Decay Isabela: The only thing keeping me from running away and hiding from society for the rest of my life is spite. I could disappear forever, but there are some bitches whose downfalls I have yet to witness, and I wanna be around when that happens.

Decay AU | Isabela’s room

Decay’s room first went through a few versions that grew to this final form. A broken pattern stone pathway, a river, one pond, three-tire pond left side and a waterfall. Gazebo in the top left corner that’s set a little higher (that shade green level indicates it’s up a level. A huge tree, as a centre piece of her off-side area.

It started off more purple and blue but as time wore on, more greens filtered in. Vines hang from Palma de cera to  Palma de cera and off these vines, bioluminescent lights hang around when her room is in ‘night’ mode

I meant to add stones for texturing around the ponds and to help break up the room or maybe even a pillar but feel free to imagine stones and monoliths inside to add flair and decorative edges. 

This is Decay’s room, more restrained but this became her normal when living in her native world and when she joined the Watcher’s AU, it was necessary for proper navigation but it was one Decay was content with. The 

The Watcher AU of the room she gave was near-identical recreation of what she used to have but the only sublet differences is a new area for her protheses and electrical/repairs second that’ll be in her study area.

Decay created the tree as means of concealing her more private of projects, such as her potato's. She has a hammock set up incase she decides to nap up there but up in her little tree house, using a vine-based lift, she had a good portion of it hollowed out for soil to allow her potato people to live in and thrive while she’s away.

the walls are still blue with petals and keeps abstract patterns on but she’s also uses the walls as means of self-expression to welcome in or intimating for people to leave

(Imagine the walls going dark black petals only for a red ‘eyes’ and a snarling mouth move along the background)

the room is broken up into areas with hedges and most spaces not in practical use have a lot of flora inside to keep the space useful.

The waterfall (stands at 45 feet in the air along the wall) and pond are Decay’s favourite place to be to relax, so a bench was set up for her to sit and meditate (18 months is long--she gotta get hobbies so Meditation was one to keep the dark thoughts away). Sometimes she’ll let her feet dangle off her bridge and play with the fishes. 

Why I think the Madrigals believed Bruno to be dead

The adults only speak about him in past tense. "Bruno didn't care about this family". As far as she knows, if he's still alive and not back it means he actively still doesn't care about the family, so why not say that? Félix also speaks in past tense ("You better figure it out, because it was coming for you"). Julieta's "My brother Bruno lost his way in this family" makes sense regardless of whether she thought he'd died or not, but to me it does sound very final. Pepa cannot even hear his name without thundering. With the amount of love she has for him, the thought that he might have made himself a happier life in a town that does not shun him should bring her at least a bit of comfort, but she's inconsolable even after so much time. I'm sure there are more examples of this and if I can think of them, I'll add them in the replies.

The door going dark. Now, we know it stopped being lit because he had decided not to use his power anymore, but it makes far more sense for it to be because he couldn't use his power anymore (because he was dead). Casita, much like Bruno, can tell the future, so she knew he was going to use it again, the vow did not really count for anything. Are you telling me that anytime a family member leaves their room and considers not using their power for a while their door goes black?? It makes a lot more sense for the family to have thought he had died. The same applies for Casita not being able to help inside the room: it sounds like a metaphor for the Madrigals not being able to help Bruno anymore.

The deleted scene. In the "Chores!" deleted scene, Félix talks about a fight Bruno had with the family (possibly even the moment he left the family?). In this scene, Bruno displays actual suicidal tendencies ("I wish I was dead!"), and, when he leaves, his room starts rotting and decaying. This scene was removed in the final movie, because it is clearly too dark for kids, but we have no reason to believe that it is not still canon in the universe, as we can see that his room is actually decaying and falling apart. If a family member tells you they wish they were dead and then disappear leaving no trace, it is not a crazy jump to think they are not still alive, especially considering the next point.

Bruno left behind most of his belongings. We do not know how much stuff Bruno had in the first place, but when he leaves his room after the vision, we do not see him holding a bag (or anything really) and even if it's there, it is definitely not a bag big enough to sustain someone leaving their home for good. The stuff he has in the walls was likely gathered long after his family had stopped searching for him. He also has no money and the social skills of a rat, where was he even going??

The room falling apart. Not entirely sure about this, but I think the characters' rooms reflect somewhat the emotional state of their owners (Isabela's room in What Else Can I Do + if I'm not mistaken, Camilo's room is supposed to change colour based on his mood like a chameleon). This is further demonstrated by the stairs, which had been growing for years before Bruno actually left. This is a bit of a stretch, but I think the family could have seen one of two alarm bells in the decaying room: a) Bruno's room was decaying like him (kinda gruesome, but it makes some semblance of sense); b) it did not change at all for 10 years. I don't think rooms change only when their owner is in them, so Bruno's emotional state supposedly not changing for so long is alarming. But again, this point is the one that convinces me the least.

Dolores. Dolores mentions hearing Bruno in the walls three (3) times, in the movie alone: in We Don't Talk About Bruno, at breakfast ("and the rats talking in the walls") and in All of You. It's been ten years and she still mentions him constantly, so she's probably been talking about it since the very beginning, but no one believed her. So, a child keeps hearing their relative who disappeared without a trace in their family home, without seeing him and with everyone saying it wasn't possible. Logical conclusion? It's a ghost.

The family's reactions to him returning. Alma is the most striking. It takes quite a long time for her shocked face to wear off. Julieta is equally shocked as well, like she'd never expected to see him ever again. It could also be she just didn't expect him to come back. Pepa looks relieved, like she'd been on edge for 10 years and can finally know peace. Why would that be? The fact that he's back does not mean they are going to rekindle their relationship, but it does mean that she gets a new chance to show him she loves him, being the first to run to hug him. Her eyebags also show many a sleepless nights tossing and turning, maybe feeling guilty because she hadn't shown him her love enough and she thought she never could again.

Bonus: "The mountains around the Encanto are pretty tall!" In this scene, after Bruno says this sentence, he makes a weird face, like he's already considered how tall the mountains are and he's trying to understand if Mirabel caught onto that.

Antonio: What’s wrong with Mirabel?

Isabela: Philosophy nonsense. Happens every time. Bitch needs to stop reading.

Luisa: No, it’s just her trauma isn’t a great mix with her philosophy books. She just needs a little cheering up.

Dolores: Alright. Mira, look how pretty Casita is! Didn’t Camilo and Antonio do a good job?

Mirabel: Parties are mere distractions from the relentlessness of entropy. We’re all just corpses who haven’t yet begun to decay.

Camilo: Yeah, but... balloons!

