#((and dorian's surprised; but takes it in stride all in all))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

At the suggestion of going into town and dropping by the haberdashery, Dorian lit up, his previous weariness beginning to fade away as a smile crossed his fair face, saying, "I think that's a wonderful idea. And I have a good feeling that they'll be open to excusing us early-no doubt they'll believe we're a canoodling couple, eager to walk together and make our plans for the future!"

He supposed, in a way, they were making plans for the future, looking ahead to their wedding-just not the wedding their parents had in mind...it no doubt wouldn't hurt if they learned that he had stopped by the haberdashery to put in a commission for a top hat while out and about, no doubt thinking he and Emily spent a little time window-shopping, thinking ahead...

Feeling reinvigorated, Dorian's smile didn't fade as he found himself actually looking forward to rejoining his parents and their guests, if only because he felt it wouldn't be long before he and Emily could leave the discussion in favor of getting out of the house and visiting his best friend. That alone would give him the strength he needed to power through this brunch...

…though he had to say, he wasn't sure how much more he could coast by on that power; as he and Emily prepared to return to brunch, he commented with a little laugh, "After we get back though, I may need a nap, I'm exhausted-how do you and Randall do it, staying up so late together, and yet firing on all cylinders the next day?"

[monstersandmaw]

If you're still answering dinosaur asks, Parasaurolophus?

Parasaurolophus - share a scene where a character is/gets embarrassed or flustered

I certainly am! Here's a longer snippet of my male elf inquisitor and Dorian from Dragon Age: Inquisition, set in the Exalted Plains among the Dalish elven clan there. No real knowledge of DA is needed for anyone reading it who's not played the game, but a halla is a small, adorable gazelle like creature that looks like this: (also ft. Ciúin the grumpy looking elf). (Hazel is the red hart mount that looks like an elk)

In the distance, Ciúin and Hazel could be seen encouraging a few more halla back towards the aravels. Dorian watched with a tiny smile as Ciúin slipped gracefully from the saddle and picked something up from the grass. A moment later, he had scooped a tiny newborn halla up into his arms and had swung back into the saddle. He walked Hazel forwards, coaxing the newborns mother to follow, which she did, and when he returned to the camp, he took the rangy little newborn straight to Ithiren.  

The halla master checked her over, and beamed a smile at Ciúin. When Ciúin glanced up and saw Dorian watching him, he beamed at him, and Dorian’s empty stomach slipped sideways for a moment. It was so rare to see Ciúin smile like that – truly smile – it took his breath away.  

The elf asked Ithiren something, and then he was striding over to Dorian with the little halla in his arms, bleating pathetically with its unconcerned mother plodding dutifully along at a distance. “Look!” he cried softly, kneeling down in front of Dorian. There little thing was all legs and ears, and big dark eyes, and not much else in between.  

“It’s positively adorable,” Dorian said, not taking his eyes off Ciúin’s wonderstruck face.  

“He,” Ciúin corrected, “And you should stroke his forehead. For luck. I asked Ithiren and he said it was alright.”

Dorian frowned slightly, but set his book down and swivelled slowly off his rocky perch so that he had a better reach. “Is this some Dalish tradition of which I am, as usual, woefully ignorant?”

“Oh,” Ciúin smiled, “Yeah. The first person to stroke the place where the horns are going to grow is said to receive a blessing from Ghilan’nain.”  

Dorian’s heartbeat stuttered and he looked down at Ciúin and the gangly little fawn in his arms. “Ciúin,” he murmured, fingers retracting away. “I… Are you sure this is appropriate then?” He didn’t believe for a moment that if Ghilan’nain were real that she’d want a dirty Tevinter ‘shemlen’ putting his tainted hands all over her sacred creature.  

Ciúin’s lips hitched into a devastatingly lopsided smile. “Go on, he won’t bite you.”

“That wasn’t what…” Dorian grumbled. Feeling foolish, he reached out and gently petted the fawn’s head. It was remarkably soft, and when he touched its coat, the creature looked up at him and bleated joyfully. To his surprise, it floundered slightly in Ciúin’s arms, and raised its chin to expose more of its body to Dorian’s tickling fingers. It wiggled its little tail, waggled its oversized ears, and bleated merrily once more, and Dorian found himself chuckling. “Charming little thing, I suppose, aren’t you?” he said.  

And then he looked at Ciúin’s sparkling green eyes and all the breath left him as surely as if he’d been on the receiving end of a full battle-charge from the Iron Bull. He had never seen Ciúin looking so… innocent, so soft, so… young. Cross-legged, with a floundering halla in his lap, his hair falling softly out of its customary braid at the front, laughing, Ciúin looked carefree for the first time since Dorian had met him. He also looked more beautiful than Dorian could ever remember seeing him, and his mouth went very dry.  

