#this discussion happens every month or so

[anim-ttrpgs]

Good question!

The answer is because we said so.

Hahaha that is actually a true answer but there’s more to it than that.

The answer is that we want this to be a type of scene that is affected by the rules and the dice, because it’s something that we want Eureka to be about. Whatever you write rules for is what your rpg is about.

Making it a thing in the rules ensures that it is a thing in gameplay and the story that results from gameplay. Moments where characters sit around the table discussing the mystery are great for their and their players’ understanding of the mystery and ability to put the pieces together, and great for fleshing our who these characters are.

As for rolling when it matters, it matters.

The ability for characters to fail these Wealth rolls provides even more moments for characterization. One example off the top of my head that players still talk about even though it was over 6 months ago now is when one PC, Burnadette, failed a Wealth check and couldn’t afford food, tried to steal some breakfast bars from the grocery store, and was caught stealing by Sister Harriet, another PC. Sister Harriet, though poor herself, bought the breakfast bars for Burnadette, and it’s one of the things that made these PCs go from being relative strangers, who met because they were both interested in the same creepy old house, to being friends who care about each other.

It also matters because it interacts significantly with other mechanics, like the Composure system. PCs who don’t eat lose Composure, PCs who do eat gain Composure, and losing/gaining Composure matters a lot.

Wealth, or lack of it, being something that can significantly impact a PC’s Composure is by design, and the possibility of failing Wealth checks for food is one of the ways that happens. Speaking from experience, being poor is stressful, being homeless even more so, and even middle class people have to worry about money even if they aren’t living paycheck-to-paycheck. Wealth inequality in 21st century America and the effect it has on people is a theme you’ll find all throughout Eureka.

And the reason it’s meals and not other social gatherings is because it’s universal and thus works for every PC no matter what. Not everyone goes to any particular kind of social gathering, but everybody eats. The fact that it’s meals specifically also provides contrast for the monsters that eat people, representing how something that everyone else does casually (in this case eating) is a huge, violent ordeal for those who are on the wrong side of this society’s perception of acceptable needs.

As for the issue of even a super wealthy character being certain to run out of Food Budget eventually, and having a very small chance to fail a Wealth check to buy food, that’s because, while it does have a lot of life simulation elements, Eureka isn’t a life simulation, it’s a game about the PCs solving mysteries. The mechanics are tailored not to show their every-day lives, but to show a small particularly exciting snapshot of their lives, that time they ended up investigating a mystery.

The amount of Food Budget a PC can have is tailored mechanically not to represent their whole lives, but to work for the amount of in-world time we expect the average Eureka adventure to last.

Regarding a super rich character still having a small chance to fail a Wealth check to buy food, well, that’s because much of the society that Eureka takes place in, our society, is just hostile to human life. All the money in the world won’t help if the PC is snooping around in a food desert, or automated system which monitors their every purchase arbitrarily flags their recent activity as suspicious and freezes their credit card.

As for specifically 3 meals a day, that’s just a common meal structure in America, and it’s easy to design the mechanics around.

Meal Scenes and their Purpose in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy

[red-phantom-0]

The children are dead

pt 2 of Damien x Ghoul.sib reader

──► as the two siblings grow ever so closer bonded by the cold love of their 'adopted' family and the monstrosity of their past , life throws them another unyielding cruelty that breaks them both entirely.

Tw : major character death , child neglect , revenge

part 1

I'm done dreaming.

ACT I

It was late December , the air around the manor was grim and chilly , nothing but haunting and a grim reminder that life was harsh and would never be easy. Damien clenches his fingers within his gloves as he attempts to soak up what little warmth he had.

Bruce and his other siblings stood before him in the patio , discussing events pertaining to last night's stake out. Damien tunes out their annoying , scratchy voices, but his eyes trained to every other possible corner of the room searching for them.

The grandfather ticks by, and the conversation turns dull , he had to hold himself exactly ten times from clawing Dick's eyes out whenever he'd call him a demon spwan or ask him who he's planning to kill. He's at his bloody wits until he see y/n's figure limping in.

Damien pushes back his chair and immediately launches himself from him . He didn't have to ask them his eyes already gave away how bloody worried he was with them. He can hear Bruce and the others calling him back, but he can't give a bloody damn about them right now.

He watches as y/n's bloody form lean against the doorframe as they fall to the ground like a limp leaf . Damien crotches down with them and place his hand on their bleeding stomach - it was a big gash like a vicious creature took a bite out of them.

" Oh my God, we need to get them to a doctor-" he could hear Stephanie say from behind him, and Damien has never unsheathed his sword any faster . " Shut the fuck up and leave them alone " he growled.

The last time y/n went to a doctor , the medicine they used on them caused them to turn into a ghoul for three days straight - for three days his precious sibling was forced to be driven to insanity as their ghoulish form fought with what little human control they had left to suppress themselves from consuming humans.

His poor sibling wore ghoulish scratch marks on their arms and cheeks for months. He can see in the distance Tim opening his big trap to give his unwanted opinion, and Damien sneered at him . His sibling couldn't heal from their medication in his own world , hell - no medication could heal them , they had to hope to God they regenerated fast enough.

" Fuck off Drake " he sneered before crouching before y/n once again.

" What happened ?" He questioned them as he pressed him hand onto their wound to stop the wound from gushing even more blood. " Ran into another ghoul - no - he was an investigator from my world that kills ghouls like me - the undefeated ghoul investigator , Arima," they explained through coughing fits.

Damien stilled. He now knew the gravity of how extremely grim the situation became , the white reaper of his siblings' universe has come to end their demise . He remembered y/n talking about him , about how Arima possessed superhuman strength and his immense 'hatred for ghouls' lead the man to kill hundreds if not thousands of ghouls in his 18 years of occupation.

Y/n gave him a small smile . " I'll be okay," they reassured him . Damien just held them as he ignored the outside world.

Oh, how he wished he didn't believe them that night .

ACT II

January 6th , the night was quiet, and still , the moon casted its opulence across the streets of Gotham. A simply routine was instilled tonight , everyone had a simple stake out tonight .

It was the first night in years Damien and y/n hadn't been with each other on a mission for years - something he'd live to regret later . He found it suspicious, but Bruce insisted he needed to join him tonight to test him out as Robin and y/n had persistently encouraged him to go.

So here he was following Bruce from rooftop to rooftop as they stalked some of Joker's henchmen . For the last hour or so , Damien had checked in on y/n , and they reported they were doing okay and had just arrested some petty thrives for the night.

The hour was coming to an end , and so far, everyone but y/n reported in . Damien grew anxious , and y/n was always a timely person, so for them to be late was entirely unheard of.

Bruce reassured him that they were fine but that didn't stop the nagging feeling in his stomach and it's not like Bruce ever cared about your existence to begin with - only cared you did what you had to do and the thought of it pissed him off.

Damien was now finishing up wrapping up his grappling hook when y/n's frantic voice buzzed through his intercom . " Help me - he's - come quick " came their frantic voice through the static. Damien felt dread weighing like lead through his veins as he clutched onto his own intercom.

" Y/n are you okay ? Where are you ?" He asked frantically but was only left with static. Damien immediately began to leave when Bruce stopped him.

" Damien y/n isn't important right now we have more important things to worry about " Bruce or rather batman says and he held his son by the shoulder . Damien harshly yanked it off . " Leave me the fuck alone - I am going to them and you aren't stopping me " He yells as he grappled off the roof.

Batman calls after him, but Damien ignores him as he grapples his way to the other side of Gotham city . His heart beats heavy in his chest as he appraches your last known location only to see the building left in ruin.

Blood splatters were everywhere, and ruins were left anew . " Y/N !!!!" He shouted as he grappled around the area , eyes frantically looking for your figure . He begs , prays to whatever God out there that you're safe as he continued further as he observes more buildings left to ruins.

Ruble covered the area as far as the eye can see , not a living soul in sight. Damien kept calling your name out , tears practically falling down his face as he continued searching.

Minutes ticked by dreadfully until he finally spots you. Your bloody figure lays there in a bed of red spider lillies. Damien lets out an ear, piercing scream at the sight . With shaky legs and arms, he approaches your figure . Your figure layed still as a gentle breeze blow, causing the spider lillies to brush up against your form like a warm blanket .

Damien holds your form with shaky hands as he keeps repeating no's over and over. Your dead brown human eye stared at him , soulless and unmoving while your beautiful red eye had a jaggery, long sword piercing right through it . Your right arm and both your legs were missing , but still - in the moonlight , you looked calm.

Damien grew quiet as he layed his head on your chest , no longer can he selfishly listen to your heartbeat and relish in the familiar love you bestowed upon him. No longer would he be able to share a laugh with you , your pain , your burdens , your bitter coffees to your exhilarating training.

He would no longer have any of those as now you lay dead , robbed from his safe embrace because life was too cruel and unforgiving and had to take away the one good thing he had his life.

He no longer felt angry at the world. No, he felt awake and mad . Be prepared , Gotham , for tonight two children died and your long awaited recogning is comming with nothing but cold , bitter , unforgiving blood shed.

A crow in the distance let out a war cry as Damien kisses your forehead one last time before the spider lillies cover your form one last time , shadong your innocence from the raging hell Damien is about to bestow upon the world.. A gentle breeze blows, and Damien unsheathes his sword, ready to bring destruction and ruin to the world.

dreaming world

prepare to be

awaken.

Part 3, anyone ?

[silentreigns]

Typical Colapinto fan. "I don't want Jack dropped because I don't want my boy at that team!" How about "I don't want Jack dropped because Jack is an excellent driver in his own right who's worked his ass off for that seat and should be given the chance to show it"? You'd destroy any career for your Colapinto. It's not enough to leave hate for Jack on every Alpine post, huh?

Need you to read what I wrote carefully. I don't want Jack to fail even if it means Colapinto gets another chance. But it doesn't matter what I want. Alpine are only giving Jack 5 races to catch up to Pierre which is a huge thing to ask for. If he doesn't deliver, and the chances are high, they're kicking him out. The Alpine higher-ups (Flavio Briatore) do not have faith in Jack. But Flavio has teased the possibility of Franco joining Alpine, and has spoken positively about him. Put the pieces together, Jack is being set up to fail so he can be replaced by either Franco or Paul Aron.

If anything, I'm mad that Franco is being treated as just a marketing tool by a lot of F1 fans and some of the paddock, and not being taken seriously because of his racecraft. That's my main problem with this situation. Yes he's charismatic and funny, but his actual skills behind the wheel are what we should be discussing more. I'm guilty of this myself and will try to do better in the future.