Dragon-au// plotbunny

Inspired by Dean Leipek's The Dragon Must Die trilogy (but not much in common, just some highlights)

Fantasy-AU , a mix of reality and magical realism

Ancient Dragons live high in the mountains - immortal, intelligent creatures with the gift of foresight. Their worldview is closer to the philosophical contemplation of life; they do not interfere in human conflicts. They are only partially immortal - when the life of the dragon’s body comes to an end, the dragon finds a person and transfers its essence into him. After some time - from several years to decades, the dragon's essence suppresses the human one, and the person becomes a dragon and flies to the mountains to join his brothers. A long time ago, even before meeting Alma , little Pedro was possessed by a dragon, and the boy forgot about it. But when the triplets were born and the city was attacked, the dragon inside Pedro was unleashed. He protected Alma and his (Pedro) children, but the dragon could not and did not want to stay with the people, and returned to the mountains. As a result of the union of a man and a half-dragon , all these gifts appeared; the candle is important - it is a piece of the dragon’s fire that burned in Pedro’s chest. Bruno canonically receives the gift of “Seeing the Future”, goes to the dragons - in age somewhere around the birth of Isabela and Dolores, because in Encanto they are wary of him, because seeing the future is a dragon ability, and in the past for the inhabitants in general turmoil it seemed as if a dragon had simply fallen from the sky and attacked them, killing Pedro.

So, Bruno hangs out in the dragon community, he is treated like a bush or a stone - he is not considered an equal, but he is not persecuted either, reasoning that since he sees the future like we do, he has the right to be here, and in general, everything in life is decay and entropy. And then suddenly Agustin comes to the dragon mountain and tells Bruno that the family urgently needs his help.

On the day when Antonio turned 5 years old, Mirabel ran away from home in the evening, upset, and got lost in the forest, where she came across a dying dragon - and he transferred his essence into her. The family does not want Mirabel  to turn into a dragon and leave them, and they hope that Bruno will help Mirabel curb her dragon essence and remain human (such cases are very rare, but not impossible, if the will of a person is not weaker than the will of a dragon).

Bruno agrees to help. He teaches her meditation and self-control, but the trouble is that Mirabel does not want to remain ordinary, she wants to become a dragon and fly away from this family, where she is treated with slight disdain due to the lack of a gift. Bruno, after listening to her explanations, returns with her to the dragon mountain and finds the dragon that Pedro has become. He agrees to help his conditional granddaughter and conditional son, and teaches her to be a dragon, while Bruno reminds her how to remain human - to be able to fly in the skies on dragon wings and retain human feelings and emotions, because... in dragons, these very feelings and emotions actually atrophy, they are replaced by cold logic.

Meanwhile, rumors are circulating in Encanto. Since Alma is trying to keep everything in the family and prevent the spread of information that Mirabel can become a dragon, the residents decide that dragons have gone crazy and are kidnapping innocent maidens right from their home, someone remembers that Bruno had  “dragon essence” -   the ability to see the future, and makes the amazing conclusion that Bruno became a dragon and kidnapped Mirabel and ate her, which means that all the girls in Encanto are under threat, and even everything in general: after all, any years ago, a dragon attacked the city and burned everything (we remember that for the residents in the turmoil, the appearance of the dragon-Pedro superimposed on the appearance of the invaders, they did not notice they in the dragon’s flame). And someone comes up with the delightful idea of climbing the dragon mountain and defeating the filthy monsters. And so a detachment of not very smart, but terribly brave people rises... and sees two dragons, and Bruno with them. With a cry: “Beat your own, so that strangers will be afraid,” they go on the attack, and at this moment, Mirabel, like a tremulous girl, although with armored scales and a flame in her mouth, loses her nerves, she incinerates them... and in horror flies away from itself. The only thing she dreams of now is to finally become a dragon, not to feel guilt, pain, fear and self-loathing. But she cannot, because these are all human feelings, they are too strong and completely suppress dragon logic and indifference. And she's also, of course, in love with Bruno, because she killed people in the first place to protect him.

Bruno and Pedro are both looking for her, Pedro admits that although he has become a dragon, the memory of the man is still alive in him. They have difficulty finding Mirabel, who has climbed into a completely impassable thicket and lives there in the guise of a person in a hut in the forest, away from people. She sees Bruno and locks herself in the house because she is afraid of accidentally burning him down, because she does not trust herself. Of course, they return her, fly to Encanto - and Pedro, and Mirabel, and Bruno (riding a dragon). Pedro turns into a man, and Alma , seeing her living husband, almost faints with happiness. The love for his wife was stronger than the dragon's essence, and Pedro chooses to live with his family, "until the last of my kind fades away," as he says. Well, Mirabel marries Bruno, yes. Because who dares to object to the dragoness ?

art from Encanto book

Side Story: The Plight Of A Living Home

The family was down. That much Casita could tell.

Not that it can blame them.

For the most part, they were handling it relatively fine. But only when they were together. The very moment they were left alone and that they thought no one was watching was when they fell apart. Their grief let out to the world and yet still cages to the confine of its halls. Their tears soaking its floor, their fingernails scratching its walls, even upturning their furniture when things get too much to bear.

Everyone is trying to be strong for one another. But what Casita knows about humans is that they can only take so much before they break. And when they break they can’t be fixed like it can. They don’t have tiles that can be replaced, or a paint that can be renewed, or a window sill to be changed. Humans are fragile creatures, they need each other to survive.

But it can’t really help them all that much, even when Lord Arceus gave life to it and tasked it to protect and care for them.

It was just that Casita doesn't understand how. It was after all, just a house. An inanimate object.

Alma never gives it a chance to help deal with her grief. Even when she was still grieving for Pedro and taking care of the three infants. The old woman never falters in her decision. Remaining stubborn till this day to carry her baggage alone. Casita had all but given up on trying to comfort her and just help her with whatever task that needed it’s help.

It doesn’t know where to begin to comfort Julieta, whose eyes are hollow and dead, and body seemingly decaying due to the lack of effort on her part to take care of herself, making her not too dissimilar to that of a corpse. Though, thankfully Agustine was there to help her through her hardship, Casita can only hope he takes care of himself as well.

With Pepa, Casita would let her storm through its halls, just letting her grief and rage out, letting the woman destroy any tiles or things with her lightning and wind if it meant she didn’t bottle her emotion up. So she wouldn’t crumble under the guilt and sorrow that her sister fell victim to.

Everything in its halls are replaceable, the family isn’t.

Felix in its opinion was handling his sorrow the ‘best’. He was trying to be productive, constantly going on patrol with the other men. Checking every corner of the Encanto to make sure it is safe, and generally helping strengthen the Encanto’s defenses. But on the other hand, he was spending less and less time in the house, in turn making Pepa worse as there was no one there to help calm her down.

And then there were the kids. Casita didn’t know where to begin with them all. Camilo and Mirabel were easier to handle, while they were sad, a playful distraction was enough to get their minds off of their sadness. Although this method only works with Camilo most of the time while Mirabel only reacts a couple of times, she was unfortunately too wrapped up in her own head to respond to it most of the time.

Luisa had been crying nonstop and had barricaded herself in her room, everyone had tried to get in, to try and comfort her but she had wanted to be alone, even placing a large rock in front of the door so that even Casita couldn't get in. But it had a lot of tricks up its walls, so it had been putting a glass of water next to the crying girl to hydrate herself. She’ll come out on her own when she’s ready, she always does.

