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dalishious · 3 years

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Hi Lydia! Would you please elaborate on portrayal of Alistair's stages of grief after losing Duncan? It could be really interesting piece!

So first off, three disclaimers:

The Kubler-Ross “stages of grief” model has been adapted and expanded over time, but is now all together becoming a more outdated view of how grief works. Grief has no real set course or timeline, and when looking at the “stages of grief,” people move through them with fluidity, not a 1-2-3 step by step list. If you’re looking at the stages and thinking “I’m going backwards, not forwards” - no, you’re not. There is no backwards and forwards, there is an ebb and flow, just like ocean tides. For the purpose of this post however, I’m going to use the “stages of grief” as a way of outlining Alistair’s grieving process, as honestly I would not be surprised if Gaider used it as a writing reference.

Grief and bereavement is such an individualized experience with many different factors that make it unique; you relationship with the deceased, personality, previous losses... and if you’re grieving right now and cannot relate to Alistair’s experience, that is okay! Your grief is still valid! When we look at grief, we can identify common themes, feelings and expressions, just like we can look at the world and see that brown eyes are the most common eye colour. But that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you if you have blue, green or grey eyes. It just means your genetics are different.

The last thing I want to make quick mention of, because it’s so under-discussed, is anticipatory grief. Alistair does not experience this because Duncan’s death is very sudden, but when talking about grief, it’s important to note that it can start long before the actual death. It can be difficult when someone close to you is approaching death, and mourning the impending loss is normal and common. This is absolutely part of the grieving process too, and it can be even more challenging to navigate when you’re also acting as a caregiver for someone seriously ill. Some people even do all their grieving prior to someone’s death, and once it happens, falsely appear from an outside perspective to be “unaffected” by the loss.

Okay, so, yeah. Now, let’s talk about Alistair and his loss of Duncan, who in his own words was “like a father” to him.

Shock and Denial

Immediately following death, (as well as various points early on in grieving,) many people feel numb, both physically and emotionally. This is protecting you from the full impact of the loss, but can also lead to an inability to fully comprehend or accept what has happened. “I can’t believe it” is a common sentiment, especially if the death comes as a surprise.

When the PC wakes up after the Tower of Ishal fiasco and asks about the fate of the Grey Wardens, Morrigan says, “All dead. Your friend has veered between denial and grief since Mother told him.” Sure enough, one of the first things Alistair says when the PC joins him outside is “this doesn’t seem real.” He also instinctively refers to Duncan still in present tense, before quickly switching to past tense. Alistair is definitely in a shock and denial phase.

What makes it even harder is that the responsibility of being one of the last two Grey Wardens in the nation is thrust upon him, with Flemeth telling him he has no time to grieve. The fact that he is told this by Flemeth, and possibly also the PC throughout the game, only adds to him predictably having an extended bereavement process with sometimes rapid ebbs and flows of emotions, attempt to conceal his grief in a way that is deemed acceptable to the PC.

Anger

Anger in grief often, though not always, comes in tangent with the third “stage” of guilt. Many people feel angry at themselves for perceived failings, angry at the health care system, or even angry at the deceased person. Sometimes anger is more subtle, in the form of irritability and frustration. Anger can be especially powerful and hard to deal with under distressing circumstances of death, like the loss of someone through violence, self harm, patient abuse/neglect, etc. Anger in grief has a bad reputation. Guiding someone through expressing their anger safely is appropriate, but to tell someone to stop being angry is not. Anger is a healthy and normal part of grief, just as any other.

Alistair’s anger toward Loghain and quest for vengeance is 100% connected to his grief, and it especially makes sense how consuming it is when he is told by others that he “doesn’t have time for grief” or “needs to get over it.” This is something that feels actionable to him; something he can focus on.

When Alistair tells the PC about how Duncan recruited him, and gets lost in sadness, if the PC tells him “don’t start crying again,” his response is “Yes, you're right. I should be angry for what happened to him, not sad. I shouldn't forget what Loghain did.” If the PC tells him “[Duncan] was a good man,” Alistair responds “he was. A good man who didn't deserve his fate, that much I'm sure of.” Both of these responses show that Alistair is coping with his sadness and his guilt with anger.

Guilt

As said above, guilt and anger often go hand in hand, especially when that anger is directed at yourself. You may feel guilty about perceived failings to the deceased in death. You may feel guilty about a complicated relationship with the deceased in life. You may feel guilty about unfinished business. You may feel guilty that you are alive and the deceased is not. As the grieving process moves on, you may feel guilty about, well, feeling happy again, as if you shouldn’t.

Alistair definitely feels guilty that he is still alive. When Flemeth says she is very old and powerful, he angry asks “Then why didn't you save Duncan? He is... he was our leader.” He cannot accept that he was saved and Duncan was not. Later, if the PC offers to talk about Duncan, Alistair will share that he feels guilty over not being with Duncan in the end. “Part of me wishes I was with him. In the battle. I feel like I abandoned him.”

Depression

This is a pretty self-explanatory part of grief, and yet at the same time, can be expressed in a huge variety of ways. You may feel physically drained of energy, a lack of appetite, and ongoing headaches. You may struggle to get through your everyday routine, as everything feels uninteresting and hopeless. You get easily overwhelmed by things, little or small. You may cry a lot, sometimes without even any discernable prompt. A lot of people in this “stage” either withdraw from everyone entirely, or feel anxious without constant company.

When arriving at Lothering, Morrigan ridicules Alistair for having said nothing and keeping his head down during their travels up to that point. We know this is not normal behaviour for him, but Alistair withdrawing from the party. Throughout the game, he has more subtle signs of this, most often when recounting happy memories suddenly turn sad and he becomes uninterested in or struggles to continued speaking. In one such occasion that demonstrates the ebb and flow nature of grief, he says “I thought I was done with this” and “I wasn't expecting it to hit me”, when talking about his time with the wardens and suddenly trailing off, unable to continue.

Acceptance

Acceptance is often misidentified. It is not about saying “it’s okay that I lost someone,” or “I’ve moved on,” or “I need to forget.” It’s about coming to terms with your grief, and learning how to carry it with you. It’s about beginning to rebuild your life in a new way without that person physically with you anymore.

Western society and capitalist demands try to force acceptance on the bereaved way too fast, in my opinion, and it only makes grief a more complicated process. It is so unhealthy that so many jobs will tell you to get over your grief in two days and then expect you to get back to work at full “efficiency”. As said above, grief has no set timeline, but for most people, full acceptance does not become the baseline until up to 13 months after death.

Alistair likewise has acceptance pushed onto him, rather than letting it come naturally. Even still, we don’t see much sign of it in game. I personally believe that once the Blight is over is when Alistair is truly finally able to start accepting all that has happened. Not even just Duncan, but everything.

PS: If you’re currently grieving, I highly recommend visiting MyGrief.ca - this is a free resource from the Canadian Virtual Hospice and we always share it with our patients at work. I have also gone through some of the modules myself when dealing with my own personal grief, and found some of it comforting and validating.

#alistair theirin #dragon age #dao #grief #meta #Anonymous #ask

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katkulita · 3 years

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Characters

Hilda Aeducan, the dwarven warrior who blames her younger brother for ruining her life, allows herself a short moment of happiness amidst the horrors of the Blight but cannot deal with the impact that her decisions have on others.

Florence Adaar, the Qunari/Vashoth warrior who inspires - hope in her followers, fear in her enemies.

Fionwyn Tabris, the elven warrior who believes that becoming a Grey Warden was the best thing that could have happened to her, because it gave her worth, future, purpose and love.

Mina Hawke, the warrior whose life has been full of tragedies big and small, and despite finding an improbable friend and a lover (not the same person), everything is a disappointment.

Eleri Lavellan, the elven daggers rogue who should have been a mage but wasn’t and thus feels like she has failed everyone; the innocent one who believes that everyone deserves a second chance (except for her).

Hal Amell, the sheltered mage whose future as a prominent scholar has been crushed by the people he trusted most; whose adoration of historical figures will bring about heartbreak; whose naïveté is only slowly dissolving in the filthy waters of reality.

Corten Adaar, the Qunari/Vashoth mage whose inability to use healing magic is only matched by his inability to keep a relationship for longer than two weeks.

Ásta Brosca, the dwarven archer, with very little progress so far

Sassa Cadash, the dwarven archer who only has a backstory so far, not even a face

#dragon age #OC #hilda aeducan #florence adaar #fionwyn tabris #mina hawke #eleri lavellan #hal amell #corten adaar

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common-blackbird · 4 years

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it’s time... for a dragon age 2 playthrough post. scroll on!

The things i loved most:

1) the frame of the game - Cassandra interrogating Varric.

What a great way to get hook the player. Like, the opening of guards dragging this poor dwarf with cuts of the title, and then Cassandra demanding answers... Whoaaa! I have no idea if that’s usually done in games or not, but it’s definitely such an amazing intro with characters introducing themselves as well as the story so perfectly, it captivates instantly. The tutorial has a charm to it bc varric is messing around. Which serves to show more of his character. Cassandra’s personality was pretty much blank here but her presence is so powerful. Something happened, something huge and they know and i was about to find out. I can’t describe how excited that intro made me feel. Each time the scene cut to the interrogation scenes, my eyes were glued more than ever. Just GREAT.

Also it makes for a very convenient scapegoat for every plothole ever with the argument “it’s just his version of the story”.

2) The story.

It’s tragic. It’s amazing! The further you play, the more you can see that no matter what you do, everything leads to a disaster. Hawke doesn’t want to take sides, tries to mediate, does not want to get involved, but just can’t stop it. For every thing gained, Hawke loses two more. Your friends come with packages that get you involved in terrible stuff. Your good intentions result in disasters. The whole game you spent time climbing the social ladder not only to reach the top hauntingly alone after losing all of your family, but also losing even that empty title and watching as the city you started to find your place in fall apart in blood. UGH! GAH! FEELS!

3) Kirkwall.

“ But, I beg you my dear readers, never forget that, no matter the subject of any story that might ever be explored between the cliffs of Kirkwall, She will find a way to steal the thunder of the protagonist. Or become the antagonist. Kirkwall is never a mere background. We could even understand it so: the challenge for you dear readers is to prevail against the smokescreens and observe to what extent our characters are players or played by the merciless black souled stone giant. Enjoy playing the dare of the ages between the lines of these humble memoirs. “

Memoirs from the Downfall - Act I. Mirage by Pfefferminze on ao3 (fic rec!)

This paragraph summs up what Kirkwall is better than I ever could. This shrouded mystery that surrounds Kirkwall keeps you on toes. From the first intro when Varric describes it (paraphrasing from memory) “Kirkwall. The city of chains. It is a free city - keeping in mind i use the the word loosely”. You already start seeing how dark Kirkwall gets. The name, that derives from its black walls (interestingly, the walls in the game aren’t black...), the history of slavery etched into every corner of that city and its surroundings - the names (The Gallows, the Bone Pit, the Wounded Coast, the pub The Hanged Man), the scenery (sculptures of slaves, the sunken ships by the Wounded Coast, slums and underground of the Lowtown and the Darktown).

I was really digging the History of Kirkwall and it loved it. Kirkwall has a history of violence, from the times of slavery of the Tevinter Imperium, to Qunari conquests and liberation from Orlais. Many revolts and uprising. And though free now, it’s suggested that, seeing that the Templars hold the most influence, Kirkwall is in the hands of the Chantry.

It’s full of cultures mixing together. I love how not one of your companions is a native to Kirkwall, and it feels like a crossroads to every character’s life. a very tragic crossroads in their life, seeing there’s nothing ever good waiting for you in Kirkwall.

Also there’s these codex entries you look for about the Enigma of Kirkwall. It was when i started digging that up that i fell in love with the city and all. Combined with the History of Kirkwall and every codex entry for every place in and out of Kirkwall, I was pulling my hair out reading about the Enigma. I..i’m still not quite sure what happened. Did the magisters use blood of thousands upon thousands slaves to unbound a forgotten one? if so, is that corypheus? And around what time did that happen?? I get that part (or all?) of Kirkwall’s mysterious violent agency is owed to corypheus slumbering relatively close to the city, but is that all? or is there something more? In either case, the Band of Tree are my heroes.

4) The characters.

I’ll talk more about them later, but in general, i just love how they oppose each other, how complex they are, and there is just not pleasing everyone. They feel genuine. They are all deeply flawed. They all have a solid background that makes their beliefs and actions convincing. The friendship/rivalry points are shaky though, and sometimes really don’t fit the character, but i guess there must be someone hating/loving your bad choices for the sake of the game regardless of characterisation. But all in all, i really appreciated each and every character, and loved how their viewpoints challenged me.

First i want a disclaimer: i love each and every character in the game, whatever i say against them doesn’t diminish my liking of them. My issues really aren’t significant. Also, i might and probably will say smth wrong bc i’ve only played it once. I’m a baby.

let’s start with Family:

Mama Hawke:

i really loved mama hawke. after reading her codex entry and an excerpt of some book on this site, i really feel for her. I mean, imagine going back to your home city where you only remember being respected and wealthy only to find out everything you remember is gone, you are forced to live in poverty, your kids are doing dangerous jobs and you can’t stop them bc you do need that money, you write letters trying to get the old connections but keep failing (at least it was implied?), it’s really been hard for her. I get why she was so obsessed with her legacy. She wanted her childhood home back. She can’t feel like Kirkwall is her home until she is home.

Also loved her antagonism towards Hawke. It seems she can no longer treat him like a child, so she criticises him instead. and honestly, hawke is doing some crazy things so he defintiely deserves some criticism. And stopping Hawke from taking carver with him is just logical to me, idk. since she knows she can’t stop Hawke from going, she will at least attempt to prevent the last kid from going into mortal danger. I’d do the same. AND AFTER HAVING CARVER DYING IN DEEP ROADS I AGREE WITH HER

All in all, i don’t think she’s a perfect mom, but there is no perfect mom, and Leandra does care a lot for her kids. The All that remains killed me too :’(

Bethany

RIP :(

Her codex is not long, but i guess she wasn’t happy with her magic :(

CARVER

My favouritest bestest bro in the game. A secondary character with an inferiority complex towards his sibling, with no sense of humour, blaming everyone else for his inability to get a life? I see a lot of myself in him. He is sooo bitter, but doesn’t even realise (or at least doesn’t admit) that he’s his biggest obstacle. He feels like it’s Hawke’s fault for Carver not getting his place in the sun, but honestly, it’s Carver’s devotion to Hawke that keeps him from getting a life. He’s just tied with that responsibility and can’t break from it unless forced to.

His interactions with other characters are so funny. Either he’s bitter or he’s awkward, i die every time ;;__;;

Anyways, he became a templar in my game and i thought it fits better thematically (throughout the game the grey wardens felt more like a fanservice material since they really aren’t connected to the story), but after reading that meta about carver and seeing the striking difference between warden!carver and templar!carver i wanna reload and redo everything ;;__;;

i mean... carver isn’t exactly a templar material. The codex entry for templars says that the wanted characteristics of templars are strong faith and utmost obedience, none of which carver really has... . But that moment when he stands up against meredith was *chefs kiss* worth it. I’m just wondering what happens after, is he still a templar? is he with hawke? is he in Kirkwall or if not, where did he go?? so many questions ;A;

Uncle Gamlen

I feel bad for him. Mostly he’s mean but i like to think it’s bc he’s so ashamed that his sister sees what he’s become. And he’s bitter about his own life. I was so happy when i realised he has a personal mission ;__; I feel bad that he didn’t come to live in the hawke estate tho, especially since Hawke is also alone there :(

COMPANIONS!

Varric

There are no words that can properly convey the amount of love for this guy. He is simply flawless. He’s a charming godfather of the dwarven mafia. I wanna have a charming godfather of the dwarven mafia in my life... He already becomes interesting with the intro, and i gotta say, out of all ~storyteller~ types of characters, he is the best. he puts a disclaimer at the beginning with that game tutorial, and during the whole interrogation he’s like “well, how do you know i’m not lying? i could be.” Also, his voice is the second best voice in the game.

As for his personal missions, oh wow, that thing with his big bro really hurt. I also gave him the red lyrium... was that a mistake? will i regret it? ;__; I know the true friend would prevent him, but i also trust that varric knows how to handle dangerous stuff...

On a side note, since i’ve read the comics (no self control whatsoever), i loved the beginning of the Until We Sleep, where varric mentions it’s easier to imagine all the people he had to kill were evil than to face the fact that those were normal people just doing their job or trying to survive. Man, it hurts TAT

*garret hawke’s voice when he looks a certain way at the family crest in the hawke estate* ISABELA!

Ok ok, so, i love Carver bc i relate, i love Varric because he’s simply perfect. But I love Isabela because she’s the most intriguing.

She just crashed in Kirkwall and really didn’t sign up for all the trouble she got. She never likes to have deep conversations, she is always downgrading herself and you just wonder, what is it that happened in her life, and you know her past mistakes haunt her, and she’s doing her best to move on. Her arc was i think my favourite. I think the comic Those Who Speak really adds a lot to her arc in DA2 and makes some of her choices more understandable. Her whole story is about her internal conflict of whether to survive or do the right thing. Her story about freeing the slaves got her ship wrecked is great and all for making her be a pirate with a golden heart, but that story about her drowning all the slaves few years previous make this freeing of slaves a big character moment for her. She finally did the right thing. And she got for it was more trouble, because she’s a pirate which means she can’t afford to just do the right thing. And throughout the game, that same story is going back and forth. She runs off with the Relic bc she’s done the right thing before and it got her nowhere, so now she decided to put her own survival as a priority, but comes back bc she’s too kind to just leave Hawke standing like that. And again, with the slaver papers, it’s the same reasoning: it’s her or the higher cause. She needs that ship. She chooses herself. It’s her biggest flaw. But hey, between pros and antis in your party, it was really refreshing to have someone who, along with varric, just gives you a break with moral high-grounds.