Lots of drivers on the grid, like Checo and Lewis, have spoken positively about how good Franco's doing. A year ago Franco was struggling to find sponsorships to fund his F2 campaign. And then he was a F2 rookie who got a lot less preparation before stepping up to F1 compared to others. The first time I ever heard of Franco was when he did that Free Practice in Silverstone. A couple of months later he was finishing out the season. It's crazy how much his life has changed in such a short time. If I never saw the hashtags his fans trended to raise awareness about his situation, I doubt I would have cared much or known about what was going on with his career. People get annoyed with Argentinians commenting under every official post to hire Franco but it was them bombarding the comments that made me realize how passionate his fans are. With that being said, Franco has shown enough for him to have a full-time seat and I want him to have that as his fan. No I wouldn't want it to be at the expense of Jack, but if that's what's gotta happen then it is what it is. Also I don't comment hate on posts where drivers could potentially see it because that's corny. I don't need the drivers to know that I exist and being irrelevant is peaceful.

[jason-todd-fangirl-14]

Jason Grace Dating Headcanons!!

Thank you to all who begged for this after I mentioned I wanted to write it. This one goes out to ya’ll!! Other PJO characters dating hcs may come out as well, probably sometime after the new year if I decide to write them at all. Lmk any male characters you’d like to see if I were to do them. In the meantime, enjoy our blond Superman’s dating hcs!!

•for starters, Jason would 1000% be a gentleman. You cannot convince me otherwise. •if you’re with him anywhere, in public or in the privacy of your own space, he will make sure your hand is in his basically at all times. If you pull your hand from him, he will give you such a disapproving look LOL. •if you’re ever out driving just you two, he will almost always be in the drivers seat. He just loves driving his passenger princess around anywhere she wants. This may just be me, but I feel like he’d have bad motion sickness in the car, especially after his mother died in a car accident, and the only way he'd be able to be in the car is if he’s the one behind the wheel. •book advent calendars every Christmas, Valentine’s Day & your birthday! •Jason Grace is definitely a chivalrous man, and nobody can convince me otherwise!! He carries all of your bags if you go shopping at the mall, opens every car and building door. Heck, he will even carry you around like a bride on her wedding day if you’re too tired to walk or if you injured yourself. He won’t ever complain. •he definitely will spoil you. •I feel like his love language would be acts of service, physical touch or gift giving—not really receiving. He won’t ever turn down a gift from you, but he prefers to be the one giving the gift instead. He still lets you anyway. •let us all never forget that Jason is definitely a hugger. I mean he tried hugging Nico until he realized he didn’t like hugs, and immediately backed up and apologized. •because of this, if you happen to be like Nico, in the sense that you too don’t like hugs, he’ll back off and apologize to you, as well. Which brings me to the next headcanon:

•RESPECTFUL™!!! Must I elaborate farther??

•as for dates, he’s definitely the type to set up a picnic under the stars. •for food served at your picnic date, I think Jason will ask Leo to help him make your favorite meal. It will end up turning out amazing because duh, Leo coached him! •he’s definitely the type to date for marriage, and I think he’ll know very quickly if he wants to marry and settle down with you. I mean, he was already imagining a future with Piper not long after they began dating, sooooo. •also to go with that one, he definitely already has money laid aside for your engagement ring. •on another note, I can see Jason letting you try on his glasses. He will definitely comment on how he thinks you look better with them on then him. •so. many. compliments!!

•expect a bouquet of flowers from the Demeter/Ceres cabin on your front steps of your house and/or cabin every month. •little notes left by Jason with poems, reminders or words of affirmation will be all over your home/cabin. •despite the challenges he faces with learning disabilities, I can see Jason being an huge reader, and I can see him reading all of you favorite books so he can sit down together to discuss things with you. •encouragement in every single situation, good or bad. •your well being and needs will ALWAYS come first, he even vowed it on the River Styx. •if you have a fear of heights, he’ll for sure be down to help you overcome it. Keep in mind tho, he won’t ever push you into facing it until you’re ready. •if you’re afraid of thunder and/or storms in general, he will be definitely down to cuddle to make you feel better. Tho he has some control over thunderstorms, he wouldn’t be strong enough to go up against his dad (also only one with a death wish would be willing to go up against Zeus), so cuddles and distraction is the only way for him to help you.

anyways, overall, Jason is 10/10 husband materiel!!

[bvbygrl-writes]

Unmasked

Pairing: Astarion x Elf!Princess! Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: After years of growing up feeling unattractive in her sisters' shadows, (Y/n) is made aware of how beautiful she actually is.

A/N: I didn't proof read this and I have not written in months so if it's a flop, it's a flop

Warnings: Astarion is a bit OOC here but shh lemme imagine

All her life, (Y/n) had been ashamed of her looks. Growing up in an elven kingdom, with six other sisters, it was obvious she never compared to them. At balls and galas, she watched from the sidelines as some of the most handsome men she had ever seen bowed before her sisters, whisking them away for a dance on the floor. Those rare times when she was afforded a chance with a suitor, it was almost always cut short by one of her sisters becoming free for another dance. It hurt her deeply, knowing she was the fallback choice every time.

When she was taken upon the mindflayer ship, although it was mostly a tragic thing to happen (given the parasite wriggling around in her mind) for the first time, she felt peace. She was away from the palace that had become like a jail overtime. There were no servants to overhear comparing her to her siblings, no balls she was forced to perform at. She could truly just be herself for the first time in a very long time.

In a situation as bad as the one they were currently in, things were almost perfect. She was a leader, using all the teachings her mother had bestowed on her to navigate situations to the best of her ability, managing to avoid fights when possible. She had companions, friends even by her side to fight when necessary. Friends who felt comfortable enough to discuss their problems, their stories, and their past. But there was always a sinking feeling of guilt she held in her stomach for one reason: Not a single one of them knew what she looked like.

Everywhere she went, (Y/n) always kept a stone mask on her face. Whether she was in battle, or preparing to end the night at camp she kept her mask on without fail. She’d eat her meals alone in her tent and only bathe once everyone had fallen asleep for the night. Her insecurities with her appearance ran so deep that she feared if anyone were to see her, they’d treat her differently. All they could see were her (e/c) eyes through the holes in the mask.

Tonight was a celebratory night. Everyone sat around the campfire, laughing and getting along. Whether it was the excellent meal Gale had prepared or the expensive wine they managed to steal from Cazador’s mansion after he was slain, spirits were high. Everyone was having a delightful time with each other. Everyone but her.

(Y/n) moved the fabric of her tent back a bit to see things more clearly, a smile hidden from the world behind the marble on her face. Her eyes were fixated on her heart’s desire, a certain undead elf who looked happier than she had seen him in ages. The crinkles by the side of his mouth as he laughed, clearly inebriated quite a bit, his defenses down. It was a rare sight to see. He looked radiant, beautiful even. She quickly pulled the ties on her tent, darkness surrounding her. 

It was stupid to even let herself dream, to let herself think she could ever be with him. He had been alive for centuries, bedded many people and with his newfound freedom, he was pleased to be with whoever he wanted, go wherever he wanted. She was lucky that he even chose to stay by her side for as long as he had, that she was the one he opened up to. After hearing of his past, the horrors he had been through, the scars on his body that would be a constant reminder of it, she found herself harbouring affection for him. It was a small thing that had grown to be more overtime. 

Many nights, when neither of them could sleep, the pair found themselves sitting up with one another, watching the sky till the sun rose. She’d observe him in awe, a silent worship as he’d stand shirtless, allowing himself to feel the sun on his skin, a luxury he hadn’t been afforded in at least a hundred years. Most of these nights were spent wordless and in many ways, they weren’t needed. They had an unspoken connection, one that she found herself always wishing to be more than what it was. Yet, she couldn’t get over that fear. The fear if she was to remove her mask, that he’d see her face and be repulsed. The thought alone was enough to keep her from trying to advance their friendship into something more. She was fortunate he’d even afford her that.

Turning away from the front of her tent, she pulled at the ribbons allowing the cool stone to fall in her lap. Her hands reached up, massaging the stiff muscles of her face, stretching open her sore jaw. Her shoulders drooped, finally being able to relax. Her stomach lurched, protesting at her loudly for the lack of food she had afforded herself until now. Reaching for her cutlery, she began to cut into the pork, letting out a moan of approval at the taste of it. The woman was more than glad she had splurged at the market for the more expensive ingredients for once. 

“You know, it’s quite bothersome that-” without thinking, her head whipped around to look at Astarion just in time to watch his crimson eyes grow wide in shock. His mouth hung open slightly, and that was the last she saw before turning around, ducking her face down into her lap. Hot tears sprung from her eyes. If she thought there was even a sliver of a chance before, there was no way in hell there was now. He had seen her face. It would be just like it was with the others back home.

“Get out! Go away now, please…” she pleaded desperately, scooting further into her tent. She heard the sound of the fabric swooshing closed but not a pair of footsteps along with it. Her bedroll made a crinkling sound with the added weight of another, a cold hand delicately placed on her shoulder. Through the cracks of her arm she could see her mask placed next to her on the right side of her body. “You’ve seen me, just go ahead and say it. Tell me how repulsive I am, that I’m unsightly.” she sniffled, sitting up with her hands covering her face.

The sound of laughter caused her to peek through her fingers, just in time to see Astarion wipe a faux tear from his face. “That truly can’t be the reason you’ve been hidden behind that mask all these months, right? You- you think you’re grotesque?” he laughed out, his eyes opening in time to see the woman drop her hands, tears in her eyes. His demeanor quickly changed to a more serious one. “Dear gods, you’re being serious, aren’t you?” Their eyes locked on one another for a moment before she quickly looked back at her lap.

“Back in my kingdom, I was the ugliest one of my six sisters. Their beauty was otherworldly, even for elves. I was constantly looked over for years of my life. They always tried to comfort me, to tell me my time would come, but it never did. I spent most of my life like a forgotten doll on a shelf.” she confessed, picking at the skin around her nail beds anxiously. 

“Well, I hate to say this, my dear, but you’ve been living a lie.” He spoke earnestly, gripping her chin to look up at him. His expression was soft, adoring even. A barely noticeable smile graced his face. “You are simply divine. It’s funny, even before seeing your face, I still found myself drawn to you. At first, I simply thought it was because there was something to gain here but after time, mainly those late nights we shared, I felt my motivations change. You set me free. Even though I was cruel and wicked to you, even when I pushed you away, you still risked your life to save mine.” his voice was raspy as he choked on his words, shifting his gaze away for a moment to collect himself. (Y/n) placed her hand over his own, squeezing it gently. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead before pulling back. “The point I am trying to make here is that I cared for you already before you took that dreadful mask off, but now? Now I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stay away. You should have rid of that thing ages ago. I…Iwant to be with you, if you’ll have me.”