And finally Dolores… Out of everyone in the house, she would be the one who takes it the hardest. She was very close to the two of them after all. Isabela her self-proclaimed twin and rival, Bruno her favorite person. And she was dealing with her sadness in the worst way possible. Her mood was all over the place, sometimes she was sad, sometimes she went timid, and sometimes she wasn’t responsive at all. But most of the time she was angry.

Very, very angry.

Many times now, Dolores had snapped at everybody. It doesn’t matter what they did, it just seemed to set her off. She had even yelled at one point, and she never yells as it hurts her ears. Even her partners weren’t safe from her wrath. Though thankfully none of the other kids was ever under her crossfire. But sooner or later, she’ll or someone else will get hurt.

Casita doesn’t know where all the rage comes from. Though it had been alive for years, human emotions and motives still escape it. Finding itself confused whenever they do something that doesn’t align with what they normally do. Like Dolores right now.

So Casita is oblivious to how to help her.

Sometimes, it wishes that Lord Arceus gave it some semblance of a guide to help it traverse through this confusing time. It wishes to do more for the family from just the day to day mundane task. Casita had grown to genuinely love this family, beyond the artificial bonds that Lord Arceus had included in its creation. It doesn’t want to see them sad like this, destroying themselves like this. All of them are falling apart, and through all the chaotic mess of emotions they were feeding it, it feels itself growing weaker and weaker by the day. Experiencing so many emotions through their connections at the same time was… Tiring.

But it was just a house that was born from Lord Arceus' will. It was not designed to handle such heavy emotion. But that begs the question…

What can it do?

III. I Won't Say I'm In Love

part one | part two

pairing; isabela x fem!reader

warning/s; language

word count; 1.69k

a/n; brain's a little dead but as promised, here's part 3 for this week. enjoy!

part 4 should be up around next week if i'm not too busy by then :)

You swore on your ancestors' grave that if you died in that basement that day, you'd haunt Isabela for the rest of her life and make it so miserable that she'd wish it was the devil she was dealing with.

Because there was no way you'd be telling her the details of what you just wrote in that letter nor were you willing to give it to her. She'd have to yank it out of your cold, decaying hands.

"Drop dead, Isabela," you hissed as you tore the letter up to shreds, making sure that nobody could piece them all together again.

Isabela frowned before her face dropped to a mask of neutrality. She shrugged her shoulders in nonchalance and went to seat on a chaise lounge nearby. “Suit yourself, we'll be staying here until you tell me what you wrote.”

“Mirabel will find me,” you said. “Your prima has super hearing, and papi will be coming home later.”

As soon as you said that, vines completely covered off the only door to your freedom.

“Are you fucking—you know what? I'm not playing your game. I'd be dead before you force it out of me,” you huffed and went to seat in the corner, pulling your blanket tight around you.

“Do you really have to make everything so difficult?” she said.

“I'm making things difficult?” you scoffed. Everything within you was nothing but pain and discomfort, you would have ignored Isabela had she not been managing to successfully pull your strings. “I'm not the psycho who locked us in here!”

“Oh please, like I'm the one who's grown an obsession in writing my name everywhere.”

If looks could kill, she would have dropped cold right that instant. Unfortunately it doesn't so all you could do was huff and turn away from her, body leaning sideways as you opted to face the wall.

“Fuck you,” you mumbled under your breathe, though the dark-skinned beauty seemed to have heard it.

“You'd love that, won't you?”

“Keep your delusions to yourself,” you replied, still not facing her.

You shouldn't have brought her there, you thought to yourself. You just wanted to get rid of her quickly so you could rest, and you were honestly starting to consider other methods to do just that—if only all of them weren't made illegal.

“Hm. Well if you aren't going to tell me about that letter, might as well explore a bit more.”

“Don't touch anything,” you warned. “Everything in here is worth more than your pathet—”

“Such a pretty mirror.”

You turned so quickly that you nearly had whiplash, though you didn't care much for it at the moment as you glared at Isabela.

“Don't touch that—”

Isabela blinked innocently at you over her shoulder before, ever so slightly, touching the surface of the mirror.

This bitch.

You narrowed your eyes at her.

“Oops.” She touched it again, this time tracing a straight line across the mirror with her index finger. She regarded you with a challenging smirk, one that you badly wanted to wipe off that pretty face of hers.

Then she went on to skip to another item with exaggerated optimism.

Your died a little more inside when she stopped in front of one of the mannequins.

“You know, something this pretty shouldn't be kept in here,” Isabela made a show to hold the mannequin, as she turned to face you, angling the display so that it created the illusion of her wearing the golden dress and lifted the skirt to one side. “How do I look?”

You would have loved to tear Isabela into ribbons for blatantly disrespecting a vintage collection from some French noble's unorthodox dress in 18th century France.

However, you'd be lying if you said that she wouldn't look gorgeous in it—then again, it was Isabela, she'd look good in any color of any dress on any style regardless.

She was honestly so beautiful it's painful.

Though, of course, you weren't about to admit that to your sworn enemy.

“Stupid,” you deadpanned. "And get your hands off that before papa rises from the grave to haunt you."

Isabela rolled her eyes and set the mannequin back in its place before setting off to find another object to occupy her time with.

"And what's this supposed to be?" she poked a perfectly conditioned stuffed toy sitting harmlessly on top of another chest. "Something your overseas aunt gifted you?"

"No, but it did come overseas," you said and Isabela turned to you, suddenly curious. Truth be told, you didn't particularly care who it actually came from, however...you've known Isabela long enough to know that she never, for whatever reason—jealousy perhaps, fancied the idea of you getting another person's attention. Not that you were any different, Isabela was just far more obvious in showing it than she cared to admit.

"Oh?" Isabela asked, cold eyes suddenly glued to the object as she now held it in her hands, regarding it with obvious distaste. "Who is it from then?"

"What? You think señorita perfecta Isabela Madrigal is the only one who's allowed to have a boyfriend?" Not that you had any. A line of suitors, sure, both from the village and the ones that your aunt somehow managed to bait into courting you.

Despite that, none ever managed to catch your attention as your eyes were already set elsewhere.

"You have a boyfriend?" the way Isabela turned to you was nearly comical as she gripped the poor teddy bear so tightly that you were sure it would explode soon enough.

"Why? What's it to you?" you replied, coughing a little into your blanketed fist before a thought crossed your mind and you snorted with a roll of your eyes, "Or, did you really think my world revolved around you?"

You had never seen Isabela more pissed in your life even as her lips curled upwards to form a smile without it looking awkward. You supposed acting all perfect for her family did have its merits.

"Just like how you've written your letters?" she said. "Or did you forget why we're here in the first place?"

Well played, Isabela. Way to throw the ball back at you.

"We're here in the first place because you decided that my business is yours to begin with."

"Really?" she replied. "Last I checked every single letter I saw had my name written on them."

Great, now you two were back on phase one.