I only wish we actually got to see her more as a captain in power in the game or that she showed me that amazing hat she saw in lowtown. It’s cool that it’s implied that her crew doesn’t like her and she also lost most of them during the crash while the others probably left her after.

I love it when she says she goes sometimes to the docks just to watch the ships. That there is no feeling like sailing. I just want a spin-off with captain isabela’s terrible adventures (´A`)

Also, isabela’s VA is my fave, she really did an amazing job. she voices so smoothly, i wouldn’t know if i was playing a game or watching a movie. And has such a pretty way of talking...

Aveline

I’m really neutral towards Aveline. I like her personality and i like that she’s found herself a purpose and advanced in the guards, and she’s always looking out for everybody. I just wish her personal missions went in the vein of the one in act 1... i feel it would have been more interesting to see her having trouble in her position and that you can’t just waltz into Kirkwall and take command. It’s implied she’s being pressured, so i guess she’s just dealing with it herself, but i just... eh. She’s ok.

Merrill

Merrill actually has one of the if not the most tragic story-line that really challenges you both morally and emotionally.

Her cheerful and cute personality is dampened by her constant dark leitmotif of willingly practicing blood magic. And i think her story really showed well the indirect consequences of it.

Not in one instance was Merrill’s practice of blood magic an active culprit for all tragedy that surrounds her. First, it seems that blood magic is practiced in the clan, seeing there is no freeing Flemeth without it, but i’m guessing it’s seldom practiced and with great caution. So Merrill wasn’t in any danger of being prosecuted for her blood magic. It’s actually her wish to study it further with the help of the demon that makes her an outcast. That and the magic mirror that apparently is forgotten for a reason. Also, it’s made quite clear that Merrill would be welcomed back no questions asked if she at any point decided to ditch the demon and live without the study of magic mirror. She, on the other side, is driven by the higher cause, the idea that figuring out the forgotten purpose of some evil mirror might help her clan, and is willing to be an outcast if it means reaching her goal and helping her clan. Fast foward to act 3, the clan is still there when they should have moved away, and it’s only when you face the demon possessed Keeper, you realise why. She knew Merrill would sooner or later bargain with the demon again. And she sacrificed herself, trapping the demon within her, as to prevent it. And i think that is why the clan stayed so long there. She waited for Merrill because she wanted Merrill to kill her, and hopefully with her the demon. It didn’t go as planned, obviously, but i really think she had good intentions. When Merrill does manage to kill the Keeper she’s forced to face the clan and i chose the wrong option of telling the truth which resulted in a massacre. Merrill gets back and regrets everything. She, however resolves to help the alienage.

The thing is, there is no one to blame Everyone had the best intentions. Everyone is working for the safety of the clan. it’s a story of sacrifice and when sacrifice feels like the wrong choice (whether it truly is or isn’t depends on your worldview) and it’s really done well.

But here are my issues with Merrill. I love her as a character, but i don’t agree with her decisions. It’s a personal issue. Merrill is giving up everything as to help her clan by learning history of the evil mirror. And while this is a game where old things are important and significant, her mission is always explained as this duty of preserving history. And while i agree that preserving history is very important, there is a limit to it. you should never put history before the present. If your research endangers the present, you give up on that line. The other is that you need to make peace with the fact that many, many things are forgotten and will be forgotten. It’s sad, but you gotta make peace with the fact that some things are just gone.

And Merrill, who is a magic historian, fails to see that. So that kinda irks my historian moral codex. And in the end, as far as i know, Merrill doesn’t succeed in reviving the evil mirror and dedicates herself to help the alienage. It was a terrible way to learn that some things aren’t worth it.

The other, less personal issue, is that none of this had to happen. I mean, the keeper obviously didn’t think Merrill was experienced enough to actually deal with demons and therefore distrusted her and warned the clan about it. So, if Merrill was a little bit more patient she could have just studied normally under the keeper, and when she herself becomes the keeper, she could have fraternize with that demon however she wanted without much complications. So yeah... i guess youth is made of idealism.

But as i said, minor issues. Her story is really, really great.

Fenris

Fenris and Anders are my “i love you but i am soo annoyed by you but i still love you” characters. Half of the time they’re just there to make you feel guilty for being a neutral party. Which sometimes has me rolling my eyes. If Fenris and Anders actually got along with each other, slavery and mage oppression would have ended in 2 days. Which makes it all the more frustrating that they do not.

Fenris.. his voice. What a nice voice colour. So elegant, but kinda rough, sometimes he talks like he’s 80 years old, sometimes like he’s a teenager. I love it.

As for the rest, i mean, i don’t agree with his methods, but very often, the guy’s got a point. I get his experience with mages colours his view on them, so while i symphatise, it’s really hard to have him on my “free mages” missions when he’s my best tank and i want him to be on friendly terms with Hawke so this makes things... difficult. That aside, it’s interesting that fenris doesn’t see mages as evil per se, but rather victims who, in his experience, will always, always going to succumb to a demon. It’s an inevitable reality to him. And this makes me wonder if he ultimately, despite being his friend or lover, is just waiting for the day he will be forced to kill Hawke too :(

As for his missions, they were ok, it led up to culmination and i didn’t let him kill his sister bc Hawke has just lost his mom, don’t do smth you’ll regret ;__;

also, somewhere around the end of act 2 i decided to romance fenris bc i love to suffer, so i worked the whole act 3 trying to get more aproval points and also wondering why are there no romance options when i talk to him... turns out that one night stand with isabela romanced her and canceled fenris. But i never even finished the romance with her so i’m just ??? about it all.

I wish it was more explained about the tattoos fenris has? I just thought the tattoos would play a big role somewhere in the game and it just never happened. There was a banter with Merrill about how his tattoos are similar to valaslin, so i thought, hmm, interesting, maybe the two are connected. But nah they just glow in the dark and make you pass through walls. Whatevs.

also dude just goes and kills without a second thought, i’m just “mate, you gotta calm down”. But that’s his thing. He’s constantly bitter and is very bad at anger management. I can’t blame him, considering he lacks around 10- 20 years of experience due to amnesia.

He’s the only one who left me when Hawke sided with mages, and i was like, “ok i getcha, it’s been nice knowing you”, but then when i asked him to join me 5 minutes later he just went “ok changed my mind” which was so funny, like, where did all that integrity dissappear??? It would have been more impactful if the dialogue went in the line of “i want to stand by my principals but you’re a living breathing proof that not all mages are weak to succumb to demons so i’ll join you in the end” (and then side-eye “i told you so” when orsino turns into a demon)

And i wanna read the fenris comic now bc my question for every character here is what is their fate after kirkwall. I only know that isabela & varric are working for alistair and merrill wants to help the alienage. Aveline is i guess either dismissed from her job or got a pass after cullen took the command. But Carver?? Fenris?? Anders?? They never talked about long term plans...

Anders

ooh boy, here we go. there are many questions i have for him and am generally just hmmmm. First, as for his pro-mage rights - it’s like opposite fenris so i just have the same feelings: you mean well, i don’t agree with your methods, your experiences define your worldview so i let some things slide, but other things i will not agree with. Though, question: in how many circles has Anders been? He knows the kirkwall circle, he knows the fereldan circle. Seeing he has excaped 7 times, did they send him to a different circle each time or was the fereldan the last one? or the first one? Or maybe it was his boyfriend they transferred? did i miss something?

I’ll just whisper: awakening!Anders >>> da2!Anders. I just miss the old anders. Which says a lot bc during the awakening i was just “shut up anders”. I miss his bad jokes, his terrible attempts at flirting, his enjoyment of freedom, nagging all the time, and generally being more moderate in pro-mage rights. Like, in awakening, because it was not the only thing he talked about, it felt more personal and intense. Here mage-rights are the only thing he ever talks about + justice. I mean, please correct me if i’m wrong, this was just general impression. But to defend da2!Anders here, it makes sense that merging with mixed both of their personality, and i like that they did that. It’s also very sad.

The thing is, when i’m thinking about anders, i love his story and character. Just as it’s terrible that Fenris, having no memory from before being Fenris, Anders can never go back to being just Anders. And this, people, is why you don’t fraternize with spirits. He’s obviously afraid of how justice is affecting him and there are some bare traces of his old personality and i guess he wouldn’t be as radical if he didn’t have justice personality that can’t stand the injustice. And in combination with anders quite selfish personality (form awakening, and i say that lovingly), it makes him do things that justice wouldn’t condone. Anders is literally a walking bomb.

Again, same problem as with fenris, i really thought that the justice glow would have a incredibly significant culmination, and it didn’t, it was just to show that anders and justice are very bitter. Eh, ok.

Also, i let anders join after he blew up the chantry, bc he started it, so might as well follow it through.

Some minor characters that i remember

Senechal Bran for the next Viscount! He hated hawke so much but still put up with him.

Feynriel is the coolest mage in Kirkwall. I think his missions were my favourite. Dude goes from “oh no i’m a mage” to “i will just dreamwalk to tevinter and learn control the reality” to “i dream-killed bad people from thousands of miles away”. Does he appear in the next game? I want him on my side. He’s so cool.

I think the Maker is sending Cullen signs to quit being a templar. First job: evil mages that tortured you. Instead of “this job will kill you” h took it as a “never trusting mages again, got it”. Second job: your boss is evil possessed paranoid maniac. Man, talk about bad luck.

What is the story of the Lady Elegant?

Flemeth had that big great talk at the beginning of the game and i thought by the end of the game i’d realise what it meant, but nope, still no clue.

Ok so I defeated Corypheus, but there was this looong shot of Larius walking away. Corypheus possessed larius, didn’t he? He’s out there. In a madman’s body. I know he appears in inquisition.

Many thoughts

I gotta say, in Kirkwall, at least, it didn’t feel like much of a challenge to pick a side. Like, there was no mage who said “hey i actually really like it here in the circle, the templars aren’t so bad”, and having templars actually smuggling mages from the circle says a lot to say the least. Every time a mage talks to you, unless you go with “oh they’re 100% lying”, their stories invoke sympathy and of course you want to help them. And then in 99% cases they turn to blood magic bc there was no other way. Except that dude who always hanged out with the wrong people, he only did blood magic to save Carver. But yeah, that turning to blood magic was like having Fenris side-eye me with an unspoken “i told you so” bc every mage, whether in desperation or hunger for power, will turn sooner or later into a demon. Regardless, blood magic was always in the act of desperation and self-defense. The only times where magic was actually evil was the slavers and the serial killer, who is a madman.

When i was reading the Enigma of Kirkwall, there was a part that talks of a blood-mage conspiracy and i was all, oh shit, there is a reason why templars are mean to mages! maybe the conspirators are framing innocent mages on blood magic crimes that they actually commit, maybe Meredith is actually on trail of the conspirators, maybe there is a reason for animosity on both sides. After all, Kirkwall was known for having a bigger number of apostates, a bigger number of blood magic cases and far more ruthless templars. It added up.Thinking back now, i never even got any specific reason why meredith was so intensely anti-mage, other than going mad.

But yeah, no conspirators. Just sad mages and mean templars, and good templars that get screwed by desperate and mean mages.

While in Kirkwall it’s easy to be a pro-mage, i was thinking a lot about mage-rights in general so let me indulge myself: there are circles, but the mages aren’t oppressed. Rather, the circles would be educational centres and society in every larger city where one learns how to properly handle magic bc magic is dangerous. You can leave when you pass the final exam and also come back anytime to hang out with mages who decide to live there since the institution would support mages.

Also, when one gets possessed, i’d invest more into “walk into their head and free them of demons” specialists. It’d be cool if you could have a dreamer who does that bc no lyrium spent. Honestly, why don’t they ever do that? How did the keeper do that rite for Feynriel? Was it blood magic?

I guess, you’d still have to answer for your crimes, tho no death punishment and degradation allowed. Blood magic wouldn’t be punishable by death, but rather have specialists who study it, but practice with extreme caution and use of another person’s blood is strictly prohibited.

Templars would still exist but completely reformed. No more “mages are all potential disasters”, but i’d rather make it that mages can too be templars, since they both have abilities that prevents the others from casting magic. This way the control system would be much like the dalish: if the keeper(mage) is possessed, the clan (which means the non-mages and the first(mage)) need to kill them. You could argue that you don’t need templars as non-mages, since mages can do it too, but seeing that in general people fear magic and feel inferior to it (since there’s a collective memory of the great tevinter imperium), having non-magic specialists would make them feel like on equal ground. The extra-reformed templars would be under Circle, not under direct command of the chantry, and circle, depending of whether chantry is reformed, might or might not be under chantry.

(a side note, i was thinking about templars recently and i can’t recall an instance where it says who had the clever idea to chew lyrium first? i just wanna know)

I know that DA2 wasn’t about grey wardens and therefore not about darkspawn, but seeing as in legacy we get corypheus being... an evil version of the Architect(??), i was only wondering do we get more answers about the darkspawn? is there hope for them? is the Architect still alive?

And oh, to turn to the Anders question:

Is he a terrorist, or was that just activism? I mean, i don’t see why those two can’t go together. blasting a building with a symbolic significance killing and harming many innocent people to get a message of your radical activism across belongs into a schoolbook of terrorism. Does he have a good cause? He sure believes so, and i, too, agree that mages should not be oppressed for just being mages. But does that mean this is the right way to do it? Personally, i do not condone any act of violence in service of a political or religious cause. I know it’s sometimes inevitable, but i like to believe there are more diplomatic ways, or at least not including an attack on civilians.

That aside, the moment where anders goes in front and just announces that the church was gonna blow up in a minute was the best anders moment for me. Until that point i more or less just viewed his activism as a hobby since he just did it in his free time, but now he put his money where his mouth is and freaking went all out. Cool character moment. And incredibly heartwrenching. He was aware of how many innocents he killed, but just didn’t see other way to get the point across.

I still don’t agree with his idea of blowing up the church tho. Maybe if he told Hawke, they could have done something to empty the church previously and further people away from it and then blow it up?

But still, blowing up religious buildings isn’t the answer. If i was the radical mage activist, i would have gone for the open assassination. Seeing it worked in WW1, i don’t see why it couldn’t start a fantasy war.

Some random things i liked:

uniportant but lovable interractions in the house: it starts innocently with gamlen’s house, to see how you’re doing, and becomes really fun during act 2 when you see your friends have been here and left you things. In act 3, however, it feels melancholic. no more family to come back to, just ghosts of friends that have visited, Bodahn and Sandal being there for you, Orana still not getting some sunlight and your dog at the fireplace. The Hawke Family Suite is playing, and you feel older than you are, lonlier than you should be. just... ouch. I hope Bodahn adopted Orana and took her out of Kirkwall :(

t i named the dog “Maker” which is very funny to me bc every time i summon the dog i just imagine Hawke yelling “Maker help us”. Carver hates the name bc he needs to chase the dog often in the streets. Mama Hawke never ever calls the dog Maker, but she never has to call the dog anything: he’s super obedient towards her.

Fighting wasn’t as hard as in origins, i like that.

The haunted house mission was so cool.

When random people greet aveline in Hightown.

And that’s i think about it. There are probably plenty more things i loved, but i think this is already enough. if somebody told me i’d be playing so much this year, i’d laugh, but I already want to play the next game ;;___;;

#don't klick keep reading if you aren't ready to scroll endlessly #a very long post #in which i:#love everything #stan carver #cry over fictional characters #need a romance manual #form political opinions in a fictional game #give a random fic rec that is so worth your time #if you've read this you're a hero and i'm sorry #da2 #spoilers for those who plan to play #it took me a week to write this god

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jadedragoness · 4 years

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Review: Peace Talks

First Read Through Reaction

Now staring off, knowing that the book was essentially part one of two did mean that I went in expecting that there would be plot lines that wouldn’t be resolved. I did NOT expect that nearly zero of the plot lines would be resolved, at all. Yikes. Now, I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it. I did. But it felt like there were 50 to 60 pages missing that should have been in the story to at least wrap up minor plot lines before heading into ‘Battle Ground’.

Warning: Full of Spoilers

Such the arrival of the Outsiders those Cornerhounds. Um… Outsiders and at no point that Harry wonder why in the hell they were called to Chicago? Or why they were targeting him and Ebenezer. Seriously, unless the author totally forgot we know that Outsiders can only be called by mortals. So human wizards brought them. So was it someone in the ‘Black Council’ or was it the Formor, since we know from previous stories that they grab humans and mind-whammy them and also modify them. And we know that they’ve been pretty focused on grabbing minor practioners for a couple of years now.

Hell, even just knowing why Thomas attacked the svartalf King would have been good to know in the book even if we don’t find out who it was yet.

That being said lets start of with things I didn’t like.