(Y/n) smiled, her tears of sorrow now replaced with ones of a positive stream of overwhelming emotions. “I’d be honored. You have no idea how I’ve yearned for you to be mine, for me to be yours. We both have a lot of issues to work through but I know we can do so, together.” leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Astarion froze, the foreign soft touch catching him off guard. He hesitated for a moment before awkwardly wrapping his around her delicate frame.

“I hope you do know that I will be holding it over everyone’s head that I got to see you first! Even though it was an accident.”

“I expect nothing less from you.”

[ladylooch]

Bones - Part 11 [Mack x David]

A/N: First and foremost, please read the warnings below. This chapter is heavy. It is also one of my favorite chapters written in this series. Not because of the things that have happened, but because we learn so much more about David and his upbringing. How despite all of that, he is who he is now. It's an incredible tip of the cap to his character. I also am in love with the courage and strength shown by Mack in this chapter. Would love to hear your thoughts on this one, if you're willing to share 😘

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: scenes of violence, mentions of abuse, guns, death, grieving, drug use, trauma discussions.

(David)

The first time David can remember getting smacked by his older brother, Tommy, was at their hometown grocery store.

David was 5 and had gone into town with his dad and brothers to drop his mom off at bingo. His dad didn’t know how to cook, so on nights his mom went to bingo, they stopped at the grocery store and split buckets of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and coleslaw. His dad would even let David have a full can of Coke.

On this particular day, David has been salivating over the bucket of Dum Dums from the Customer Service counter. His dad was buying cigarettes- Marlboro Reds as always. David had gone on his tip toes when the clerk reached for the white bucket. He made the mistake of reaching into the bucket first and Tommy, the second oldest had smacked David upside the head so hard his ears started ringing. 

“Wait your turn, Turd!” A 13 year old Tommy had barked. His dad had watched the whole exchange and tiredly told Tommy to knock it off. When David got home, he cried in his mom’s arms about it. He shouldn’t have. The next day Tommy gave David a black eye for snitching and knocked the wind out of him with a kick to the stomach. David learned to keep those things to himself after that. 

He generally avoided Tommy growing up those next few years. It got easier when Tommy ran off with some of his buddies to the South, convinced they could get rich on fixing up old cars and hanging around NASCAR tracks. Instead, all Tommy found was drugs.

David will never forget the first time Tommy showed to the farm high on meth. He hadn’t looked right, swerving up the driveway in his beater. David had been by the barn, bottle feeding a new calf, when his mom had called his dad back from the field. Their daddy cocked that shotgun and Tommy was off. The following afternoon, Tommy was waiting outside David’s high school hockey practice. He grabbed David and threw him against the arena wall, demanding his wallet. David had $100 in there. Tommy stole it then knocked a right hook into David’s cheek. When he got home, he told his mom he got punched at practice. She almost made him quit hockey after that.

Coach had to talk her out of it. 

For the next few months, off and on, Tommy waited outside of practice for David. Sometimes he was high. Sometimes he wasn’t. David preferred when he was. When he was sober, he would cry and hug David. Lie to him that he needed this money to get back onto his feet. Then the next time David saw him he would be high, itchy and shakey- wild eyes that threatened at every movement David made. Until one day David came out of practice to see Tommy being led away with handcuffs.

“How could you do this to me!?” He had screamed. “You’re supposed to be my brother!!!!”

David wasn’t the one who called the police. Although it was never admitted to, he suspected it was his coach. 

That same hockey rink still sits across the street from where him and Mack are walking into the grocery store now. The inside of the store has changed a lot since David was 5- more modern and clean, but the memory still lingers at that customer service counter. 

“Okay, so what are we getting?” Mack asks him. David clears his throat, pulling himself out of the past and into the present with his beautiful wife. 

“Burgers and pasta salad and some potatoes. Maybe ice cream for dessert?”

“Mmm I’m so excited for this meal. Okay, do you want veggies for your burger? Like tomatoes, onions, lettuce?” 

“Yeah. You head over there. I’ll grab a cart.” He kisses her temple then they veer off in different directions. David looks out towards the parking lot seeing a familiar, beat up Ram truck. Rust has eaten away at the wheel wells, leaving the body of the truck edgy and rough. David pauses with a hand on a cart. 

It’s probably not the one he is thinking of. Last he heard Tommy hadn’t been in town since March. At least that’s the last time he was on the farm trying to push Felix around. The only thing that made him go away was Felix and his shot gun. Some things never change with Tommy.

David and Mack arrived back into town yesterday after a few weeks in Switzerland. They fell into bed, exhausted from the time change, but with no food in the house, they had to fight their jet lag and head to the store for an early dinner. David wheels the cart with one hand, seeing Mack over by the tomatoes. As he is walking, he glances up, looking towards the familiar customer service counter. There, he does a double take. 

“Fuck.” David mutters, holding his breath. He glances back to Mack. She holds a tomato up, inspecting it every which way before plopping it into a produce bag. She ties the bag off then heads towards the onions.

Internally, David struggles. Mack has not had to interact with his brothers in any of her prior visits to Iowa and he wants to keep that streak going. Knowing Tommy, he’s here for cigarettes and not groceries. So his time in the store should be short lived. David wheels the cart close to Mack, bringing her into his chest to keep his body between her and where he last saw Tommy.

“Have you ever grown onions?” Mack asks him, putting a white one into a bag then dropping the two bags into their cart.

“I’ve grown green onions.”

“We should try next year. I feel like we should come here first and get a garden going next year, then go to Switzerland.”

“You don’t trust Felix to do it?”

“Babe, he can’t do everything for the farm and grow our personal garden.” Mack chuckles. “Give the guy a break. And a raise.”

“He hates breaks.” David reasons. “What’s next?”

“Lettuce.” She cheers, going to the back aisle of the produce section. She filters through the different options with her typical measured calculations, then points to the butter lettuce. “That okay?”

“Mhm.” David doesn’t give a crap what lettuce they have. He’s going to eat it begrudgingly anyway.

His eyes lift over his shoulder, scanning the customer service counter. He breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes Tommy is gone. Good. He wraps an arm around Mack’s back, pulling her into his body and giving her a sweet, soft smooch. She awakens in his arms and when they pull away, her look can’t be mistaken.

She wants him to bend her over when they get home. He hopes she will get handsy with him on the way home too. He can see her now, tucking her hair into the collar of her t-shirt so she can take his di-

“Wow, look who decided to come home from the big city finally.” David’s shoulders tighten when he hears Tommy’s smug voice call from behind them. David puts his hands on Mack’s hip, steering her into the cart so she’s locked in by his body.

Her fierce brown gaze squints ever so slightly. God, he loves her fiery attitude.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me to your pretty girl, little brother?”

Ice runs through David’s veins, then a white hot rush of anger. Before he can think better of it, he’s mouthing off.

“Fuck off.”

“Oooo whoa. Is that any way to treat family?” David laughs without humor.

“Don’t fucking lecture me about how to treat family. Look in the mirror.” 

Tommy walks to the end of the cart, keeping David from creeping forward. He puts his hands on the end of the coated metal, peering in at their limited groceries.

“This is why you’re so scronnie. What you eating vegetables only now?”

It’s laughable that David could ever be considered slim or thin or weak. David rubs at the pounding thud in the middle of his forehead, then backs the cart out of Tommy’s grasp. He lets Mack slide out from his arms. She stands at David’s side, gaze watchful and guarded.

“Tommy.” He extends his hand to her. 

“Mack.” She responds, but doesn’t take his hand.

“Polite.” Tommy grumbles them brings his piercing blue eyes back to his brother. David resists the urge to shove the cart forward and knock Tommy on his back. He has to keep his cool. He can’t go flying off the handle whenever he is around. That just eggs Tommy on.

“Heard you’re married. Guess my invite got lost in the mail. But of course Felix was there. It’s so fucking disgusting that you treat Felix like he was part of our family. He wasn’t. He is a bitch boy and you better not be giving him any profits on our-"

Staying calm is no longer an option.

“Shut the fuck up!” David yells. Mack steps back, visibly surprised at the tone of David’s voice. Other people look. The whole store seems to go quiet. David rounds the cart, pressing Mack back behind him so there is distance between them and her. Then he gets right in Tommy’s face, careful not to touch him. This asshole would be one to claim assault and try to sue David for his next round of drug money.

“Leave us alone, Tommy. And I’m not just talking about today. Leave us alone for good. We are here for the summer minding our own damn business. You better do the same.”

“Oooooo.” Tommy jokingly feigns being afraid. “Little brother is so tough now. They teach you that in the big city?”

“You know where I fucking learned how to beat your ass.” David spits. “Go.” He waves him away. Something about the look in David’s eyes has Tommy choosing to heed his advice.

Tommy does turn and leave while hissing out the mocking laugh that still makes David’s blood turn cold in his veins. 

Mack slides her hand up David’s arm but he flinches and pulls away from her touch.

David tries to recover, wrapping her hand in his, but Mack’s face reflects her worry back to him She doesn’t press and they continue on through the store. David can’t help looking over his shoulder as they leave the parking lot, even after he see’s Tommy’s truck is gone.

Something in the back of David’s mind nags at him. A part of him that knows this is far from the last interaction they’ll have with Tommy.

So much for home being their summer oasis. 

- - - & - - -

(Mack)

The silence in the house creates the perfect amplifier for the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Mack and David sit together in the living room after dinner, desperately trying to fight off their jet lag. It’s almost 8pm, which is the time they set for themselves before going to sleep for the night. 

Although, judging by the harsh, set line of David’s jaw, she isn’t sure if he will be going to bed anyway. 

If Mack hadn’t liked David’s sister, Denise, she isn’t sure what she would call her feelings about the interaction with his older brother at the store. David had turned into something dark and mean. He yelled. She thought she was going to have to jump between both the men but at the last second, David got himself under control. It was unnerving for Mack to see her husband that way. Sure, he’s fought on the ice, but that is all superficial. Nothing like what she saw in David earlier. 

Mack yawns loudly as she tosses her book, stretching her arms above her head. David does the same with his magazine, then rubs at his eyes tiredly. He stands wordlessly, pulling Mack up from her spot on the couch. He goes into the kitchen, opening up the dishwasher to let the clean dishes air dry, then grabs himself and Mack a glass of water for bed.

