lia's scribbles

The Unquiet Grave: Ch. 1

Summary: There are 3 types of empaths in the world: Seers, who can look into the eyes of another and see their secrets; Dreamers, who can see the space between the world and fall into the past, present, and future; and Feelers, whose skin touches the memories and feelings of things left behind.

Then there is Will Graham, a potent combination of all three.

Agent Will Graham works with the FBI in the Empath Behavioral Analysis Unit, a profiler that hunts Rogue Empath Agents that fall astray from reality due to the horror of what they face while working for the Bureau. With gloved hands and averted eyes he views the world, well aware that his cup is most certainly half empty. He tires of looking into the eyes of another and seeing their secrets, of touching palms to their skin and knowing their thoughts. The world is an open book, and it is one that Will Graham is tired of reading.

How shocking for him, then, to one day look into the eyes of Dr. Hannibal Lecter and find that instead of the normal, invasive whispers, there is absolutely nothing at all.

In truth, he’s never been happier.

Romance, angst, thriller, mystery, slow burn, and a wholeheartedly disenchanted, grumpy Will Graham.

You can read Chapter 1 on Ao3 Here

Gifted to @hanfangrahamk for being such a stellar, lovely person :)

Chapter 1: With Quiet Hands We Touch

           Will Graham waits alone by the SUV until he’s told that it’s alright for him to enter the crime scene.

           Jack Crawford’s job is to make sure it’s a ‘safe space’ for Will to enter, and no matter how many times Will explains that that makes no fucking sense, the rules remain. Empaths on the scene of a fresh crime have a tendency to vomit, to collapse from the sensations, and no one is going to take a risk with him, no matter how resilient he is. While a normal Seer-empath boasts an ability to see the realities that occur around them, a Feeler can touch and gain impressions from tactile feel, and a Thinker can recreate, Will Graham is a special blend of all three, the shining star of the Empath-Behavioral-Analysis-Unit. A rare, somewhat mentally stable E-3. They don’t want him tarnished, not when he’s so damn good at what he does.

            If he wasn’t so strung out, he’d have felt almost cherished at the thought they gave him, to cradle him like a fragile little teacup meant only for the best of after dinner sit-downs over lady fingers and a cup of French press.

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Trollavellan


#TROLL!LAVELLAN#TROLLAVELLAN

I saw this in some of the tags for headcanons from the post I did yesterday.

Is this a thing? Trollavellan?

BECAUSE I AM 100% DOWN WITH THIS

  • Trollavellan where she catches Solas’ spies and has them locked in the War Room with her seated at the head of the table, watching. When she stands up, they shudder in fear, knowing her reputation. They are then surprised as she pours them a cup of tea and has a casual discussion with them about the weather and other inane things. They are released outside of Skyhold with a vague order to tell Solas to try again.
  • Trollavellan that sends random gift boxes to Solas wherever his hideout is, full of clothes for his higher ranking spies, and a new knitted sweater for him to wear under his armor.
  • Trollavellan that sends HUNDREDS of orders of frilly cakes to be delivered right to his doorstep, no returns possible.
  • Trollavellan that allows his spies to ‘overhear’ a grand, over-the-top plan, but in truth when he shows up to put a stop to it, he finds a small wolfpup with a bow tied on top of its head.
  • Trollavellan that writes him daily letters of false plans, allowing his spies to pick them up. The more letters the spies find, the more…risque or ridiculous they are, until it becomes a game for the spies to find the most ridiculous plan that Lavellan has concocted for their master to stop.
  • Trollavellan that becomes best friends with Solas’ best spies, telling them all about useless things that she’s done during the day for them to report back.
  • Trollavellan using that as an opportunity to tell Solas that she misses him and asks him to come home soon. 
The Fault in My Code: Ch. 17

You can read Chapter 17 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 17: One Eye of Love, One of War

           It was the blood that stopped him. The blood, and the way it’d seeped through the denim to stick to his leg and taint it with the ugly discoloration. He was pressed against the doorway to the bedroom, gasping for air that refused to come, and as Hannibal worked the jeans off of his hips, he looked down and saw the blood.

           “No,” he murmured, and it seemed to shock the desire out of him, a cold douse of water to his system. He shook his head, like it could dispel the image. It didn’t. Streaks of blood, faded but still present. A cop, dead by his hand. No, no, Red Dragon’s –weren’t they the same, though? Didn’t Will exist in this form because Red Dragon existed? Weren’t they, in some odd sort of way, two parts of a convoluted whole?

           He wanted to meet Red Dragon. He was sure they had a lot in common.

           Hannibal glanced at his face, then to the streaks that continued down to the top of his calf. He passed a hand along the skin, but the blood was long since dry and didn’t wipe off so easily.

           “No?”