Thing Which I Wasn’t All that Pleased About:

1. Butters in that threesome relationship.

Now, let me explain, it’s not because its a poly relationship. I don’t even twitch over how Justine and Thomas include others in the sexual part of their relationship. It’s because I kept wondering if Marci was even into dudes. As far as I knew she was only into girls. And now she’s suddenly bi?

What the hell?

I think my reaction has a lot to do with how skewed the sexual orientation gradient in shown among Named characters. You have straight men. Straight women. Bi women who are shown to be blatantly into men and women…and that’s it, now.

No lesbian women with zero interest in men. No bi men. No gay men. No asexual characters. No trans characters. No gender fluid people.

I know that this due to the author’s eye and while it hasn’t irritated me much in the past as we keep getting more and more books with more newly introduced characters the lack is becoming more and more glaring to me. Especially, as I have drifted into reading other series that manage to be way more inclusive about this sort of thing in great and amazing ways *sighs happily over Rivers of London series*. And I don’t just mean in passing with random nameless scenery people that never talk which have popped up in the Dresden Files but with actual characters that have names, dialogue and contribute to the series.

So it really, really annoys me that Marci went from being the only lesbian who is a named character to joining the horde of bi women in the DF verse.

Okay, so its not really a Butters issue to much as a grumble about the spectrum of gender and sexually needing better representation.

*grumbles* Step up your game, Butcher.

I will add that I’m head-canoning that actually the relationship here is Butters with Andi, Andi with Butter and Marci, and Marci with Andi. That pretty much with Butters running around being the new Knight Andi didn’t like how her boyfriend wasn’t paying attention and gave Butters the ultimatum of letting Marci in as Andi’s girlfriend or they broke up.

… yeah, I’m totally liking that spin way, way better.

2. That Marcone took forever to show up! ARGH! I love him ok.

Considering how early he was name dropped in the story the amount of time it took him to show up… Jim Butcher is a damn Marcone-tease. *glares hotly in author’s direction*

3. I don’t like it that Murphy is so hurt. I don’t hate it. I think I’m just uneasy about the future implications.

Having reread the entire series before reading ‘Peace Talks’ I fully expected some lingering injury but not to that level. I’m actually worried about her chances of surviving any upcoming battle, and not just in Battle Ground. There’s even more danger coming down the pipeline in future books and she won’t let herself stay ‘safe’ when she could be watching Harry’s back… so its a worrying problem.

Now if she died I have no doubt that her being recruited to be a Valkerie is an option. But then I remembered how those warrior women go out into the world with ‘clients’ and of the two we’ve seen they’ve been attached to ‘monsters’ aka Lara and Marcone.

Unless, the payment isn’t cash and she can be attached to Harry. *hums in thought*

But then I have to wonder how much Murphy would accept that role. She’s also a pretty devout Catholic as this book reminded us so that is also something that would make her say no to the offer.

4. That the younger Wardens who had so looked up to Harry being so damned suspicious… ow. That hurt. I may have teared up and sniffled into a tissue thinking about it. And then sobbed because so much of it came from Carlos… Carlos! The man went into the Deeps with Harry! Ouch.

5. Rudolph… that roach.

Ugh, I’ve had the disturbing thought that now that magic and the supernatural on the path to being exposed to all of humanity, scared humanity too, that will end up with a resurgence of a new Inquisition and the killing of anything eldritch. And you know that Rudolph would definitely be in it. *shudders in disgust* Creep.

BTW I totally don’t believe that Rudolph answers to Marcone. It doesn’t make sense as to why he was so pushy go get Harry during ‘Changes’. I had thought he was answering to the Red Court but with them being taken out of the picture… now I wonder if he isn’t answerable to the Black Council.

Things I Did Not Expect:

1. Damn… when Ebenezer sent that spell through Harry and ‘killing’ I was so shocked even though I was pretty sure there was a twist coming. Mostly because of what it says about Ebenezer.

Ebenezer actions killed Harry.

Sure it was a fake body that brought no harm to the real Harry. But if Harry hadn’t thought ahead? If he hadn’t used his brain to ask Molly to create a fake? Eb would have killed his own grandson.

Sure it was an accident but it could so easy have resulted in a dead Harry. I was crying so hard I wondered if my eyeballs were loosening in their sockets. Argh.

2. Bonea…. Harry your naming skills are simply weird. I’m so glad that Susan named Maggie.

Although Bonnie is a pretty great nickname.

Thinks I Found Utterly Hilarious

1. The line about the best offense being a T-Rex? Gold. Pure gold.

2. When Harry figured out there are angels in the hilt of the Swords of the Cross and Butter’s immediate reaction of horror because he’d accidentally laundered the hilt, giving it a ride in a washing machine.

OMG! I had the instant image of a miniature angel screaming and growing dizzy when going through the spin cycle.

I know that makes no sense but that’s where my mind went, okay.

3. The conjuritis. Omg, it’s so gross with all the ectoplasm leaking from Harry’s nose but it’s sooooo funny. Also the way he kept getting the ‘aren’t you too old for this’ from Ebenezer and then Lara made me giggle even harder.

Then I thought: dude, it’s like chicken pox, something you got as a kid but if you never had it you get it when exposed later in life. So one of his kids has it. Probably Maggie too.

4. When Sanya pretended to have his hand lopped off. I straightened up and was so worried Sanya had lost a hand. Then when I realized he was pretending to freak out Butters and Harry I admit to laughing way too hard. Got me too.’

Also there’s no way that Sanya was actually defeated there. He’s younger and better trained then Butters, I don’t care how light (Heh) the new sword is. He definitely threw that fight to test his hunch.

5. Murphy’s inability to handle being flirted on with a red-headed warrior woman. Sooooo funny. I mean, Murphy could have said a number of things such as ‘I’m exclusive.’ or ‘I’m not interested in women.’ But she just floundered. Heh heh.

6. I continue to find it completely hilarious that Lara, a couple of centuries old vampire, seems to keep learning a lot of power moves from Marcone.

Such as: having trained fighters that are NOT food, well… mostly. Having those mines installed in the walls. And now hiring a Valkerie of her very own.

I keep thinking, yeah, there’s no way she’d win in a fight against Marcone because there’ s no way that Marcone has let slip all of his tricks.

Things I Really, Really Liked:

1. Marcone. Everything Marcone. *heart-eyes*

And then he proves why he’s so damned scary by standing up to the Titan. Then to the ghouls. Then after proving his bad-ass quotient if off the charts he gets everyone organized to fight.

Yeeessss… It proves to me that when it comes to protecting Chicago he is actually the best person after Harry. Hell, in some ways he’s better than Harry. Now, I’m not saying he’s a white knight or anything like that. Just that he has the intelligence, the ruthlessness, the will, the power and the men to provide the most protection to the city’s mortal denizens. At least when there’s a war raging with multiple enemies who will be attacking at various points.

And oh, I can’t wait to see how he’s going to get revenge for the death of his people. Omg, he’s going to kill the Formor so hard. *goes starry eyed thinking about more Marcone*

But why did he have to appear so late in the book?! *wails in a heart-rending fashion*

There better be a ton more Marcone in the next book! *makes desperate gimme gimme hands*

No, I don’t have a Marcone addiction… I can stop anytime I want to. *sneaks off to mainline some “Even Hand” straight into the brain*

2. The return of Goodman Grey! Oh, I hope he’s around a lot! I’ve really grown to like him.

<b>Things Which Blew My Mind or Were Just Freaking Awesome: </b>

1. Dad!Harry is actually the most amazing Harry. Forget the magic flinging and the fire storms… this is the best Harry.

Just the way he takes care of his kids…. *turns to mush like ectoplasm*

2. Murphy and Harry are finally together! Yay! Yay! Hip hip hooray!

Now, I’m a rather shameless Marcone/Dresden fic writer, but as I never ever expect this to be canon I’m content to write it as fanfic for my own sense of delight. However when it comes to canon I’m full on board with the Karrin and Harry relationship. Be it friendship or romantic, I think its great.

3. Marcone… that is all.

Random Speculation

1. I find myself wondering about Ebenezer’s rage against vampires. And my brain muttered this theory: Maybe Harry’s grandmother was killed by White Court vampires.

Whoa.

It would explain the vitrolic rage.

And if Lara was involved it would also explain her flash of shame.

We don’t know anything about Harry’s grandmother, not even her name. So… that’s a thought.

2. River Shoulders teaching Harry.

Oh man, oh man, I hope Harry learns shape-shifting.

And thinking about it I had to wonder if the animal-shifting had anything to do with knowing the animal in question which of course made me think…

Harry should learn to shape-shift into a T-Rex.

He already knows how one is put together and the mind of one. And he knows that it’s possible to add extra mass to a shift from the Nevernever in the form of ectoplasm… so

Harrysarous Rex, baby…. I may have to write a fic with this premise.

3. Oh, if it’s possible to make a ectoplasmic body can Harry learn to make one for Bonea? After all Maggie would probably really enjoy getting to play with her little sister that way. Even if Harry can’t do it all the time and it wouldn’t last longer than a day. That would be delightful.

4. Okay, not this is more head-canon than speculation but… considering how hard Harry has been made to be analogous to Merlin I can’t help but wonder if Marcone is suppose to be Arthur’s analogue. So wielding Amorrachius *coughs*Excalibur*coughs* would make sense.

…it’s not just my Marcone-love talking dammit.

Speaking of Merlin, I’m convinced that he’s behind this whole ‘starborn’ thing. Seriously, otherwise its way too convenient that a wizard with that power is born every 666 years. It smacks of a spell.

And if that’s the case it also feeds into my pet theory that the whole reason we have Outsides at the Gates is because Merlin was the schmuck who drew them to our reality in the first place. And everything surrounding the war with the Outsiders are his attempts to try to fix what he broke.

*lost in pondering thoughts*

Things I Have Questions About

1. Did Harry forget he has The Ways Map from his mother? I would have thought he would have figured out a way (heh) to get to the island somehow. He was on it for so long I thought for sure he’d spend time exploring it. Also we knew from ‘Skin Game’ that even tiny factors can change where the Way goes in the Nevernever. I doubt the ENTIRE island has Ways that lead to a bad place. Especially for Harry now that he’s the Warden.

2. Also why didn’t Harry get Lea to help him? After all unless she’s moved it since ‘Changes’ her garden is still on the other side of the sub-basement.

3. What did Lara use that first favor from Mab on? *eyes her suspiciously*

4. Where are the Za Lord’s Guard? *wondering about what been happening with Lacuna and Toot-toot*

5. If Harry gets kicked out of the White Council (good riddance, since they haven’t exactly been all that helpful lately) can he get enough signatures to be added as a member of the Accords in his own right? After all being Warden of Demonreach has got to mean a lot to the older members.

Then he wouldn’t be reliant on Mab’s protection.

I can’t help but hope this proves to be the case, especially if in ‘Battle Ground’ Harry ends up taking down that Titan. Because he needs as much protection and influence he can gather if he’s no longer White Council to protect himself, his people and his kids. Especially if he eventually gets rid of that Winter Knight mantle like I hope he does.

6. How in the hell (pardon the pun) did evil demon Sasquatch survive being turned to mush by Hade’s Ice Gate? Or the shades that were part of the security system that almost got Harry?

*frowns* The only reason I can think of would be the coin of Ursiel being the factor. I doubt a Fallen Angel is allowed to stick around in the Greek realm of the afterlife.

7. WHERE IS BOB?! Seriously, if Butters doesn’t give him back...

#peace talk spoilers #the dresden files #john marcone #full of speculation #can't wait for more #harry blackstone copperfield dresden #karrin murphy #spoilers #the dresden files spoilers

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tazzytypes · 4 years

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Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 4

Find more chapters here OR Read on AO3

The air was thick and smelled of must. People crowded into the streets like they were in the center of New York City, but when she looked up she saw the towering remnants of an ancient metropolis. Like a tide, they pulled at her this way and that. Green eyes staring up at the sky quickly were once more pulled to the cobblestone street beneath her feet as she tripped and fell to the ground.

She had to move. That was the only thing she was sure of. She had to find him.

“He’s here!” the people murmured, the phrase coming towards her like ripples in a pond, followed by gushing. Their words were a roar in her ear, fan-girls and fan-boys all vying to be seen and heard over all the others.

Something possessive curled around her heart, a jealous python that would squeeze until the organ burst in her chest and rendered her lifeless on the street. Then she would be left to be trampled by the stampede, head caved in and bones broken by a million feet — the second rendition of the Who concert of the 19070s.

She had to move.

The snake in her chest provoked something in her. Her hands were like claws as they dug into the shoulders of those in front of her, pulling them back so she could surge forwards. Like rag-dolls they allowed her to tear into them or perhaps she simply didn’t care if they were hurt. All that mattered was finding him.

Finally, she could see the edge of their ranks. They were like a funeral procession, swaying back and forth silently. No cries of praise or screaming of star-struck fans close to their equivalent of a god. He wasn't a god… not to her. Or maybe he was? She couldn’t recall.

All she knew is that when she looked at him her heart soared and she felt happier than she had ever felt before. When she finally saw his golden hair between the silhouettes of those before her she felt giddy, a smile pulling at her lips as she reached out to him. Blue eyes met hers and she could see the universe within them, a sea she could explore a million times over without growing tired. She smiled so much it hurt, her lips forming his name like a prayer.

The smile faded as quickly as it had formed. His back turned to her as he ascended the stairs, up to one of the ancient monoliths that surrounded them. Her heart fell to her stomach and all she could do was stand there, hot and salty tears pouring down her cheeks.

He was hers, wasn’t he? Or was she simply of the masses, looking upon him and wishing to be looked upon in return… to be something more than what they were.

Em awoke with a gasp, heart hammering in her ears as she stared down at the floor of the empty hallway, the wall she leaned on cool to the touch.

Wait… hallway?

Panicked, she righted herself, turning around in circles as she tried to figure out where she was. How did she end up in the hallway? The last thing she remembered was Venable sending them to their rooms as wardens rushed in to deal with the snakes. Emily, as usual, had pulled Em to her senses… literally tugging her from the chair with the help of The Fist. The Three Musketeers had gathered in the library, Timothy convinced they had actually summoned a demon while the two girls sought a more logical explanation

Then she had gone to bed, seeking refuge from the continuous hunger that clawed at her belly… sleepwalking maybe? But she had never sleepwalked before…

Em looked down at her legs. She had gotten dressed, entirely in purple with a bow around her neck and puffed sleeves that reminded her of the 80s. Her now shoulder-length hair was even pulled back into a bun.

A hand went to her wrist, something stiff behind the cuffs of her sleeves. She had even readied the pocket knife she had smuggled in, hidden in a secret pocket she had sown in during their first few weeks in the outpost.

She had always been meticulous when getting ready for the day — the curse of Victorian clothes and an inability to trust the presiding authority. So how could she not remember? Dissociating wasn’t new to her — it was common to get into a routine and go on autopilot, but this was just… black. Like she had drunk too much or had her wisdom teeth removed.

“Em!” A voice called, the woman in question turning at the sound of footsteps running in her direction. Emily bounded towards her, lifting her skirt so she could move as quickly as possible. “There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

The brunette didn’t even note the buzzing feeling until it retreated from her, leaving her head, then her shoulders, and onward until it left her toes and seemed to seep into the floor, her spine-shivering at the sensation. How could she not have felt it jitter her bones?

Emily noted her friend's distant gaze and pinched brows, hand going to cover Em’s freezing ones. “Are you alright?”

Em shook her head, trying to clear away the fog.

“Sorry,” She apologized, offering an unconvincing and certainly not reassuring smile despite her intentions, “lost my head for a moment there. Did you need something?”

Emily frowned for a moment but didn’t push.

“Venable called for a meeting. Maybe we’ll finally figure out something.”

She took a few steps forward, hand reaching back for Em to take. A small relieved smile flickered to Emily’s face as Em took her hand, allowing the ebony-haired girl to tug her along to the salon.

“Who do you think was in Venable’s office?” Emily asked. Her hand was tight around Em’s as if she were afraid the brunette would float away.

“I don’t know.”

“Has to be someone important. I’ve never seen her so ruffled.”

“She deserves to be ruffled,” Em notes, earning a laugh from her companion.

“Amen to that.”

------------------------------------

Em would probably never stop complaining about the arrangement of furniture in the salon. Having her back to open air was unnerving and knowing a wall of Greys were behind her didn’t help smooth out the hairs that stood up on the back of her neck.

She shifted this way and that as the others chatted around her, trying to find a position that eased her tension. The brunette would slouch, but corsets made that physically impossible. Emily noted her friend's discomfort and offered her a reassuring smile.

God, she wished she could join the Greys, standing in the background against the walls or above them on the small balcony. She glanced over to Venable who stood front and center. It reminded Em of an annoying governess, looking down at her charges with her nose in the air. No, if Em moved that would break the woman's precious rules. Heavens knew they couldn’t break quid pro quo of their tiny society.

While Venable’s presence was enough to seep any joy from the room, there was an added weight to the usual tension. This moment was going to be a defining one. A visitor knocking on one's door during a nuclear winter was haunting and they had all been warned about the cannibals… the wild, tumor infested ones at the very least.

The clicking of heels against wood was a drum-roll suitable for a battlefield, growing closer and closer at an agonizingly slow pace. They all turned their attention to the door which stood wide open by a Grey. From the shadows, a man came forth.