You shoulders shook with mirth as laughter bubbled up your throat. Isabela only stared at you when you stood up from the ground a little light-headed, blanket falling to your feet, as you approached her while clapping your hands sarcastically.

"Congratulations!" you said as every drop of humor you found in your situation dissipated into thin air. Everything about this whole ordeal was honestly starting to get under your skin and it didn't help that you had a growing migraine. "Isabela Madrigal could read! What next? Do you want to sing the ABC's too?"

"Classy," she replied.

"Are you trying to prove something?" you asked.

"You were never afraid to speak your mind," she said. "What made it different this time?"

"Nothing is different," you said almost immediately, making Isabela's eyebrows raise at your defensiveness. You rolled your eyes. “I'm just gonna wait until you grow enough sense to let us go."

You turned around to retreat back to your little corner. You just wanted to rest and that headache won't go away on its own.

"Sure, run away like the spineless coward you are."

You stopped on your tracks.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve? Because that's what you are," Isabela said. "A spineless coward." She said each word with added emphasis, making you turn to her.

"Call me that one more time—"

"Call you what? A spineless coward?"

You glared daggers at her. If there was anything you hated more than Isabela and confronting your own emotions, it was being called a coward.

"Go on," she said. "Return to your little cocoon—"

"Is there something you want to hear about, Isabela?" you asked her. “What do you want me to say?"

Isabela opened her mouth to speak but you didn't let her.

"Because fine, if you wanted to hear it so badly then let me summarize it for you," you said. "I want nothing to do with you, okay? I hate you and nothing's ever going to change that. Mirabel was right about everything because I am sick of this. I'm sick of you, I'm sick of this thing between us, and I'm sick of everything so yes, I want you out of my life because I hate you!"

You said it, actually more to yourself than her, if only to convince yourself that whatever feeling you had every time you and Isabela weren't busy tearing each other apart never existed.

You thought that maybe if you just said it a few more times or maybe spent a few more sleepless nights writing about it, maybe then it would be real. That maybe every I hate you's you've shared between each other hadn't evolved into something far less hostile over the years.

Yet as you said that, even with how petty your relationship with Isa was, every single word would leave a bitter taste in your mouth, and you especially wanted to take it back the moment Isabela's eyes glazed over.

Her jaw tightened as she crossed her arms over her chest and looked away while blinking back the tears that formed in her eyes.

Guilt pooled at your stomach.

"Fine," was all she said. No snarky remark, no comeback, just a hard, cold, empty...fine. With a wave of her hand, you heard the door creak open. "I'll tell Mirabel to get—"

Your head fell on her shoulder. It wasn't a hug, but it was as far as you could go given your near indestructible pride and the confusing nature of your feelings towards towards her.

You felt Isabela tense with the sudden contact, most likely taken aback as it was the first time you two made any physical contact without being aggressive. You could almost hear the gears in her head working, trying to apprehend the situation and honestly? You didn't blame her.

You did just tell her that you wanted to forget about her existence and even then, you couldn't get your head around the idea that you were preventing her from leaving, the exact opposite of your goal just minutes prior that moment.

You didn't see it, but Isabela's hands hovered around your figure in uncertainty.

I'm sorry, you wanted to say. I didn't mean it.

"I hate you," you said instead in resignation. Don't leave. "I hate you and your insufferable presence."

You heard Isabela sigh as she finally went to embrace you. You melted into her arms and you didn't like how you've never felt so comfortable in your life.

“You're one to talk."

You laughed on her shoulder, suddenly aware of how exhausted you really were. Your senses finally catching up to all of those sleepless nights you spent in the past week.

However, you didn't have much time to dwell on that as the last thing you heard was Isabela calling your name when you fell limp into her arms.

So another encanto thought. People really need to stop me at some point.

What if the reason behind the multitude of stairs in Bruno’s room was a subconscious desire to keep people from wanting or seeing visions?

After all, who wants to climb that many stairs? Like at first it was for dramatic effect of the magic, like there were still stairs and the sign at the bottom, but as time went on and Bruno became more miserable and wanted to stop having visions, the stairs became even greater and taller. After all, it’s a magic room, why would it do that without there being an easy way to access the further parts of the room? Look at Antonio who has the jaguar and Isabela who can swing herself around her room.

Given maybe it is just for dramatic effect, or maybe it’s because Bruno doesn’t want people to ask for visions. Of course this sucks because if he hides up there he’s gotta go all the way back down. Then, obviously there is that rickety bridge. Like maybe it decayed with the either his chose to “leave” and not use his powers, or maybe it decayed because of the magic weakening.

Or maybe it like that because the room adjusted again when he “ran away”. He didn’t want people to find that vision = room becomes more dangerous.

Or maybe it’s even all of the above!

I also had the side thought that it was his subconscious way of also keeping him away from people as much as it keeps people away from him. He’s “bad luck” Bruno, he should stay as far away from everyone as possible right? (Wrong he’s a wonderful bean) or it’s even him secretly punishing himself.

So that’s that though.

Six Sentence Sunday (tagged by @pinkfadespirit)

Bit late as it's Monday afternoon where I am, but y'know. That's fine. I've decided to continue in which hawke asks all her friends to move in with her, they're rescuing a very angry cat from a very cold Kirkwall day.

Tagging @5lazarus @noire-pandora @oxygenforthewicked @lesetoilesfous (if y'all want, no pressure)

Merrill and Isabela nod their assent, and Hawke leads the way through the sleety, stinking streets towards the elevators leading to Darktown.

The elevator creaks and whines as they board it. The chains and gears are covered in a layer of ice, and it takes Merrill melting it with a small handheld flame for the controls to finally release and begin their descent into the undercity. Stepping off at the bottom, they’re assaulted with the sounds of metal hitting metal, wailing children and arguing refugees along with the foul stench of waste, decay and desperation. Unlike Lowtown, Darktown is still full to the brim with people huddled around sputtering fires, hunched over as they soothe their starving babies or upend the contents of their stomach into a corner. Hawke, Merrill and Isabela are watched suspiciously the entire time they walk through the twisting alleys, but they’re visibly well-armed enough that no cutthroats or gang members seem in the mood to risk a confrontation.

Lol, so i watched Avatar 2 yesterday and now my brain is like ‘you can do an Encanto AU of that’ and i’m like how and now... i have this idea in my mind of the whole Mulietverse, Encanto family Unit being dropped off in Pandora by The Architects who changed their forms to help hide them, but they still have their magical gifts...

like a crossover, but temporary. Maybe the group needed to hide from a rogue group of Watchers or something so the Architects got involved and hide them all onto the planet when escaping through the timelines/AUs.

imagine Navi-!formed Shifter Antonio turning into a Tulkun and turning back like... how would the reef clan react?? And Decay Isabela! She could probably grow so many Pandiroan plants! tho i’m in debate if she should have flesh arms for the Nav’vi body or have new prostheses, Pariah too; they can’t swim with metal limbs.

with the whole family Unit; kids and babies, they look like a mini clan lol

Decay AU | Potatoes

In her time of punishment during the first year, Isabela began to experiment and play with her gift in the privacy of her room, the place where she was free to use her gift without prying eyes. Especially since no one was allowed in.

