many Ma'tiok for your troops to handle"

His golden eyes widen. "They multiply too quick. The ground troops struggle to do more than contain them. Our current calculations project ten Earth days at most. We need Alliance support to do any more." Katok shakes his head.

Ten days left? It's only been twenty one since the Ma'tiok arrived!

Stephen leans closer. "He's not telling you the whole story. Admiral Hurst says that there are over ten thousand Ma'tiok and infected humans on the ground, and that combined kills between Katok's troops and the US military don't even equal the rate that they're multiplying at. We are losing every day."

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Arwen Paris is the author of young adult fiction. Her debut YA Sci-fi Urban Fantasy novel FATE OF THE STARS released September 1, 2017. The actions packed pages of her novels are filled with characters that are forced to face fears they never expected. When she's not writing, you can see posts of her (too many) vacations that keep her sane. Arwen lives in Washington, has a big crazy family & after the day job, she writes Fiction For the Fearless - #F3Fanatic 

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[clonerightsagenda]

We were joking about this again last night and I didn’t want to work on research was bored so here’s a relatively unpolished thing of the Game Over kids coming up with a (in hindsight) blindingly obvious solution to their problem. I remain stupefied by this apparent oversight.

Starring Nepeta, because she’s earned it.

After what you've been through, the silence of the dream bubbles is comforting. You sit still and hug your knees. It's nice to be just you, in your own skin, with nothing else in the way.

"I'm going to be sick," says the human you were imprisoned with, and he is. Nothing comes up.

You can't blame him. It had been suffocating, and he'd been throwing a fit for most of it. You'd kept quiet, but not because you didn't care. You didn't see the point of screaming when it didn't help. Instead you waited, watched, and at the right moment finally struggled just hard enough that the entity that you'd become hesitated as the Furthest Ring cracked apart and the growing void sucked you in. At least your ghosts woke up here, instead of being trapped in the singularity forever.

Wherever you are now, the black hole hasn't eaten it. The darkness is still illuminated by glittering cracks, but the surface beneath you is whole. There's no sign of Lord English, or the army. Is anyone nearby?

You didn't need to learn much about Heart during your session. Your existing combat skills were enough. Once you'd been out here for a while, you started to think it was about souls. About who people are, deep down. Maybe that's why you can handle a place where you're stripped down to your Self with a thousand others vying for the title. Maybe that's why you're recovering faster from being crushed beneath some other consciousness and buried under an aggregate of other lives. You know who you are. You're the Rogue of Heart, and here, you are useful.

There's a cluster of bright sparks in your inner vision. Souls, glowing with the dim luminescence of the dreaming dead. Part of you would love some solitude, but you also want to interact with people as yourself, to hear people call you by your name. It'll help you settle more firmly back into your skin.

"I feel some spirits not far away," you say. "I think they're friends." Dave doesn't look at you at first. Maybe you should just leave, but you feel some level of loyalty after what you've been through. "Want to come?"

It takes him a few tries to stand, but he does.

 You see Karkat and Kanaya with a cluster of the humans. You shouldn't know all their names, but the entity that possessed you rifled through the memories of all Nepetas everywhen, picking whatever scraps it felt like plastering onto itself in an off-key impression. The remnants had been left scattered through your thinkpan, and so you vaguely remember being a sprite in their session. Terezi is there too, sitting next to Vriska. They're leaning into each other's shoulders. Equius isn’t there. He must still be mixed with that AI who does most of the talking. You don’t see Gamzee either, for which you are grateful.

When you approach, Jade grabs Dave by the shirt and starts asking questions about her brother that you know from your time together he can't answer. Kanaya approaches you a little more slowly. "Nepeta," she says. "It's good to see you again. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

"Yeah." You tuck a strand of hair behind your ears, a nervous habit you fall back on sometimes during conversation. It’s been a while since you’ve seen these people. They’re older than you now. "It's not so bad for me, but I thought you guys might win. I'm sorry you didn’t."

"Have you seen Rose out there?" she asks.

You remember Rose, the human who'd been nice enough to let you talk to her cat-lusus. It would've been hard to miss her, considering her brother screaming "That's my sister, leave her alone, don't touch her" what felt like right into your auditory sponge. "She was like us," you say. "Made into a sprite, and then prototyped too many times. So... she's still alive. Sort of.”

"She's trapped," says Dave, smoothing out the front of his shirt. He looks relieved to be able to change the subject. "And she must be pissed as hell. It's like some Lovecraftian nightmare with a sugar high sets up shop in your brain to make a mockery of everything you hold dear. Thank god none of you saw us, I'd never live it down. Figuratively."

"Then we have to get her out," Kanaya says firmly.

"Hey, I'd be right behind you," Dirk says. The others have drifted over to listen in. It’s not like there’s much else to do – this part of the bubbles doesn’t have much in the way of scenery. "I could yank her soul out and everything; that's a thing I can do. Problem is, our mobility is limited due to us all being fucking dead."

Jake scratches his head. "Ghosts can come back. That Aranea did."

"The ring," Vriska says, looking up from whatever quiet communion she and Terezi had been locked in. "She stole the ring of life from John somehow."

"That piece of shit?" Dave exchanges a look with Jade. "Did you know about that?"

"I didn't know it was magic," she says. "I just thought it was something he'd found somewhere. He didn't like to talk about it." She frowns. "He didn't talk to me a lot that last year."

"Well, there's only one of those," Karkat snaps. "So that's not very useful, unless we want to elect an ambassador to the world of the living or draw up a schedule."

"Roxy might be able to make more..." Jade says slowly. "Where is she, anyway?"

You shrug. You would have looked for her, you like Roxy, but you didn't see much of the new session, and you don't have many memories of what went wrong in the old one.  

"She's alive," Terezi says. "Her and John. I saw them before I died. They were going to fix things."

The other Dave, the one that traveled on the meteor, looks around at the shattered dreamscape, the crowd of ghosts. "Not to criticize, but things don't look fixed."

"They're setting things right in a new timeline," she explains. "We're stuck here as rejects from the old one."

"A new timeline," Kanaya repeats. "Going how far back?"

"Our problems really kicked in as soon as your crew arrived," Jake says. "Although I suppose we could have dealt with things if only that troll hadn't gotten her mitts on the ring. That's the crucial moment that truly sealed our fates. As long as you stop that, I’m sure we could manage."

Terezi shakes her head. "Think further. I told them to save Vriska."

Even Vriska looks confused by that. Karkat is the first to speak. "You undid whole sweeps of our lives? Why the fuck would you do that?"

Terezi spreads her hands out. "Look, maybe it wasn't the most rational decision in hindsight, but it's not like you've never made calls based on some sort of emotional impulse."

"And look how that turned out." He shakes his head. "We should've talked to you about that guilt complex earlier so you didn't change the entire universe just to try to deal with it."

"Yeah," meteor-Dave deadpans. "If you'd sat backwards on a chair earlier this could've all been avoided."

"Shut the fuck up," he says without real rancor. "Well, good luck to those poor bastards."

"I'm right here," Vriska says.

"I notice you haven't actually disagreed."

"No.” She shakes her head, and her long braids – unraveling at the end – shudder. “I met the new me. She's a bitch."

"Good. We're all on the same page here. I'm almost glad I'm dead."

"You know..." you say.

Terezi glances at you and then away again to continue their squabble. They've never taken you seriously because you were the silly shy girl, who spent her time having fun and playing games while the others made important decisions. But you have memories of time spent with a Life player, and you'd know that color scheme anywhere. "You know," you say again, louder. "I don't think you need a ring to come back to life."

"What do you mean?" That's Dirk. He might not know you well, but he looks desperate enough to look anywhere for input.

"Well...." You shrug. "You've got a Life player right there."

The Life player in question stares at you for a moment and then down at the symbol on her chest, like she’s checking to make sure it’s still there. "You mean...?"

"That can't work, can it?" Jake asks. "It would be too easy."

"Feferi helped us once," Karkat says. "A dead one from a doomed timeline. Her powers still worked. I don't know why I didn't remember sooner."

Jane looks down at her hands. "With a body, I know I could do it. But with a ghost... I don’t know. I guess I could try."

"Just a moment," Kanaya interrupts. "I wasn't convinced by your threats earlier that Life abilities could harm the undead, but if that principle does hold, you might hurt us instead of helping."

"I volunteer," Dirk says immediately.

Jane sighs. "Dirk, really."

"I'm serious. I glitched myself into fucking pixels and I'm still here. I'm indestructible. Do your worst."

"Well in that case…” It takes Jane a moment to catch up with herself. “Wait. You did what? Are you saying the way you got here... you did it to yourself?"

Before Dirk can respond, Terezi interjects. "Save that for later. As the Seer here, I say you give it your best shot. It's a good idea."

"We're not through talking about this," Jane growls. Then she points a blue-laced hand at Dirk and gives it her best shot.

"Well?" Kanaya asks after a moment. "Did it work?"

Dirk looks himself up and down. "I don't feel any different."

"We can't see through your shades, Strider," Jake says.