His clothes were much more modern than her own, making Em feel more than a bit ridiculous. She kept her hands in her lap and forced herself not to fidget as he rounded the room. The light of the fire he was approaching made his features more prominent, but her attention was focused on his hair. The way the firelight hit him made it seem like there was a golden halo around his head, catching and setting ablaze every stray strand. It was enough to awe at, the poet in her quick to make a comparison to angels. Then again, even God’s most beautiful angel had locks of golden hair… and they all know what happened to him.

He came to a stop uncomfortably close to Venable. It was enough to unnerve the woman, a triumphant smile quickly pressed into a thin line. His actions were primal, a lion trying to take over the pride. When Em glanced at Emily and the others she found that they had already removed their gaze as if they were watching a dance that was not meant to be seen. Coco scratched at the back of her neck and even Dinah preoccupied herself with straightening a wrinkle in her dress.

Whatever Venable saw in the man’s eyes was enough to make her falter and step back, the second-long interaction feeling much longer.

Smug, he pulled his gaze away from the queen of Outpost 3 and glanced over them with his hands behind his back. He oozed and burned with something Em had been yearning for — power. Letting the silence sit for a moment, he finally addressed them.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative,” He started, “I won't sugarcoat the situation.”

They all sat a little straighter, eager to hear him speak. His eyes linger on her and she does not look away, makes sure of it. It was a primal interaction she knew all too well.

“Humanity is on the brink of failure,” Langdon went on, eyes not leaving hers, waiting for her to turn away.

While the existence of “alphas” was debatable and even debunked by the man who coined it, dogs and even cats avert their eyes from their more powerful counterparts. Em would not bow her head to anyone.

“My arrival here,” He continued, finally pulling away, “was crucial to the survival of civilized life on earth. The three other compounds — in Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas — have been overrun and destroyed.”

West Virginia — that’s where Em had been initially placed before some rich benefactor decided their dog was more deserving of her position there. She was lucky The Cooperative even bothered to place her somewhere else. While Texas would have been the next closer outpost to where she was on the east coast, she was honestly quite glad to be where she was. Enough of her life had been spent surrounded by bigoted rednecks.

Langdon went on, “We’ve had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.”

Em bit her lip to keep down the retort that threatened to burst out. A giant fucking ocean and radiation interfering with whatever electrical-waves that could be used for communication ensured little to no communication. She doubted a radioactive pigeon could even survive long enough to make a voyage.

“What happened to the people inside?” Timothy asked across from her. He was the only one that seemed relaxed, leaning against the arm of the chair as he had during every cocktail hour for the past 18 months.

Langdon spared him a fleeting glance, tone light despite the gravity, “Massacred.”

“By who?” Em prompted.

The quick side-eye from the man was enough to tell her that he had heard her, but was choosing not to address her.

He was not shy to deliver the news which he had come here to give them, “The same fate that will befall almost all of you.”

“Almost all?” A Grey questioned from behind her. Em glanced in the direction of the voice to find the girl that had delivered Em her clothes a few days before. Coco’s friend… though "friend" would be a very loose word.

Once again, Langdon pretended not to hear. Looking at the girl, but not dignifying her with a response.

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur,” he said, “We built a failsafe — The Sanctuary.”

“The Sanctuary?” Coco echoed.

“The Sanctuary,” He went on, quickly growing tired of the interruptions, “is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.”

Mead made a face at that, clearly bothered by this bit of information, “Excuse me, sir, what measures? Why weren’t we given them?”

“And why weren’t they applied to all outposts?” Em couldn’t help but add, meeting Mead’s gaze which shared a similar glimmer of realization.

When she turned back to the blond, his eyes were boring into her own, raising a hand to silence Mead, “That’s classified.”

He sighed, unable to hide his annoyance, “All that matters is that The Sanctuary will… survive, so the people inside it will survive, so that humanity will survive.”

Andre had looked at the man with contempt from the moment Langdon had entered the room. His eyes flared with anger the other residents were all too familiar with. “Who are the people who are populating it?”

Langdon shook his head, eyes shimmering with something akin to amusement, “…also classified. However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us.”

Chattering filled the room, Coco’s face breaking into a smile as she turned to Gallant and Dinah beaming as she squeezed her son’s hand. Timothy, Em, and Emily could only spare one another silent and concerned looks. They all knew the questions in the minds of the other two. Did wealth factor into their chances? Either was, Em was reluctant to get her hopes up… she had learned that lesson long before the apocalypse.

“The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call… ‘Cooperating’.” Langdon explained, glancing over to them with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, threatening to grow into something more. “I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.”

This time, Em could not hold back the quiet scoff that left her. He had to know what he sounded like. His sarcastic tone implied that much… like a CEO on his high horse telling minimum wage workers that if they worked hard enough then they wouldn’t have to worry about rent.

Naturally, Coco was quick to throw a fit and complain. The other residents could practically sense it coming like it was The Force from Star Wars.

“What is this? The Hunger Games?” she spat, “This is bullshit. I paid my way in here and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing.”

Em sighed and leaned towards Emily, being careful to keep her voice to a whisper, “I think I’d prefer The Hunger games.”

Emily gave her a look, biting her lip to hide the amusement that had begun to show itself on her face.

Langdon waited out the tirade like a parent watching their child throw a tantrum in a Target. Certain it would come to an end, but not quite sure when. Part of him even looked shocked at the outburst altogether.

“You don’t have to sit for questioning,” he informed her. Whatever first impression Em would make on this man, she could at the very least assure herself that is wasn’t as bad as Coco’s.

“What happens if we chose not to?” Andre asked.

“Then you stay here and die.” Langdon snapped. He had hoped for his message to be implied through his speech, but these people seemed to need their hand held, either too stupid or too lazy to put 2 and 2 together.

“I volunteer to go first!” Gallant proclaimed abruptly, raising his hand into the air.

“And so you shall,” Langdon said with a smirk. Em’s eyes lingered on the hairstylist, making a note to keep her ears to the pavement. The man couldn’t keep a secret to save his life… then again it wouldn’t be past him to tell her the wrong information just to ensure his own salvation.

“The process should only take me a week or so,” Langdon said, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “so you won’t be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don’t make the cut, all is not lost.”

His eyes scanned over them once more as he held up a vial, “If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these.”

There were only a few pills left and they all had to wonder if the vial was once full to the brim, “one minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up.”

Emily’s hand gripped on to Em’s skirt, but Em did not share her concern. She was quite surprised at her relief, tension leaving her shoulders. What was it that Hamlet said — “To sleep perchance to dream?” She was so tired of fighting, but the thought of death was a sobering chill in her bones, an existential fear she could not escape. She was like Jekyll and Hyde, flickering between wanting to live and wanting to fall into an endless slumber.

“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

Langdon left as quick as he had entered, in silence with nothing but the clicking of heels down a hallway to give any sign he was even there at all.

They all sat there, staring at nothing… some of them turning their gaze inward. Em could only wonder what the price of survival was. Right now they were living one day only to make it to the next. It was hell, plain and simple. This ultimatum was simply choosing the lesser of two evils.

All she wanted was to see the sky — the real thing, not a worn photograph frozen in time. But there wasn’t a sky anymore, was there? Just a green haze. The brunette was nothing more than a walking corpse, the dance of day to day life, of cocktail hour and dinners and library sessions, was just a distraction. Who was to say they weren’t leaving one prison to be locked in another?

Sometimes she just wanted to scream until her vocal cords snapped.

------------------------

It didn’t take long for the purples to be at each other’s throats. She found it almost morbidly amusing — in the plight to survive they would end up killing one another until no one was left. That was irony, right? Em had become hazy on the exact definition and was too lazy at the moment to search for the answer.

“Well, smooth move asking to go first,” Coco scoffed, turning and glaring at the man beside her as soon as Venable had left the room.

“There’s an old actor’s adage,” Evie sighed, “Either go first or go last.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Coco snipped.

“Are you suggesting that he is going to pass me up?”

“You’re ancient! He’s looking for people to repopulate the earth, not fill a bingo hall.”

“You know, for someone with the mental capacity of a 3-year-old, I suppose 52 might seem ancient.”

Coco laughed, mocking and without mercy, “You were 52 when Elvis took his last shit!”

“That’s enough,” Gallant groaned.

“Oh, no.” Evie said, “let her spout. I remember a wonderful lunch that I had with Dan Tana’s with Natalie Wood.”

Coco groaned and pressed her face into a hand she had propped up on the arm of the chair.

“Natalie turned to me and she said,” Evie continued, changing to mock an accent Em couldn’t quite place, “’ Evie, you are a survivor. You’re gonna outlive us all.’”

With a flourish of her hand, the old woman procured a fan from somewhere on her person and used it to emphasize her point, “and dear Natalie — she turned out to be right.”

Em’s restraint and sanity were at an end. Whatever thread it had been dangling by snapping as she listened to Gallant and Coco go at the other’s throat, the other residents hardly doing anything to help the situation.

Emily jumped as the brunette next to her suddenly jumped to her feet. Coco opening her mouth to retort to the old woman’s story, but finding herself cut off.

“Shut up!” She cried, “For the love of god, shut up!”

The group went quiet, shocked and looking to another for some explanation. Em wasn’t one to hide her aggravation, but it was mostly aimed at Venable. For the past 18 months, she had been relatively quiet save for her interactions with Emily and Timothy.

“Realistically,” She posed, “What is going to happen to us?”

Coco frowned, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be in that sanctuary.”

Evie scoffed, “darling, you have as much of a chance getting into that sanctuary as Stu does.”

Coco narrowed her eyes, “Stu’s dead.”

“That’s her point.” Gallant sighed.

“You have no right to speak his name!” Andre snapped before turning and glaring at the old woman, “especially you!”

“We didn’t eat your boyfriend!” Coco and Gallant snapped back in unison.

Dinah stood and took a spot next to Em who could only roll her eyes at the former star’s antics, “The only way to survive is to work together.”

“Oh, shut up,” Coco groaned, leaning her head back on the couch, “that garbage may have worked in TV land, but this is real life.”

“And real life has need of influencers?” Em scoffed. She was beyond done with this batch of spoiled socialites and tired of holding her tongue in the hopes that one day they may prove useful. “Spare me.”

Coco gaped at her, turning to her and beginning to bop her head again like an angry chicken, “there are 2 types of people in the world: the influenced and the influencers.”

Em shook her head, hands coming to her chin as if she was praying, “The old world, you mean.”

“Old world, new world.” Coco said, “it’s all the same.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Em asked, holding back a laugh.

“Oh, and you have all the answers?”

“No,” Em admitted, coming to stand in front of the fireplace, “but I have facts: most of the people in this room have no applicable skills.”

Coco raised a finger and opened her mouth.

Em held out a hand, pointing at her with the rage of god, “I swear if the word influencer leaves you mouth one more time—”

Whatever Coco saw in the brunette’s eyes was enough to shut her up, eyes going to the ground before her before she glanced at the others. Even Emily was frightened by her friend’s current rampage, looking to Timothy who only shrugged… Em had a point.

“Scientists theorized after World War Three,” Em explained, pacing back and forth, “that 80 percent of people would die in the blast and the other 20 percent would die in the aftermath.”

“But the Sanctuary—”

Em cut off Gallant, “The only sanctuary we have is in death and this place— ”

She motioned to the room around here, “— this place only prolongs our suffering.”

“Well if you’re so right and whatever why don’t you just off yourself and save us the headache!” Coco snapped.

“Out fingers have the consistency of a carrot,” Em sighed, speaking more to herself than the others, “we could bite it off just as easily… but we don’t.”

“Yeah! Because we’re not psychos!”

“Because our brains stop us,” Em said, “When standing at the edge of a tall building some of us feel the urge to jump… not because we’re depressed, not because we want to, but because it is simply there.”

“Are you going to get to the point?” Gallant sighed, pinching his nose and making a motion with his hands to hurry the girl up.

“Humans don’t want to off themselves. Those who do are fighting against every instinct that says otherwise, but—”

Em mimed a gun with two of her fingers and aimed it at Coco, closing one eye as if to get a better shot, “— to kill another is so much easier.”

“You think The Cooperative is just trying to off the 20 percent?” Timothy asked, leaning forward and glancing at Emily.

“Then why leave the others outside in the radiation,” Emily asked, brows pinched together in thought as she glanced between her boyfriend and Em, “Why not let us all die?”

“Because we are human,” Em said, “and humans don’t want to die. They will find whatever reason they can to worm their way to self-preservation.”

Gallant opened his mouth to comment, but the signature sound of a cane hitting hardwood made everyone fall silent. Venable appearing in the doorway, looking less than pleased as she stared at Em, raising her head to look at the woman down her nose.

“To question those who keep us alive is a flagrant show of disrespect,” she said.

“If we do not challenge our perception how are we to survive?” Em posed.

The residents glanced between the two like watching a tennis match where there were knives instead of balls.

Venable straightened ever slightly, “through strong will and respect for the chain of command.”

Em scoffed, “Putting a corset on chaos and hoping it will stay in its confines.”

“You doubt The Cooperative?” Venable asked, taking a step forward.

“I’m entertaining philosophical debate.”

“AKA going bat-shit crazy,” Coco laughed, sparing a look at Gallant who smiled at some unspoken joke.

“Well you got one thing right,” Venable said, banging her cane on the floor to gather the attention of the entire room and looking over each of them one by one, “You’re all expendable.”

Her eyes landed on Em, “something everyone would do well to remember.”

Venable turned around and began to walk away, but Em’s voice made her halt. As always it was smug and mocking. She couldn’t wait for this particular fly to finally be squashed.

“What about you?”

Her voice was firm and resolute, “I am the only thing standing between you and a quick death.”

She didn’t turn to look at Em, but she could practically sense the mocking bow taking place behind her.

“Then I yield to my executioner.”

Venable’s lips twitched into a scowl that she did not pretend to hide, unseen by the crowd behind her.

“Dinner is in an hour,” She spat, “Tardiness will not be accepted for any reason.”

---------------------------------

Timothy and Emily had gathered in the latter’s room, sighing against the other's lips. Emily groaned as he pulled away trying to pull him closer only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“This one kiss a week is bullshit.” She sighed, eyes flickering open as she looked at Timothy through her lashes.

Timothy’s eyes pressed into a line as he looked everywhere but at her, trying to hold on to whatever restraint he had left. “I know.”

There was a moment of silence before Emily spoke again, “I want to get out of here.”

Timothy could only stare at her, praying she wasn’t implying what he thought she was, “What are you talking about?”

Emily stood, the lack of her warmth beside him quickly sobering Timothy to the conversation at hand, “I’m not gonna wait around to find out if Langdon chooses us and I don’t exactly trust him, anyway.”

She was practically beaming as she proposed her plan to him, “I say we steal two rad-suits and some food and take our chances on the road… find the sanctuary ourselves.”

He didn’t even know how to respond to that, leaning back on the bed as he gaped like a fish and gestured out to her in hopes that would spur some epiphany of words. Part of him was annoyed with Em. Put those two together and they’d overtake the outpost if they could.

“That is crazy,” was all he could say, quickly searching for something to add after as Emily began to give him that scathing glower, “We don’t… Have you forgotten what it’s like out there?”

“Em would be down in a heartbeat,” Emily tried to persuade.

“Em is less impulsive than you think. She’s seen what cancer does to people… it’s not pretty.”

“I’m not saying we have to rush it,” Emily reassured, walking back to him a kneeling down to grab his hand, “but Langdon made it here okay and he was all alone. He doesn’t exactly look like Mad Max.”

“We don’t even know where The Sanctuary is.”

“Maybe there’s something in his room that’ll tell us,” Emily said, “Em knows how to use information… she’s a fucking encyclopedia sometimes.”

Timothy was shaking his head but laughed despite himself.

“Fine,” he relented, “but only if Em agrees. We’re in this together or not at all.”

Emily was beaming, springing up and hugging him. Timothy gasped as the air was nearly knocked out of him.

“You won’t regret it,” She whispered in his ear.

--------------------------

With the pressure of impending doom, most of the residents were keeping their heads low. While she felt somewhat embarrassed about her previous rampage, there was some therapeutic relief in it. While she had voiced her complaints before, it had never been so… explosive.

Coco had called her psycho and part of Em couldn’t completely deny it. She had lost time not even an hour before. If things kept going as they were, a much more violent and permanent break would be in her future. The black void in her memory frightened her to no end. It was like being in the blast all over again, alone and surrounded by nothingness as the bombs shook her bones. Em imagined it was what death felt like, but she didn’t like to imagine it for long.

Gallant had his interview which gave them all an hour or so free of drama. Things almost felt peaceful… as peaceful as looming death would allow.

Foolishly, she had begun her free-time looking for the occult book the Three Musketeers had used to terrify Timothy. Now, she sat at a table with medical books strewn around her as she scribbled in her notebook. Medical professionals said not to self-diagnose, but the brunette had a lack of a better option.

Her symptoms included buzzing and loss of time. While it was easy to chalk it up to starvation, something about that prognosis didn’t sit right with her. Unfortunately, with those symptoms alone she might as well have searched on WebMD and chosen the worse possible answer. Cancer, tumors, and all other sorts of daunting diagnoses the first things she came across.

Sighing, Em leaned on her hand and allowed it to pull at her cheeks before running it through her hair. A dead-end stood in front of her, mocking her. She had done everything — read every book she could get her hands on and created detailed notes of every possible diagnosis. Balled up paper surrounded her, each one of them another dead end.