After they both get settled beneath the comforter, David pulls Mack in close. Her pajama shorts smooth against the bare skin of his thighs.

“I don’t want to scare you but I need you to listen to what I’m gonna tell ya, honey.” He runs his fingers through her hair. “Tommy isn’t welcome here. And he isn’t to be anywhere near you, okay? He’s all messed up on drugs again and he gets mean when he’s like this. If he shows up here when I’m out in the field, call me or Felix.”

Mack nods silently. He nods curtly, then turns out the light like their discussion is done. Mack has never seen David so serious before. His voice holds this edge of protection and his eyes have lost the sparkle they had when they arrived in Iowa a few days ago. 

“You’re safe.” He reminds her. “But you need to know he can’t be trusted.”

Mack nods again, then clears her throat to speak so he knows her answer through the darkness.

“Okay.”

Mack eventually falls into a restless sleep. She wakes in the early hours of the morning, hearing quiet voices talking down the hall. She puts on a sweatshirt, adjusting her pajama shorts back down her thighs then opens the door. She pauses, hearing David’s quiet, soothing voice talking to someone.

“How do you think we handle this with the staff?” David inquires.

“I think we tell them if they see him or his truck to let one of us know. You and I are the only ones who should be dealing with him.” Felix answers. “What about Mack?”

“She’s fine.”

A long pause happens.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. You think I’d gamble with her?”

“He seems worse.”

“Yeah. He’s using again. Could see it in his eyes when he looked at us.” Another sigh from David. “I want you carrying. I will too.”

“Hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Well, it’s the only thing that gets a response from him.”

Mack’s eyebrows furrow. Carry? Like a gun? To her knowledge, David doesn’t have guns. Mack pushes the door open, letting the hinges squeak so they know she is coming. David greets her with a soft smile.

“Good morning.” He opens his arms for her to climb into his lap. She does, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He kisses her forehead as Felix rises.

“I’ll get the groups divided up and started. Have a good day, Mrs. Mackenzie.” Felix tips his cowboy hat at her, then heads to the front door.

“Is he ever going to call me Mack?”

“Probably not.” David chuckles. “He always called mama Mrs. Carlson.” 

Mack brushes his drying hair back from his forehead. The strands cling together as his hand grips her hip. She brings her eyes to his. 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just letting Felix know about Tommy. I want him to be aware.”

“Okay.” She nods. He tucks a chunk of her hair back behind her ear. His fingers linger lovingly on her cheek, drinking her in.

“What are you up to today?”

“I need to work. Time to write up some of our travels in Europe.”

“Mmm, nice. You’re staying here then?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll be close to the house today, in the first pasture. Come out and you can watch me cut some grass.”

“Tempting.” She widens her eyes sarcastically. “But you probably won’t see me.”

“Okay.” He pats her butt for her to stand.

His boots hit the wood floor heavily as he goes to grab himself some coffee in his thermos. Mack watches him walk to the fridge. He grabs a mason jar with the overnight oats she made him last night. When he turns back to grab his thermos, she sees a leather holster attached to his belt. 

“What’s that??”

“For my gun.” He says simply, grabbing a spoon from the silverware drawer.

“What??” She questions, sitting up straight in the chair. “David, you just told me last night that we are safe and now you’re wearing a gun to work?

“It’s not unusual here, babe.” He tries to soothe her.

“You didn’t have that at all when I have been here. Not once, David. Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”

David grabs the pot of coffee, pouring himself some into a white Michigan Hockey mug. He wipes his thumb under his nose, sniffing. He turns his butt to the counter, leaning against it as she stares him down, waiting for an explanation. He finally sighs.

“I take my job of protecting you seriously. I don’t trust my brother on crack. This gives me peace of mind.”

Mack’s head is spinning, not comprehending what’s going on at all. She wasn’t even aware there were guns on the property. David has never mentioned it in present tense. Sure, she knows he has hunted in the past, but he never mentioned he had hand guns. 

“I-I’m not comfortable with guns.” Mack swallows hard, grabbing the sleeves of her sweatshirt into her hands. David frowns, rubbing at his face and neck. 

“Okay. I respect that. We can talk more about that tonight, but I gotta get going right now, okay?” Mack can hear the roar of the farm equipment starting up. He grabs his thermos, then comes to her chair. He kisses her. “Have a good day, honey.” 

Mack watches from the table as he opens up the front closet. He works a few stray jackets to the side, exposing a large safe. He punches in a few numbers, then the mechanical locks twist and click. David turns the handle to reveal a large quantity of guns. He grabs one from the top shelf, double checking something on it, then pushing it into his holster. He shuts the door, then waves at her before opening up the front door. When it shuts behind him, Mack closes her eyes with a sigh.

Through out the day, Mack tries to work but can’t. Her focus keeps being pulled to the front closet where that tall, black safe sits. Her eyes continuously pull to the closed door, wondering what else is in there. The same mantra loops in her brain: that safe is big. Tall too. Like what else is in there?

By the time David comes home for the day, she’s got herself all sorts of worked up. He’s sweaty when he comes through the front door, bringing with him the hot, sticky summer air. He already has his dirty hat and shirt off. He tosses them onto the bench as he lays down on his back for a second.

“Uh, fuck, I’m tired.”

Mack nods in acknowledgement, keeping her gaze on her computer. She quietly types away, continuing to work on her outline. She nudges her blue light glasses back up her nose as David kicks off his boots and socks. Eventually, he peels himself off the floor, then goes to take a shower. When he comes out he grills brats and they eat dinner at the kitchen table together.

“How was your day?” He asks.

Mack doesn’t respond but she does look towards the front closet again. She turns her gaze back to him with a wrinkle in her nose.

“How many guns do you have?” She asks quickly, ignoring his question.

“10.” He answers immediately. “They’re all registered. They’re always locked up unless they’re on me. I take firearm safety classes regularly. Been shooting since I was 8.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Can I have the combination?” She asks.

“Sure, after you take a firearm safety class.” He tells her around a bite of salad. Mack pauses. Something unpleasant and unnerving rips through her. It chills her body and locks her spine up. Slowly, she puts her fork down. 

“I’m really weirded out that you have a safe full of guns that only you have the combination to. I feel…” She trails off. Because how does she tell him that it makes her feel unsafe now? “Unsure.” She settles on.

“Okay. I can have Felix take the safe tomorrow. What would you like to do for tonight?”

“Oh.” She says quietly. “I didn’t mean… um.”

“This is your home too, honey. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable. But I can’t give you that combination. I have to keep you safe from things both inside and outside this house.”

Mack swallows hard. She is starting to feel really shakey and emotional. They have only been in Iowa for three days, but she is becoming overwhelmed with how different this stay has begun, and how much anxiety she is experiencing in the current moment.

“I think I’m gonna go lay down,” She says, standing up fast. Her chair skids across the floor, almost falling back behind her. David stands too, slower, concerned, but Mack backs away when he walks forward to comfort her. He stops immediately, staring at her.

“Go ahead, baby. I’ll stay here.” He encourages, hands slightly up in surrender to her.

Mack quietly turns and goes to their bedroom. She closes the door, then sits cross legged on the bed before bursting into tears. She’s really confused and blindsided by what is going on. Then on top of it, David is acting weird, which is making her more uncomfortable. All of a sudden he’s yelling in grocery stores and has a gun on him? That’s a whole different side of him Mack has never seen. Almost like he is a completely different person.

She didn’t grow up around guns or shooting like him. He didn’t talk to her about this safe or his unstable brother before he got here. She hasn’t shared with him the why behind guns making her uncomfortable because she didn’t think she had to. Now, she’s here, in a place she still doesn’t know very well, having to deal with heavy topics while completely out of her element. 

Mack remains in their room by herself, taking some time to calm down alone. She can hear David cleaning up dinner. The dishwasher starts then a soft thump of the front door closing, meaning David is outside. She relaxes her shoulders, trying to untense her body.

Mack’s head begins to pound. She disappears into the bathroom to grab some medicine then lays down under the covers, curled up into a comma, reminding herself that she is safe. She falls asleep like that quickly, arms wrapped around herself too.

When she awakens, it’s dark outside and the clock next to the bed says 12:39 am. She sits up, looking around the room. David’s side of the bed is still made. The door is still shut. No light comes in from beneath the door. She can hear the crickets whispering outside the bedroom windows. Within these small four walls, Mack feels like the only one in the Iowa country side tonight.

Hair on the back of her neck sticks up. Her eyes begin to tear as a lump forms in her throat. She is really scared. Like she can’t breathe. Her chest heaves. She grips at her throat with her fingers then slides out of the bed. She rushes across the room, throwing the door open. The house is so dark. There are no illuminating streetlights this far out from a bigger city, so Mack stumbles down the hallway, gripping at the wall to lead herself toward the main area.

“David?” She calls through chattering teeth.

Mack can hear every octave of her shuddered breaths.

“David!” She sobs when there is no answer. Her fingers hit a picture frame, sliding it off the nail on accident. It crashes to the floor, jolting her fear to a higher level.

She begins to full on panic, sobbing, dropping to her knees. She can’t hear David calling to her. She is paralyzed in the hallway.

Then, “Mack. It’s me. I’m going to touch you.” David taps her knee then runs his fingers up her thigh to her back, fully enclosing her. “You’re okay. I’m right here.”

David leans back into the wall, pulling her body completely into his. He cradles her softly, gently murmuring to her that she is safe. Mack continues to sob, big quaking shudders that smear tears across his bare chest.

David reaches for his phone, turning on the flashlight, so he can see her face. Then he cups her chin in his hand. Her amber eyes are squeezed shut, lips warped from her cries. Eventually, with David’s touch and steady assurance, Mack calms down. She stares down at the floor, silent tears still falling.

“I-I tho-ought y-you le-e-eft.”

“Oh, baby. No. I stayed out here to give you space. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

Mack starts to cry again in relief and exhaustion and probably a lot of other ways. But what matters is David picks her up and takes her to bed. He pulls the covers over them and holds her as tight as he can. She’s smooshed into his bare chest. Her wet tears sink into his skin.

David is able to get Mack back to sleep. When his alarm goes off at 5, he turns it off fast. The room illuminates from David’s screen as he sends Felix a text to let him know he’s in charge. With everything going on between him and Mack, he can’t work safely today. Finally, he pulls Mack in tight again and falls back to sleep.

Hours later, they wake up like that together.