Most plants once she knew what they looked like and their typical properties, were easy to make but she found herself accidently creating a Potato that...moved. At first it was a single potato, she watched as it got up, moved about and sat, then wandered off.... then fell off an edge and impaled itself onto one of her gardening tools by accident.

So, with better preparation, and a little area cleared and designed for her experiment, she grew more and to her surprise, they too began to move and wander around her little area. While they couldn't speak out to her; she found herself connected to them through her gift; when to water and their soil needs and she was fascinated as they made a little home into the collection of offered plant pots. She helped make them little clothes because it made them look so cute.

Of course, while no substitute for human contact; Isabela sought them out to fulfil the need of socialising. The potato family are drawn to her to comfort her when they sense her distress or need. Rather than show off, Isabela kept her potato project hidden away for her own enjoyment; creating sentient or intelligent plants, she felt would draw up the wrong attention. 

After her....’disappearance’ while her room died, the potato family continued on, being found by Mirabel a few days later before the girl decided to take the potatoes and help look after them; somewhat amazed by the aspects of Isabela's gift. With Isabela’s loss, the family did find out about them and Antonio was quick to give names to each one, helping them around casita for fun. Dolores was somewhat relived; the little foot steps had been very confusing.

F/O List!

Buckle up cause there’s a lot ^^; Also listed on my carrd

Romantic 💖

Link - Legend of Zelda (general) - Tag: ‘my protector 💖🏇‘

Zelda - Legend of Zelda (general) - Tag: ‘a princess’s love 💖👑‘

Sheik - Legend of Zelda (general) - Tag: ‘harp serenade 💖🎼‘

Impa - Legend of Zelda (specifically Hyrule Warriors) - Tag: ‘written in the stars 💖🌟‘

Dark Link - Legend of Zelda - Tag: ‘his angel 💖🗡‘

Ghirahim - Skyward Sword - Tag: ‘glittering diamonds 💖💎‘

Mipha - Breath of the Wild - Tag: ‘iridescent scales 💖🧜‘

Urbosa - Breath of the Wild - Tag: ‘warm safflina 💖⚡‘

Revali - Breath of the Wild - Tag: ‘the wind beneath his wings 💖🐦‘

Sebastian - Stardew Valley - Tag: ‘i’m glad you stayed 💖☂‘

Diluc - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘I'd Melt For You 💖🍷’

Xiao - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘Our love transcends 💖🌥️’

Thoma - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘The Housekeeper's Assistant 💖🍡’

Scaramouche - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘His Right Hand 💖😈’

Ayaka - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘Sakura blossoms 💖🌸’

Albedo - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘A study of love 💖📒 ‘

Kazuha - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘blanketed by autumn leaves💖🍁’

Beidou - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘You’ve stolen my heart💖⚓’

Ningguang - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘I’ll compose us a symphony💖💼’

Beigguang (poly ship) - Tag: ‘A leader; a pirate; and their bard💞🎶’

Heizou - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘You're My New Dream 💖🔎’

Shinobu - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘Our Bond is Strong 💖🔪 ‘

Dabi - My Hero Academia - Tag: ‘blue flames in the dark 💖🔥‘

Shigaraki - My Hero Academia: Tag: ‘decay is natural; just like us 💖✋‘

Crushes 💖

Midna - Twilight Princess - Tag: ‘the moon to my stars 💖🌒‘

Sidon - Breath of the Wild - Tag: ‘your love is sunlight 💖💧’

Elliott - Stardew Valley - Tag: ‘we’ll write a happy ending 💖📝‘

Leah - Stardew Valley - Tag: ‘kissed by the sun 💖🌻‘ 

Raiden Ei - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘An everlasting love 💖🍰’

Yae Miko - Genshin Impact - Tag: ‘forever by your side 💖🦊’

EiMiko (poly ship) - Tag: ‘Our love shines eternal 💞🌸’

Candace - Genshin Impact - ‘Tag: love shields us 💖🌊’

Part-Time F/Os 💖

Elsa - Frozen - Tag - ‘another form of true love 💖❄️’

Shirayuki - Snow White with the Red Hair - Tag: ‘royal blue and apple red 💖🌿‘

Zen - Snow White with the Red Hair -

Obi - Snow White with the Red Hair -

Isabela - Encanto - Tag: ‘a love as soft as rose petals 💖🌹‘

Dolores - Encanto - Tag: ‘(I’ll Be Your) Respite from the Noise 💖🔉‘ 

Platonic 💚

Abigail - Stardew Valley

Penny - Stardew Valley

Sam - Stardew Valley

Generic Stardew Tag: ‘home in the valley 💚🌅‘

Generic Genshin Impact Tag: ‘Friends Come From All Over 💚🌐’

Generic Harbingers Tag: ‘Stronger Together 💚⚠️’

Familial 💜

Toga - My Hero Academia - sister

Camilo - Encanto - brother

Childe - Genshin Impact - brother - Tag: ‘I’ve Got Your Back 💜🎣’

Signora - Genshin Impact - sister - Tag: ‘Sisters Born of the Same Flame 💜🦋’

Klee - Genshin Impact - sister - Tag: ‘The Spark Knight's Big Sis 💜💥’

Zhongli - Genshin Impact - brother / father idk yet - Tag: ‘Shine Like Gold 💜🪙‘

Toriel - Undertale - mother

Generic Encanto Tag: ‘Family is a Gift 💜🎁‘

Anders in Autumn Ch. 5

inspired by and answers @cozy-autumn-prompts Ch. 5, in which I find a plot--I mean: At the clinic, Anders tries not to hear a large group of dockworkers and a mysterious Dalish woman talk over what to do about all the workplace injuries the laborers have been suffering. Fenris arrives, sent by Varric to drag him to a party, and to Anders' surprise, Fenris knows far more about the injustices the dockworkers suffer than he does--and he is far more involved. And yes, toes are cold.

read the rest here.