So, eyes tired from reading small print in dim lighting, Em changed course. With a sigh, she pushed aside the medical books and medical notes and pulled towards her the books on agriculture and self-sustainability.

Despite her feelings towards the current states of life and death, the humanity in her urged her to plow forward — to prepare for the worst-case scenario.

She knew what happened in Chernobyl. Every class since pre-k seemed to go over the subject, but Chernobyl was a harmless puppy compared to what they now faced. What happened when the radiation had nowhere to go? Was it even able to dissipate?

Then there was the issue of food. What could they eat when the entire food supply was contaminated? It was possible, she knew that much, but without the Cooperative —

Em was pulled out of her thoughts by the feeling of being watched, hand going to her neck where hairs stood on end. Looking up, she found Langdon standing there, watching her from the end of an aisle. It was unnerving, his stare, like looking into the eyes of a hungry wolf. How long had he been there?

“You’ve wandered away from the heard,” He noted, hands behind his back as he sauntered towards her.

She turned her attention back to her collection of books, sighing at the sudden interruption and heart halting fear Langdon’s sudden presence evoked, “A heard implies we are a collective group.”

He came to a stop by her side cocking his head as he looked at the books piled up around her like a make-shift fort. He made no move to sit. Another power play.

“Aren’t you?” he asked, picking a book from the top of the pile — a medical dictionary. His eyes flickered over some of the pages as he flipped through it. Why would she be looking at medical dictionaries?

Em was quick to organize her notes, scattered here and there. She placed them under the books if only to spare herself from whatever line of questioning they would evoke. Langdon noticed but did not comment.

“Push comes to shove, most of us will turn on the others to survive.” She told him, finally looking at him.

He smirked, catching her subtle slip-up as he placed the dictionary back on its respective pile, “us?”

Her hazel-green eyes flickered back towards her books.

“I don’t particularly care for many of them,” Em sighed, pulling a tome from a pile and opening it to read its index, “and I know they would sacrifice me in a heartbeat.”

“An eye for an eye,” Langdon noted, rounding the table until he stood on her right, taking a seat on the table instead of a chair, “some may call that barbaric.”

“I call it balance,” Em noted, looking up from the book and into his blue eyes. The sight of them made her pause, but only for an instant. “Is this my interview?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I think it doesn’t matter what I want.”

His eyes narrowed as if trying to find something in her eyes, his head quirking to the side yet again, “then why do you ask?”

Em motioned to the books in front of her, “curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” He noted, waving his hand and looking away from her as he continued, “or so they say.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” she finished.

A smirk crawled onto his lips and once more he turned his attention to the piles of books before her. His hands went to one of the medical books, opening it and skimming through the pages.

“How many books have you read?” he asked, the simplicity of the question taking her off-guard. Em eyed the book in her hand, small with yellowed pages. She closed it with a snap before turning it this way and that, calculating something in her head.

“Depends on the size,” she admits, “one a day, larger ones maybe a week. Some I’ve re-read. Would you count those as well?”

Michael smiled and shook his head, placing his book back on the pile, “Do you intend to read them all?”

“Personal goal,” she admits, fiddling with her bracelet, “we all need something to get us through the day.”

Michael’s eyes focused on her hands which religiously turned and twisted at the string and beads around her wrist.

“Such a simple thing,” he noted, “I assume it has sentimental value?”

“More like superstition,” she admits, “I was wearing it when I was brought here. It’s a Nazar, meant to ward off the evil eye.”

Michael hummed, eyes not leaving the object, “I’m familiar. When logic cannot prevail humans rely upon— ”

Em went to add something, but they were cut off by the shrieking of the library door. Em turned towards the sound but she could feel Michael’s eye on her.

“Oh!” Coco exclaimed from across the room, laughing with her hand on her heart like she was surprised as she started towards them. A hand went to pat her hair to keep it in place. “I didn’t expect you to be in here!”

Em sighed and rolled her eyes, Michael’s finally leaving her and dragging to Coco as he rose to his feet. Whatever smirk he wore was gone, his expression a stone-like mask. Was he annoyed or was that simply his resting face?

“Having a little party here?” Coco asked, her voice almost painfully nice as a hand motioned to the door behind her to the door, “or is this an intimate affair? Should I go and — “

“No need,” Langdon told her, raising a hand to silence her as he moved towards the door. As he approached Coco he stopped for a moment, eying her up and down, “I have other business to attend to.”

Coco simply stood there, trapped in his gaze until he finally turned back to Em, hands going behind his back. They were always behind his back… as if he were hiding something from them.

“You have enlightened me to some fascinating bits of information. I can’t wait to see what else my interview will extract.”

The room fell eerily silent as he left. Em watched his back, his hands. There was something off about this man… The Cooperative in general. Of all the times not to have internet—

“So what were you two talking about?” Coco asked, Em jumping as the woman seemed to suddenly appear before her. The sickly-sweet voice was back again, flooding Em’s mind with memories from high-school.

“Books,” Em sighed, reorganizing the books. She needed to put away the medical ones and get a few more for her other research… “and what living here is like.”

“Did he say anything about the interview?”

“No.”

Coco scoffed, rolling her eyes, “then my time is wasted.”

In a flurry of huffing and stomping, the woman left the room. Silence took over the library once more as the door slammed shut.

“No,” Em sang in a hushed tone, collecting books into her arms and returning them to their proper place, “don’t go.”

Desperation in a den of hungry wolves was dangerous enough, dangle a piece of meat and they would most certainly tear one another to pieces.

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon #ahs x reader #ahs x oc #ahs apocolaypse #fanfic #fanfiction #ahs #american horror story fic

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darthlordcommie · 5 years

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Alistair

You know, as far as companions go, the first one you get is usually fairly 2-dimensional. Alistair isn’t.

What I find most interesting about Alistair is that he was brainwashed by the Chantry during Templar training, and (either by his own realization or by Duncan’s help) he knows it. He actively improves on his views of mages, and is open to criticism when he messes up about it. What I find most telling is that he was introduced in DAO, before Bioware started trying to sell a grey morality regarding the Templars and mages. And if you look at his interactions with mages, it’s actually pretty interesting. Yes, the mage you see him talking to first wasn’t treated the best, and yes, he did bring up turning in Morrigan and Flemeth. But that changes pretty quickly. His and Morrigan’s constant bickering is based mainly on their personalities, and differing views. If I remember right, her being a mage rarely comes up, if at all. Alistair also gets along incredibly well with Wynne. He comes to see her as a surrogate grandmother pretty quickly (and that has implications I’ll talk about later). If you’re a mage, other than a couple jokes at the beginning, and a couple statements you can correct him on, he never treats you badly because of it. Now, on to other parts of Alistair’s character.

Alistair’s backstory is two-fold: the backstory that everyone knows, and the actual truth. The truth, that only a select few know, is that Alistair is the half-elven son of King Maric and Fiona, an elven mage who is also a former Gray Warden. As Fiona couldn’t raise him, since her life and future was questionable at best due to her circumstances, and Maric may have been avoiding succession problems by not raising him, Duncan was the first to take Alistair into care. However, as a Gray Warden, Duncan couldn’t raise Alistair, so he had to find someone to raise him. Enter Arl Eamon, the brother-in-law of King Maric, and one of the more loyal Arls. He agreed to raise Alistair, and Duncan left Alistair with him, knowing that Alistair couldn’t be raised among the Gray Wardens. At this point, the “public” version of Alistair’s origins was told: Maric knocked up some poor maid at Redcliffe, she died giving birth to him, and he was being raised at the castle. Unfortunately, Duncan made a mistake trusting Eamon with Alistair.

While he kept Alistair safe, fed, and alive, Eamon was anything but a good caretaker. As Alistair said himself, he often wound up sleeping in the kennels with the dogs, and once locked himself in the dungeon for a whole day without anyone finding him. That, combined with the growing dislike Alistair was often exposed to from Eamon’s wife Isolde, meant he did not have a good childhood. Interestingly, we hear of multiple times when Alistair was a rambunctious child with a temper, and, despite his levity, did in fact yearn for a connection to his family. Why would Eamon take in Alistair, yet do so much to beat him down emotionally? Because he wanted to use Alistair. For better or worse, Alistair was, after Cailan, the heir to the Theirin line, and as we’ve seen in DAO, that does count for quite a bit in the eyes of Fereldan, even if it’s not a guarantee to the throne.

Ultimately, however, between Isolde’s insecurity regarding Alistair, and Alistair’s own unbending spirit, Eamon wound up sending Alistair away to be trained as a Templar. There he would remain, living as a Templar, possibly broken by lyrium addiction and Chantry harshness, until such time as Eamon may need him. Then came Duncan. I suspect that Duncan’s recruiting of Alistair into the Gray Wardens had 2 reasons: First, to bring in a willing recruit who had the Templar training in order to counter magic-wielding darkspawn. Second, to improve Alistair’s lot in life, and fulfill his promise to Fiona. (How do you think Duncan felt, when Alistair was so willing to devote himself to what is essentially a long-term death sentence, and how quickly he bonded with the other Gray Wardens?)

So, this is where Alistair’s at when we meet him in DAO. He’s timid in many ways, constantly deflecting his feelings with jokes, and avoiding anything to do with leadership as much as he can. He’s also compassionate, dedicated to his duty, and intensely caring. His personal journey within DAO does depend on the player, but very much involves coming to grips with his grief over the loss of his family, (both in the Gray Warden’s deaths, and in his inability to have any relationship with his brother and who he thinks is his sister), and dealing with the responsibility of being one of the last 2 Gray Wardens in Fereldan.

#dragon age #dao #alistair theirin

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allisondraste · 4 years

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Temperance (33/42)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary: Nathaniel wishes it took longer to return to Vigil’s Keep.

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Fereldan Countryside, 9:31 Dragon

Nathaniel sat across the campfire from Liss, pretending not to notice when she glanced up from her book to eye him sharply. As she read, she turned each page with an exaggerated amount of force and pointedness, a display of irritation that was much less subtle than she likely believed. She might as well have torn out the pages, wadded them into little balls and tossed them at his head. In fact, if she had lobbed the whole book at him, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He probably wouldn’t have even tried to dodge.

They had not spoken since that morning, when Nathaniel had taken it upon himself to drive a wedge into yet another of his relationships, just as he’d done with Lucia the night before. He knew it wasn’t his place to tell Liss what she should and shouldn’t do, and he was frustrated with his complete inability to let it go. If she wanted to become a Grey Warden, then she should. However, the thought terrified him, and he’d let his fear get the better of him. Now, despite sitting just feet from her, he’d never felt further away.

The four of them had decided to break the day long trip to Amaranthine into two, less exhausting halves, and thus set up camp on the road from Denerim. The camp was painfully quiet, tension hanging like smoke in the air, suffocating and oppressive. With Liss preoccupied by her pointed, passive-aggressive reading in Nathaniel’s direction, and Lucia gazing absently into the fire, Alistair’s discomfort was obvious. He sat on the ground, craning his head around and darting his eyes in every direction, plucking at hardy weeds that shot up through the frozen soil, and fidgeting endlessly. At one point he emptied out the entirety of the contents of his pack, and put each item back in one by one. When he asked to do the same for Lucia’s and she refused, he pouted and scooted over more closely to Liss.

Peering over her arm to look at the text in her hands, he asked, “New book?”

Liss’ posture relaxed almost instantly as she turned to look at Alistair with a soft smile. “Actually, it’s an old one.” She marked her spot and closed the book turning it so that he could see the front.

Squinting, Alistair read the words. “Songs of the Pirate Queen?” He took the book from her hands and began to thumb through the pages.

“Mhmm,” she answered cheerfully, “It was one of my mother’s favorites. She had at least three copies at any given time. I think she missed the sea more than she let on.”

“What,” he asked enthusiastically, still skimming the pages, “Was your mother a pirate or something?”

Liss laughed. “Actually, yes! Well, before she married my father, that is. My grandparents weren’t too happy with the arrangement, but Papa loved her.”

Nathaniel’s chest tightened at the memory of Lady Eleanor, and the nearly inaudible waver in Liss’ voice as she spoke about her.

She continued, “You know The Soldier and the Seawolf? It’s actually about my parents.”

“Huh, I didn’t know th— oh.” Alistair’s eyes widened and his entire face flushed as he slammed Liss’ book shut. He stiffened and looked out into the fire.

Liss giggled and brought her hand to her mouth, a gesture she often used when she was attempting to hide her amusement. “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you that it explores some… mature themes. It’s very tasteful, I swear.”

“No, no it’s fine,” Alistair spluttered, fumbling around with his words, “Er, I mean, I’m fine. It’s just.” He waved his hands vaguely and cleared his throat before sighing and handing her the book back, placing it gingerly onto her lap as if it might bite him.

For the first time during the exchange, Lucia looked up, smile spreading across her lips as she studied Alistair affectionately, face brightening in a way Nathaniel had never seen. She looked at Liss and spoke. “Alistair’s favorite book is The Ugly Nugling, if that tells you anything.”

“It’s a classic,” Alistair stated proudly, “And it has the most lovely message.”

“Which is?” Lucia raised her eyebrows.

“Even if you have beady eyes and creepy little hand…feet… things, you still have value.”

“And did that help you in your formative years as a nug,” Nathaniel asked suddenly, surprising himself.

Alistair laughed. “Yes, come to think of it. It did help me through a rather rough spot when the other nugs wouldn’t let me join their nug games.”

Nathaniel snorted, and glanced reflexively in Liss’ direction. She was still laughing, bright smile painted across her face. Then their eyes met, her smile fading as she looked away. His chest tightened until she looked at him again, eyes full of amusement and sparkling in the firelight. No doubt she was fighting a desperate battle to keep the smile from returning to her face, a battle she seemed to be losing if the smirk twitching at her lips was any evidence. Though he knew she was still angry with him, that he would still need to find some way to make amends, the brief, shared moment was a relief that he had not done as much damage as he previously thought.

Conversation came more easily after that, a thin veil of humor and lightheartedness to hide the angry bronto in the room until the sun settled beneath the horizon and stars twinkled brightly. Liss was the first to doze off, open book face down on the ground beside her. Even with two heavy blankets wrapped around her, she still looked cold and uncomfortable. For someone so distinctly Fereldan, she’d never appreciated cold weather, and he knew she must be miserable. Several feet beside her, Alistair had fallen asleep,too, his head on Lucia’s lap as she looked down at him fondly, raking gentle fingers through his hair. Nathaniel envied their contentment even though he knew there was immense pain buried deep beneath the surface. He envied the ease with which they settled back into one another. If he’d only kept his temper at bay, his opinions to himself then maybe he and Liss could have been… something already. Maybe he would have been allowed to at least explain why he hadn’t written to her. He let his gaze wander back over to Liss, watching as her body rose and fell with each breath. They’d been so close just a day ago. How had it all gone so wrong?

“She’s been through a lot, hasn’t she?” Lucia’s quiet voice startled him, and he turned to look at her. She was watching Liss as he had been, brows knitted.

Nathaniel sighed heavily, taking a moment before answering to quell the unwelcome tears burning behind his eyes. “She has.”

Lucia fell silent for a moment, took a deep breath, and spoke again. “I am sorry if I have caused strife between you two.”

“You—“ Nathaniel cleared his throat, “You haven’t.” He needed to say more, to apologize to her for how he’d treated her, but he froze and the words escaped him.

Luckily, she continued. “Alistair wasn’t too happy with my decision to recruit her either. He said that she was not in a good place to make that kind of choice.”

“He’s right. I think it’s a mistake,” he said, bluntly and Lucia flinched, “But it’s hers to make, and I apologize for acting as if you are responsible.”

“Aren’t I?”

“Liss is stubborn and difficult to refuse,” Nathaniel assured her, “Even if you were responsible, it wouldn’t discount the need for an apology. I was out of line.”

“It’s okay, Nate,” Lucia said, dropping her standard formality to use his shortened name. She looked back down at Alistair, as she traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. “I understand why you might want to protect her from what we are.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, looking away from her. He didn’t know what else to say or do. Again, she had proven herself wise beyond her years, and he was ashamed.

The rest of the night passed without event. It also passed without a wink of sleep for Nathaniel— not that he’d even tried— and the remainder of the trip to Amaranthine had flown by quickly, too quickly. It would not have bothered him had their journey been halted by bandits or a pack of hungry wolves. Anything to delay Liss’ inevitable joining and what that meant one way or another. He hardly spoke, only because everything he wanted to say would be the wrong thing. So he bit his tongue until he thought it might bleed as he always had.

When they arrived at Vigil’s Keep, the relative peace and quiet startled Nathaniel. It was a shift from the hustle and bustle of Denerim, and he’d almost forgotten how few people there truly were in such a large space, even after just a few days. As they entered the large, vacant area that was the main hall, he noticed Liss glancing at him from the corner of his eye, no doubt curious at his reaction to his childhood home, the place she’s seen him off to at the end of each summer. If he were honest, it still made him nervous, as if his angry father would be waiting around every corner to welcome him home with a barrage of insults. Of course, his father was dead, and that wouldn’t happen. Never again.

“Well slap my ass and call me a nug’s uncle,” boomed Oghren as he approached, rather swiftly for the stocky dwarf, “If it isn’t my favorite little pike twirler.” He reached up and punched Alistair playfully in the abdomen.