David rubs Mack’s back to help her wake up, then stretches out his legs and lower back which hurt from falling asleep on the couch. Mack is shy but doesn’t pull away from him.

“I’m so sorry. About everything that happened yesterday. I have not handled this well at all. I don’t think I could have done worse than this, babe.” His voice is a tentative, apologetic whisper.

Mack nods, then rubs at her gritty and swollen eyes.

“If you want to go back to New York, I understand.”

She shakes her head no.

“Mack, babe, I’m trying to be patient here but I’m really worried you’re falling outta love with me right now, so can you give me something?”

“I’m more in love with you than I’ve ever been.” She assures him. “I have some things I haven’t told you before and they came up yesterday. It wasn’t only about what was happening here, now.”

The kiss David lays on her has Mack curling into his body tighter. His lips suck her up, then his tongue. His hands alternate between gripping and rubbing her. She cups his jaw when they pull apart for air.

“My family was robbed once.” Mack blurts.

David stills. His eyebrows pull together and Mack can feel his jaw tighten under her hand.

“My mom was pregnant with me at the time. They cased our house. Waiting for my dad to be gone then broke in with guns. They put a gun to my mom’s head and tied her up while Lucie was upstairs sleeping.” David tenseness moves from his jaw throughout the rest of his body.

“The last thing he wanted to take were her wedding rings. My mom fought back. He knocked her over and broke her collar bone, then threatened to come back and teach her a lesson when my dad was out of town next.”

“What the fuck.” He hisses.

“Yeah. We moved after that. They caught him and he was convicted, did some jail time but he’s still out there in the world now, with the sense of home and security he stole from all of us that night.”

She pauses, pulling in a deep breath to settle her discomfort.

“So yeah. Guns make me uncomfortable. And give me panic attacks. And turn sweet men into scary, unknown people.” She whispers the last part. He needs to know how he made her feel yesterday.

“Baby, I would never hurt you.” He whispers, swallowing his wounded pride to make sure she knows he means it

“I know, David. But that feeling I have in my chest is never going to go away. Whether you’re holding the gun or someone else. It’s trauma.”

“I understand. What do you need me to do so you feel safe?”

“I want us to do other things than just have you walking around with a gun on the farm. That is not the solution to this.”

“Okay.” David nods. 

When they’re ready to rise from bed and greet the world, they have a plan. The gun safe is being moved to Felix’s until Mack gets more comfortable. Their plan also includes a new security system with cameras at the front gate, barn, and house. They get new, more sophisticates locks and stop doing their country tendencies of leaving the doors unlocked. 

After a few days of self-reflection, Mack signs up for a firearm safety class and after that, she gets the combination to the safe, exactly as he promised he would. Mack doesn’t feel the need to continue more after that, but learning how to use it and be safe, took away a lot of her fear around it.

The guns move back in the house and Mack’s attention goes back to normal things like work, the upcoming country fair, and her husband’s steady hand in hers.

- - - & - - -

Weeks later, Mack and David are driving the truck back from their sunflower patch. David’s hand is on Mack’s thigh, tapping along to the beat of a country song flowing through the old speakers. It’s a bit crackly, but Mack loves this old truck. Her and David had been out watching the sunset and making love in the truck bed.

The truck rolls up the hill from the pasture back onto the gravel road. Mack then lays her head on David’s shoulder. The cool blue of the night makes the white house they pull up to stark. The truck rounds the corner and David slows down almost to a stop. Mack lifts her head, seeing a blue, beat down truck in front of the house. Every muscle in David’s body coils up. He parks the truck in it’s spot by the barn. Mack sits up, watching as the person gets out of the driver’s side door.

It’s Tommy.

“David?”

He reaches around her to the glove box, pulling out a handgun Mack didn’t know was in there.

“Go straight inside, honey.”

“David.” Mack worriedly whispers this time.

“Baby, don’t fight me. I can tell he has been using. Get inside the house.” David shakes his head sternly. He tucks the gun in the waistband of his pants at the small of his back. David walks around the truck, then opens Mack’s door.

“Should I call…” She trails off because David isn’t listening to her. She swallows hard as he forces her forward to the house with a firm hand on her back. He doesn’t release her until her foot hits the first step of the porch. Mack hustles inside, quickly shutting the door behind her. 

“You’re not welcome here and you’re trespassing on my land.” David reminds him.

Mack watches from inside the house. She begins to tremble from fear and adrenaline. 

“Your land?” Tommy spits out with a laugh, then starts walking around the truck to David. David doesn’t move, hands loosely on his hips.

“Oh shit.” Mack mutters watching as Tommy shoves David. 

“This isn’t yours. It’s ours.”

“It’s fucking mine now. You got your cut, now fuck off.”

“Daddy would whip you with his belt if he heard you talking to me like that.”

“He wouldn’t. This land is still in Carlson hands because of me. He’d be proud of that. There have been some hard years since he died and I’m the one who made sure this farm survived. Not you. Not Charlie. Not Denise. Me.” David’s voice begins to raise. “How fucking dare you come here and say that to me.”

Tommy scoffs and shakes his head. He turns to look out towards the driveway then suddenly lunges at David out of nowhere. Even if Tommy was in great physical shape, he wouldn’t stand a chance against David. But still, Mack gasps and clutches her throat. She digs in her back pocket for her phone, fumbling with it as David flips Tommy onto his back.

Mack can feel the thud of his body on the dirt vibrate through her chest. Tommy struggles to breathe after. David gets down and says something quietly to him. Then he stands back on his feet and waits for Tommy to get back in his truck to leave. It takes Tommy a minute to get his bearings again, then he stumbles along to the driver’s side door. 

“You’ll get yours, little brother.” Tommy hisses out. Fear slices through to Mack’s core. 

After Tommy leaves in a whirl of dirt, David picks up his old Rangers hat that fell off during the altercation. He comes up the porch with heavy steps. Mack greets him in the entry way with tears on her cheeks.

“It’s okay, honey. C’mere.” He brings her into his chest with a hand on the back of her head. Mack sobs into his body. “We are safe. Don’t worry. I’m not going to let him hurt us.” 

Mack can’t help but think what that cost could be to them. He won’t let anyone hurt them, but what will he have to do to prevent the harm?

Call it fate, or maybe Devine intervention, but that night is the last time Mack and David ever see Tommy.

Two weeks later, as Mack and David are sharing coffee on the front porch, a sheriff’s car slowly rolls up into the driveway. It is David’s good friend, Trevor.

“Hey Trev.” David waves, scratching his chest hair with his other hand. 

“David, Mack.” He nods to them both, then takes off his green sheriff’s hat.

Sensing Trevor’s seriousness, David sits up in his chair, dropping both his feet back to the ground. Mack stands, getting off his lap so David can greet Trevor more formally. The two men shake hands, then Trevor says, “We had a drug raid early this morning off Aspen.”

“That green house on the corner?”

“Yeah.”

“That place should have been condemned long ago.” David sighs.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Not as simple as when your daddy was mayor.” David nods in agreement. 

“The world is different. What’s that house got to do with us?”

“Well, in our sweep of the house, we found Tommy there.” Mack’s blood goes cold at the way David stills. “He wasn’t responsive. We transported him to Pella Regional, but it was too late, Dave.” David stares down at Trevor, hands on his hips in disbelief. Mack’s fingers shake over her mouth as she looks at her husband. She blinks tears she didn’t know had formed down her cheeks. 

“Are you serious?” David whispers to Trevor.

“Yes, sir. I am so sorry.” David licks his lips, then looks away from Trevor, staring up at the bright blue sky him and Mack had just been appreciating. “We need next of kin to come identify the body. I thought about going to Charlie but…” Trevor trails off. Everyone on that porch knows Charlie would have waved them away to disappear into the bottle, and made David do it anyway.

“Um, yeah. I’ll go change and meet you up there.” 

“Sure.” Trevor nods. “Are you okay to drive?”

“Yeah, Trev.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you at the station. Ask for me; I’ll take you.” The two men share a look of old friends, who understand each other and this circumstance. Trevor being the one to take David is a man trying to be the best friend he can be in an ugly life moment. Trevor puts his hat back on his head and gets back into his car. David watches the rocks kick up from the dirt road after the SUV, creating a plum of smoke like haze that blurs his view with his tears.

Mack carefully walks over to him. She pastes herself to his back, pushing her forehead into the deep valley of his spine. Her fingers grip as much of him as they can. She has no words. No amount of scrambling of her brain can come up with what to say to him. 

“I guess I gotta go. I can make pancakes when I get back.” Mack winces. Then grabs at him to turn him to look at her.

“Are you…” She stops herself. Of course he isn’t okay. “I’ll go with you.”

“No. Please don’t.” Mack purses her lips, trying not to feel hurt. This isn’t about her.

“Okay.” She whispers back as he walks around her. The screen door slams behind him. She hears David sigh heavily then inhale sharply like he is sobbing. She turns, watching him hit his knees in the living room. Then a gut wrenching wail rips through the house. Mack starts to sob in response. She walks into the house, collecting his big body into her arms. She buries her nose and a hand into his hair, collecting his tears and snot on her shirt. 

“I didn’t want this to happen to him!” He wails to Mack. “I just wanted him to leave us alone!”

“I know, baby. It’s not your fault.” Mack digs her finger prints deeper into his back, trying to hold him tight enough.

“Why does this keep happening to me?” He rocks forward, almost sending Mack to her back. She tightens her core to keep them both upright. “What did I do wrong?!”

“Nothing, baby. Nothing. You don’t deserve this. I’m so sorry.” 

It’s not enough. 

How could any words be when someone lost their life last night?

- - - & - - -

David doesn’t hold a funeral for his brother, there is no otherwise celebration of life. His other siblings don’t even acknowledge the loss of Tommy. Charlie rolls out of town again without a word, disappearing to roam along the West with some girl he met at a bar up in Des Moines. Denise and her family stay in Texas because “it’s just too hard”. So David takes days off from the farm over the next few weeks to settle Tommy’s affairs. He closes out his debts. Sells off the little items he had, including the run down trailer he was living in. He calls their extended family to let them know. No one is surprised. They all hope he has found peace in the next stage of existence. 

It’s Mack who suggests that David bury Tommy’s cremated remains by their parents. David stared blankly across the room at her then gave a single nod. He picked up the phone again and made a few more calls.

They buried Tommy on a Sunday morning. A local preacher from the church David’s mom loved when the kids were growing up stops by to say a few words. David doesn’t cry a single tear. He looks down at the torn up ground with an empty look. Mack folds their fingers together as they walk back up to the house. David stands at the bottom of the porch steps. Mack steps up, then turns back to look at him. 