Dirk hesitates (whether out of reluctance or for theatrical effect you’re not sure) and then pushes the pointy glasses on his face up. You get a good look, as does everybody else. Orange. Humans have such strange eye colors.

"It worked," Jane breathes. “Isn't that something. Gather round, everyone. I'll fix us right up." She turns, looks at Karkat, and then her face changes. "Oh. Oh no."

"What?" Jade follows her gaze and then puts a hand to her mouth. "Ohhhh."

"What?" Karkat's voice rises. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I can only do this once," Jane says. "Once per person. And I've already done you."

"What are you talking about?" Terezi asks. "Karkat, are you telling me you got yourself killed that quickly? And I missed it?"

"Don't blame me!" He points at Jane, who takes a step back. "Blame her. Jade too, it was her idea. Crocker here was just the willing hand with the fork.”

"The two of them decided to demonstrate Jane's abilities," Kanaya explains. "They were following the Empress's orders at the time."

"That's right," Jade says quickly. "I was bad then. And." She bites her lip. "And I was angry."

"So we can't hold that against them, right?" Jake says, with a smile that looks unnaturally stiff. "Let bygones be bygones, right Jane? After all, I've already forgotten that little interaction in the jail cell. In fact, forget I mentioned it!"

"What did Jane do?" Dirk asks. Jane groans and covers her eyes. "What the hell are you all talking about?"

"That's what I want to know," meteor-Dave adds. "Jade, you killed someone because "you were mad"? What the fuck happened to you in the last three years?"

"What happened to you, defending the aliens?" Dave snaps back. "Since when are they really on our side? No offense," he adds, glancing over at you. "You seem ok, I guess."

You roll your eyes. "I appreciate it, human scum."

Meteor-Dave has ignored this aside. "I know you were off bleeding instead of being useful during our game, but they are on our side, you outdated fucking museum specimen."

"The tiara top," you hear Jane saying to no one in particular. "I was going to apologize and explain, we just didn't have time-"

"Will all of you shut up?" Karkat demands. "I'm a little more preoccupied with the pressing matter of my mortality than whatever hangups you've got with each other. You can all pile into the confession booth later if that'll make you happy."

"But Karkat," Terezi says, "it's like watching one of your memos in real life."

"Will you ever let the memos go?"

"Like I said," Vriska interrupts, "there's the ring."

You took a step back when she spoke - your last memories of her aren't great. But this one seems milder, though maybe that's the dreambubbles nipping at the edges of her soul, like they do to everyone eventually.

"That's right," Terezi says. "The ring. The Empress killed Aranea, I saw that much. So it might be up for grabs again. It likes to vanish and reappear."

"But where?" Dirk asks. "Do you think it would be near her ghost?"

Jake balls his hands up. "Are you saying we could go beat up that spider troll's ghost? Because I am ALL for a rematch. Don't bring me back yet, Jane. That way if she tries to kill me again she won't be able to."

"I could find her, maybe," Terezi says. "This place is made of memories, so if I follow her mind... With the ring so smashed up, there aren’t that many places to hide."

"How do we tell she's the right one?" Jade asks. She’s latched onto this new subject eagerly, probably to escape the last one. "We can't just jump on every version of this troll, can we?"

"I can tell," you say. You have a knack for that out here. You can strike up a conversation with one Tavros and later pick him out of a crowd of twenty, even if his outfit is different. Once you know a little bit about how the person has changed, they don't wear their face the same. This Aranea - what she did will show.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dirk says. “I like it."

"You'll have to sit this one out," Jane says. "You're mortal again, and I can only save you once. Perils of being the guinea pig, I'm afraid. And I am officially team leader. I think it's time I actually lived up to that. Metaphorically, if I must."

He scowls but doesn't argue.

Jade turns to Terezi. "You said there's a new timeline, right? Does that mean there’s a new group of all of us?"

"That's right. It's up to that set to win now."

"I doubt they'd like us crashing the party," Dirk says. "God knows I have enough problems fighting myself, and it looks like that's a family trait."

"Can't do it no matter what," says Dave. "The Furthest Ring is neutral territory, but once we're in the same Skaia-supervised universe, doomed double rules apply. We'll get picked off."

"Great, more complications." Karkat throws up his hands. "Then where do we go, even if we do come back?"

"It's a big multiverse," Kanaya says. "There must be somewhere."

"There must be somewhere," Jake agrees. "I'm not going to sit here in the dark for eternity because some troll got a bee in her bonnet about how our story was supposed to go. I was never that concerned about winning the game on its terms anyway, as long as we made it out ok. I don't even know what the victory state is supposed to be."

"Then it's agreed," Jane says. "We find Aranea, get that ring, I bring us all back, and we go somewhere. Somewhere better."

"And we find Rose," Kanaya adds.

"Definitely," says meteor-Dave. "We can call up John and Rose's mom too, see if they want to hang out with us losers or stick with the winning team. Maybe we can get shared custody."

“If we see other people…” You almost trail off, but they’re looking at you, so you complete the thought. “Maybe we should let them come too, if they want. It seems fair.”

Jane nods. “I’m willing to try. The one time rule might not count for different versions of the same person.”

"Can I come?" Vriska asks. You’re surprised she was polite enough to ask. She really has changed.

Terezi links arms with her. "Wouldn't have it any other way, sister."

"Hold on," Karkat says. "I’m still technically leader of the Alternian band of chucklefucks, which means I get to make that kind of decision. You're not going to try another megalomaniacal plot as soon as our backs are turned, are you? If I recall correctly, you got killed for a reason.”

She juts her chin forward, a bit of her old vigor returning to her voice. "I'm not like that anymore.”

"I guess we can keep an eye on you if you’re lying."

Terezi pinches the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "Karkat, do you think you could be a little bit less of a dick if you really tried?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm a little on edge. I've been murdered."

"We've all been murdered," Kanaya says. "Or most of us, at least. Just establishing that for the record."

"And it sucks.”

"I don't blame him for not trusting me," Vriska says quietly, which shuts even Karkat up. You look her over. You don't know what she's been doing since you saw her last, but the person behind the face is different now. It makes you think of a drawing in that smudgy, formless state when you’re still working out the details. On its way to being something, but not there yet, tenuous enough that a stray line would ruin the entire picture. It’s the point where you have to make a decision about what the final product ought to be.

"Well," Terezi says at last. "That's settled, then. We'll get some vengeance, and then we'll figure out what to do next. How's that for a plan?"

"It's actually three quarters of a plan, because some leetspeaking weirdo wrote a four instead of an A, but otherwise it sounds good," says meteor-Dave. She sticks her tongue out at him.

Jane nods and uncaptchalogues an enormous fork. That’s right – she is an heiress, technically, and she handles the official weapon with ease. "It sounds good to me too. Let's go win this game on our terms."

[ninjago-drabbles]

💃 and Bruiseshipping perhaps? :3

bruiseshipping + dancing

i'msosorry you got like an actual fic instead of a drabble but hey, I guess this is better, right? Also: Obviously the ninja are pros at ballroom dancing who do you take them for??

The earth ninja’s emerald gaze swept over the ballroom, squinting a little against the multicolored lights swinging across the floor from the rafters above. Men and women, all dressed to the nines, mingled around him at their own tables. From his own circular table (one set aside specifically for the ninja, as they were the guests of honor) he could see pretty much the entire jamboree, which included the dance floor.

The same dance floor Cole had been studiously avoiding all evening. Not because he wasn’t a party person, of course (because believe him, he could definitely bust a move if he were so inclined), but just because there was no one here he wanted to dance with.

That’s all.

Actually, there was one person.

But he couldn’t think about that now, or really who, now- not if he wanted to last the rest of the night without a) causing a tabloid worthy scene that would be the cover of magazines and newspapers for months, or b) spontaneously combusting on the spot.

Unfortunately for him, Cole had a very small resolve when it came to things concerning a certain blue-eyed friend of his. Also unfortunately for him, blowing up on the spot wasn’t as probable as he would have liked for it to be for it to be an actual threat.

“Just one quick peek,” his mind whispered to him.

Cole didn’t need much persuading.

Giving in, he allowed himself to flick his eyes to the dance floor– hoping to catch the swish of an electric blue tie, or a glimpse of the messy auburn hair he loved all too well above the heads of the other guests, or maybe a blur of too fast feet prancing circles across the pale wood of the platform (probably with Nya in tow, giggling and trying to catch up to the lightning ninja, a sparkle in her eyes and a grin on her ruby lips as—)

Nope, bad idea. He shouldn’t have looked.

Cole let out out a short, muffled groan under his breath. His feelings for Jay weren’t exactly a new thing, but every minute Cole could feel his long built-up control slipping. Eventually he was going to have to do something about it. Preferably many, many years in the future. Or never.

The myriad of people on the dance floor showed no signs of ceasing, and from his place in the room Cole couldn’t see any of his other friends.

It would probably be best if I just go.

Cole sighed, angry at himself. Tonight was suppose to be a fun night. But leave it to him to mess it up all for one stupid little crush.

“It’s not just a crush,” the voice in his head appeared again.