Autumn is the springtime for big cities: Tabris told him that, at the first Wintersend party Mahariel threw as arlessa of Amaranthine. Though it wasn’t Wintersend, Anders corrected himself, the two of them called it something different. Kirkwall was bleak in winter, smelly in spring, and downright dank in summer. Autumn, though, gave the city a bit of a blush. Kirkwall’s usual drab limestone cliffs and houses were brightened by the pepper-tipped trees, and Anders particularly savoured one whose leaves turned a deep royal purple. He took a leaf that fell and pocketed it, and pinned it to a wall on the clinic. The kids who lingered around his clinic took to it and started bringing leaves, and over the course of one crisp afternoon, they had the whole facade decorated with the brightest leaves they could find. Anders wanted badly to enchant it to last, but Varric couldn’t pay off Cullen forever. He had to let it leave. A messenger came by while he was mourning the nature of decay, one of Varric’s runners. Varric was having a party at the Hanged Man and expected him to come, or else he’d send Fenris drag him. Anders made a face at that: Fenris. The tension had eased, over the years, and Fenris had ceded the point about the Circle after Bethany was kidnapped by the Templars, just after they had finally returned from the Deep Roads. Leandra’s wailing had disturbed them both deeply, and it had been almost impossible to hold Justice back. He still remembered the way his mother had fought. He really ought to talk to Isabela about sending that letter. The golden hour darkened on the wrinkled leaves pinned to the front of his shop and evening cooled the streets of Kirkwall. The clinic got busy: there was an accident at the docks, one of the elvhen labourers had nearly been crushed, and the man’s husband was weeping as Anders healed him, because they could not afford the time off for him to rest the leg and heal proper. Anders was angry, a low burning in his stomach, but he focused on strengthening bone and mending cracks, and encouraging muscles to repair. When night fell, several other dockworkers came by to check on his patient, and he made them all a stew--stone soup, as usual--as they talked in hushed, urgent whispers about what to do next. This was the third injury this much, with the foremen rushing them since winter and choppy seas were coming, and they weren’t paying overtime or injury pay either. He was pleased to see a couple Fereldens there too, and even two Dalish--none of them from Sabrae, of course, but a couple around his age. They stayed quiet and listened, mostly, but Anders was curious. The man didn’t have vallaslin, but the woman had what looked like a branching tree outlined in thick purple lines across her face. The others seemed comfortable around them, though he himself had never seen them before: weird. Fenris might know something about this. Speak of the Dread Wolf and he shall appear: a little saying Anders learned from Merrill, and one that came to mind when he saw the aforementioned grumpy elf darkening his door. He almost said “Little Wolf!” but bit it back in time. Diminutives are difficult for those who have been diminished. Anders saw the way he flinched around Danarius. Pet names would not work. He said, instead, “Oh. You.” Fenris stepped in. “Yes,” he said gruffly. “Me.” The collection of dockworkers and relatives fall silent. Then one of the Dalish stepped forward, and Fenris actually smiled. “Lethallin,” the Dalish woman said. “ar dirthan'as ir elgara, ma'sula e'var vhenan.” She holds her arms open, but Fenris grasps her arm instead, a less intimate hug. Fenris looked pleased. Anders was surprised. He always spoke so dismissively of the Dalish. “You two know each other?” he said. He eyed them doubtfully. Thedas was always so much smaller than he thought: running into Isabela was a clear example. Fenris dropped the Dalish’s arm. “Yes,” he said gruffly. “The only acceptable mages, you two.” Anders laughed. “Acceptable, am I? Tell that to the Chantry.” The workers in the room tensed. Divine Justinia recently released writ declaring laborers’ associations a sin in the eyes of the Maker, because they were not turning to the priests of His Bride, who were supposed to settle disputes. The usual rage: Elthina refused to settle disputes, refused to hear anyone except the Hightown nobility, and her Chantry was almost always empty of actual worshippers. Fenris said, “Varric wants you at the party. Are you done here?” Anders looked at the crowd. His patient was safely in a healing sleep, and with the Dalish revealed to be a mage, he was feeling more comfortable leaving him. Still, Varric’s protection only afforded him safety, not any of the others, and while Aveline was doing her best to obfuscate in the guards--and had been promptly demoted twice--he was always worried they would rush the clinic when he was not there. The Dalish mage said, “I can take it from here. We’ll be leaving soon, and it’s best you don’t hear.” So much of his life was knowing when to close his eyes. Anders said, “Alright,” and followed Fenris out. The night was crisp and clean, and Anders shivers slightly, despite his cloak of feathers. He eyes Fenris, particularly his footwraps. He understands intellectually and practically of course that elves have different circulatory systems. Still, he thinks, wrapping his arms around himself, he should be cold. They walk in meditative silence towards Lowtown. The gangs leave them alone: Varric’s paid them off. “So,” he says. “Aren’t your toes cold?” “What?” Fenris leans in to hear him better. They’re walking rather close now. Anders knows it is for mutual protection, but he leans in anyway. “No. No. They’re not.” “Ah,” Anders says. They round a corner and head up a stairway, and pay off the guard keeping curfew to let them through. “So, you know that Dalish woman?” Fenris hesitates. “You don’t?” “I don’t even know her name.” “Then it’s probably safer that way. Other clans don’t have as many...problems as Sabrae, and like to help out their kin. Regardless of how disparate.” Anders marvels how Fenris’ Common is so elegant, despite the conditions in which he learned it. “Do you know why she’s here?” Fenris looks at him carefully, and, without moving his face, scans the periphery. No one is eavesdropping. “Her husband’s steward of the dockworkers’ association in Wycombe. They’ve made a commitment to helping the others in Kirkwall and Ostwick too.” Anders is stunned: first, that Fenris knows this and he doesn’t, and second, that they are about to walk into the Hanged Man and most of the people in there will happily sell this secret out to the Merchants’ Guild and get them all killed. His patients, his neighbors, his people . “We can’t let Varric know,” he whispers. Varric will pay off the Carta and the Templars to protect him. That protection will abruptly cease if the dwarf, deshyr of the Merchants’ Guild, finds out he is protecting a rabble-rouser and a union drive. “But--what can I do to help?” Fenris looks up at him and smiles.

Tatterdemalion for Anders and any other characters of your choice?

Oh, this one is perfect for Anders! And Fenris. I think I’m going to experiment with something I’m planning to write in the future, if you don’t mind, so it will be a modern!Thedas AU. @dadrunkwriting

Tatterdemalion: raggedly dressed person; looking disreputable or decayed

 He’s a rag man, a bag and bone man, the sort of man you don’t meet in alleyways in the dark of night.

And here Fenris was, pressing this rag and bone man against wet brick behind the dive Isabela and Hawke dragged him to this evening. Time to loosen up, Fenris, they cried. Time to relax and lay off translating and brooding at home, they said. We’ll buy you a drink, they promised.

Well, here he was, drink-less and kissing a complete stranger dressed in a ragged, faded t-shirt and torn jeans until there was nothing but heat and the impression of teeth on his lips.

“Fuck,” the man rasped out, winding bony arms around Fenris’s shoulders. “Y’sure know how to make a guy feel welcome, don’t you?”

Fenris didn’t reply. He was too busy pushing the man’s shirt up his chest and appreciating the detailed inking of a griffin tattoo over his hipbone to form a coherent thought beyond “I want to lick that and make him shudder.” Not the easiest thought to convey with words, but who needed words when you had actions?

He wasn’t one to go down on his knees, but there are always exceptions.

“Andraste’s Tits! You’re forward,” the ragged man laughed. “I’ve got more. Tattoos, I mean. If that’s your thing? Is this a thing? I don’t even- we were about to deck each other in the bar? We were arguing? Pretty sure I remember arguing.”

When Fenris looked up with mild irritation (really, he was a bit preoccupied here!), the man raised his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Not complaining! Really, I’m not. Just, uh, as you were?” he suggested with a sheepish grin. It was hard to see his face in the shadows cast by the dim streetlight, but from what Fenris remembered in the bar it was narrow and sharp. Nice eyes. Golden brown eyes.