“I want to leave.”

“Okay. Where should we go?”

“Back to New York. I’m sick of this fucking place.” Mack bites her lip worriedly then nods. 

“When?”

“Tomorrow.” 

“David.” Mack sighs, rubbing his palm. “We need to give Felix more time.” She reminds him. 

“I can’t.” He shakes his head. “I’ve gotta get outta here.” 

Mack understands. He knows she does because in a different way, she has felt the same ache he has complained about in his chest since Trevor showed up in the driveway. 

“Okay. Go. I’ll take care of the house, close it up for us and do what needs to be done here.” David nods, then walks around her into the house. 

The next day, Mack drops David off at the airport. He flies to New York and disappears there  alone. Mack takes three weeks to close up the farm. She could have been done in four days, but she knew David needed that time alone in New York. He went on long motorcycle rides. He grieved. He called her and cried on the phone at 2 am several nights. He got another tattoo. He started seeing the team psychologist to work through his grief- of the brother he had and the one he wished he did. But David got through it in the way he needed to. 

When Mack returned to New York, he was better, more himself than she had seen him since that first interaction with Tommy. Having her back with him healed him more. He started to laugh again, joke around with Woody, and build legos with Stella. He even went out for a beer with Lio and caught a Mets game with him. By the time the season started, David found himself in a good place with everything. 

He tells her as much on their last non-hockey morning together, sipping coffee.

“I’m feeling at peace with what happened this summer.”

“Yeah?” She murmurs, closing the book she had been reading.

“Yeah. I felt bad for awhile that I… like… felt relieved that he was gone? I didn’t have to worry about what he was doing anymore. He really had me on edge when we were back in Iowa. I felt violent and you sensed that the day I pulled the gun out of the safe.” Mack contemplates, then nods in agreement. “I don’t feel that way anymore. Yeah, Charlie is around town still, but he flows in and out like a breeze. Tommy was always around. Always threatening a run in or showing up and hollering at Felix when he knew I came back to New York. Not having to worry about that anymore is a relief.”

“I bet.” Mack nods assuringly. She reaches for his hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry that… his death is so much more complicated than it should have been. You should have been able to grieve this a different way.” David shifts closer to her on the couch then pulls her into a strong, loving hug.

“You’ve been so amazing with me through this. Thank you. I can’t imagine how I would have gotten through all of this without you. It’s like.. I shifted so much but you never took it personally. You stepped in and did whatever I needed and figured it all out. Thank you.”

“I like taking care of you.” She responds quietly.

“You’re good at it too.” 

Yeah. She is. 

And that’s something Mack didn’t realize until now. How good she can be at taking care of her people. 

That realization will nudge and change her life in a way she’ll never see coming. 

[scripts4dreamers]

Leave a light on pt. 3

AN: Part 3 is heeeeeerreeeee! My little 50 page fic has turned into an 87 page fic (and counting), so these are going to keep coming. Thank you again to everyone who's said nice things about this fic. it means a lot.

Part One, Part Two,

Solas’ healing was remarkable. It took several days for him to get his mobility back to where he had been before the battle with the archdemon but, considering that Amala had been planning to track his healing in weeks, if not months, she considered it a marvel. Sometimes, when they ate together, or when Solas consented to sit still long enough for her to manually check on the progress of his wounds and burns, she could physically see them healing over. It was like…well, it was like magic.

Outside of that things had been progressing slowly. Solas was giving her space, which she appreciated, and they had fallen into a comfortable routine. Every morning after they woke and prepared for the day, they would meet in the library for breakfast. After breakfast, Solas would wish her well and leave, slipping through the Eluvian into the wider fade. He was searching for something, though whether it was a physical something or more of an emotional something she wasn’t quite sure. If she asked she knew he would tell her, but every time she opened her mouth to actually do that, she hesitated. Amala would then spend the day exploring the lighthouse, building bridges to the surrounding islands and learning as many of their secrets as she could. They would meet in the dining room for dinner, spend hours discussing their various findings and then slowly make the walk back to their respective chambers and say goodnight. On her own in her chambers, Amala would then document the things she had seen and felt around the different islands and read through her past entries to see if she could figure out any patterns. She would bathe, dress for sleep and then lie awake in bed and replay every interaction in her head, painfully aware that Solas was just a short walk away.

Things between them were still fragile. After the day when she’d helped bathe him, touch between them became infrequent and always happened in passing. It was as though they had both realised how dangerous that kind of physical closeness was and they were afraid to shatter one another. At first that made sense. After all they were both recovering from more injuries than they could count but, as time continued to pass and even their darkest bruises faded from black, to purple and then to green, the softness began to feel strained. They orbited around one another, trading looks and smiles, but never quite closing the distance. Occasionally she would touch Solas’ shoulder as she moved around him to reach a glass, or he would place his hand on the small of her back and usher her out of his way in the library. When they walked back from the dining hall they were close enough that the backs of their hands brushed, but it never went further than that. It was almost funny. If someone had told the Amala who snuck into Solas’ tent every other night that one day she would hesitate to hold his hand in the dark, she would have laughed right in their face, but here they were.

Part of it was Solas giving her space. She knew that. Part of it was him wrestling his own demons and part of it was a personal discomfort she had over what she called “the Mythal of it all”. It hadn’t always been a problem. At first Amala had barely even noticed but, as the days wore on… Mythal was everywhere. Statues, murals, books. Everywhere Amala turned there was some depiction of Mythal, and right by her side, every time, was Solas. At first Amala figured that she must be jealous, but it wasn’t quite that. Even when her and Solas had first met she had known that he was older than her and probably more experienced. There had never been any sort of illusion that they were each other's' firsts. It wasn’t even hard for her to accept that Fen’Harel may have had a romantic relationship with Mythal. It was translating that romantic relationship to her, and to her relationship with Solas that Amala couldn’t wrap her head around.

Solas had tried holding her hand once. They had been leaning against the wolf statue in the courtyard, admiring the night sky and discussing nothing of importance when she had felt him shift closer, his fingers brushing against hers and staying there. As always, his skin against hers had made her feel like she was touching the stars. Her whole body had shivered. She had wanted to let him hold her hand. She had wanted to close that last bit of distance and kiss him but, as she decided to, she caught sight of one of the Mythal statues, towering over the stairs, watching her with its blank, featureless face and Amala had pulled away instead.

It was one thing, she figured, for the love of your life to have loved someone more than you once. Sure, fine, that made sense. It was one thing to learn that you were not the love of your life’s love of their life. Sure, fine. Hurtful maybe, but not ultimately too much of a problem. Amala could accept that. It was another thing entirely for the love of your life’s love of their life to be Mythal, the Protector, the All-Mother and to be constantly surrounded by depictions of them together thousands and thousands of years before you were even born. It was more than an emotional crisis, it was an epistemic nightmare. So, yes, maybe she was being a little more distant than she wanted to be.

In these moments of crisis, Caretaker had become her saving grace. They were not the most emotionally responsive confidant, but they always managed to make her feel better and they always listened.

“The Wolf would be able to answer your questions more effectively than I can, Dweller,” they always said, “perhaps when he returns from the Crossroads, you can ask him.”

“Perhaps,” she always agreed, with absolutely no intention of following through.

If Caretaker could have sighed, they certainly would have.

—-

The peace couldn’t last forever. Something eventually had to snap. It happened at dinner, after Amala had just finished explaining the magic of a nearby island that held a seemingly bottomless pool in the centre. Solas had been listening intently, as he always did, smiling as she spoke and asking relevant questions, basking in the simple pleasure of being with her, of hearing her happiness.

The wine was strong, the food was good and Solas was starting to feel the slightest bit tipsy when something Amala said caught his attention, “You should come see it. There are flowers and ancient willows all around. It’s beautiful if you can get past the Mythal of it all.”

The moment the words left her lips, he could see that she wanted to die. She pressed her lips together and she avoided eye contact, clearly hoping to pass it off as nothing. Solas, of course, knew her far too well for that.

“The Mythal of it all?” he questioned with a confused smile, “What exactly is the Mythal of it all?”

Amala shrugged, “It’s nothing. Ignore me. The pool is beautiful and you should visit if you have time.”

“Amala-” he started to insist

“The Dweller is referring to the various depictions of you and Mythal that are scattered around the lighthouse, Dread Wolf,” Caretaker spoke up, refilling Solas’ glass and seemingly pretending not to see the daggers Amala was staring into their head, “she finds them difficult, emotionally and intellectually she finds her emotional reaction to them confusing. It has been causing a great deal of distress.”

“Thanks for that, Caretaker,” she grumbled, her face so hot with shame that it looked like it must physically hurt.

Solas was stunned. Without meaning to, he began sorting through his memories looking for signs of discomfort in his Inquisitor. He tried to put himself in her shoes, but there were so many factors that just didn’t transfer that he couldn’t help but think he did a poor job of it. How had he missed her unhappiness? How had Caretaker seen something that he, himself had not?

He was quiet for a while, long enough for Amala to force herself to look at him to see his reaction. He avoided her eye, feeling a strange mixture of confusion and shame. He walked through the lighthouse in his mind, flushing with embarrassment as he realised the true extent of Mythal’s presence. He had grown so accustomed to this place that he barely noticed anymore. His attention was always so squarely on one of two things; Amala, on where she was and how she was feeling, or on how he could atone for his endless list of sins that he hadn’t even noticed the giant stone elephant in the room. He sighed, feeling his age for the first time in ages and braced himself for a conversation he did not want to have. It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried, he was always making some sort of mistake.

He finally said, “Amala, I am so sorry. I had not considered that being here might be uncomfortable for you.”

Amala opened her mouth to speak, closed it and then pushed her chair away from the dining room table, disappearing into the pantry. His chest clenched with panic. She was slipping through his fingers again. She had realised the mistake she had made in loving him. He had finally pushed her too far. He-

Solas started to ask where she was going but, before he could finish, she returned, carrying four bottles of wine.

“If we’re going to do the relationship post mortem, I am going to need to be a great deal more drunk,” she announced, “you’re welcome to join me if you wish.”

Relief. Palpable, irrational relief.

“Oh I do wish,” Solas immediately agreed, uncorking a bottle and pouring them each a very full cup.

In unison they each downed it, pulling faces as the wine burned its way down their throats. Solas immediately refilled their cups.

“This is such a bad idea,” Amala said, drinking deep.

Solas shrugged, downing his second glass, “We’ve had worse.”

