WIPPIE WEDNESDAY
Just working on a little possible AU/possible HC one shot piece with my Inquisitor Rose and my Hawke.
The dream I’d formulated with Solas was a prison of my own making, meant to keep things out more than keep me inside. The intense clarity that the anchor gave my dreams had always been tolerable– at least until Hawke stayed behind in the Fade. I could only live through so many iterations of watching the man I love get impaled and crushed by the Nightmare. So many dreams replaying the moment I left him behind. Listening to Hawke tell me in a dozen different ways that I’d abandoned and betrayed him. Watching him end his own life out of hopelessness. In my grief and desperation I begged Solas to teach me some manner of control.
My subconscious had become dangerous and I needed to master it.
So he and I crafted a dream I could safely retreat to each night, the prison keeping me safe from such intrusions. He’d asked me to choose a familiar place, where each detail was etched deeply in my memory. He had me choose activities to pursue within the safety of the setting, something to pass the time until I returned to consciousness, where my darkest thoughts were under stricter control.
I’ve dreamt of my quarters at home at the estate hundreds of times. It’s my refuge. Jigsaw puzzles and knitting. Playing my lute in my pillows piled high by the window. It gives a sense of peace I could never hope to find in Skyhold, where I’m haunted by ghosts of my decisions and the cost of war. Haunted by memories of Hawke.
The wards Solas taught me to set keep all of that out.
I pick at my lute, singing a tune in Antivan as rain rolls in from the Waking Sea and washes down my window. My voice is always sweet in my dreams, never needing warming up or clearing. My velvet pillows hug me while I lounge back into them. Everything is in its right place.
But there’s something strange across my room.
Something that doesn’t belong.
On the center of my bed is a yellow cactus flower.
My lute slips and clatters in a twang of strings on the floor as I’m assaulted by the memories, how a yellow bloom would grace my cot each evening in the Western Approach. I stand and approach the flower with the caution its alien nature merits.
“Maker’s breath,” I mutter, crawling onto the bed and picking it up. I spin the fragile bloom against my nose, the petals like satin, the fragrance familiar, flooding my chest with warmth. If I’m losing my grip on my recurring dream, at the very least this is a welcome intrusion.
But I check the wards to make sure I’ve activated them properly before slipping into the safety of my dream. The wards are live. I examine the flower, brushing it over my lips, attempting to divine meaning from it. It’s a fond memory of a different time, of a great love I didn’t understand or appreciate. But the warmth gives way to torment, as considering the flower cleaves my heart, the grief falling like a greataxe as I recall how I’d failed to tell him how deeply I’d felt before being scooped around the waist by Alistair and flung back through the rift.
And then I wake myself, because Maker, I can’t do this all over again.
Tagging @bluewren, @nirikeehan, @rosella-writes, @warpedlegacy, @kiastirling-fanfic, @ar-lath-ma-cully, @anneapocalypse, @effelants, @plisuu, @breninarthur, @crackinglamb, @ir0n-angel and anyone else who wants to share their works in progress art or writing!
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(Slight TW/CW for injury)
With how their whole positivity/negativity thing works (and that they're the only ones who can mortally wound each other), what if Dream and Nightmare aren't able to physically touch anymore?
Imagine, in the past, the brothers' main love language was physical touch (hugs, play fighting, etc). But after they ate the apples, the negativity and positivity act like poison to the other as a defense mechanism.
Any prolonged contact will burn Dream and make Nightmare's corruption boil and melt. It is extremely painful for both of them.
Imagine how this affects them in Parallel Synthesis.
When after all the fighting, after they've settled on a truce, after they've found peace and are able to actually be brothers again,
there will always be that one thing they can never have back.
Btw this takes place during the lunch meeting mentioned here! The stars and the gang decided to have an outdoors lunch :]
Dream and Nightmare belong to Jokublog
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Bat Poker Face Training
Dick, Steph, Cass, Tim, and Jason all crammed into someones room, with a kidnapped Duke sitting awkwardly with them, kinda scared.
Duke: “Uh… what’s going on?”
Steph, completely blank faced and standing ominously in the corner: “It has come to our attention that you require training.”
Duke: “Bruce is already teaching me really well-“
Jason, also blank faced: “That’s bat training. This is robin training.”
Cass, carefully but without a single emotion: “Sibling training.”
Dick, face just as blank as all his other siblings: “It’s much more fun.”
Duke, freaked out by the empty faces: “Am I being hazed?”
Jason: “Eh, maybe. Scared?
Tim, not giving Duke a second to reply: “Yes, he is. It’s written all over his face. And while its okay to be scared, sometimes hiding your true emotions in the field is a matter of life, death, and secret identities.”
Dick: “You’re going to be flustered. Humiliated. Terrified. Angry. Relieved. Your vigilante ID dragged through the mud in front of you as a civilian. Someone worried about your civilian ID and you need to keep them away.“
Tim: “Not just as a Bat, but a Wayne. Some dinosaur at a gala is going to say the most out of pocket thing you’ve ever heard in your life and you’ve just got to stand there.”
Duke: “So that’s the reason you’re doing the creepy thing?”
Steph: “Yes Duke. You need to have a poker face that Even Superman can’t break. That even a Fifth-dimensional Imp can’t crack! And that is the purpose of our training tonight!”
Duke, getting the program now: “Okay. I’m ready.”
Jason, allowing a creepy grin to slide over his face: “Don’t be so sure. Because what we are about to show you… it has broken Batman.”
Dick: “Damian is too innocent to see it, which is why he isn’t here.”
Steph: “If you can handle this, you can handle anything.”
Tim, tapping on his computer, chanting under his breath: “the horrors, the horrors, the horrors…”
Duke, terrified of what Tim is about to pull up, on the edge of his seat wondering what on earth can shake the Bat of Gotham, what the family considers too awful for thier arguably LEAST innocent member to see, what vile images he’s about to be shown…
Tap. The screen lights up white.
Duke: “No.”
Jason, grin widening: “We’ll be reading this aloud, for your entertainment.”
Duke, trembling and inching towards the door: “No.”
Steph, vice grip on Duke’s arm: “There’s no escaping it, Signal. This is your mission- to stay completely pokerfaced through Real Person Fanfiction of us- the Batfamily. And co, of course.”
Duke, sobbing: “Please, why… why would you do this to yourselves… oh god, is that… is that… is that Kate with Bruce? She’s a lesbian! And his cousin!”
Steph: “They don’t know that, Duke. They know nothing. And the depths of a human imagination is comparable to the depths of the ocean… there’s some weird shit down there.”
Tim, without a single emotion on his face, least of all mercy: “I had to sit through Young Justice fawning over Dick and Bruce. Do you know what they said? About my own father figure? Right in front of my salad? I was lucky I was wearing a mask. I cried, and I cried in silence. They knew NOTHING, because I showed nothing. This is what you must achieve.”
Jason: “I’ve had to listen to criminals talk about what they’d do to the ‘Prince of Gotham’ and not twitch. I’ve had to listen to both goons and civilians play fuck marry kill with our vigilante identities and not move a muscle. I know this feels like overkill, but trust me, it’s not.”
Dick: “Don’t worry, we’ll keep it mostly PG. Tim? Begin with the wildly out of character and aggressively heteronormative Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman love triangle. Then maybe we’ll work our way up to slash readers and…” shudders in horror, “…batcest.”
Duke: “NOOOOOOOO!!!”
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