“Fuck you,” he replied. The voice didn’t have a response to that. Cole reveled in his small victory.

Shaking his head, Cole moved to stand up. But before he could even get a few steps towards the exit, he felt a warm hand loop itself around his wrist.

“Are you leaving?” An all-too-familiar voice asked from behind him.

That spontaneous combustion he had been thinking about earlier? Yeah, that was slowly seeming more and more like an actual possibility tonight.

Cole felt his breath catch in the back of his throat as he turned over his right shoulder (the one that was connected to his right arm, which connected to his right hand, the hand Jay was so so close to holding—)

He panicked. Simpler was always better, right? Less chance to slip up and say something stupid. “Yeah.”

Cole thought he saw Jay’s face fall a little at the word, but any sign of negative emotion was gone in a flash.

Great. Perfect. Good going, Cole. Best response ever. He decided to keep his mouth shut lest ruin this conversation (conversation?) even further. Luckily for him, Jay never seemed to run out of words.

Taking it in stride, “Why so soon?” The shorter boy asked. “You haven’t even checked out the buffet line yet. That’s not like you.”

Trying to turn the conversation around, Cole joked, “Actually I have. But they don’t have any sort of cake, so what was even the point? I don’t belong at parties that can’t even be self-respecting enough to have the staple party dessert.”

The corners of Jay’s mouth turned up into a smile, his sapphire eyes crinkling with laughter. Mission accomplished. He shot back, “I can’t exactly argue with that logic, exactly, but please don’t go yet! Dance with me!”

The earth ninja’s world came to a crashing halt. He MUST have heard wrong. For what reason could Jay ever want to dance with him? “Excu…excuse me?” Cole’s voice shook. He was dimly aware of the hand (the one still curled around his wrist, holy shit) tightening.

If Cole didn’t know better, he would have thought that Jay’s voice sped up, almost as in a panic. “I haven’t actually danced with anyone I know all night and–”

“What? Weren’t you with Nya all night?” Cole interrupted, now confused. He was sure that the two were friendly, even with Jay’s enormous and somewhat one-sided crush on the girl. He was almost positive that Jay would have been following her around all night like a puppy. Unless (and here Cole had to resist the urge to cross his fingers) the earth ninja had been misreading their entire situation.

Jay’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Nya’s been chatting it up with some ambassador’s daughter all evening. I haven’t talked her since before we got here.”

Oh. Oh.

Yeah, he definitely was misreading something.  

“So you want me to dance with you?”

The pink spotlights made it look like a blossom of blush had appeared on Jay’s cheeks. “No, no. You don’t have to. Heh. I just felt like, ya know, it’s a party and what’s a party without a little dancing, right?” And now Jay was definitely panicking, his words rolling over each other as he spoke too fast for his own mouth to follow. “It’s probably better, you know, if we don’t!”

Jay kept talking, but Cole zoned the panicked chatter out. Jay actually wanted to dance with him. And Cole was raised smart—he knew never to look a gift-horse in the mouth. This was the moment he had been waiting for. Don’t mess it up.

Without saying a word, Cole tugged Jay closer, grabbing the shorter boy’s fingers tightly. He made sure not to look down into the other’s azure irises, lest he fall apart right then and there, and pulled Jay out onto the dance floor.

It was now or never. Just go for it.

It was awkward at first, with Jay still partially unresponsive with shock and Cole  almost shaking with nerves. Eventually,  they were able to make their stumbling a little less obvious and move in time with the beat of the music. Cole’s arms had found themselves resting low on Jay’s waist, and the latters’ hands were grasped together behind the earth ninja’s neck.

Jay refused to make eye contact, but Cole couldn’t look away. The mechanic’s scarred brow was furrowed in an extremely adorable way, and the sky blue of his eyes could just be seen peeping out from under his half-closed eyelids. Cole felt a fond smile spread across his face.

Jay risked glancing up for a second, “What’s that smile for?” He asked, pretending to be annoyed (but Cole could tell he was actually reveling in the fact that he could cause the usually stoic earth ninja to act like a blundering pile of goo).

If Cole was any other person, he probably would have blushed in embarrassment at being caught and probably ended the dance right there. Yet he was not most people, and he skillfully let the expression drop without giving anything away. Cole decided to ignore the question and jump straight to what was really bugging him. He dropped the bomb:

“Why haven’t you danced with Nya?”

Jay’s brow scrunched together even more, if that was even possible. “Why would I have danced with Nya? Is this because she’s the only girl we know? Because if so I—”

“No, no not that Jay, obviously.” Cole interrupted, rolling his eyes while gentle raising his arm to spin Jay out into a turn.

As the lightning ninja spun back in, his auburn locks bounced a little across his forehead and the earth ninja felt himself fall a little bit more in love.

“What happened to your huge crush on her?” Cole inquired, pretending this conversation was anything but dooming to his morale.

He was expecting a flush of embarrassment or outright denial, even a shy admittance, but definitely not-

“What crush?”

Cole blanched. What the actual hell?

“What do you mean ‘What crush’, Jay? You’ve been head over heels for her since we met her!”

Jay managed to look even more confused than Cole. “Well, yeah, I mean I did have a crush on her in the beginning. Have you looked at her? She’s gorgeous! And smart, and funny, but I haven’t had a “crush” on her in a while. I realized that it was more of an infatuation than real feelings.“

Cole felt his heart do a somersault in his chest. “So, you’re completely single right now? No lingering feelings for another person?” The words inspired a smirk on Jay’s face. Or maybe the smirk was just due to the change of song. This one was more upbeat and fast, definitely more Jay’s style. The lightning ninja used the change of mood to switch their positions, taking the lead.

Their dancing became more relaxed and smooth, and Cole couldn’t help but feel that the mood had too. Whatever reservations about this confrontation he had had before were slowly slipping away. Everything was going to end up alright.

“Completely single,” Jay answered, and with the next words Cole was almost one hundred percent sure he couldn’t blame the lights for the pink tint that was rising high on the lightning ninja’s cheeks (because the lights had turned blue now, like him). “And totally ready to mingle.”

Cole almost choked laughing, and soon Jay was giggling along with him. Playing along, Cole continued, “And do you have a certain person in mind for your mingling?”

A thoughtful look crossed Jay’s face, and then he looked straight into the emerald eyes in front of him. The mechanic swiftly brought the earth ninja into a low dip, knocking the air out of Cole in surprise as he peered right back into Jay’s irises.

The world seemed to stop for a moment—just the two of them hanging off the edge of time, as the rest of the world spun around them, turquoise lights catching the eye as they flashed off of polished heels and cufflinks gleaming as bright as the sun with every twirl of a partner. The music was more of a dull background noise at this point, the bass thrumming in time with the rhythmic in and out of the two ninjas’ breaths. Cole waited for an answer, the time stretching out to the end of forever and collapsing into a single second all at once.

Jay blinked, a soft smile forming. Cole felt one appear in return. He lifted Cole up and brought them as close together as their bodies would let them.

“Yeah, I do.”

[ellenembee]

The Revelation of All Things - 45. In which good advice comes from unexpected places

Read the full fic on AO3.

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The paper crumpled under his palm as he leaned both hands against his desk and hung his head. She wasn't coming back. She'd gone to the Exalted Plains instead. With Solas. Just Solas. And the words didn't even come from her. The message before him was penned by The Iron Bull several days ago.

"Maker, help me."

The jealousy was irrational, and he knew it. He did trust her. She wouldn't... not without ending things properly first. But the part of him that felt like he didn't deserve her in the first place, that understood he would lose her regardless of anything he said or did, whispered that it might be better if she did. It's better this way. Move on and don't look back.

The week leading up to his breakdown, to his confession, he'd felt himself slipping. The stress of the Winter Palace had caused the nightmares of torture, vacant eyes, and the mangled corpses of his friends to bleed into his waking hours, pulling him down. He'd locked the doors more than once during that week to empty the contents of his stomach and curl up on the floor until someone knocked hard enough to pull him from his stupor and get him working again. The need for lyrium had been nearly unbearable, making him shake uncontrollably - joints aching, skin crawling, pain shooting through his body. The box came off the shelf countless times, but inevitably, he'd think of her. Nothing else stopped him. Only the imagined disappointment on her face. The vision of her dismay would force him to close the box, he feet heavy as he shuffled over to place it in its normal spot. Then he'd work until the wee hours of the morning, trying to avoid the nightmares. He barely slept. The draughts were gone by the fourth day, but he didn't dare ask for more lest she worry. The only time he could truly breathe was during her brief visits when he could drown his thoughts in the softness of her lips under his, the intensity of her responses, the give of her body in his hands.

But she'd noticed anyway. She'd asked questions. And he'd been gruff and unresponsive in return. Then he'd broken down and shown her exactly how weak he was. He exhaled in a short hiss.

Now she isn't coming back.

He straightened himself and then attempted to straighten the crumpled message from Bull. The days since she'd left had been difficult, but gradually the pain faded and, with it, the intensity of the gut-wrenching visions. He felt physically stronger than he had in weeks. When the images of his past haunted his thoughts and sought to trip him, that strength helped him stay grounded. That and her faith in him. Always her faith in him.