Almost immediately, he began to feel the effect. That was the problem with the fade, it heightened things, made them more vivid and alive. Usually that was something Solas appreciated but, as he physically felt the alcohol start to loosen his muscles and go to his head, he could acknowledge that it was also fairly dangerous

Amala laughed, watching him pour a third glass and gesture for her to get on finishing her second, “Oh now this is a surprise. You almost never drank with us back in the Inquisition days.”

He finished his glass in two deep gulps and poured another one, “During the Inquisition days I was trying to hide the fact that I was a secret elven god and also the cause of all our troubles. Being drunk would have made that significantly more difficult.”

She raised her eyebrows incredulously and the look - that look of fond exasperation - was so familiar that Solas had to physically hold himself back from leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, on the spot where he could see her smile just starting to form.

Too soon, he told himself. Far too soon, but someday…

The thought alone made him shiver.

“What, the Dread Wolf can’t drink and lie?” She asked teasingly, snapping Solas out of his daydreaming, “I’m disappointed.” She took a deep drink from her cup, seemingly as an excuse to break eye contact before continuing, “And, wait a second, aren’t you the one who’s constantly harping on about how you’re not an elven god?”

“I never said I couldn’t drink and lie,” he replied, “I only said it would make it more difficult. What I couldn’t do at the time was drink, lie and remember all the very good reasons I had for not sleeping with the Inquisitor. I’ve been told that’s a common problem with alcohol.”

Amala snorted, “Isn’t that the truth.”

“And, alright, I’m not an elven god, I’m a very old, very powerful immortal elven mage who waged war on the Titans and then the Evanuris, locking them in a prison I built by creating a veil that separated our world from magic. Somehow I don’t think that distinction would have mattered much when Bull stuck a horn through my stomach for giving the orb to Corypheus.” Solas pointed out, realising with growing mortification just how drunk he was becoming.

It was worth it though. She threw her head back and let out a roaring laugh, the exact laugh he sometimes caught just a hint of in his dreams. His Inquisitor had always had the kind of laugh that made everyone around her laugh as well, like she made things brighter just by seeing the humor in them.

“Alright, alright, that’s fair,” she conceded, still chuckling, “damn, I forgot how sassy you can be.”

“I am not sassy!” Solas insisted.

“You are sassy, and you’re a lightweight,” she continued, finishing her glass and giving him a nod of thanks when he immediately refilled it.

“I prefer the term sardonic,” he corrected, “and you, my dear, are deflecting.”

Amala pulled a face, “I am not! I’m just not drunk enough for all of that yet. Keep teaching me what words I should call you instead of sassy while I drown my inhibitions in this-” she looked at the bottle, which had no label, “what even is this?”

Solas shrugged, feeling warmer and lighter than he had in ages, “There’s no way to tell. Some of the bottles here date back to before the fall of the Evanuris.”

Amala, who had just taken a swig, choked, “What?” she spluttered, coughing, “You’re telling me that this wine could be over a thousand thousand years old?”

He took the bottle from her hands and inspected it, “Probably not this specific bottle, but that one-” he gestured to one of the others she had brought out, “that one I distinctly remember.”

“Well then fuck this bottle,” she said, turning to the one he had pointed at, “I want to try the pre-veil wine.”

Solas couldn’t help but laugh, delighted by how fearless his Inquisitor always was when faced with the unknown world. It had never stopped surprising him how she approached everything with curiosity, with the sincere hope that the next thing around the corner would be something wonderful rather than something terrifying. If he had ever been that way then it had been so long ago that he couldn’t remember it. She passed the bottle to him, her eyes wide with reverence as he twisted the cork off. It opened with a loud pop and Amala let out a burst of laughter, clapping as though the bottle had just performed some sort of delightful magic trick. He poured them both a glass of the pale golden liquid, pleased to see that the bubbles had not dissipated over the years and handed one to her. She accepted with a smile, a real, unguarded one and Solas felt his heart stutter in his chest. Their fingers brushed, electricity shot through his body and he felt the instinctual urge to pull away. Luckily, the contact only lasted a second.

“So,” he asked after she had taken a sip, “what do you taste?”

She closed her eyes, humming with pleasure as the flavor coated her tongue and slid down her throat. Solas felt his face get hot.

“It’s-strange,” she eventually said, her eyes still closed, “I guess it tastes like that moment when you’re out with friends and you’re all drunk and you’re all walking home together and someone starts to sing. Like that specific kind of fuzzy, hazy togetherness, with your feet echoing on the ground as one and your voices getting all tangled up in the air.” she opened her eyes again and looked at him, “What was that?”

“Wine,” he answered simply, “before Elgar’nan burned away so many of the things our people used to feel. What you just experienced was the specific emotion the winemaker infused this vintage with. It used to be that sampling wines was like sampling the memories of the winemaker themselves. Each one was completely unique, completely singular.”

Amala stared into her cup with pure wonder, “That’s incredible. I can see now why our nights at the Herald probably seemed tame to you.”

“Oh no,” Solas assured with a laugh, taking a deep swig from his own glass and sighing as the feeling pulled him in, “I tried whatever it was the Iron Bull kept drinking. Once.”

She chuckled, “Ah, Bull. He was always such a riot.”

“He did keep one on their toes, yes,” Solas agreed.

“And he never gave me shit unless I deserved it,” She said, “he never let all the Inquisitor stuff scare him off.” She was quiet for a moment, teetering on the edge of sad, “I’m going to miss the big lug.”

He wanted to say something, but there were no words. If it weren’t for him, she would be home right now. She could pack up and visit the Iron Bull whenever she wanted. There would be a whole world full of people who adored her right at her fingertips. Instead she just had him. A poor substitute. A bad deal. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and drank deep.

“Do you want to know something terrible?” She asked, something dark and intriguing flickering in her eyes.

Solas held her gaze, letting her see his sincerity, “Nothing you say could ever be terrible to me.”

She scrunched up her nose, but he could tell she was pleased, or at least placated.

“I don’t think I’ll miss much.” she admitted, “A handful of people, my favorite bakery and that’s it. Everything else can go fuck itself. The Inquisition, the Imperium, Orlais, Ferelden, the Free Marches, the Chantry, the Templars, the Grey Wardens. Everyone who ever forced me to risk my life cleaning up their fucking messes only to blame me for it afterwards can piss right off. I’m done.”

She pushed herself up, swaying ever so slightly as she made her way to the fireplace, leaning against one of the stone wolves that stood guard at its side. Solas turned in his seat, following her with his eyes and feeling the thrumming pulse of tension as it started to swim right below the surface. Her anger, even subdued like it was now, was magnetic. He had always loved seeing her like this, taking charge of herself, taking charge of her destiny and flinging the expectations of others right back in their faces. Solas had learned long ago that you could push and push and push Amala, and she would try to be accommodating. To a point. Once that point was reached, you had better pray to the gods and take cover, because nothing in all of creation could keep her down.

“Good,” he said honestly, “I always thought that people were far too comfortable asking you to die for them.”

She scrunched up her nose again, “For the cause, technically.”

Solas rolled his eyes, “For them. If others could make the sacrifice and they continuously expected it to come from you then they were asking you to die for them.”

“You died for me once,” she said, so softly that Solas almost missed it.

The simmering tension spiked to a roiling heat and he could feel her gaze on him, heavy with expectation. This time it was him avoiding meeting her eyes as he floundered for the right words. He thought about that lost year often but they had almost never discussed it, at Amala’s insistence. Whenever Solas had tried she would clam up, blinking back tears and ask him to please just leave it alone. Except once.

It had happened right at the beginning of everything, when he was still struggling with his feelings for her, when he had started to accept that it was a pointless fight, that he was already drowning. Still, when he’d found her sobbing her eyes out on the battlements in the pitch black and she’d broken down enough to tell him the full story of what had happened, it had shaken him. It is an odd feeling to stand in front of a woman you have not even kissed yet, who you have barely even touched outside of your darkest and most private dreams, and know that in one year’s time you would lay down your life to save her without a second’s hesitation. In a way it made things much simpler. It had forced him to stop fighting his feelings, anyway.

He took another deep drink and refilled his cup, “I would have died for you a thousand times over if it were necessary.”

Amala sighed and let her eyes drift shut, though whether it was to ward off his words or to better drink them in, he couldn’t say. The wine made everything soft and beautiful, made his already fragile sense of self control feel like an unjustifiable weight on his shoulders that he itched to just throw off, but he held himself back. The last thing he wanted was to shatter the fragile peace they had carved for themselves.

“You can’t say things like that to me,” she said, “not while I’m drunk. You’re going to give me ideas.”

Fuck it, Solas was nothing if not an opportunist. He pushed himself up and made his way towards where she was standing and leaning against the fireplace. He moved slowly, reaching for her while still giving her plenty of time to pull away if he was overstepping. She stayed, her eyes sharp and wary as he moved closer.

“What kind of ideas?” he asked, feeling his blood thrum under his skin as his hands found her hips.

She closed her eyes again, “Bad ones.”

“Tell me about them.”

She laughed, meeting his gaze and leaning ever so slightly forward, into his touch, “They’re really bad.”

“I highly doubt that,” Solas teased, “outside of your inexplicable choice to continue to believe in me, you have world class judgment.”

“Not this time,” she assured.

He pushed his luck, leaning in so that his lips almost brushed her ear when he whispered, “Tell me anyway.”

Amala shivered and Solas felt a deep, primal sense of satisfaction at still being able to draw out those kinds of reactions from her. Perhaps all was not lost, perhaps things between them were not so broken that he could never hope to fix them. They still had chemistry, they could still talk.

Agonizingly, she pulled away, putting that dreaded, hated space in between their bodies again. Solas wanted to scream, but the pained look in Amala’s eye soothed the rough, fraying edges of his control. He was not alone in this pain. She still wanted him, there was just something in the way.

“I think I’m drunk enough to talk about it now,” she said with a resigned sigh.

It? What were they-? It took Solas a second to remember how their conversation had started - damned wine - but once he did, the pieces started to slot into place.

“Mythal.” He said.

“Mythal,” she agreed. She downed the rest of the wine in her cup in one, “I’m not uncomfortable per say,” she eventually started, “I just-” she gestured helplessly, “she’s everywhere, Solas. I can’t go five seconds without seeing some picture, or statue or mural of the two of you together. The walls are painted with your deepest regrets about hurting her. There’s a room whose key is literally just turning giant statues of the two of you to make them look at one another.”

Something in his chest pinched and he couldn’t help but smile. Of course she figured out the statue puzzle. Of course she had uncovered another one of his secrets, “You found the music room, then?”