Alistair flinched, but laughed and gave Oghren a shove. “I suppose there is no talking you out of that nickname, huh?”

“Not a chance,” Oghren said proudly, puffing out his chest. “Guess you heard I’m a Warden now.”

“I did. Glad to have you among our ranks, Ser Dwarf.”

“Well, shit,” Oghren muttered. Nathaniel swore he saw a glimmer of tears in Oghren’s eyes as he and Alistair shared the Warden salute.

It wasn’t long before the others arrived to the main hall, with the exception of Justice, who’d been exceptionally quiet and reclusive since The Mother’s defeat. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Kristoff’s body had begun to decay beyond use. In any event, Anders and Sigrun appeared as their typically enthusiastic selves, Velanna trailing behind with her arms crossed over her chest and a standard scowl painted on her face. Guilt bubbled in Nathaniel’s chest at the thought of parading Liss around in front of her. Velanna had been more than understanding, but this would most likely be an insult to injury.

Without wasting any time, Anders approached Liss. “Hello, my lady. I’m Anders. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Liss blinked and her face reddened, clearly flustered. “My name is Elissa, and the pleasure is mine.”

“A charming name for a charming gi—“ Anders yelped as Velanna elbowed him in the rib cage. “What did I do this time?”

Instead of answering Anders, Velanna looked at Liss. “Andaran atish’an, Elissa. I am Velanna.”

“And I’m Sigrun!”

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Liss said politely, “You can call me Liss, by the way. I prefer it. I’m just so accustomed to giving my full name.”

“You’re the Cousland girl, aren’t you?” Oghren had stopped teasing Alistair and chimed in.

“I am.”

“I’m sorry about your family,” he said in an unexpected display of social appropriateness. “It’s a damn shame.”

“Thank you,” Liss mumbled, clearly unsure what to say. She could not have planned for so many people outside of the nobility, and especially outside of Highever to care about what happened to her family.

“Elissa,” Lucia shouted. She’d been away from the group speaking with Seneschal Garevel.

Liss turned abruptly. “Yes, Warden-Commander?”

“Can you come with me for a moment? We have some matters to discuss before this evening.”

As if it were an instinct, she looked to Nathaniel who nodded at her, and then she answered Lucia. “Sure.”

Liss, Lucia, and Garevel exited the hall, and Alistair remained standing awkwardly, kicking at the floor with his boot, as if he were avoiding eye contact with a pack of wolves. Oghren introduced him to everyone as an old friend and comrade, and he seemed to ease up when they did not devour him whole. Tense and growing increasingly anxious as minutes passed by, Nathaniel separated from the others and paced around the hall before settling on a spot to stand, right next to his mother’s portrait. It seemed they had decided not to take it down after all.

“You’re especially talkative today,” chirped a familiar voice from behind him. He turned to see Anders leaning against a bookshelf and grinning.

“What can I say,” Nathaniel answered with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “I just have so many things to say.”

“Ouch. Touchy, are we?” Anders moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the new recruit who you kept gazing at longingly, would it?”

“I was not gazing at her longingly,” he snapped.

“Yeah, and I’m a Templar,” Anders replied, eyeing him pointedly, “Oh, wait. You mean we aren’t trying to see who can tell the most outrageous lie?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m stunned, truly.” The mage rolled his eyes, and waved his hand flippantly.

“Are we talking about Nate’s lover?” Sigrun had appeared as if out of nowhere and Anders jumped.

“ Lover? ” Anders’ face lit up with mischief.

“She’s not—“ Nathaniel attempted helplessly.

“She is why you went to Denerim, is she not?” Velanna had approached as well, an utter betrayal.

“I—“

“Knock it off,” Oghren scolded as he joined the fray, pushing past Anders and Sigrun. Nathaniel had never been more relieved to see the dwarf. “Let the boy think about his pretty Cousland girl in peace won’t ya?”

Oghren elbowed him and cackled, clearly not his calvary after all. Nathaniel supposed that it if he was to have friends, he had to endure a bit of fun at his expense every once in a while. This was simply the worst time, the worst place, and he was not remotely in the mood to entertain it. Just as he opened his mouth to tell them all to get off his arse, someone cleared their throat from behind the group and everyone turned to look at Alistair who stood several feet away, waving and smiling sheepishly.

“Hey, uh, Nathaniel,” he said, motioning toward the hall with his thumb, “I think Luc— er, the commander wants to talk to you.”

Nathaniel frowned, unsure what Lucia would need to talk to him about, but he welcomed the excuse to escape the friendly mob. He nodded and followed Alistair down the hallway at the back of the room, the same that Lucia and the others had left through just moments before.

“Do you know why the commander needs to speak with me?”

Alistair laughed and stopped walking. “She doesn’t.”

Nathaniel blinked a few times. “Oh.”

“They were just a few pitchforks short of a mob,” the other man explained, chuckling and leaning against the wall, “Consider this your daring rescue.”

Nathaniel smirked. “It’s odd. I always thought knights in shining armor had magnificent white steeds.”

“Oh...that. You see, I have this thing where I fall off horses.” Alistair shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”

They shared a laugh, and then Nathaniel clapped him on the shoulder. “In all seriousness. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Alistair looked down the hallway in one direction and then back down the other. “Full disclosure: I have no idea where I’m going. Is there another way out of this hallway or did I just trap us here? Because that would definitely be something that I would do.”

Shaking his head, Nathaniel began walking down the hall, away from the main room where his friends no doubt waited for him to emerge, motioning for Alistair to follow after him. Luckily, Vigil’s Keep was rather circular in design. They passed the door that led to the seneschal’s office, where Lucia and Liss most likely were, turned a corner, and went up several flights of stairs until they reached a door that led outside to the battlements. He opened the door and stepped outside, Alistair close behind. It was cooler than it had been when they’d arrived, and the sky was overcast with clouds that threatened to break open at any moment.

“Perfect weather for a Joining,” Alistair remarked.

“You don’t say,” Nathaniel answered tersely.

They shared a moment of heavy silence, as they continued walking. Then, Nathaniel spoke. “I apologize for being rude to you before. I have not been at my best these past few days.”

“Yeah, well.” Alistair looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. He straightened up and flashed an embarrassed grin.“Neither have I.”

So much had transpired in such a short span of time, it took Nathaniel a moment to realize he was referring to the kiss. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he didn’t really know what to say. It was not something he really felt entitled to an opinion about, although he certainly had one.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Alistair said somberly, walking toward the parapet before them and leaning over. “I didn’t mean to, um, get in the way of anything.”

“You didn’t,” Nathaniel sighed and moved the stand beside him. “This is all on me.”

“I am worried about her too,” Alistair said, “We all get a little reckless when we’re afraid.”

“She’s afraid? That’s not why she told me she decided to join.”

“It’s not what she’s told anyone. She’ll say it’s because she’s always wanted to be a Grey Warden or that she’s looking for a new purpose, or some other romantic, Liss-like explanation for her decision.” Alistair stared vacantly out over the keep. “And those are all probably true, but the real reason she’s doing it is because she’s terrified.”

“Of what?” Nathaniel was ashamed that he’d known Liss his entire life and couldn’t answer the question for himself.

“Being alone.”

“Pardon my skepticism, but how do you know?”

Alistair turned and looked at him, bitter smile spreading across his lips. “We have a lot in common, Liss and I.”

“I see.”

“I think that’s why things happened the way they did...not that it’s an excuse or anything.”

Nathaniel nodded absently, more than a little frustrated that he hadn’t seen it himself. Of course Liss was scared of being alone, Liss who had never been without her family, who lost almost everyone she loved in one night and who blamed herself for it, who spent a year on her own, scraping and struggling to get to the capitol. She had finally achieved some sense of stability in Denerim with the council, and with Alistair’s friendship, and then those, too, began to fade. Why had he not seen that? Had he realized, their conversation the day before would have gone so much differently. Much less trying to talk her out of it, much more assuring her that she wouldn’t be alone, no matter her choice. He wished with every ounce of himself he hadn’t jumped to conclusions.

Then, maybe there was still time. Pushing off from the parapet, he turned abruptly to head back inside the castle. Alistair eyed him with confusion. “Wait. Where are you going?

“I have to talk to Liss,” Nathaniel stated sharply, “Now.”

Note: The book Liss is reading is actually the title of a really wonderful hawkebela fanfic that I couldn’t recommend more highly! ;D

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #cousland #temperance #update #my writing

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lostinfantasies38 · 4 years

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Alistair/Sirra Brosca WIP

Alistair’s finger’s skirted featherlight and timid across her newest scar. Sirra’s breath hitched at the raw fear that flashed in his amber eyes. Her small hand wrapped around his larger palm and tenderly dragged his fingertips from the reminder of her near death to rest over her pounding heart. Pressing his hand flush against her chest, Sirra stared into his too bright eyes with a gentle smile.

“I’m alive, Alistair,” Sirra murmured.

The warrior flashed her a weak grin and exhaled raggedly. “I know,” he whispered. Bending down, he easily scooped her into his arms, pressing her softness against his harder frame and carefully entered the water. Walking gingerly along the pebbled bed, his toes quested for the odd stone that could send him sprawling and his nervous lady careening into the shockingly cold stream.

“I’ll warn you, Sirra, the water is frigid. This bath will probably be quick. I can’t feel my feet!” She chuckled huskily with her hoarse voice and he smiled down at her. Once they were deep enough that his modesty was covered, but not so deep that she would be at risk of drowning, Alistair eased her into the water laughing at her strangled shriek when it stopped at her waist.

“Ancestor’s tits, you weren’t kidding! It’s freezing!” Sirra crossed her toned arms over her breasts and shivered, dreading submerging her body and the entirety of her hair into the ice-cold water. Resigned to her fate, she took the soap that Alistair snagged from the bank and roughly washed two weeks of sweat and grime that sponge baths alone couldn’t remove, hissing with each splash to rinse away the soap residue. Her skin was bright red and her teeth chattered loudly in the eerie silence.

Alistair was no better – his golden skin flushed pink from the temperature and the desperate scrubbing he inflicted on his person, but he was stoic in his assault. He treated the freezing dip as penance for his inability to protect Sirra on the field. They couldn’t afford for anything to happen to either of them since they were the only Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden, but he personally couldn’t allow for Sirra to be injured or killed. The very idea of her gray and lifeless, to never hear her whisper his name with her gravely tone, was enough to stop his own heart with grief.

#alistair x warden #alistair x brosca #original wip #original oc #my writing #dragon age #dragon age origins #alistair theirin

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claudia1829things · 4 years

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"LITTLE DORRIT" (2008) Review

"LITTLE DORRIT" (2008) Review In my review of the 1998 miniseries, "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND", I had stated that I was never a real fan of Victorian author, Charles Dickens. But I was willing to give the author another chance with a second viewing of the miniseries. However, I have yet to watch "OUR MUTUAL FRIEND" for a second time. Instead, I turned my attention to another miniseries based on a Dickens novel - the 2008 production of "LITTLE DORRIT".

Based upon Dickens's 1855-1857 serialized novel, "LITTLE DORRIT" is basically the story of a young late Georgian Englishwoman named Amy Dorrit, who spends her days earning money for the Dorrit family and looking after her proud father William, who is a long term inmate of Marshalsea Prison for Debt in London. When her employer's son, Arthur Clennam returns from overseas to solve his family's mysterious legacy, Amy and her family's world is transformed for the better. And she discovers that her family's lives and those of the Clennan family are interlinked. Considering that "LITTLE DORRIT" is a Dickens tale, one is bound to encounter a good deal of subplots. Please bear with me. I might not remember all of them. I do recall the following: *Arthur Clennam is initially rejected by Pet Meagles, the daughter of a former business associate, due to her infatuation for artist Henry Gowan. *John Chivery, the son of the Marshalsea Prison warden, harbors unrequited love for Amy Dorrit. *A mysterious Englishwoman named Miss Wade, had been jilted by Henry Gowan in the past; and has now extended her hatred and resentment towards his wife, Pet Meagles and her family. She also notices their patronizing attitude toward their maid/ward, Harriet Beadle aka Tattycoram. *Amy's older sister, Fanny, becomes romantically involved with the step-son of wealthy businessman Mr. Merdle. *Mr. Merdle becomes the force behind a fraudulent speculation scheme that impacts the London financial world. *French criminal Rigaud/Blandois not only stumbles across the Clennam family secret regarding the Dorrit family, but is also recruited by Miss Wade to accompany Henry and Pet Gowran on their Italian honeymoon. If there is one thing I can say about "LITTLE DORRIT", it is a beautiful looking production. Four of the Emmy Awards that the miniseries won were in the technical categories. Production designer James Merifield, art director Paul Ghirardani, and set decorator Deborah Wilson all shared the Emmy Award for Outstanding Art Direction in a Miniseries or Movie (they shared the award with the art direction team for HBO's "GREY GARDENS"). And honestly? They deserved that award, thanks to their outstanding re-creation of both London and Italy in the 1820s. Owen McPolin, Alan Almond and Lukas Strebel, who won the Outstanding Cinematography Emmy; contributed to that re-creation of 1820s Europe with their sharp, colorful and beautiful photography. Costume designer Barbara Kidd and costume supervisor also won Emmy awards for the beautiful, gorgeous costumes created for this production. Not only did I find the costumes beautiful, but also a perfection re-creation of the mid-1820s fashions, as depicted in the images below:

I could go on and on about the many subplots featured in "LITTLE DORRIT". But honestly . . . I am too exhausted to do so. The only plots that interested me were the fortunes of both the Dorrit family and Arthur Clennam, Mrs. Clennam's secret about her husband's past, and Mr. Merdle's financial schemes. I thought that Emmy winning screenwriter Andrew Davies and directors Adam Smith, Dearbhla Walsh (also an Emmy winner for her direction of Episode One), and Diarmuid Lawrence did a very good job in handling these plot lines. Or tried his best. His adaptation of the rise and fall of the Dorrit family's fortunes was probably the best thing about "LITTLE DORRIT". This was especially effective in plot lines that revolved around Amy Dorrit's inability to adjust to her new status as the daughter of a wealthy man and especially, William Dorrit's inabilities to move past his memories of the Marshalsea Prison. The subplot regarding the Dorrit family's ties to the Merdle family also struck me as very effective. Fanny Dorrit's relationship with Merdle's stepson, Edmund Sparkler proved to be one of the funniest and more satisfying subplots in "LITTLE DORRIT". And the subplot regarding Mr. Merdle's financial schemes not only effected both the Dorrit family and Arthur Clennam's fortunes in an effective way, it also strongly reminded me of the circumstances that led to the international community's current economic situation. However, there were subplots that did not strike me as that effective. I wish I could solely blame Charles Dickens. But I cannot. Davies and the three directors have to take some of the blame for not making some improvements to these subplots, when they had the chance to do so. The subplot regarding the Meagles family, their servant "Tattycoram" and Miss Wade struck me as a disaster. I found it poorly handled, especially the narrative regarding the fate of "Tattycoram". In the end, nothing really came from Miss Wade's resentment of Henry Cowan, the Meagles and especially her relationship with "Tattycoram". I am also a little confused at the financial connection between the Clennam and Dorrit families. Could someone explain why an affair between Arthur's father and some dancer would lead to a possible inheritance for Amy Dorrit? Many critics have tried to explain Dickens' creation of the French villain Monsieur Rigaud. No explanation can erase my dislike of the character or its addition to the subplots involving the Clennam/Dorrit connection and the Gowans' honeymoon. I realize that Rigaud was Charles Dickens' creation. But it seemed a pity that Davies and the three directors did nothing to improve the use of Rigaud . . . or eliminate the character altogether. Aside from killing Jeremiah Flintwinch's twin brother, intimidating other characters and blackmailing Mrs. Clennam, he really did nothing as a villain. If there is one thing I have no complaints regarding "LITTLE DORRIT", it is the excellent performances found in the production. I honestly have no complaints about the performances in the miniseries. I can even say this about those characters, whose portrayals by the writers that I found troubling. And yes, I am referring to Andy Serkis and Freema Agyeman's performances as Rigoud and "Tattycoram". Both gave excellent performances, even if I did not care how Dickens, Davies or the directors handled their characters. Emma Pierson, an actress I have never heard of, gave a superb and very entertaining peformance as Fanny Dorrit, Amy's ambitious and rather blunt older sister. I would have say that Pierson's performance struck me as the funniest in the miniseries. I was amazed at how intimidating Eddie Marsan looked at the rent collector, Mr. Pancks. Yet, Marsan went beyond his superficial appearance to portray one of the most compassionate, yet energetic characters in the production. I was also impressed by Russell Tovey's portrayal of the love-sick John Chivery, who harbored unrequited love for Amy Dorrit. Tovey managed to give a very intense performance, without going over-the-top. And I found that quite an accomplishment. However, there are a handful of performances that really impressed me. Two of them came from the leads Claire Foy and Matthew McFadyen. On paper, the characters of Amy Dorrit and Arthur Clennam struck me as boring and one-dimensional. They were simply too goody two-shoes. But somehow, both Foy and McFadyen managed to inject a great deal of fire into their roles, making them not only interesting, but allowing me to care for them a great deal. Another outstanding performance came from Judy Parfitt, who portrayed Arthur's guilt-ridden and cold mother, Mrs. Clennam. But instead of portraying the character as a one-note monstrous mother, Parfitt conveyed a good deal of Mrs. Clennam's guilt regarding her husband's will and inner emotional struggles over the memories of her marriage and what Arthur really meant to her. Another outstanding performance came from Tom Courtenay, who portrayed the vain and insecure William Dorrit. In fact, I would have to say that he gave the most complex and probably the best performance in the entire production. Courtenay managed to create contempt I felt toward his character with skillful acting, yet at the same time, he made William Dorrit so pathetic and sympathetic. I am amazed that he did not receive a nomination or acting award for his performance. I now come back to that earlier question. Did "LITTLE DORRIT" improve my opinion of Charles Dickens as a writer? Not really. Although I cannot deny that it is a beautiful looking production. Some of the subplots not only struck me as interesting, but also relevant to today's economic situation. And the miniseries featured some outstanding performances from a cast led by Claire Foy and Matthew McFayden. But some of the other subplots, which originated in Dickens' novel struck me as either troubling or unimpressive. So . . . I am not quite a fan of his. Not yet. But despite its flaws, I am a fan of this 2008 adaptation of his 1855-1857 novel.