The lack of a constant reminder - a lack of lyrium within arm's reach - had also helped more than he'd thought it would. The strip on the inside lid of his box that carried a relief of Andraste had somewhat miraculously survived the violent collision with his door. He now touched it briefly as it lay on his desk - a reminder that he'd come through it. With her help, and maybe a little from Andraste, he had endured... this time. At least he had yet to let her down in that way.

But she would be gone for at least another two weeks now - probably closer to three of four - and she hadn't written him a letter. Since her first trip to the Hinterlands, she'd always written at least one letter directly to him during her travels. They weren't sentimental. They rarely contained anything but a more detailed and flowery account of her dealings in each place. But those letters, his letters, came with pretty elven doodles and small stories and jokes and turns of phrase she knew he'd appreciate.

This time, however, she'd barely corresponded with any of them. Leliana resorted to requesting an update, but by that time, Evana had already - finally - sent one. Even Cole had sent him a brief and mystifying note. But she had sent him nothing.

And he couldn't even think about the fact that she'd deliberately fought yet another dragon.

If she were rethinking her attachment to him, he couldn't blame her. He wasn't proud of his past - he was doing everything possible to atone. He had come a long way but still had a long journey ahead. How could he ask her to look at him the same way now that she knew - now that she'd seen his brokenness?

On top of everything he put her through that day, he'd forgotten she was leaving until he heard the gates rising. By the time he'd scrambled down from his loft and out to the battlements, she was lost to the mist. In his pain and weakness, he'd pushed her away, and she'd gone. He had no one to blame but himself.

But that voice whispered to him again. It's better this way. You're going to lose her eventually anyway...

"Commander, you're wanted in the war room immediately."

Cullen hadn't noticed Leliana's messenger, Harvil, enter his office. Turning slightly to face the young man, he nodded.

"I'll be there momentarily."

Gathering up his paperwork, he took the long way around to the great hall. As if making up for the unseasonably warm Haring, Wintermarch had been nothing but cold and snow so far. Even now, a storm roiled on the horizon, obscuring much of the mountains as the clouds descended upon them, but the bitterly cold wind on the battlements felt good on his flushed face.

By the time he walked into the war room, he'd ordered his thoughts and pushed down the doubts. He had a job to do, so he would do it to the best of his ability. Everything else was superfluous.

Leliana and Josephine waited for him around the table. As he approached, Leliana laid a letter on the war table for him to read.

"Ah, Cullen. Good. We need your input. This just came in from one of my agents still stationed in the Free Marches."

He picked it up, and a feeling of dread settled over him as the words Clan Lavellan and Wycome jumped off the page.

"I think we can safely say that soldiers are not a good response to this situation," Josephine added. "Perhaps Leliana could risk sending her agents again, but even her own man warns us against that in his letter. I believe our best option is an ‘ambassador' from the Inquisition. I know just the person, too."

Cullen finished skimming over the missive and looked up at the other two advisors. The letter painted a grim picture, but he couldn't fault Josephine's logic. The humans - and only humans - in Wycome were getting sick on a massive scale. No one could figure out why. What better scapegoat than a somewhat hostile clan of elves camped just outside the city? He'd love nothing more than to send all his forces to Wycome, but at this rate, the elves would be dead before his soldiers even reached the city gates. The situation required delicacy, and Josephine's ambassador could provide that.

"It sounds like you've already made your decision," he observed, adding a touch of coolness to his tone. "What do you need me for?"

Leliana and Josephine shared an enigmatic look. Leliana spoke first.

"We thought you might be the most qualified to break the news to the Inquisitor. It will have to be done through letter and you are close with her... are you not?"

Cullen blanched. It must've been the exact wrong reaction. Their faces contorted into expressions of concern bordering on panic.

"What happened?" Josephine asked softly.

Cullen willed his face to remain passive, but he could feel his jaw clenching anyway. "Nothing."

Which was true, he realized with startling clarity. Nothing had been spoken between them to end things. All his doubt and concerns amounted nothing more than speculation - and possibly withdrawal-driven paranoia - based on her vaguely abnormal behavior in the days since she'd left. He clenched his jaw in defiance of his own tendency to deny himself. As much as he might not deserve her, he could not truly wish to be without her. It was another weakness. She was his weakness... and yet also his strength.

"I am not the most eloquent of correspondents when it comes to... delicate situations," he dissembled.

Leliana narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but she said nothing. Josephine merely waved her hand at him and smiled reassuringly.

"No matter. Have Varric help you with the language if you're worried. It will mean more coming from you. Tell her I have already sent an ambassador, and her clan is in good hands."

How could he argue without raising further suspicion? He stared down at the war table as he responded in measured tones.

"Very well. I will have it to you by the end of the day. Anything further?"

Leliana finally spoke again. "The mage tower renovations are nearly complete and the mages started moving their books and research work there. Also, Harritt stopped me on my way here to tell me he has narrowed his list of blacksmiths down to two based on the samples they have sent. He thinks you should visit them both personally to make your choice. You should probably go speak to him for more details."

Cullen looked up to find Leliana watching him closely. "I will... after."

She nodded. "That's all I have. Josephine?"

"Nothing right now."

Cullen nodded and grabbed the letter. "I'll need this for reference. I will bring it back with my message."

They left the room, each with their own destination. Cullen had never felt anything like the dread that now pooled in his stomach. He must write her a letter to tell her Clan Lavellan was in danger... again. The task was daunting enough even without the prickling fear that she especially might not want to hear it from him at all.

He pushed the thought away. It was his task, and he would do it.

Walking through the hall and down the steps to the upper courtyard, Cullen's legs felt heavy with the weight of his reluctance. He was loath to ask the sarcastic dwarf for assistance, but truthfully, Varric was his best chance at not mucking this up. In the last few months, a kind of tentative camaraderie had developed between the former Kirkwall residents. Cullen hoped the bond would be strong enough to elicit the more serious side of Varric's talents.

He opened the door to the Herald's Rest and instantly found Varric and Hawke by the volume of their laughter alone. As with every other woman on the planet, Marian Hawke had made Cullen nervous when she first introduced herself in Kirkwall, especially with how she'd relentlessly flirted with him. With her classic beauty and warrior prowess, he'd been awed and annoyed by her in equal measure.

Here in Skyhold, however, it wasn't business and it wasn't battle. This was just... life, and she was even more sarcastic and biting than Varric sometimes. Just as with Cassandra, however, Cullen had come to know the Champion of Kirkwall better in the several months she'd been hanging around Skyhold off and on. He could now laugh with her most of the time, even when she directed her biting comments at him. She seemed unaware of his relationship with Evana, so he was not afraid of anything she might say.

"Curly!" Varric exclaimed when he finally noticed Cullen's approach. "What brings you here so early? It's not even noon, yet."

Cullen huffed out a little laugh as he sat down beside them. "I could say the same to you, but we all know you two spend most of your time here heckling the other customers, drinking ale and playing card games."

Hawke rolled her eyes. "Beats working ourselves to death. Besides, I've been helping with drills every day and you know it. Where have you been the last couple of weeks?"

Even this, Cullen could take. In the months he'd been with the Inquisition, he'd become adept at providing excuses for his occasional absences.

"Doing serious work planning an assault," he replied easily.

Varric pointed a thumb at Hawke. "You know, she could probably help you out with that, having been part of a few assaults in her lifetime."

"Fair point," Cullen acknowledged. "But today, I actually need your assistance, Varric."

Varric looked half surprised, half amused. "Hold on to your boots, Hawke. Curly needs my help." Hawke snorted indelicately, and Varric gave her a toothy grin before turning his attention back to Cullen. "What can I do for ya?"

"I need help writing a delicate letter. The Inquisitor's clan is in danger, and... I am not well versed in sentimentality. I could use some advice."

Varric's face went serious instantly. "What kind danger?"

"Will you come back to my office? It's too loud here for me to think. And this is not the type of information that should be widely distributed."

Surprised by the sudden serious looks on their faces, Cullen raised an eyebrow at both of them. Hawke must have truly come to respect their Inquisitor during their time pursuing the Warden threat. She seemed almost... distraught.

"Mind if I tag along?" she asked. "I have a female perspective that - well, let's just say I don't trust you men to not put a foot in it."

Cullen nodded. Varric mocked an offended look, punched her lightly on the arm and then sobered.

"Of course. Let's do this."

They trudged up the stairs to Cullen's office. The clouds that threatened at the edge of the mountain grew ever closer, and he wondered briefly if the storm would hit tonight. He told the guards on the battlements that he wasn't to be disturbed and closed and locked all the doors as they entered the relative warmth of his office. Sitting down at his desk, he pulled up a chair for Varric. Hawke leaned her hip on the desk at his opposite side.

"So, how do you begin a letter like this?"

Varric looked at him seriously. "First, I can't help you write this letter until know what in Andraste's name is going on between you two."