“You talk too much,” Fenris finally said.

“Yeah, most people say that. I’m a regular chatterbox when I’m nervous. And I’m definitely nervous, this isn’t- it’s been a while, you’ve got to understand. I’m not exactly a hook-up sort of guy. Usually,” the man added as Fenris rose to his feet. “If you’re still-”

“It’s raining. You’re poorly dressed for the weather,” Fenris explained bluntly. “But I am not opposed to seeing you again.” Fenris pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked over at the man expectantly.

“I, here. Trade you,” the man offered, and he took Fenris’s phone while handing his own over. Fenris quickly typed in his number and name before returning the phone. The man returned his phone, and Fenris checked out the contact name- Anders.

“Fenris, huh? It’s nice to meet you. I’m new in town,” Anders said breathlessly when Fenris pushed him up against the wall again.

“I thought so,” Fenris murmured before leaning forward to kiss the man- Anders. A softer kiss, a kinder kiss, a welcoming sort of kiss. Tatterdemalion, he thought wryly. Rag man. Not the sort of man anyone would expect Fenris (fussy, neat, organized Fenris) to associate with.

Well, he thought as he sighed into Anders’s mouth. There were always exceptions.

What does the DA2 gang smell like? Individually and collectively?

Individually:

Anders: sewage, dragon dung, catnip andexhaustion

Fenris: leather and lyrium, with just a hint ofdecay

Aveline: swords and shields during the day,nice nights in the evening

Varric: the hanged man, ink, chest hair shampooand crossbow wax (that’s just his body, though, his nose reeks of your business)

Merrill: rat droppings, flowers, and everythingthat is good in this world

Isabela: booze and booty

Sebastian: Chantry N°5

Bethany: she bathes twice a day, she doesn’tsmell, she refuses too and you can’t make her

Hawke: despair. they shouldn't have eaten allthat ham

Carver: resentment

the Arishok: disgust (somewhat less so if youbring Fenris)

Collectively: trouble. and family. and chantry dust                                                                                             

Commission fill time

I was commissioned by the wonderful @numphet to write a fic featuring her amazing OC Katla Hawke. I really loved writing Katla, she’s such a complex and nuanced and vivid character, and I loved spending time with her. Thank you so much for the opportunity!

Fandom: Dragon Age II

Title: Keep this feeling safe tonight

Pairing: Katla Hawke/Ser Thrask

Rating: R

Summary: A relationship that occurs in the shadows has its one evening in public aka Katla and Thrask go to Satinalia together.

Notes: Is there rambling? Yes. Is there no dialogue? Also yes. Same old, same old in terms of style. There is also: angst, mentions of body image issues, mentions of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, and a lot of gloomy weather. This is the suit Katla wears, inspired by my lurking in her OC tag. I also randomly used details associated with Saturnalia when describing Satinalia. Title from PJ Harvey’s One Line. 

Also on AO3. 

There is no snow in Kirkwall’s winters,  just a chilled damp and the wind rushing in from the sea, howling with the voices of ghosts through Hightown’s streets and insinuating disease into the chests of Darktown dwellers.

Katla leaves the windows open when the wind comes because the desperation in the sound is as familiar as the taste of wine and of Thrask’s skin. On sleepless nights when she is intimate only with the emptiness inside her she stands on the balcony with the alcohol souring on her tongue and reddening her skin and finds solace in the noise, in the fury of the wind, in the way it sings of loss. It smells of brine and decay and it fits on her, tangling in her hair and clutching at her skin like the lover she won’t admit she misses.

It is after one such night, when she still carries the imprint of her own nails across her palm, that Isabela drags her to a nondescript building, the clouds heavy and dark above them, the humidity making it hard to breathe, making them shiver. The wine still in Katla’s blood isn’t as guilty of making her stumble as the wind, and the streets are almost empty. She knows better than to ask Isabela what this is about and braces herself for yet another hat shop, but inside the building there is an explosion of fabric, and in the midst of all that colour a woman dressed in black, her hair silver and her face lined and drained by life.

Katla stands half-naked in the middle of the room as Isabela chats away about Satinalia fashion trends and how to ignore them, the seamstress holding various materials next to Katla’s skin, measuring with practiced efficiency. There is a mirror in front of her, and Katla stares at herself with little kindness, trying to distract from the reflection by remembering Thrask’s hands on the fullness of her thighs, the mark of his fingerprints along the soft sprawl of her belly. She knows that everything about her is too much, overflowing, but he never seems to mind it in their stolen moments together. He always seems as hungry for her as she is for him, and nothing makes him pause, not her magic, as red as their hair, not her body, not the way she screams at him when her feelings claw their way out of her throat.

Isabela talks and talks without requiring a reply, and Katla finds comfort in the sound without paying attention to the words. The seamstress asks no questions, but notices where Katla’s eyes wander, notices the colours and materials she reaches out to touch, notices which of the displayed outfits she studies.

By the end of the appointment, Isabela drags her out, thirsty for rum and gossip at the Hanged Man, and Katla remains none the wiser regarding her Satinalia outfit.

*

It had started off as a joke influenced by wishful thinking, whispered in the lack of space between them as Thrask kept kissing her like he wanted to remove the wine stain from her lips.

He’d said it first, as the wind slammed the doors and windows of her estate and witnessed the illicit way their bodies came together. The words ‘I would like to take you to Satinalia’ slipped from his lips and reached under her ribs, making hope bloom in her heart. Hope was never something she truly trusted, however, and what she said in return was not ‘yes’, but ‘won’t your dear Order comment on it?’ and she couldn’t stop the rest of the snide words descended from all her fears and anger, his mention of the traditional masks preserving their anonymity only stoking her ire. By the time dawn broke, he was gone and Katla was drinking, and it took days for her to slip a note with her answer to him through Isabela’s mediation. She watched, unseen, as he smiled upon receiving the scribbled word, and her heart beat faster and faster until she had to look away from him, the hope as painful as the futile longing for a normal life - a long life- with him.

*

When Katla goes to collect the suit on the morning that heralds the beginning of the festivities, she doesn’t look into the mirror until she is fully clothed and when she then glances at her reflection she doesn’t see an enemy there.

The suit fits her so well she almost suspects some sort of magic at work, but the scent and trace of lyrium is absent from the seamstress and her shop, so Katla can only stare, stunned, as Isabela wolf whistles, pulling Katla’s hair into a low bun that settles heavily at the nape of her neck.

There is contrast at play between the stark whiteness of the shirt and the darkness of the jacket, balanced by accents of velvet in the same crimson as the waistcoat.

‘I had some lace sent from the Valence cloister lying around,’ the seamstress says, as Katla touches the delicate material woven over the suit, the final touch of a masterpiece.