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The Fault in My Code: Ch. 16

You can read Chapter 16 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 16: Two Brown Eyes That Hunt

           The ride was long, and despite the whispers of adrenaline that curled along his wrists and made his fingers dance and twitch along his leg, Will found himself dozing in and out of a dreamless state, head leaned back against the siding of the transport vehicle. The road hummed beneath his feet, and the calm, easy breathing of Lecter across from him was almost hypnotic. With the turning of the road and the silence of his companions, his head bounced and lolled before he’d catch himself and blink blearily around. Whenever he came to, he’d catch Hannibal’s eyes across from him, and he’d swallow heavily. Hannibal didn’t sleep. He kept his gaze fixated on Will, an intent and probing stare that made the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end. He was risking a whole hell of a lot on his confidence in his own self-control.

           His eyes saw better without contacts. He noted the fine dips in the skin just under Lecter’s eyes, the way his cheeks pressed against the mouth restraint whenever he exhaled too hard. Will wondered what it’d taste like to trace his tongue over it. He wondered if Molly was watching the news, if the Lounds article sat at her elbow so that she could read it over and over and over again, obsessing now that she knew who he’d connected to. Oh, Will, she’d sigh. Oh Will. Oh-fucking-Will.

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The Fault in My Code: Ch 13

You can read Chapter 13 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 13: One Trusting Maroon, One Conniving Blue

           Alana greeted him the next morning at his door, before he’d remembered to put his contacts in. Sleep and the ugly stench of alcohol clung to him, even as he took in her appearance with slow, languid blinks of his ugly, mismatched eyes. He didn’t have it in him to be ashamed, at the moment. By proxy, he’d killed a man just a day or so ago. By proxy, he’d almost killed another man a day or so ago. By the hands of psychopaths, he’d kill them all if they weren’t careful.

           “Good morning, Will,” she said, and she met his gaze, her own unflinching. She’d been prepared.

           “Jack send you after me?”

           “He called after you sent two of your security detail to make sure Molly got to her parents safely,” she explained kindly. After a beat, she reached up and brushed back an unruly curl, and her expression softened. “Can I come in?”

           Will grunted and allowed her entry, swallowing the aftertaste of whiskey that perched on the far back part of his tongue.

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The Fault in My Code: Ch. 11

You can read Chapter 11 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 11: One Eye Green, One Black

           There were seven on the SWAT team, and only one of them had mismatched eyes –one green and one black. Much like the military, the psychiatric evaluations were intense enough that Will was convinced of the man’s bearing and mental fortitude without having to actually speak with him. It wasn’t until midnight, when the other squad members went to their appropriate placements throughout the hotel and the buildings surrounding that he even bothered to speak to Will, let alone make a conversation of it.

           “Coffee?” he asked Will.

           “Thanks.”

           Another silence. This one was broken by the occasional sound of cups scuffing the particle board of the end table, the clearing of throats as Will perused Francis Dolarhyde’s patient file.

           “I’ve heard a lot about you,” the man said at last, the beginning of real words. Will immediately missed the silence.

           “I’ll bet.”

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The Fault in My Code: Ch. 18

You can read Chapter 18 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 18: One Hungry Maroon, One Seeing Blue

           It was the lightning that woke him, followed by the peal of thunder that shook the air around them. Will jolted, stared up at the ceiling, then pulled himself out of bed. With the curtains open, the doors that led to the small balcony overlooking the ocean was ethereal, and he let the cool metal of the handle shock his skin awake.

           Unheeding of the downpour, Will stepped out onto the balcony, allowing himself to become drenched. He stared out at the roiling ocean, black with its fury, then to the clouds so heavy with pitch that the space where they ended and the ocean began was non-existent. Something boiled beneath his skin, tempted him to jump. He swayed forward, found himself swaying back.

           He covered his eyes to better feel the rain, and he sighed, the sound just quiet enough that the downpour didn’t let it carry farther than his mouth. He lowered his hands, grasped the rail just in front of him and stared out, searching for something he knew he wouldn’t find.

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Solavellan Headcanons
  • Solas plays music when Lavellan is stressed
  • Lavellan likes to leave notes between the pages of his tomes for him to find by surprise
  • They may start out in separate bed rolls, but by the early morning, Lavellan is tucked into Solas’ bed roll for warmth
  • Lavellan leaves sweeteners by Solas’ morning tea to make it bearable
  • Solas tucks flowers into her traveling pack when Lavellan isn’t looking
The Letter

A/N: This is dedicated to one of my friends that doesn’t have a Tumblr but none-the-less wanted me to post it here. She adores Fenris, and had entirely too many emotions when she found out that I sacrificed Hawke.