Cullen felt all the blood drain from his face for the second time that day. Varric's face contorted, and he wondered vaguely if this was the "awww, shit" face Evana had told them about during one of their early war council meetings in Haven.

"Did you two have a fight?" Hawke asked quietly.

Cullen's head whipped from Varric to Hawke and then back again. By the blood of the Maker, does everyone know everything about my relationship with the Inquisitor? He turned to stare blankly at his desk for a moment. He didn't want to say it. But Varric was right. The dwarf couldn't really help with the letter unless he knew all the variables. All Cullen's paranoid fears and over-sensitive assumptions. He grimaced and then let out a giant sigh as he leaned back in his chair.

"No, nothing so simple as a fight, I'm afraid."

Hawke raised her eyebrows in surprise. "A fight would be simple in comparison? That doesn't bode well."

Cullen struggled again. How did he describe something he wasn't sure he could really put in words himself? Perhaps Varric just needed the facts. He knew Evana better than almost anyone. Maybe he could work out what she might be thinking.

"I... you asked about my absences... I didn't lie. I have been planning for Adamant. But I have also been dealing with..." Cullen took a deep breath and then rushed through the rest. "... with lyrium withdrawal. I asked Cassandra relieve me from duty, but Evana talked me down. I told her things about my past. Things I'm not proud of - Kirkwall, which of course you are aware - but also things before that. Worse things. I needed time to process, so I asked her for a moment. In my distraction, I forgot she was leaving the next morning. I've never missed seeing her off before - not once. And now, she's acting... distant. I think. It's hard to tell, but... well, she's been gone for weeks and hasn't sent me any letters, yet."

Varric hummed at this last piece of news, but otherwise, the two remained silent, seemingly deep in thought. Cullen didn't dare look at either one of them. He'd revealed one of his greatest weaknesses to two people who, by all accounts, would be the worst people to tell. Therefore, Hawke's quiet, sympathetic response threw him off completely.

"Sorry for the earlier jab. I didn't know. Lyrium withdrawal..." She sucked in a breath. "Shit. How long have you been off it?"

Cullen finally looked up at her. "Almost a year now. It was a momentary lapse. I'm fine now... well, perhaps fine isn't quite right. I'm sure I will have difficult days in the future. But I am better. I didn't get a chance to tell her... I... I need her to know that her faith in me made all the difference. I don't want to tell her this through a letter, but I also don't want to seem distant."

"Yes. I can see your problem, though you seem to have a better grasp on the situation than most. Men are usually so clueless." She clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I always thought you were a bit of a stick in the mud, but lately I find I like you better and better."

Cullen let out a derisive laugh. "Having a grasp on the situation doesn't mean I know how to deal with it."

Hawke just gave him a sympathetic smile. Varric had been silent up to this point, and Cullen risked a glance in his direction. The dwarf sat, staring at the floor, his hands clasped in his lap, clearly thinking through things. Finally, he turned to Cullen.

"You said she was acting ‘distant' and mentioned no letters. Anything else?"

"She-" Cullen cut off abruptly. Now that he'd had a chance to think over things, he found his fears didn't hold as much weight as they had before. But he would let Varric be the judge. He talked through all his reasons, including the dragon fight, and ended with her leaving her companions behind to go on alone with Solas.

"I know Solas' friend was in danger," he finished, "but... it seems contrary to her typical style. She's usually so careful - considers all her options."

Varric nodded. "I can see why you'd say that, but if you want my opinion, I think it's more about you asking for time than any shocking revelations about your past sins. She's trying to give you space. And knowing her, she's maybe a little scared of what you'll say if she approaches you first. Try to remember that only a few months ago she barely talked to any of us at all, even you Curly. She's still not very good at all this relationship stuff." Varric gave Cullen a significant look and then turned to Hawke. "Any thoughts from the token female in the room?"

Hawke shot Varric a dirty look and then smiled brilliantly. "Thanks for asking. Don't worry, Varric, you almost got it right."

Varric swept his hand between himself and Cullen. "Then by all means, enlighten us poor, ‘clueless men,' your all-knowing-ness."

"Well, from what you've told me about your Inquisitor and the little I've been able to observe, I think she's having a bit of a growing moment. She wants to stand on her own two feet and rely on herself a bit more now that she's unsure of whether or not she can approach you. You just need to reassure her that things between you haven't changed."

Varric just stared at her. Finally, he sputtered, "Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks, Hawke - that's basically what I said!"

Hawke reached over Cullen and gave the dwarf a condescending pat on the head. "You just keep telling yourself that, darling. After all, someone has to stroke that giant ego of yours."

"I have a giant ego?" Varric asked incredulously.

As the two bickered, Cullen frantically processed their words. It came down to the fact that he'd pushed her away, and now she felt alone, like she had to deal with things on her own. Would she return to the way she'd been when she first joined them? Close them out of her life? Close him out of her life?

Maker's breath, he'd failed her. He raised his fingers to his temples, trying to massage away the beginnings of a headache. Hawke's hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.

"Don't worry so much, Cullen. We heroes all have to go through something like this sooner or later. Friends - and lovers - are necessary. We should trust them and let them help us with our burdens, but we should never use them as a crutch... Unless that friend is Varric, in which case," she raised her hand to about Varric's height on her body, "he's just about the right height for it."

"Pretty words for a walking disaster," Varric quipped. Hawke scrunched up her nose and narrowed her eyes at him, but Varric ignored her and turned back to Cullen. "Regardless, we need to get this letter written and off to her as soon as possible. Has Scout Harding been sent to the Exalted Plains already?"

Cullen nodded, glad to speak of something not related to conjecture and feelings. Firm facts were much easier.

"Yes, and she has likely arrived, though we haven't heard from her yet. We expect to today. She'll set up a forward camp and send out scouts to find the Inquisitor and her companions as soon as she arrives."

Varric grunted. "Good. Now, tell us about what's going on with her clan."

Cullen passed the letter from Leliana's agent to Varric. "It's all here. Josephine is sending an ambassador, but the situation is tenuous. I don't wish to frighten Evana, but I also don't want to give her false hope that everything will be well."

Varric skimmed the letter and then handed it to Hawke. "Well, we've got a lot to cover in one letter. Let's get started."

They worked for over an hour, but by the time Varric and Hawke left his office, Cullen was satisfied that it was as good as it could be under the circumstances. Varric had encouraged him to be more forthcoming about his... feelings, but Cullen could only bring himself to let her know he would like to speak with her when she returned. He's also felt it necessary to write in a postscript - as she had all those months ago - explaining that he'd had a little help writing the letter. He wasn't about to pretend he'd suddenly gotten good at all this. Even though he still had his doubts, he already felt less discouraged, and most of that was because of Varric and Hawke. Hawke in particular had given him much to think about - the Champion might be the only person in Skyhold who truly understood the pressures Evana faced.

Once again, the strong urge to give Evana something - to show her how he felt - washed over him. But he had nothing. Templars never had much to begin with, but after Haven, even the little he'd collected since leaving the Order had been burned or buried. A trunk full of clothing and letters wasn't really much to lament - except for the loss of her letters. Perhaps he could commission something? He must speak with Harritt about the additional blacksmith anyway. Perhaps the man would have some ideas about what she might like.

Shoving the letter in his mantle, Cullen walked across the bridge to Solas' empty office. The apostate elf's murals now stretched across half of the rotunda. Evana's many deeds were painted there in detail, and he felt a surge of awe as he paused to remember the events in each scene. She had accomplished so much. No one could question now why they'd made her their leader.

Cullen climbed the stairs up to Leliana's rookery. She wasn't there, so, he laid the letter on her desk and headed for the Undercroft. He found Harritt leaning over the bellows, fanning the giant forge. In spite of the frigid weather and the giant hole in the side of the room, the forge kept the room at a nearly oppressive temperature. As he approached the smith, a thin sheen of sweat formed on his brow. A vague wave of dizziness hit him and then subsided.

"Harritt, Leliana said you wished to discuss the blacksmith situation with me."

Harritt turned, a frown pulling his lips down and creasing his brow. "Eh? Oh, Commander! Yes. Give me a moment, will you?"

"Of course."

Cullen left the smith to his work and wandered around the Undercroft until he came upon Dagna, Skyhold's new arcanist, working on a rune. "Good afternoon, Dagna."

Clearly absorbed in her work, Dagna jumped at the sound of Cullen's voice. "Oh! Hi, Commander! So good to see you!"

"I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, no! Well, yeah... but it's fine."

Her happy tone always unnerved him a bit, and he was unsure of what else to say. Harritt wasn't ready for him, though, so he asked the first question that popped into his head.

"How are you enjoying life at Skyhold?" Dagna gave him a great grin. "Never a dull moment here, that's for sure. I'm so happy to be here and working with such an amazing team of people. Also, the work is fascinating." She held up a tiny, red shard in her gloved hand. "This stuff... it's just crazy. And weird."

Cullen had felt a little woozy as he approached, but he'd assumed it was the terrifying drop only ten feet to his right. Now, he knew why his stomach lurched and why perspiration soaked through his under tunic. A faint, twisted humming wound its way to his ears.