“I unlocked a door, yes, but I never went inside.” she admitted.

“Why not?” he asked, cocking his head to the side, “I had thought, with your curiosity, you wouldn’t have been able to resist.”

Amala crossed her arms over her chest, something Solas knew she did when she felt vulnerable, as though her arms could create a barrier between her and the world, “I figured that, if you had wanted people to see what was inside there, you wouldn’t have hidden it behind a door that was locked with a massive statue puzzle.”

“A very fair observation,” he smiled, “but now I’m deflecting, we were talking about Mythal.”

She sighed, “It really isn’t important, Solas.”

That stung. She hadn’t meant anything by it, he knew that, but every time she pulled away, every time he asked her what she was thinking and she brushed him off he was reminded of how easy things used to be between them. There had been a time when Amala would just appear in his room and they would spend hours talking about nothing. They had been each others’ confidants. Sometimes Solas longed for a return to that closeness so much that it actually hurt.

Give her time, he reminded himself. You both need time to heal.

“If it is important enough that Caretaker has noticed, that means it is important to you. If it is important to you, it is important to me.” he replied simply, leaning forward slightly to catch her eye, “Tell me what’s on your mind, Vhenan.”

The wine was strong. He could see it affecting Amala. He could still feel it affecting him, loosening his tongue, lowering his carefully constructed inhibitions and heightening his emotions. He clenched his hands into fists at his side to keep them from reaching for her again.

She took a breath, her brow furrowed as she carefully selected each word through, what he could only assume was, a thick fog of drunkenness, “I just don’t quite know how to deal with all of this,” she finally admitted, “I don’t know where I fit. The two of you together, that makes a sort of sense, doesn’t it? You were spirits together, gods together. You forged a body out of lyrium because she asked you to, you went to war for her, you killed Titans for her. She was the great love of your life, it makes sense that she would be memorialised here.” she paused, thinking again before she continued, “But I don’t know where that leaves me, exactly. For most of my life, Mythal was the All-Mother. We prayed to her, we left offerings in her name. I have family members who still wear her Vallaslin. Comparatively, I’m just some woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Conceptualising Mythal as a real person, as the man I love’s great love…I suppose I’m just struggling with my place in it.”

Her words fell like stones and settled hard in Solas’ chest. They weren’t meant as a condemnation but hearing her talk, hearing the twists and breaks in her voice, the pain and confusion, it made him flush with shame nonetheless. Was there no end to the damage he had done? Amala had always been head strong, confident in her capabilities but measured in her judgments. The way she spoke about his relationship with Mythal…it was like it was an incontrovertible fact, like she had always been second to Mythal, like she belonged beneath Mythal. It was familiar. It was heartbreaking. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Solas tried to keep his voice gentle when he spoke again, “You believe that Mythal was the great love of my life?”

She shot him an incredulous look that was undercut in its severity by the soft sadness in her eyes, “Don’t do that. I’m not arrogant enough to believe that a year with mortal, Dalish, non-mage me measures up to a goddess you spent centuries with. Look at all you did for Mythal.”

“I did do a lot for Mythal,” he admitted, “I also murdered her, if you remember,” he countered.

“Alright, fair,” she conceded.

“And what makes you think I care about you not being a mage?” He asked, “I understand I haven’t always been the kindest about the Dalish, which is unfair of me, and you being a mortal did raise some concerns but-”

“You are terrible at comforting people,” Amala interrupted with a sad chuckle. She raised her hand to her eye and, to Solas’ horror, wiped away a single sliver of wetness, “any other ways I was deficient then?”

“Vhenan-”

His resolve cracked and he stepped towards her again and gently touched her shoulders. She turned her head so that he couldn’t see her face, but she didn’t push him away, which Solas took as a good sign.

“Look, I get it,” she said, her voice just the slightest bit shaky, “you loved her, she’s gone. I get to spend an eternity in a shrine to you both. Let’s just move on, alright?”

“You are not deficient,” Solas insisted, “I am drunk and you know I can get caught on little details but what I was trying to say-”

“It doesn’t matter, i-”

“Yes it does!” he interrupted, “It does because it is clear to me now that you have no idea what you mean to me. It’s my fault, of course, I was so hell bent on keeping my distance and minimizing the fall out that I never actually said the words. I am so sorry, Vhenan, truly. My only defense is that I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” she replied, her eyes locked downwards, away from him.

He wanted to give her space. He wanted to back away, to fold his hands behind his back and explain calmly and clearly. He wanted to be Wisdom in that moment, because wisdom had never steered him wrong but, with his Inquisitor - his Amala - so close and the wine pumping through his veins, he was just a man.

“Look at me,” he said quietly. Her eyes stayed trained on the ground. Solas sighed and cupped her face with his hands, tilting her head up to meet his gaze, “I will not lie to you and say that I did not hunger for Mythal’s approval. I did. I always have, but she was not and will never be the great love of my life. After the way I have treated you, it’s only natural that you would feel as though I valued your love less than Mythal’s. I see that, I understand it, but please hear me when I say that I have never loved another as deeply or as ruinously as I love you. I may have forged a physical body for myself to please Mythal, but I had never felt like it was truly mine until I touched you. For centuries I had felt ugly and twisted and wrong in this body. It was a constant reminder of my failures, of my weakness, but you-” he shook his head, “you changed everything. You change everything.”

“You’ve said that to me before,” Amala said softly.

“I know,” Solas smiled, “but it bears repeating. Amala, when I called you my heart for the first time, I did not do that lightly. I have lived a very long time, and I have loved very many people, but I am still a man. I still have only one heart, and it belongs to you. If it will make you happy, I will tear down every statue in this building and repaint the walls. Hells, I’ll build you an entirely new lighthouse if you want me to.”

She chuckled, “That is perhaps a bit excessive.”

“Well,” Solas conceded, letting the tension break, “no one has ever accused me of thinking too small.”

Amala laughed gently again and he savored the simple pleasure of being the person that made her smile.

“True enough,” she agreed, taking a step back and sheepishly meeting his eye again, “I’m sorry for ruining our night.”

He let her go, though every centimeter between them felt like a mile.

“No, Vhenan. You ruined nothing. We have…” he considered his words carefully, very aware that he was still drunk, “it had to be said.”

“Ten years apart is a long time,” she agreed, taking a seat at the table.

Something in his chest softened with relief. She wasn’t leaving him yet. He followed her example and retook his seat.

“Too long,” he replied.

“Is that so? And whose fault is that?” she continued, with a hint of her old teasing tone.

He raised his glass, silently swearing that she could mock him for the rest of time so long as she kept looking at him like that, “Add it to my list of sins.”

“Where on the list?”

“The very top, of course,” he teased back, taking another sip and relishing her fond, if exasperated, smile.

So long as he could keep her smiling, he thought to himself, everything will have been worth it. Maybe it was the wine talking but, in that moment, Solas could not think of anything he would rather do with his existence than make Amala Lavellan smile.

[nightcxty]

keep your biphobic shit takes out of the goddamn kerry eurodyne tag i beg of y'all

[oreegaanoo]

Once again I am fueled by comments from my thesis supervisor and feel like I can actually do this thing hell YEAAAAHHHH

I CAN WRITE THIS THING!!! I CAN DO IT!!!!! AAAAAAAHHHH

[bisexualamy]

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[todayisafridaynight]

lit cannot stress how much fuckability masato lost after becoming aoki like emo death is real and its so so tragic

[alistairs]

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[elytrafemme]

i'm starting to wonder if therapy is going to be productive because no matter what happens i'm probably going to experience this every night of my fucking life

[arrow-guy]

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[favroitecrime]

listen to me. listen to me very, very carefully. they are very much aware the youth know what they’re doing. they know that college kids globally are protesting. they also know the government is willing to kill those people for protesting. they’re not using major US events to distract them completely. they’re using US major events because, on social media, it creates noise louder than any bombs they could drop. the people in the encampments are NOT the ones posting, obviously. it’s the people who aren’t part of those encampments. it’s people who do not care to disengage with discussing an event well-known for giving people the chance to trash celebrity fashion.

they know the world cannot be distracted, but they know they can get away with just about anything so long as they get the timings right enough for all of it to fly under the radar and stay hidden behind useless headlines.

[justliched]

just saw someone on the forums try to make the argument that suicide awareness & prevention advertisements are not appropriate for the site, i can only assume because they are not "child-friendly"?

i hope this isn't something FR has promised to report to hiveworks in the past? i don't know how to tell people this but children also struggle with suicidality? you know the point of suicide awareness & prevention, hotlines for such, etc. is to reach people who may be struggling with it, and that saying "no suicide is bad it doesn't belong here" is actively preventing it from reaching who it needs to?

and i don't want to hear a single person say "it's a triggering topic." yes and what do we do in the face of triggering topics? we ask people to put a warning at the top so we can avoid as best we can. we don't ask people everywhere to stop talking about suicide ever, because not talking about it is a huge part of the problem (though not the entire problem). an ad that says "having thoughts of suicide? crisis support is available 24/7" is not doing anything more than a warning for a discussion of suicide would. if you are triggered by simply seeing the word "suicide" in a suicide prevention ad in the sidebar, i'm sorry, i do empathize, that really sucks. i've been there! the solution is not to ban all suicide prevention campaigns. refresh the page or close the tab to get away from the triggering word, and take the steps necessary for you to manage your own health crisis, which only you know how to do best - don't deny organizations the tools necessary to do their outreach to help other people manage theirs.

if anything the only argument to be had here is that this is an ad for the veteran's crisis line, and children certainly don't tend to be veterans, but i don't think something being for veterans inherently makes it anti-child-friendly so long as it's not, you know, a pro-military ad. i'm as anti-military as they come and part of being anti-military is recognizing that much of the disabled & unhoused population in the US is made of up veterans who don't get the support they need because no one fucking does unless you can buy it. and that some of those veterans, and their kids, inhabit places on the internet! wild!

anyway veteran stuff aside, because the person in question didn't even mention it ("i got a suicide ad") and ultimately who cares when it's phrased like that, suicide prevention is needed for all ages. we talk about it in public schools, ideally in homes and among close friends (though often not, which is why further prevention, awareness, and intervention is needed), and i can't say the same now because i don't watch television now but at least when i was a teen in FR's demographic, mental health & suicide was even talked about in ad breaks & campaigns on television. some of those are responsible for keeping people i know alive today.

so i'm going to log off now because i've made myself emotional and i recognize that, but genuinely what the fuck.