The half-mask is simple and  the colour of burnished gold, making her eyes glow and matching the earrings that Isabela slips out of her barely-there pocket with a sly grin that makes Katla unwilling to ask questions about the provenance of the jewellery. None of it is what Katla would usually wear while dealing with the complications of her daily life, but she feels invincible in a way she hasn’t felt in years. She feels alive, her flushed cheeks highlighting her freckles. Her reflection smiles at her from the corner of her mouth, and when Isabela twirls her around, Katla laughs.

* Katla had thought it best to meet Thrask at the Lowtown festivities, so Isabela half-drags her through the crowds that are starting to gather and then takes over Varric’s quarters for the afternoon. The three of them drink together, and Isabela braids Katla’s hair with perfumed hands before pinning it in place. The perfume smells like heat and leather, like sweetness and smoke, and Isabela brushes the scent over Katla’s wrist, leaving the trace of it behind her ears, and Katla knows she should feel anxious but she only feels powerful. Varric and Isabela are staring at her like they are entranced, and there’s a giddiness in her that has little to do with the wine.

Before she dons the mask and makes her way down the stairs, she paints lipstick the colour of blood along the lines of her lips, and everyone turns to stare at her as she walks through the bustle, the drunken crowd parting around her.

Thrask is standing right outside the tavern, his posture as impeccable as always, and Katla’s breath stutters not only at the sight of him out of armour, but also because he’s not wearing a mask, because he’s right there, bare-faced and making her heart sing in a way it shouldn’t. He looks so handsome in his dark blue outfit, the scar around his neck mimicking the stars of the night sky, the material so soft looking that her hands ache to tear it. Katla wants to take her time and watch him, but the moment she moves his blue eyes find her straight away, and the way his lips part at the sight of her makes her magic hum inside her, make her blood rush to her head. Thrask reaches for her hand and presses his mouth to her wristbone, leading her into the revelry, and it all feels like she’s dreaming, like the Fade is showing her everything she wishes, as she walks hand in hand with him in the midst of a crowd of witnesses. She is wearing her mask, but the way Thrask holds onto her cannot be confused for anything else. She remains anonymous, but she is clearly not one of his rumoured conquests from the Rose, those rumoured conquests that shield them from the Order. If anyone were to look closely enough at her hair and her eyes, they would know, and Katla feels almost drunk on the feeling, on the defiance that surges within her.

She has wanted to claim him for too long, and for one night, Kirkwall shall watch.

*

The dreariness of Lowtown seems hidden underneath the Satinalia decorations, the usual greyness masked by crimson garlands and wreaths of greenery. The wind is still screeching its way around crowds and corners, tangling itself into Katla’s hair and around where her hand is entwined with Thrask’s. It also helps with chasing the smell from the streets, preserving the dreamlike atmosphere, dangling the lamps and creating a dance of lights.

The stalls are both colourful and plentiful, standard fare for the holiday, but Katla can’t say she’s noticed them much before. She’s kept away from Kirkwall festivities throughout the years, preferring to drink either at a tavern or in private, especially as the loss and the despair grew.

This occasion feels different, as Thrask whispers in her ear, letting his lips linger along the sensitive skin of her neck as he breathes in her perfume. There’s something racing inside her, something she can’t name, won’t name, and it makes her magic glow in her eyes, so she looks down, at her hand in his.

Thrask leads her to several stalls, where they taste hot spiced wine and the lightest of pastries, his fingers lingering on her tongue as he feeds her delicacies, and it would look scandalous, even for Lowtown, if everyone else weren't lost in the same lack of inhibition.

Katla takes advantage of the headiness in the air and kisses Thrask, in front of everyone, the smell of sugar and spice and brine and him around her, his beard soft against her jaw. She leaves the trace of her lipstick on his mouth and neither of them bother to wipe it off as her fingers tangle in the redness of his hair. Katla says nothing, because she knows her voice would shake with the weight of it, with the beauty of it, and she doesn’t want to break the moment with the acknowledgement of its enormity.

It feels like she’s part of the wind, light on her feet, whirling as the crowd parts around her, around them. Food has been like ash on her tongue for months, but tonight she feasts with Thrask on gilded cakes chased off with the decadence of the spiced wine. She kisses caramel off his lips that golden apples leave behind and basks in it, in kissing Thrask of the Templar Order in public, and she a mage and a blood mage at that, no matter how willing.

She laughs and he laughs with her, the lines left by suffering on his face smoothing over at the same time as her heart soars, and when he leads her into a dance she doesn’t even stumble, not once.

They dance until the bells of the Chantry toll over the city, marking midnight. Tradition states that during Kirkwall’s days of Satinalia, masks come off each time the bells strike midnight, but Katla knows better than to dare, so she holds onto Thrask and kisses him, for luck, for hope, for all the things she’s not allowed to want, like those forbidden dreams of futures that cannot happen.

She kisses him to forget the pain, kisses him to remember how it feels to be alive, kisses him to tell him how she feels in a way she’ll never be able to say out loud, and when she stops kissing him, when she presses her forehead to his and looks right into his eyes in that open way she seldom allows herself, he unties the ribbon holding her mask up, ever so slowly, and takes it off. Katla catches her breath before it turns into a gasp, and when he kisses her there is no anonymity left, there’s nothing but a templar and a mage, out in the open, part of the world.

They have so much hunger for each other between the two of them that by the time they stop kissing Katla is almost sure it must be dawn already. When she looks around, no one is watching them, the drunken crowd staggering together and coming apart, the crunch of shattered fragments of golden ornaments underfoot. The wind staggers, and then returns with renewed violence, bringing rain with it, and shouts mingle with laughter and bawdy songs.

Katla can feel the illusion coming to an end so she holds on, her face buried in his shoulder, taking her comfort in the way he holds her back, in the soothing pattern of his breathing, in the way he feels so alive, in the way he makes her want to exist. They stand together for long, languid moments, and it feels right, it feels the way it should, but the growing realisation that she can’t hold on forever makes the familiar bitterness bloom on Katla’s tongue.

When she moves, Thrask follows, but he catches hold of her hand before she gets too far ahead, and it hurts to want it, but she needs him there, needs to pretend just a while longer, so they walk the way back to the Hanged Man together once more, hand in hand, rain catching in Katla’s lashes, her suit most likely ruined in a way that feels fitting, and the wind slipping its chill back into her heart.

Thrask is drawing patterns along her palm with his thumb when they turn the corner right next to the tavern, but then he is gone, so abruptly that it almost jars her into thinking they are being attacked. Katla has to look behind her to see him, quite a few paces to the side and looking not at her but at the group of templars in front of the entrance to the Hanged Man. Just like that, Katla is sober and fully immersed in reality, and thirsty for wine and oblivion, the same way she always is.

With one last look at Thrask, she squares her shoulders and her mask, wrapped around her hand, falls to the ground, left to the mercy of the storm or the gangs, whichever gets there first.

She walks into the tavern alone, her heart screaming with all the fervour of the wind coming in from the sea, but certain, at least, that he will follow according to their usual routine, his lips carrying her mark as the inside of her thighs carry his.

Throughout the city, the wind reigns, and sings, and destroys.