"Right. Red lyrium. Please be careful. It's very dangerous."

The chipper dwarf nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely! It's dangerous enough handling the raw form of normal lyrium, let alone this strange stuff. I'll certainly be careful. It's still fascinating, though. Still trying to figure out what makes it red."

At her words, the dizziness returned, so Cullen merely bowed in response and made a hasty retreat. He'd known she was working with it - trying to find weaknesses to exploit - but seeing it was different. He shuddered when he thought of what might have been... If I hadn't accepted Cassandra's offer, would I be a red templar by now?

Harritt waved at him from his workbench. "Commander, I'm ready."

Cullen walked around the forge and stood in front of the man, who had turned around to grab a couple of samples off his bench. Turning back, he presented two pieces of armor for Cullen to review.

"These are the best two, Commander. I'll admit they're both mighty fine pieces - nearly as good as what we've got here. Both smiths are reputable and hardworking, and both are within a few-day's journey of here. I think the only thing left is to visit ‘em both and form an opinion of the smiths themselves. Nothing like an in-person visit from the Commander of the Inquisition forces."

"Where are they from?"

Harritt handed him a sleeve and vambrace. "This piece is from a smith in West Hill, up near the Storm Coast. The details are fine and strong, no chinks or weaknesses, and he comes highly recommended by soldiers as far away as Denerim."

Cullen worked the pieces and nodded. It was strong and the pieces moved smoothly around each other. After a moment, Harritt took that piece and handed him the second piece - a full cuirass.

"This one is a fine specimen as well. The breastplate is solid and barely shows the beating we gave it. You can see, no cracks and nice coverage all the way 'round. Made down south, from a smith in Honnleath."

Cullen broke into a surprised half-smile. "Ah."

"Know him?"

Cullen admired the piece and then handed it back to Harritt. "Not the blacksmith, no, but my family is originally from Honnleath."

"Well, then, it's a good excuse to visit home, then, eh?"

"Well... my family moved to South Reach more than ten years ago - during the Blight - so I doubt if I know anyone in the area anymore."

Harritt tilted his head and regarded Cullen curiously. "Still, mightn't there be some familiar places you could visit?" The smith turned to place the cuirass on his bench before adding, "You should take the Inquisitor with you."

Cullen shifted on his feet, his mouth opening before he could consider his words. "Uh... what?"

"She's a mite obsessed when it comes to crafting and forging," he explained as he arranged a few things on his work table. "She'd love to visit the blacksmiths. And you could show her a place or two around Honnleath while you're there."

Even without Harritt's direct gaze, Cullen's face blazed with heat, and he couldn't blame the forge for that. But he also couldn't deny that Harritt's words had merit. After all they'd been through, perhaps a few days away would give him and Evana time to focus on something other than imminent doom. That is, if she still wanted to go anywhere with him.

 "Ah, yes... perhaps you're right. I will ask if she wishes to accompany me... errr... us..."

He paused, teeth clenched, and gathered his courage. Harritt continued to putter at his desk as if he knew Cullen was having a difficult time and wished to give him time to compose himself.

"You seem to know our Inquisitor quite well," Cullen finally managed.

The words came out more a question than a statement. Harritt finally turned around, and Cullen forced himself to look into the smith's now twinkling eyes.

"I'd say we're well acquainted, yes."

"The other advisors and I were thinking of... giving the Inquisitor a gift. I thought you might have an idea of... of something the Inquisitor would like? Something I... uh, we... might commission?"

If it were possible, his face would have turned even more red. As it was, the added heat of his embarrassment caused a single bead of sweat to trickle down his cheek. Cullen cleared his throat slightly and tried for nonchalance as he wiped it away with a leathered finger.

"Something like a piece of jewelry?" Harritt asked rather too innocently.

A small bit of panic rose up in his gut, but Cullen forced himself to remain calm. "Not necessarily. Just something she would like. A small gift. A token of m- our... uh... gratitude for all she's done."

That wasn't the word on the tip of Cullen's tongue, but the look in Harritt's eye revealed that the smith already knew it. Affection, he could almost hear Harritt say. The word you're looking for is affection. Cullen cleared his throat again.

"Perhaps a useful item, such as a coat or a new staff?" Cullen suggested in a weak voice.

Harritt hummed while he stroked his chin and gazed off into the distance. "I could. The Inquisitor is a rare one in that she does prefer the useful and functional over something grand and overblown." He stroked his chin a bit more, the sparkle returning to his eye as he flicked his gaze toward Cullen. "But I wonder... do you happen to know her favorite stone? Or do you - any of you - have a keepsake you'd be willing to part with? The thought behind a gesture also impresses her. Maker knows she talked about that garden nonstop for weeks..."

Before Cullen could smother it, a stupid grin spread across his face. He ducked his head down in an attempt to hide it and then glanced back up at Harritt. "She did?"

"Maker, yes! She went on and on about it. That she'd mentioned wanting to fix it up, that you'd simply gone and done it because you thought she'd like it."

Try as he might, he couldn't seem to wipe the grin off his face. She truly liked it. Another blush suffused his face as he recalled her arms around his neck and the soft press of her lips against his cheek. It had been worth all the distractions and disruptions the renovations had caused just for that one moment, but to know that she'd then talked about it with others...

So she liked the thought behind the gesture? He barely registered when he began pacing. What did he have? Nothing. Could he obtain something in Honnleath? Honnleath...

The thought struck him, and he suddenly wondered why he'd never thought of it before. He did have something. Something he'd kept with him at all times. Something that seemed small and insignificant but meant a great deal to him. If she appreciated the thought - if that's what really pleased her - then perhaps Harritt could make it into something she'd treasure. He stopped pacing and reached into the small, hidden pocket in his breeches. There at the bottom of the pocket rested an old coin. Giving up all pretenses that this gift would come from "the advisors" - Harritt seemed to know anyway - Cullen pulled it out and handed it to the smith.

"This... this is the only thing I still have of my life before I joined the templars. Could you make something of that?"

Harritt took it and turned the worn currency over in his hands. "Wouldn't want to compromise the coin itself, of course. That's part of the charm. But... I wonder... Would you be willing to part with it for a bit? I need to do some thinking."

Cullen nodded. "Of course. Thank you, Harritt. Obviously, I understand that this cannot be a priority, but when you are able, let me know what I owe you."

Harritt held up his hands and shook his head. "I'll let you know the cost of materials, but the labor is on me..." He lifted the corner of his mouth in a knowing grin. "Just be happy, son. And make her happy, too."

Cullen flushed yet again but knew better than to deny anything. He tilted his head at the man in a gesture of acquiescence and respect.

"I'll do my very best."

"That's all anyone can ask," Harritt acknowledged.

[robinhoodrevisited]

At Days End (pt.6)

Powis Castle. Clarke's Chamber. Night. (Clarke stands by her open window looking up at the moon as she hears a knock on her door. Walking across the room she opens the door to reveal Lexa standing outside.) Clarke: (Lightly:) "Is this where you say 'I told you so'?" Lexa: "No, this is 'thank you'." Clarke: (Spreads her arm wide:) "Come in." (As Lexa enters the room, Clarke notices the bloody bandage on the Commander's hand. Clarke takes Lexa's hand and inspects it.) Clarke: "Sit down, let me change that for you." (Lexa nods and walks over to a chair as Clarke closes the chamber door. Taking her seat, the Commander waits demurely for Clarke. Gathering some material to use as a bandage, Clarke walks over and takes a seat beside Lexa.) Clarke: "You had it all planned out? The fight with Gisborne, killing Vaisey?" Lexa: "When Nia challenged me I saw it as an opportunity. I knew that if I defeated Roan that I could depose Nia." Clarke: "So my actions led to the same outcome?" Lexa: (Nods:) "I believe Roan will make a good King. (Takes a moment:) Nia never approved of Costia and I. When I was chosen to become Commander, Costia came with me. Nia blamed me for that." Clarke: "And you blamed her for the events that lead to Costia's death." Lexa: (Nods:) "Whereas my anger should have been directed at the man who killed her." Clarke: "Vaisey." Lexa: "It took every ounce of my restraint not to kill him the first time I saw him in Nottingham. And again when we had him on trial." Clarke: "The fact that you didn't saved the people of Nottingham from being wiped out by Prince John's men." (Clarke removes the bloodied bandage from Lexa's hand.) Lexa: (Ruefully:) "Which would never have happened had I not abandoned you." Clarke: "Let's not talk about that." (Clarke and Lexa exchange smiles as Clarke tears the material into strips for a fresh bandage.)