The Letter:

Fenris filled his glass to the top, setting the bottle down beside it with a little to much force; the sound cut through the otherwise silent room, sharp and biting. Fenris didn’t hear it, though. He didn’t hear anything. He didn’t feel anything. His motions were mechanical, his actions part of a repetition that took no effort on his part. He took a sip of the bitter wine and swallowed without tasting it.

Fenris,

I don’t know how to write this. Writing it seems like a cheap shot, like it’s not important enough to meet you face to face for. But if I waited until I could see you face to face again, I don’t know when that would be. And this is something that can’t wait.

He stared down in the contents of the glass, the dark and murky liquid that tasted like piss on grapes. But what did it matter? He couldn’t taste it. He couldn’t feel anything. His arms, his legs, his tongue, his chest -numb. He was so very, dreadfully numb.

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“And she’s begging you 

to please come home, 

please come home. 

And there’s no comfort 

on this lonely road, 

but still you take that step, 

still you don’t look back. 

Maybe in time 

you’ll be a memory that she’ll soon forget, 

but until that time 

you’re hearing her cry 

please come home, 

please come home. 

You’re not coming home tonight.”

Steampunk Dragon Age AU

No, but seriously guys.

  • A space time continuum rift opens, leaving the Inquisitor scarred with an odd, glowing electronic pulse that reacts around magnetic fields and during thunder storms
  • Leliana as the lovely, rogue spy for Her Royal Majesty as she blackmails and tenderly threatens those that would harm the crown, favoring a tunic, corset, breeches and fashionably high-heeled boots
  • Solas as the master mind behind the rift, a jaded scientist whose nose is deep into books in order to aid the Inquisitor in mastering the electric pulses that thrum in their palm, all the while wishing to manipulate the rift to open up a parallel universe where he could bring back those lost to him
  • Sera as a street-wise thief who always carries around a hidden crossbow and a newsies cap, who speaks in a thick English accent and drops her H’s while she steals from the rich to give to the poor
  • Cassandra as a lady that shuns her rank in order to work with the investigative department, missing tea time as she attempts to crack down on the underground Lyrium smuggling in the sewers beneath Val Royeaux
  • Madame Vivienne, an engineer and inventor that runs a powerful and elite finishing school for girls, training them all in matters of lady-like behavior and how to adeptly run the court of Orlais all the while inventing and running their own businesses. Dressed fashionably in the latest clothing straight from Val Royeaux, of course.
  • Varric as a part-time pickpocket and a full time informant, running the streets out of a musty old tavern that only sells absinthe and cigars.
  • Commander Cullen, leader of the airship forces of Her Royal Majesty as they chase Admiral Isabela, pirate and thief, across the skies of Thedas
  • Blackwall, a battle-weary soldier, disguised as a Grey Warden, those who fight the automaton uprising, trying to atone for a past of wrong-doing when he was but a soldier following orders and never questioning.
  • Lady Josephine Montilyet as an ambassador from Antiva, a land that dips their metalworks and steam contraptions in gold so that everything in the city gleams beneath the sunlight
  • Cole, a poor inventor’s assistant that was trapped in the space time continuum rift, leaving him partially in one world and another, fading in and out of existence as he does all that he can to help others before his time is up. A body can only last in two worlds for so long
  • Bull, a cyborg created after a horrific incident that leaves the Qunari left for dead. He is repaired with automaton parts, and dons the name “The Iron Bull” after the iron pieces that keep him moving and alive.
  • Master Dorian Pavus, the son of a brilliant engineer whose inventions are less than savory and borderline on inhumane, who leaves Tevinter in search of a place to study his own works and ideas that doesn’t promote violence and insane acts in order to achieve success

Thedas, a land of countries torn in an epic race during the start of a new era, the Age of Steam. Only the most creative can invent the things necessary for their countries to lead the others in matters of technology and advancement. All the while, they watch in fear as the Grey Wardens battle their worst and most horrifying invention: the automatons.

The Savior

Solas, var lath vir suledin 


Without looking back, he stepped into the Eluvian and disappeared.

Lupa trembled on the ground, the physical pain nowhere close to the cry of anguish that tore from her lips. She was aware of the numb, ice-cold feeling of an arm that was fast dying, her blood frantically attempting to breathe life to the limb. It in no way compared though to the fire in her lungs and the stammering of her heart as it beat a frantic no, no, no…

“No…” She choked, and her body shuddered as tears raced down her cheeks. No, he was not gone, no, he had not left her again, no, he was not going to destroy the world, no, no, NO…

“NO!” She screamed, and she punched the tile beneath her, the pain prickling up her arm and to her shoulder. It bit and stung, and so she punched the ground again, her knuckles creaking, her skin splitting, the motions coming faster now, a rhythm of grief that echoed her cries of NO, NO, NO. Bam. Bam. BAM.