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darlingrutherford · 4 years

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Kinktober Day 11

Double smut posting today WHAAT!

This one is a short one, so my apologies in advance for that. The REASON is because @baar-ur sent in the most amazing prompt back in October which is actually prompting an entire fanfic, so.... Consider this to be just a little snippet of what will be to come with that when it eventually happens.

Thank you to @baar-ur for the fantastic prompt: “No Blight/Non-Grey Wardens AU, Alistair is the worst templar ever and runs away with Lana"

This was a bad idea. This was a really bad idea. Lana knew it just as well as Alistair did. But they couldn’t help themselves, after constantly running into each other at convenient times, which turned into secret meetings and holding hands, to kissing, and talking, and now, this. Alistair had never wanted to become a templar, but found himself in just that situation in Kinloch after allowing others to make decisions for him his entire life. And there she had been - Lana, with her kind smile, a lost soul in the tower just the same as he, someone he could lose himself in with every kiss, every tender touch. Maker help him, but he had fallen for her more quickly than he had imagined possible, and he suspected it had caught her off guard just as quickly.

“Alistair!”

Her name left her mouth in a heavy whisper, desperately trying to keep her voice down as he thrust into her. The first time had been quick, the both of them too nervous to be caught in the act. Then, Alistair had found the spots least frequented by templars at night. He had found a small room, located behind a hidden panel in some dark corner of the tower. Kinloch seemed to be riddled with them, secret passages built long ago, unknown to many or else unspoken of, and they had eagerly met each other once a week in various spots. Alistair pressed Lana against the stone wall of the dark room, his hands gripping at her rear as her legs gripped his waist. Maker, but it felt so right. Even with the sneaking, the possibility of him being tossed out of the Order, he couldn’t help it. She knew the risks for her as well, very arguably worse than any punishment he would endure, but still they met each week, locking lips and limbs, thrusting towards one another with muffled moans and gasps. Maker help him, but he couldn't keep his hands off of her. Lana brought her hands to either side of Alistair’s face, holding him as she kissed him while rolling her hips against his. Alistair groaned at the feeling.

Maker, but she was perfect.

“I love you,” he sighed between kisses. She gasped against his lips as he thrust up into her, and he could feel her smile against his lips at his words.

“I love you, Alistair,” she breathed quietly. The words made his heart soar every time she spoke them. It was exciting and terrifying, to love someone in the circumstance they found themselves in. It had been months already, but it didn't make any of it easier. Alistair kissed Lana to muffle her as he continued thrusting up into her. Her body had begun to tense, and he had learned quickly about her inability to control her voice - one night of trying to sneak her back to her bed while two templars searched for the source of her echoing cry was enough to make him more careful. As she began to shake in his arms, Alistair held the back of her head as he swallowed her moans. Feeling her tighten around his cock sent him over, and he whimpered against her lips as he tried to hold back the deep groan that threatened to expel from his throat as he emptied into her.

Alistair slid to his knees, holding Lana tight in his arms as she rested her head against his shoulder. He took deep breaths, trying to calm his heart as it pounded in his chest. Maker, but he loved her. And she loved him. He had no idea how this would ever work, but he wanted it to so badly. It was a foolish fantasy, thinking they could get away with it for long, but for now they would enjoy each other any way they could, holding one another in the dark, a templar and a mage.

#kinktober #spicy #alistair theirin #lana surana #lanistair #dragon age #dragon age origins #templar!au #my work #my ocs #fanfiction #ao3

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lvllns · 4 years

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5 questions for writers!

i was tagged by @goblin-deity!! thank you so much owen!!!

i’ll tag: @allisondraste @serbarris @arlathen @trvelyans @lavellane and i am probably missing a few writers so if you wanna do this, consider yourself tagged!!

some of this is under a cut bc it got long since i am incapable of picking “short” things that i like oops

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why? Oh Isseya for sure. A lot of it is because I have her so fucking fleshed out after writing so much of her. I know her like the back of my hands and she is so damn easy to slip into and write. I did really enjoy writing Solas as well, that was a whole experience.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write? Friends to lovers is so good and is my absolute favorite. Tending wounds is another good one. FOUND FAMILY, give me that good good slow burn friends to lovers with a side of found family actually.

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written? from rare is this love.

This is what they are. Protectors that are forgotten about until they’re needed to stop the world ending and even then, when they fall nobody notices unless they take an archdemon with them. Nobody will remember Riordan. Nobody will talk of how he flung himself at a fucking archdemon and wounded it enough to ground it so the two of them could have a chance. Isseya knows, she knows, she will spend the rest of her life talking about him but it will not matter because only the name of one of the last two Grey Wardens of Ferelden will be spoken in taverns after the sun has gone down.

also this from ritl:

Isseya moves, stands on the handles of her daggers and leaps. Comes straight down with her longsword and uses her momentum to bury it deep into the skull of the archdemon. It sinks in cleanly, but slowly, so slowly. Her arms shake.

There’s a blast of heat and light. Bright and hot. She closes her eyes, looks to the side and holds steady pressure. Forces the blade to stay deep in the beast. The leather of her gloves starts to smoke a little, her hands begin to ache and it’s too much. It’s too much and her arms hurt, her eyes hurt even though they’re closed. Her right foot slips off the pommel of the dagger that she’s using as a foothold, and she swears.

The archdemon is thrashing around, screaming and bellowing and twitching. Its massive body rolls around, knocks soldiers and dwarves and mages and elves around. Sends them flying and Isseya knows death throes when she sees them but she hurts all over. Her body slams against its neck as her other foot slips off the dagger and she clings to the longsword, desperate to end this.

And right when she thinks she is going to have to let go if she wants to keep her hands, the dragon falls to the ground with a deafening thud.

Everything goes silent and dark and the heat recedes. Isseya lets go and falls to the ground. Lands in a heap and curls into a ball. Her head knocks against the stone and isn’t that just great. Every single part of her aches and has a heartbeat. She flexes her hands, winces when the leather gloves crack and she tries to pull them off but she is shaking so bad she can’t get a good grip so she gives up.

The sounds of battle still ring out around her. No doubt the last few darkspawn getting their heads removed. She reaches to her belt and pulls a thick, red elfroot potion free. Pops it open and swallows it down without even a grimace. It won’t heal her, not even close, but it numbs everything enough that she can climb to her feet. She braces herself on the shoulder of the archdemon. Dips her head low and takes a few deep breaths before she steps away.

Her knees knock together, legs shaking from sheer exhaustion, but she takes another step. And another. Gets herself to where she can see the fighting. Where she can see the darkspawn retreating and soldiers cheering and there is so much blood everywhere.

Isseya looks around and finds herself locking eyes with Alistair. He’s a mess. His gauntlets are gone, his shield is dented and his hair is stuck to his head. Blood and ash and sweat streak his face, deep cuts that will scar mar his skin but —

But he’s alive.

And so is she.

Isseya laughs, high and strained and pushes herself into an unsteady, limping run. Thinks that when this is all done, she is never running again.

Alistair drops his sword and catches her when she leaps at him. She throws her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and laughs into his hair. Laughs and cries and kisses the top of his head. The metal of his armor is uncomfortable where it pushes against her but she does not care.

They’re alive.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written? This is from salt.

“Solas?”

He startles. Jumps and sends an apple flying through the air. She catches it easily and her brows turn down as she looks at him.

“I am —”

“You went somewhere and it didn’t look very nice,” a small smile as she hands the fruit back to him. Her fingers brush his and he barely keeps his body from blowing apart.

He shakes his head violently.

“Memories,” his smile is more teeth than anything. It only makes her look more concerned. “They return in pieces. Sometimes I find myself swept away,” his fingers drum against the table to the beat of an old song that he has not heard since a party at Dirthamen’s many years ago.

She hums before setting to work peeling the orange. “My name’s Abigail, by the way.”

He thinks he has never been so off in his entire life. “Ah, please pardon my inability to remember how one handles a conversation.”

Abigail snorts. “‘Handles a conversation?’ It’s just talking Solas,” she waves an orange segment around as she speaks. “Handling implies that it’s uncomfortable,” a blink as she leans across the table. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I — No?”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

He takes a bite of the apple and leans back in his chair. Wills his heart to stop trying to beat right out his throat. Is this really all it takes, to catch him so flat-footed? A nice conversation? Pretty eyes? He rolls his shoulders and flops his arm over his face.

“Yeah, you look like you’re having a blast over there.”

and this bit from rare is this love:

“Zevran” her voice is barely above a whisper and holds his gaze until he looks at the door. “This seems...like it is very important to you.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea about it,” there he goes. Walls and bricks and stones to hide behind. “You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him. That means I’m free, at least for now,” his body is tense, like a trap ready to spring and she is reaching right for the trigger. “Feel free to sell it, or wear it...or whatever you’d like. It’s really the least I could give you in return.”

Something odd nudges in her chest. At the spot where that plant took root so many months ago.

She turns the earring over in her hand.

“So...not a token of affection, then?” She tries to keep her voice light but immediately he freezes. Amber eyes wide like a spooked halla.

Somewhere in the back of her skull, glass shatters.

“I...look, just...just take it,” he stands now, runs a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s meant a lot to me, but so have...so has what you’ve done. Please, take it.”

He’s pleading with her to take this earring and ah, that’s it. There’s fear laced throughout. Fear and nerves and he is looking at her like she is on the verge of tearing his heart from his chest.

“I - Zev, vhenan,” he flinches and she holds the earring out toward him. “Please believe me when I say I want to take it but...I can’t,” shaky hands pluck the gold earring from her fingers and she watches as he chases every emotion from his face and oh how it hurts to be closed off from him so suddenly after all this time. “I think...I think it means something more to you and I won’t take it until you can be honest about what it means first.”

“You are a very frustrating woman to deal with, do you know that?” The words are sharp and he takes another step away. “We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this,” he opens his mouth. Shuts it. Shakes his head. “You don’t want the earring? You don’t get the earring. Very simple.”

“You’re being childish,” gold eyes narrow and he snorts. “You are! Zev, we have to communicate, to talk about things,” her voice softens. “This doesn’t, Creators guide me, I care about you Zevran. I love you and whatever you need to work through, I’m here for you but you need to let me know what's going on. I'm not, fuck, I know there are things that will take time, on both our ends, but I can’t accept this when it is clearly more than just the pretty earring you’re trying to pass it off as.”

He says nothing. Hands scrub over his face before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I - Give me a few days, please,” twists the leather around his wrist, eyes flicking to her own and he looks terrified.

She takes a step closer, just enough so she can touch his arm briefly.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?” Her head tilts as she wraps her arms around herself. “This won’t...what we have, it will not work if we don't communicate with each other.”

“I know. And I promise I will tell you, I just…” a heavy sigh, a hand through his messy hair. “A few days Isseya. Please.”

“Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

She watches his face crumble, a hand covering his eyes for a moment before he dips his head and quickly leaves the room.

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?: SO MANY. I have a ridiculously large modern au plotted out and I want to write Isseya/Zev meeting there so badly. Also really want to write Penelope/Fen in that au bc oh BOY that’s good stuff. I also have an Alistair/Hawke thing that’s been rattling around my skull and I so desperately want to write them meeting up at Skyhold after everything that’s happened since the Blight.

#caiti.txt #long post #owen thank you for this tag bc it gave me a reason to share my absolute favorite things #tbh i love all of salt so much #i didn't look at what i have that's not posted bc this would be SO MUCH longer but STILL #me reading ritl for the 321859372482 time: damn this is good actually

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elfnerdherder · 5 years

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Opus Dei: Chapter 1

[Join my Patreon] [Read on Ao3]

A special thanks to my patrons: @evertonem @sylarana @starlit-catastrophe @frostylicker, Mendacious Bean, Superlurk, Duhaunt6, and Laura G.! <3

Well guys, here’s to another Fannibal fic. :) I’m not sure if there’s a lot of call for a sequel/revenge fic, but I’m going to do my best to not make a muck of it. As always, I hope you enjoy! Happy Friday.

Summary: "Behold, I will make you fishers of men," Abigail said with a laugh.

And so Will did. Bait for Hannibal the Cannibal is tricky, though, especially when the hunter knows they're hunted. Four years in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane gave him time, and in the end time was all he'd really needed, isn't it?

Will Graham had never meant for so much death. After being released for crimes he hadn't committed, he knows the right thing to do is move on with his life and begin a new chapter as an innocent man. Go to college. Meet the girl. Fall in love. Put his past behind him.

There's just one small problem: Hannibal Lecter isn't quite ready for him to move on, and truth be told, Hannibal is a itch that Will just can't help but scratch. When The Great Red Dragon begins to stalk the halls of George Washington University, Hannibal's ready to see just how far Will is willing to go to see his reckoning through.

In the end, the fire could take them all.

Thriller, cat-and-mouse, romance, angst, murder, mayhem, gaslighting, slow(ish) burn, old(er) Hannibal, whole-heartedly grumpy college-aged Will Graham.

Act I: A Part in Which the Hero Meets His Arch-Nemesis

Chapter 1: Enter Stage Right

The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane specialized in two things; first, they provided a safe space for the criminally insane to receive aid, and second, they took perfectly sane individuals and found delicately devious ways to make them certifiably mad. Within the dreary brick and concrete blended walls of only a lower-income-modest budget, there were certain rooms that aspired for civility with their floral wallpaper and gauche leather sofas, but even the hired help could barely boast the environment in which they toiled away at. The mental instability was an airborne virus, one that preyed on the strong of mind and completely obliterated the weak.

Will Graham was neither of these things –the criminally insane, nor the perfectly sane. Rather, he was a curious mix of both, and currently to date he would actually call it more of a curse.

He currently sat in the only room not bugged by the warden’s microphones, staring at the hands of a gristly, aged FBI agent. There was no polite ceremony to his visit. They knew each other well enough that pleasantries died when Jack Crawford first accused him of a murder that Will most certainly had not committed –several, in fact.

“Are you listening?”

“Vaguely,” said Will. A lie, but he’d become pretty good at those.

“Vaguely,” Jack repeated, awed. Before Will could tack something on, he tossed the file down for Will to see. “Read for yourself, then.”

Will glanced down nonchalantly. “I see what it says. I guess I’m just processing what it means for me exactly, is all.”

“What it means?”

“I mean, it says here the Chesapeake Ripper’s been at large for the last four years. Says here he’s actually been killing for awhile before that.” Will pushed the file folder back to Jack and crossed his arms.

"Yeah."

"Says there's evidence showing there was no copycat to Garrett Jacob Hobbs, just the Chesapeake Ripper."

Jack gestured and nodded. “So?”

“So?”

“I’m saying you’re innocent, Will.”

Will smiled. “Shit, Jack, but I already knew that."

“We made a mistake,” Jack replied, and it was obvious in the lines of his face that he’d been forced to eat crow. A whole lot of it. “One that the FBI does not take lightly. We contacted your lawyer, and a negotiation of wrongful imprisonment reimbursement was reached.” He slid a crisp, bland check over to him, scritching along the file folder. Will scratched the whiskers on his cheek thoughtfully.

His lawyer had called the night before, so he'd had time to mull it over. He lets it sit in a puddle of discontent on the table. “Two hundred thousand is pretty high dollar,” he finally said thoughtfully.

“Considering the specifics of the situation—"

“—My sickness the perfect excuse to not participate in any real detective work—"

“—it wasn’t difficult to convince us to offer the maximum amount,” Jack finished.

Will looked to his eyes, then to his mouth. “Is it that difficult for you to realize you should have listened to me?” he asked.

“Is it still that difficult for you to look people in the eye?” Jack retorted.

Will forced himself to look into his eyes. “I already know what I’ll see when I look into your eyes, Jack,” he said, “I'm sick of looking in eyes like that.”

“The evidence—"

“Was gift wrapped with a neat bow on top for you to keep as a souvenir,” Will cut him off. “So easy that you didn’t think to question whether or not it was really that simple to catch someone supposedly so smart you’d recruited an eighteen-year-old to tag along to horrific crime scenes. Easy as pie.” He folded his arms and dragged his thumb over his bottom lip, thinking. Temper, temper. Try again. Finally, “I’ll take your money. Four years in this place will ensure that I take anything I can from you.”