Lexa: (Continues:) “So, with Nia dead I now had different problems. I’d already sent the invitation to Nottingham after Nia’s challenge. I would’ve executed Nia and sent Vaisey back to the Prince with the message that I alone can replace a leader in this coalition. Then those ambassadors who saw me as weak for making a treaty with Prince John would have been appeased.” Clarke: “Well, I think killing Vaisey will send a much stronger message to Prince John.” Lexa: (Smiles:) “I think so too.” Clarke: “So why the fight with Gisborne?” Lexa: “Because of the attack on my soldiers. I think an ass kicking was the least he deserved.” Clarke: “But he almost killed you.” Lexa: (Confidently:) “You really believe that?” Clarke: “I know what I saw, Lexa.” Lexa: “Whatever you say, Clarke.” Clarke: (Shakes her head at Lexa’s bravado:) “So the Prince will soon know you’ve chosen me over him. Aren’t you worried he’ll seek retribution?” Lexa: (As Clarke takes her hand:) "Not particularly. Our coalition is what’s important. I killed Vaisey for justice and to let the Prince know exactly where my loyalties lie. And it felt so good too. (Smiles at Clarke:) Thank you for backing me." Clarke: (Wrapping the hand:) "I was just doing what was right for my people." (They stare at each other for a long moment, before Clarke stands up.) Clarke: "Good night, Commander." Lexa: (Rising to her feet, smiles:) "Good night, Ambassador." (Lexa walks past Clarke to the door, opens it and closes it behind her as she leaves the room.)

Castle Dungeons. (Gisborne reclines lazily on his bunk. He is battered and bloodied but wears a smile on his face. Sat on the outside of Gisborne's cell is Allan who is keeping him company and discussing the day's events.) Allan: "I don't know what you're smiling about mate, you're still locked up." Gisborne: "Ah, but the sheriff is dead." Allan: "Yeah and you still could be soon, I ain't heard nothing about you being pardoned. You're just lucky the Commander wanted him dead more than you." Gisborne: (Still smiling:) "I'm not too worried about it. Did you see how concerned Marian was? She cares for me." Allan: "Well of course she does, she believes in you." Gisborne: "No, it's more than that I can tell." Allan: "I think Lexa must've hit you harder than we thought. She's with Robin, Guy." Gisborne: "For now. Trust me, Allan, when she hugged me this afternoon it was from more than concern for a friend." Allan: (Smirks:) "Yeah, well far be it for me to dash a condemned man's hopes." Gisborne: (Glaring over at Allan:) "I know what I felt, Allan. (Looking back up at the ceiling:) One day, Marian will realise what I already know to be true." Allan: "Well I just hope you live long enough to prove me wrong is all." Gisborne: "They're not going to kill me. If they desired my death Lexa would’ve done it in the arena. Besides, Marian won't allow it." Allan: (Laughs:) "You give Maz a lot of credit, don't ya?" Gisborne: "She's managed to convince Robin and I to put aside our differences. And a woman who can do that, may just be capable of anything."

Robin & Marian's Chamber. (Robin sits by the fireplace sharpening his sword as Marian watches him from the bed.) Marian: "I suppose Lexa thought she had to make it look good. If you and the gang were all wandering around freely there's no way Vaisey would have entered the arena." Robin: (Nods:) "I still don't trust her. First she leads her army into Nottingham to attack, then she allies with us against the Sheriff." Marian: (Continuing Robin's thought:) "Then she makes a treaty with Prince John." Robin: "And now she's siding with the Princess. I don't know how anyone could have faith in a leader like that." Marian: "Clarke seems to. She was particularly hurt by Lexa's betrayal but now seems willing to trust her again. Lexa has managed to unite the clans, which no Commander has done before." Robin: "Yes, but for how long? The whole situation is tenuous at best. Prince John has command of the army yet Clarke has the support of Lexa and the Celts. Meanwhile, Richard is thousands of miles away and England is on the verge of civil war. Also, if there's no clear leader on the throne it opens us up to invasion from abroad." Marian: "Are you suggesting Prince John remains in power unchallenged?" Robin: "No, I'm just saying England needs stability while the King is away. (Sighs:) As mad and power hungry as the Prince is, he at least knows how to rule. He grew up around a strong King." Marian: (Frowns:) "My father said Henry was a bloodthirsty tyrant." Robin: "But he knew how to lead. Clarke, as far as I know, grew up as the daughter of a Prince who spent more time competing in tournaments than commanding on the battlefield. (Sighs:) I wish the King were here. Then we could be free of all this." Marian: (Smiles:) "And we would be free to marry you mean." Robin: (Looks up at her with a small smile:) "Perhaps." Marian: (Nods:) "That day will come soon enough, my love. For now come to bed, you need your sleep." Robin: (Shakes his head:) "I'm not tired." Marian: (Smirks:) "All the better then. (Lifts the covers:) You can come warm me up." Robin: (Laughs:) "You’d be a lot warmer with some clothes on to start with." Marian: (Considers:) "True. Though I doubt Guy would complain. Perhaps I should pay him a visit instead?" (Robin looks at her a moment and sees the playful smile on her face. Knowing that she is teasing him, Robin gets to his feet and begins walking towards the bed.) Robin: "That wasn't funny, Marian." Marian: "Oh, it was a little funny." Robin: "Hm. I think I know a way to warm you up nicely. Or your backside at least." Marian: (Eyes widen:) "You wouldn't dare." Robin: (Playfully, bringing one knee up onto the bed:) "Wouldn't I?" Cut To: Exterior corridor. (The sounds of Marian's squeals of delight and Robin's deep laughter ring throughout the castle. Elsewhere, Vaisey’s body is on a cart. A warrior pulls a narrow cloth over it, leaving the right arm exposed. Vaisey raises his index finger a bit, and as the cart starts, clenches his fist.)

[gold-on-ice]

LITTLE DO YOU KNOW... {*} A VICTUURI PLAYLIST

{LISTEN HERE ON 8TRACKS} {OR HERE ON SPOTIFY}

this playlist was inspired by the fanfic Until My Feet Bleeds and My Heart Aches written by @kazliin

1. i hate everything about you three days grace

I hate everything about you. Why do I love you? Only when I stop to think about you, I know... Only when you stop to think about me... Do you know? I hate everything about you.

2. sugar we're going down fall out boy

Oh don't mind me, I'm watching you from the closet wishing to be the friction in your jeans. Isn't it messed up how I'm just dying to be him? I'm just a notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song. Drop a heart, break a name, we're always sleeping and sleeping for the wrong team. We're going down, down in an earlier round and sugar, we're going down swinging. I'll be your number one with a bullet, a loaded God complex, cock it and pull it.

3. little do you know alex & sierra

Little do you know how I'm breaking while you fall asleep. Little do you know I'm still haunted by the memories. Little do you know I'm trying to pick myself up piece by piece. Little do you know I need a little more time. Underneath it all I'm held captive by the hole inside, I've been holding back for the fear that you might change your mind. I'm ready to forgive you but forgetting is a harder fight.

4. i hate u i love u gnash ft. olivia o'brien

Feeling used, but I'm still missing you and I can't see the end of this. Just wanna feel your kiss against my lips and now all this time is passing by, but I still can't seem to tell you why it hurts me every time I see you. Realize how much I need you. I hate you, I love you, I hate that I love you. Don't want to but I can't put nobody else above you. I hate you, I love you, I hate that I want you.

5. elastic heart sia

And I will stay up through the night, and let's be clear, won't close my eyes, and I know that I can survive, I'll walk through fire to save my life. And I want it, I want my life so bad. I'm doing everything I can, then another one bites the dust. It's hard to lose a chosen one. You did not break me, no. I'm still fighting for peace. Well, I've got thick skin and an elastic heart, but your blade, it might be too sharp. I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard, yeah, I may snap and I move fast, but you won't see me fall apart.

6. empty gold halsey

‘Cause when our demons come, dancing in the shadows to a game that can't be won. Feel like we've been falling down like these autumn leaves, but baby don't let winter come, don't let our hearts freeze. If the morning light don't steal our souls, we will walk away from empty gold. We're the underdogs in this world alone, I'm a believer, got a fever running through my bones.

7. scream my name tove lo

Can't sleep, I keep me awake, flip through the lives on TV. I say, for now I'm happy. Love it when I'm play pretending, when I can take bullets to the heart. Fucking up my happy ending, but I can take bullets to the heart. Breathe in balance and love, I was born on the scene, now it runs in my blood. Yeah, you know what I mean. When I'm dead and gone, will they sing about me?

8. power & control marina and the diamonds

Think you’re funny, think you’re smart, think you’re gonna break my heart. Think you’re funny, think you’re smart, yeah, you may be good looking, but you’re not a piece of art. Power and control, I’m gonna make you fall. Women and men we are the same, but love will always be a game. A human vulnerability doesn't mean that I am weak.

9. alphabet boy melanie martinez

I know my ABCs, yet you keep teaching me. I say, fuck your degree, alphabet boy. You think you're smarter than me with all your bad poetry, fuck all your ABCs, alphabet boy. I'm not a little kid now, watch me get big now. Spell my name on the fridge now with all your alphabet toys. You won the spelling bee now, but are you smarter than me now? You're the prince of the playground, little alphabet boy.

10. our eyes lucy rose

I'm alive, I feel it now, I never knew I'll find it on you. Out of line we got ourselves in a look, wait we are not fine. Wait, you are not mine. We find our eyes stuck looking at... Our eyes are making out, we're not made for this fighting love.Our eyes stuck looking at... Our eyes are making out, we're too close to be out of touch.