“Lupa!” She wasn’t aware of the shouting behind her, but she felt herself lifted up from the ground and hauled back, and she screamed in fury and lashed out, her teeth bared and her eyes wild. The person behind her did not falter though, and they hauled her away from the scene of the crime, from the place where she was attempting to splinter her body the same way that her heart was fracturing and cracking. She shrieked and flailed and sobbed, and Lupa was barely aware of the accomplice that grabbed her legs and lifted her up so that they could take her to safety.

“No! He’s not leaving me again! He can’t go where I can’t follow!” She roared, and creators, it burned on the way out. Her arm was numb and burned, but it was nothing to the wrenching aching tear that made her chest cavity feel like it was going to fall in on itself, her lungs turning to ash as she struggled to breathe. She was bleeding out, her heart was bleeding out, and with every rush of blood it informed her that no wonder she had failed to hunt him because he was the Master Hunter, and she was nothing more than a fool. He knew her steps before she ever took them, and she never had his scent. She never knew him at all.

-

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Angst Night

solasshole said: SOLAS AND LAVELLAN BOTH BEING NOBLES AND THEY BOTH GET IN A HEATED ARGUMENT AND JUST IDK AND THEIR RELATIONSHIP STARTS AS LIKE UGH I HATE YOU AND THEN ITS LIKE LMAO I LOVE YOU BUT I HATE YOU IDK

A/N: I like this! Haha idk, the idea of both of them being nobles in this au type place where the elves run Orlais but it’s not called Orlais, whatev. Imma do this. Probably more than likely an OC-ish Solas/Fen’Harel-type Solas, but we’ll see how this goes.

She was going to set something on fire.

Alright, so not necessarily on fire, but she felt close to vandalism as she would probably ever get. As she paced furiously along the veranda, Lady Lupa Lavellan of House Lavellan was more than certain that her father was attempting to push her to physical violence.

“Is it truly such an awful thing, darling? He is not old, neither is he poor. He will make for a good husband.” Her father stood by the door leading into the house, his arms folded and his gaze narrowed in the manner it did when he was considerably cross about something. Lupa rounded on him, fists clenched.

“An awful thing, father? Awful? I would say horrifying, disgusting, nauseating, abhorrent, despicable, and then perhaps awful, if I ran out of other more colorful words to think of. Lord Solas, father? Lord Solas?” Lord Solas. the odd, stuffy, hermit-type that had the second largest estate in the land of Dales, a country just southeast of Orlais. Lord Solas, who often was found in the library or holding a wall up rather than dancing or spending the evening talking with others. Lord Solas, who took no interest in people unless he spoke of history or lost artifacts. Lord Solas who, upon hearing of her personal fascination with the nomadic tribesman called the Dalish, scoffed and mocked her for her ignorance.

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I think

part of the reason that I love Kylo Ren’s mask removal is that it shows that he is just human. Darth Vader hid a painful and grotesque scarring of the skin and needed help to breathe, so when we saw Kylo Ren wearing a mask, it was assumed that something had happened, or he had some sort of disfigured appearance/sickness/ect. When he took his mask off, it was to someone that he clearly had more than just feelings of animosity towards. It wasn’t to show whether he was hot or not -I personally maintain that yes, Adam Driver is attractive, but whatever, not important to the story at all- but it was to show that he was human. He was younger than she expected, not disfigured or marred by any disease or scarring. He intended to show Rey that he was just another human like her. Someone relateable and real. There is clearly some sort of pull to her, but I’ve also been delving into a lot of fan theories and I’ll save that tangent for another day.

Also, tbh, I think it’d be a little difficult for him to gain authority without the mask while working with the First Order. He’d be going around and demanding respect while looking like the sort of grungy whiny kid that used to smoke cigarettes back behind the school bleachers. Not really a serious sort of face for the First Order to get behind tbh. Without the mask, you see his lip quiver, and you see the uncertainty and fear in his eyes. He looks like he’s about to cry, dammit. The mask takes away what makes him a person, and it makes him a figurehead and symbol instead. You can’t stare a mask down and know whether or not you’re intimidating the person behind it. Not only can he ensure that people will follow orders, but if he ever has bouts of uncertainty or random nudges towards the light, no one will see it. No one will see him.

In that moment, he wanted to be seen. He wanted Rey to see him. I know there’s the whole joke about him just copying Vader, but I honestly have a lot of emotions about that mask and how masks in general are used in writing/cinema to make a point, and I’m incredibly pleased with how well they’ve done with Kylo Ren’s mask. Maybe, now that he’s killed his father and turned towards the darkness completely (as far as we know) he won’t wear a mask in the next movie because he won’t have a need to hide anymore. The person behind the mask is the same as the person that he was trying to be all along. Which really breaks mah balls because my god damn trash son has a lot of explaining to do, as well as a lot of apologizing. But I digress.

Masks in writing are amazing tbh. Symbolism and shit.