Jack’s lips puckered, but the papers were produced. Will took the stack and signed each specified place, gaze occasionally cutting to the check that rested at his elbow. Two-hundred thousand was indeed the highest he’d ever heard of, the closest being Inmate 2361-B who’d been imprisoned for allegedly killing his brothers. Three years got him one-hundred thousand dollars, but it also got him a bullet to the head a week after his release when he couldn’t adjust to civilian life and decided that eating a gun was better.

Paperwork done, Jack placed everything in a neat stack and seemed to hesitate. Will studied the clock overhead. 2:13 P.M.

“This killer that framed you—"

“Not interested.”

“He’s killed at least fifteen people, and we could really use your insight.”

“I don’t care,” Will snapped. “You know who I said did this to me.”

“Not that tired old drum about Hannibal-”

“Where you’re not inclined to hear me out, I’m not inclined to give a singular shit about your inability to catch a serial killer.”

“We did investigate him, Will! We found nothing!”

“Only because he’s smarter than you.”

They glared at one another from across the table, and Jack nodded reluctantly. “This killer is, yes. I need you to at least look.”

“I don’t care about your problems.” A beat. “And I don’t want to look.”

“No, but the Will Graham I know wouldn’t want to see so many people get hurt, even if it meant that you got to see me flounder in the process,” Jack said.

Will rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, and he sighed. “The Will Graham you claimed to know was, in your eyes, a psychotic killer,” he said conversationally.

“At the very least, help me because you could become a target if he wants to go after you again,” Jack prodded, not rising to the bait.

“My struggles are old and overused to him. I’ve become a boring study as of late, so it furthers him nothing to continue to try and ruin my life,” said Will with a non-committed shrug. “That’s the only thing you’ll get from me. Free advice, too: you’re no match for him, Jack. Let someone else take the case while I get back to my life.”

“Your life’s not—"

“FOUR years, Jack,” Will snarled, and something in his tone startled Jack enough that he didn’t interrupt. “Don’t you dare try to soften that.” He paused, waited long enough to get control of his voice. Temper, temper. “I don’t…I don’t want to help you.”

“It’s not about me, it’s about the innocent people,” Jack argued.

“At this point, I don’t care about them, either,” Will lied. It was a good lie, though, the kind that slid smooth off of the tongue like oil. “When can I leave?”

“Today,” Jack said, and he looked to the small window in the corner, just big enough to be legal. “They’re already processing your things for release. I took it on a hunch you'd say yes.”

Will heard the lock in the door turning, and he stood, studying Jack out of the corner of his eye. It was something he’d had to learn to do, and he’d become as good at that as he has at lying. “If you’re trying to imagine four years here, Jack, I’d not recommend it.”

“Oh?” Jack turned, likely ready for another fight.

Will stepped out when the door opened for him, and he smiled grimly. “You’re an FBI agent. They’d have slit your throat a week in.”

When Will returned to his cell, he found his things –what little he had in his cell that could be claimed as his –put neatly into a small vinyl duffle bag, the hospital’s logo emblazoned on the side. Clearly this was something that’d been in the works long before he’d ever been consulted.

He wasn’t handcuffed, and he walked down the endless grey walls without the metal biting his wrists for the first time in his entire life. The guard that walked beside him wasn’t friendly, but he made no move to stop Will when his pace quickened. He swore he heard whispers, hisses, other inmates calling out, and it nipped at his heels, threatening to trip him until at last the thick, barred doors shut with a definitive THUD.

A familiar face met him at the small space between worlds, where the check-in blocked both the entry to the institute and the exit to the real world. He’d been allowed to change out of the jumpsuit, a simple pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt his only other clothing, and he was relieved when she threw her arms around him that they’d been recently laundered. He dropped his duffle bag to hug her back, only a beat too late. It’d been a long time since he’d been embraced like that.

“Look at you,” Alana breathed, letting go of him. Four years hadn’t changed her, although it could be said that was because Will had witnessed those four years. Her raven hair was still swept back in loose waves, and her blue eyes still froze whatever they set their gaze on. She smiled, and he felt his own lips twitch in response, a tingling sensation rippling over his skin.

“Look at you,” he replied. He tugged loosely on his shirt, and he grinned. “They said that I could keep one item as a souvenir.”

“A good choice, Mr. Graham,” Alana stated, studying it. “I’d have done the same.”

“Are you off so soon, Mr. Graham? I’d have thought you wanted an exit interview.”

Will couldn’t help the small, tense knot of unease. “I don’t,” he said, curt.

Frederick Chilton laughed as he reached them, although it wasn’t quite humorous enough to be real. “I found the timing of your release interesting,” he said, gesturing to Alana. “I must admit, I was a little upset that I only found out ten minutes before you did that it would be occurring.”

“I think you know me well enough to know that nothing that happens is coincidence,” Will replied. Frederick opened his mouth to reply, but at the expression on Will’s face, it snapped shut.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Frederick,” Alana said from around Will. She moved around him to shake Chilton’s hand, and her offer was returned after a beat.

“It was a surprise to me, truly,” Chilton said with faux-modesty.

“The last Head Administrator was lobotomized,” Will informed Alana. “No one wanted the job after that. He was the only one with credentials that applied.”

“Yes, well, I met all of the criteria, and they were more than happy to offer the position to me. If you’re looking, Bloom, I can set you up with a wonderful residency here,” Chilton offered coyly.

“I have a good residency, but thank you,” Alana said with an amiable laugh. “Will, should we go?”

“Oh, yes, you should,” Chilton stated, laughing at a joke only he knew. “Whoever the killer is that framed you, you must find yourself inherently indebted to him for deciding to let you go free.”

“Goodbye, Frederick,” Alana said curtly, and she led Will towards the exit before he could reply with something nasty.

It was spring in the real world, sunlight rippling through maple leaves, and when Will’s shoes touched the concrete outside, he stopped at the steps and stared, eyes hungrily consuming everything in sight. Baltimore, Maryland wasn’t exactly home, but the trees were green, the flowers bloomed, and the air positively reeked with growth and birth and all those happy, renewing things. He inhaled deeply, savoring it.

“What do you think?” Alana asked.

"I'm hungry," he said, taking a step. No guard burst through the doors to detain him. No orderly found just the right spot to sink a needle and send him into a dizzying sleep. He hurried down the steps, pace quickening.

“What are you feeling?”

“Burgers,” he replied. Then, dryly, "glad to see the car hasn't changed."

"Hey, student loans before cars," she laughed, and they climbed in.

His bank assured him that four years had grown his account by exactly a penny and a half. Not surprising. Will drummed his fingers on his leg and was quick to leave after the check cleared, mingling by the mildly spindly maples struggling to grow in the indirect sunlight. Sunlight by the trees felt nice.

“Whoa,” Alana laughed, following him out, “no need to rush. They aren’t going to take it back, Will, I promise.”

“Right,” he said, and it took him a second to really register what she was saying. He laughed, a curt sort of noise that startled a woman walking by. “…Right.”

He waited outside of the burger place, loitering beside a table with an umbrella, and when Alana walked out he sat himself down with his back to the building, watching everyone on the street. His gaze flicked from teen to child to angry, middle-aged man, fingers plucking at his steak fries. He was hungry, but there was a different sort of hunger that took precedent, the kind that made him note hand gestures and tone, smiles that were quick and lingered. The only people he’d been able to observe for the past while had been guards, orderlies, and inmates, and those were the worst sort of people to see in a miserable, dreary, everyday setting. Miss Avery would have cautioned him that those were not the people one wanted to imitate and reflect.

“How are you processing everything?” Alana asked as she added ketchup to the burger. Will grabbed a fry and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth, sitting up to get his burger unwrapped.

“It’s very real,” he said, hands grazing over a bun that didn’t feel like it’d been baked at twelve thousand degrees before being dropped on something cold and left. “But it very well could be a dream. I could still wake up on that cot tomorrow.”

“It’s not a dream,” Alana assured him. “I was there when Agent Crawford met with the lawyer, and we discussed a few things before it was approved and he went to meet with you.”

"Jack didn't know I already knew." Will grinned. He'd enjoyed watching Jack dish out what he already knew was coming.

"I told him no matter what he did he was to get you out as soon as possible," said Alana.

“That’s a relief,” Will said. “I don’t think I’d manage another round.” And that was a lie, but it was the kind she’d allow him to have. If there was one thing Will had learned about himself, it was that no matter what seemed to happen to him, he woke up the next day –not necessarily stronger, but angrier. More resilient.

He took a bite of the burger, and yes; just what he thought. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. He chewed slowly and swallowed, savoring every moment.

“Do you have plans?” she asked.

“Get my phone turned on, call my dad, get my things, get a car, get a place, get a job.” Will ticked off the items on his fingers, grabbing another fry.

“Does…Hannibal fall into your plans?”

Will made a face. “Why would he?”

“Jack tells me you’re still convinced he framed you for everything,” she said tentatively.

“Yeah, but I don’t know what Jack’s playing at either, telling you that. He says a lot,” Will replied with a shrug.

“You think Jack is...playing with you?”

“This whole thing could be Jack’s idea. He could try and use you to convince me to help him suss out his killer.” Will shrugged, taking another large bite, uncaring of the use of too much mustard and not enough tomato. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d even had a tomato, let alone a meal that hadn’t come pre-packaged.

On second thought, he could remember, and he didn’t want to.

“You think so?”

Will finally braved a glance to her face, and the tone matched the facial expression. Her displeasure and disbelief were matched only by her reluctance to intentionally hurt him.

“No. I think Hannibal finally got bored with me, and sooner or later he was going to have to take credit for his work.” A beat as Will mulled something over. “Is that what they call him since they refuse to use his real name? Chesapeake Ripper?” He glanced over to a mild argument a couple was having at the farthest table, partially to note how she flipped her hair when she was indignant, and partially to avoid Alana’s disapproving expression.

“Leave it to you to still accuse the only man that stood by your side during the trial and believed your innocence,” she replied dryly.

“I don’t think any of you understand just how much he enjoys toying around with people,” Will said with pseudo-pleasantness. He took another bite, looking away from the couple to study Alana’s hands. They’d forgone handling her food in order to maintain business.

“He was trying to help you, Will.”

“He wanted his thesis to be new, bold, and innovative, and if he got to crawl into the head of some messed up kid that was too stupid to realize he was being manipulated, then so much the better,” Will snapped. “Which, by the way, I read his thesis; Dr. Chilton ensured I had access to see just how much Hannibal profited off of everything that happened to me.”

“Then you’ll have also read that he urges others to look for the necessary signs in order to prevent what happened to you to happen to anyone else,” she retorted.

“Yes, if the great Hannibal Lecter can’t cure the encephalitis, no one else should try,” Will said sarcastically. “I got to read a lot about psychology in the hospital, since everyone at first was convinced that I was an intelligent psychopath. He uses forms of coercion and persuasion to get what he wants, all the while his hands stay clean.”

“You’re not an intelligent psychopath,” Alana said pointedly. “Your presence here should show you that none of us think that.”

“The evidence shows me the Chesapeake Ripper finally decided that he wasn’t having fun anymore, so he needed to change things up a bit. Now he gets to take credit for his work, and judging by the desperation in Jack Crawford’s tone, I can assume he can continue toying with Jack a bit more. If he’s going to Hannibal to ask for help next, the Chesapeake Ripper won’t have to go far to get his kicks –the FBI will take the fun right to him.”

“He still asks about you, Will. Even after everything you’ve said, he still worries about-”

“My well-being, and do I eat, sleep, bathe, shave, read, and just generally take care of myself because sometimes at night he wakes up with such paternal thoughts in his head he can’t help by drop by the next day to make sure everything’s alright,” Will interrupted.

“Then why-”

“Because I know him better than any of you, and I see exactly what lies behind that artfully constructed veneer of calm, collected concern,” he replied. “And let me be honest, Alana, behind that careful construction is an intelligent psychopath that took away some of the few people in my life that I care about, and when I was able to piece it all together, he framed me for it.”

“He hasn’t taken me,” Alana observed, tilting her head. In that moment, he saw her as more of his therapist than his friend. “In your skewed perception of him, why is that?”

“You’re useful,” he said, swallowing with difficulty. “And you’re better off blind to him than dead.”

She pursed her lips, and maybe it was the way that she bowed to the meal for a moment that gave it away. Halfway through her burger, she set it down. “I’m dating Hannibal, Will,” she admitted at last.

He blinked, stunned. Another bite, then a douse of soda to wash down the bitter taste of disappointment masking fear. “…I see.” He nodded, feigned contemplation. He couldn't quite look past her chin. “And when should I expect the announcement in the mail?”

“Stop,” Alana warned.

Will laughed bitterly, plucking at the bun. “No, no, congratulations,” he praised, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean, really, I’m just…happy for you.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, and he drummed his fingers on the table, needing to expel the anger that threatened to burst from him. He focused on the feel of the plastic table against the pads of his fingers, ruminating in the silence.

“You have every right to feel upset, given what you think about him,” she offered lightly.

“You’ve put yourself in a very dangerous position,” he finally replied, when he felt that he could control the timbre of his voice, “and it’s frustrating when I’ve warned you for years, and you still somehow thought that the best place to be was right beside a man like that.”

“Hannibal is a good person, Will,” she said, exasperated.

“You know, if you say it with a little more passion, you may just convince me,” he urged. He needed his hands busy; he fiddled with more ketchup for the fries.

The couple at the farther table was beginning to lose their cool, too. The man’s voice rose and lowered in cadence, rough and stiff with something like the hard consonants of an insult. The woman’s arms were crossed, her posture stiff.

“What are your plans, Will?”

“You already asked me that,” he sighed.

“Are you going to hurt Hannibal?” she pressed, and he looked back to her as he realized what she meant.

“Oh…oh, do I have plans for him?” he asked, incredulously. “Are you serious? I want to stay as far away from that man as I possibly can!”

“It’s not an unfair question.”

“It is when you’re being protective of a man capable of cutting the lungs out of someone while they’re still using them,” he replied sweetly. The more he felt the anger bubbling from the other table, the more he felt an insistent need not to replicate it.

Alana treaded carefully. Maybe she sensed it, too. “I know that in traumatic events, especially when undeserved actions are done against you, it makes sense for people to find ways to blame mentors friends for what happened,” Alana said gently. “You went through something horrifying, and you weren’t really allowed to properly grieve for your losses because everyone turned against you when it happened. It makes sense to me that you, in a time that was plagued not only by severe and horrifying losses but also a sickness that literally set your brain on fire, would take that burden and sub-consciously place it on Hannibal since he’d been trying to help you for months and was unsuccessful.”

By choice.

The man was gesturing with his phone, jabbing for emphasis. The woman was furiously ignoring him, her own soprano cutting into his tirade every so often with something biting but indistinct.

“Is that an apology? You completely believed I killed those people--”

“I never believed you as Will Graham consciously did anything to hurt anyone,” she countered. “I have always believed in you. Did I think that it was entirely probable, given the evidence, that the person that manifested as a result of a high-stress situation coupled with a deadly disease had a capacity for violence? Yes.”

“Those two people are the same person. One just had better control over our time.”

She startled him when she reached forward to grasp his hand just as the man shouted something particuarly foul. “I’m sorry for any time that I made you feel like a criminal.”

Will swallowed with difficulty, and he looked at their hands. Unlike Jack’s, dry and calloused with a life of hard work, Alana’s were smooth and unblemished, nails filed professionally and scented with something floral--Fresias? In stark contrast, his looked much closer to Jack’s, and he saw the precise place that one of Charlie’s hooks had caught on the back and broke skin. He let go of her hand to snag another fry, nodding curtly.

“If you want to talk about Hannibal-”

“I don’t want to talk about Hannibal anymore,” Will said curtly. “When I say that I want to remove him completely from every aspect of my life, I mean that. We can talk about what you want to talk about.”

“What I want to talk about is what you don’t want to talk about,” Alana said with a small smile.

“We can talk about whatever it is that I do or don’t want to talk about, how’s that,” Will offered. He glanced at her eyes, then over her head where a man in a greasy t-shirt carried a to-go order in one meaty fist.

“I don’t want you to worry about me, Will. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long, long time.”

“People that I care about tend to die. Worry comes with the territory.”

“You still have me, your father, and despite what you think, Jack Crawford is very much invested in your well-being.”

A rum deal, no matter how you looked at it. The only one he felt especially grateful for was the one sitting just across from him, and she was currently dating the only person in the world he’d gladly murder.

“Just promise me that you’ll be careful,” he said, looking to his food. The burger had about two bites left, and he wanted to savor them. “I know…I know you believe Hannibal is great, but he’s a snake. His venom is slow acting, and…I just want you to be safe. When the time comes-” He sighed, scrambling to find the words-- “when the time comes that you…have the choice to be blind or brave, Alana, please just be blind. I think maybe he’d let you live if you just chose to be blind.”

“You weren’t blind.”

“Oh, I really was, until I wasn’t. By the time I saw, though, I wasn’t in any position to do anything about it. I think that’s one of his favorite parts.”

“I’m as safe with Hannibal as I am with you,” Alana assured, and Will peeked up at the umbrella again, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

He could say with utmost confidence he’d never had the inclination to eat someone, but maybe his definition of safety and Alana’s were completely different.

#LiaS scribbles #Opus Dei #hannibal fanfiction #nbc hannibal #hannigram #hannibal x will graham #grey!will #hannibal au

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