11. kiss with a fist florence + the machine

My black eye casts no shadow, your red eye sees no blame. Your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same. Blood sticks, sweat drips, break the lock if it don't fit. A kick in the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none. 

12. one more night maroon 5

You and I go hard at each other like we're going to war. You and I go rough, we keep throwing things and slamming the door. You and I get so damn dysfunctional, we stopped keeping score. You and I get sick, yeah, I know that we can't do this no more. Yeah, but baby there you go again, there you go again, making me love you. Yeah, I stopped using my head, using my head, let it all go. Got you stuck on my body, on my body, like a tattoo. And now I'm feeling stupid, feeling stupid, crawling back to you. So I cross my heart and I hope to die that I'll only stay with you one more night and I know I said it a million times, but I'll only stay with you one more night.

13. lurk the neighbourhood

I want to be honest, I want to be bad, I want to destroy you, I want to move fast, I want the attention, I want all the cash, I want all the ass. Is it too much to ask? I want to be faithful, I want to be raw, I want to be ignorant, I want to know it all. I want to die someday, I want to live long. I want what I ask for...

14. sucker for pain imagine dragons, lil wayne, wiz khalifa, ty dolla $ign, logic & x ambassadors

Love and the loyalty that's what we stand for, alienated by society, all this pressure give me anxiety. Walk slow through the fire, like, who gon' try us?Feeling the world go against us, so we put the world on our shoulders. I torture you, take my hand through the flames. I torture you, I'm a slave to your games, I'm just a sucker for pain. I wanna chain you up, I wanna tie you down, I'm just a sucker for pain.

[cutie1365]

Hello Detective Chapter 44

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Word Count: 1602

masterlist   Part 45

Mycroft’s car brought you back to 221 where John stood at the front door opening a letter. You rushed up the stairs and into the sitting room.

“Where’ve you been?” Lestrade asked.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock said, after looking you up and down. Your breath hitched in your throat, for someone who had trouble reading you, he sure always knew when you were with Mycroft.

Lestrade had sent you the files so you read them in the car on the way here. Rufus Bruhl, the Ambassador to the US had two children. Max and Claudette, aged seven and nine, went to a boarding school named St. Aldate’s in Surrey. School ended, all the other boarders went home. Just a few kids remained, including those two. The kids have vanished, and the ambassador had asked for Sherlock personally. The reichenbach hero.

You drove out to the boarding school, an hour drive that was extremely awkward. Sherlock and John were in the back, you in the front and Lestrade driving. You were still mad at Sherlock for yelling at you and pushing you away. You thought you had proved by now that two of you on a case was better than one. You were in this together, or so you thought...

Once you arrived at the boarding school you saw the house mistress who Lestrade said was Miss MacKenzie. He also told Sherlock to go easy on her.

“Miss MacKenzie. You’re in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night. What are you, an idiot, a drunk or a criminal? Now quickly, tell me!” Sherlock yelled, ripping her shock blanket off. That caught the attention of you and Lestrade, who both turned back to see completely out of line. What was wrong with him? First you, then this poor old lady. You didn’t know what Moriarty did to him, but something was definitely up.

“All the door and windows were properly bolted. No one, not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me.” She said nervously. You began to march towards Sherlock.

“I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly. Miss MacKenzie will need to breathe into a bag now.” Sherlock said, and you followed him in shock.

“What’s wrong with you?” You asked as you followed him up the stairs.

“No idea what you mean.” Sherlock said.

“Really, so we’re going to pretend like nothing happened this morning.” You said.

“I needed to think, you would have just distracted me. What did Mycroft want?” Sherlock asked, changing the subject.

“There was no need to scream at me. And what Mycroft and I talk about isn’t your business.” You said.

“It could be my business.” Sherlock said.

“Yes it could, if you would just get over this childish feud and accept your brother’s help.” You said.

“Hmm, nope.” Sherlock said, “Are you expecting me to apologize?”

“No, I know you better than that. It would be nice though if you realized that just maybe I could help you with this Moriarty thing.” You argued.

“I don’t want you to get hurt by him.” Sherlock said, walking into the empty girls dorm.

“Don’t you think we’re a little past that.” You said quietly, ending the conversation.

“Six grand a term, you’d expect them to keep the kids safe for you.” John said as he entered the room.

“They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in. The intruder must have been hidden inside someplace.” You said as Sherlock was opening and closing drawers and looking under the bed.

Sherlock picked up an envelope and pulled out a copy of Grimm Fairy Tales.

“Show me where the brother slept.” Sherlock said, standing and moving towards the door.

You walked down the hall and into a new room, the door creaked as it opened.

 “The boy sleeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside i the corridor. He’d recognize every shape, every outline. The silhouette of everyone who came to the door.” Sherlock said, pointing to the door.

“Okay, so?” Lestrade asked.

“So someone approaches the door who he doesn’t recognize. An intruder, maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon. What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?” You spoke, taking the words out of Sherlock’s mouth as if you had something to prove.

“This little boy, this particular little boy, who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?” Sherlock said, walking over to the side of the boys bed. He seemed to notice what you were doing, you were showing off, showing him he wasn’t the only intelligent one around here, and showing him that you could help.

Sherlock began sniffing around until he found what he was smelling.

“Get Anderson.” He said, which surprised everyone. Sherlock was holding an empty glass bottle.

You stepped out of the room to call Anderson, knowing he might respond better to you. Nevertheless the crime scene was an hour away, so he might need some convincing. He also hates working cases with Sherlock, but you didn’t blame him for that part.

“Phillip, we need your help.” You said into the phone once he answered.

“Where?” He asked.

“Surrey, St. Aldate’s Boarding School. Also you’re going to need to bring some black lights.” You said.

“He’s working this one isn’t he?” Anderson asked.

“Yup, but he asked for you specifically so you know it’s important.” You said into the phone.

“Well I better get going, you know Sherlock Holmes doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” Anderson said, and you laughed as you walked back into the room. Sherlock looked at you suspiciously.

“Thanks Phillip.” you said, hanging up.

“Phillip?” Sherlock asked.

“Well that is his name.” You argued and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Once Anderson and his team arrived everyone got to work. The windows were blacked out to keep out the lights and the black lights were switched on.

“Linseed oil.” Sherlock said, holding the light up to the wall to reveal a finger drawn message left by the little boy ‘HELP US’.

“Not much use. Doesn’t lead us to the kidnapper.” Anderson said.

“Brilliant, Anderson.” Sherlock said.

“Really?” He asked surprised.

“Yes, brilliant impression of an idiot.” Sherlock said and you rolled your eyes.

“The floor.” You pointed, seeing the illuminated footprints.

“He made a trail for us.” John said, and you nodded.

“The boy was made to walk ahead of him.” Sherlock said.

“On tiptoe?” John asked.

“Indicates anxiety.” You and Sherlock said at the same time, and looked up to each other in surprise. You raised an eyebrow in a sort of ‘see I can do it too’ way. You looked back down to the footprints.

“Gun held to his head. The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways.” you said, following the trail out into the hall.

“That’s the end of it. We don’t know where they went from here. Tells us nothing after all.” Anderson said, annoyed.

“You’re right Anderson. Nothing. Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace.” Sherlock said, ripping the shade from the window as Anderson walked away.

Sherlock bent down to the ground, pulling out his tools and a plastic container. He chuckled, like he was enjoying this.

“Having fun?” You asked, kneeling next to him.

“Starting to.” Sherlock said.

“Maybe don’t do the smiling. Kidnapped children?” You reminded him. He began scraping the floor and collecting it in the container, wanting to figure out whatever he could about where this man had been and what resided in his shoe print.

You knew Sherlock’s next stop was the lab at Barts. Lestrade drove everyone back into town.

“How did he get past the CCTV if all the doors were locked?” John asked as we were driving.

“He walked in when they weren’t locked.” You answered.

“But a stranger can’t just walk into a school like that.” John argued.

“Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday, end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What’s one more stranger among that lot.” Sherlock said.

“He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide.” You said, as you were approaching Barts. The three of you entered the building, Lestrade instructing you to keep him updated.

As you were about to enter the lab, you saw Molly leaving, or at least attempting to.

“Molly” Sherlock said cheerfully.

“Oh, hello. I’m just going out.” She said, trying to walk past you.

“No you’re not.” Sherlock said, turning her around and walking towards the lab.

“I’ve got a lunch date.” She protested.

“Cancel it. You’re having lunch with us. Need your help.” He said.

“What?” She asked surprised.

“It’s one of your boyfriends, we’re trying to track him down. He’s been a bit naughty.” You smiled fakely. You and Molly didn’t really get along well. She had basically called you a whore, but you understood that Sherlock needed her help.

“Its Moriarty.” John asked confused.

“Of course it’s Moriarty.” Sherlock said.

“Jim actually wasn’t even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it.” She said proudly.

“Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England, and organized a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly.” You said, smiling, before turning on your heel and strutting into the lab.

Part 45

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