“Yes, well,” he said, giving the halla a final chuck under the chin. “This is all very good and sweet and everything, but I was in the middle of dissecting this fascinating treatise on the decreased efficacy of various forms of Death Siphon in colder Southern climates…”

__

I will never not adore my elf boy and his flamboyant, brilliant mage boyfriend.

[fourthwingingit]

Ties that bind (fatebound)

A poorly done fic written too quickly by someone who just loves dorym more than is healthy

beta'd by @standbyyourmantis

Orym ran to catch up with Fearne’s longer stride. The skyship would be landing any second and a gods damned fight had broken out so they couldn't be early like they both had wanted. Soon, though.

A smile crept onto Orym's face just as the shipyard came into view. A split second later Fearne let out a whooping cheer as she spied blue skin and ombre hair. She sprinted at full speed, Orym running not far behind as fast as his short humanoid legs would let him. And while it was not usually as fast as Fearne’s long fae stride, he used his second wind to overtake her and take a flying jump into Dorian's arms.

The bright bubbling laughter of his surprised friend rang in his ears before it redoubled as a large pair of arms enveloped them both with a cry of "YOU'RE BACK!". And for the first time in a long time, Orym’s heart settled.

"Well hello there! I knew I would be missed but- well this is- this is just so lovely"

"Well." Fearne took a step back, Orym clung like a koala "You couldn't possibly imagine all the things we've been through. I have a statue now, we saw a man about the moon, stole from an annoying man who maybe tried to kill us, unlocked Ashton’s tragic backstory, bought a bowtie for mister that won't burn.... oh and we also found out that Imogen is maybe seeing the moon and some other magickey supernaturally stuff is happening I guess."

Dorian laughed and oh how Orym loved that he could feel it in his whole body.

"Well it sounds like quite an adventure, I already know a little from our friend here." He gestured to Orym, "He gave me updates via the sending stone most nights."

Orym was suddenly very glad that his face was mostly buried in Dorian's shoulder as it turned a slight pink, he hoped his ears didn't blush like his mother said they did.

"Well, I wanted you to be able to come back knowing what had been going on. And now you're here."

Dorian’s arms settled like a blanket around Orym’s shoulders.

"Now I'm here!" He said, his high voice still reverberated in Orym’s whole torso and it was a luxury he still couldn't believe was his to have.

"Don't go again?" Slipped out, hardly audible and completely garbled into a shoulder

"Hm?"

"Oh! He said don't go again. A sentiment I must agree with I mean really, without you there we're just not complete. No you're my people and I stole you from the Crown Keepers fair and square so you should both stick with me at all times. Okay? How does that sound?" Fearne said, with a softly concerned expression on her face that only just belied her anxiety.

Dorian chuckled "I am going to have to leave again, but when Cyrus is on the throne and things are a little less, euuuughhhh, BAD... I'll be back for good"

Fearne’s ears perked up, her fae nature unable to let the opportunity to get exactly what she wanted pass. "Do you promise? Do you swear you'll be with us forever? That you won't leave us again?"

Orym laughed. And, pretending the watery sound of it wasn't there, he said, "Fearne Calloway I do solemnly swear to try to travel with you and Dorian the most out of anyone else in my life. As long as we're on good terms."

"Fearne Calloway I swear. Once I'm done with this, I'll travel with you and Orym again. I'll even stay as long as I can."

Fearne's smile turned sharp and satisfied, like a hungry traveler given just enough to eat before a long trek that would end in a banquet.

"The pact is forged." Her smile was blinding, and Orym felt the outline of his soul being branded, and for a moment it burned like nothing else.

Then he felt a tether, and without opening his eyes he knew he would be able to find the other two on his first day being blind and deaf in a room full of broken glass and tall furniture. He noticed Dorian breathing the same pattern as him, and knew somehow that Fearne was too. Or rather, they were breathing hers.

"You know? This isn't exactly what I meant, but I can run with it."

"Well you offered a contract to a fae! What did you expect?"

Orym smiled as he found he could just barely feel the contented purring of Fearne’s soul against his and Dorian’s, both awash in shock and affection for the fae girl.

[the-tomcat-disposable]

Fuck it I’ll write a RoYo fic myself then.

You can take it as platonic or romantic, idc.

Summary: Roman is an overly-confident, clumsy dumbass and Youngblood is his (un)fortunate companion who got stuck with this himbo. Together they run into various obstacles (literally).

{•}

“Roman, what the fuck do you think you’re about to do?” The elf lectured his… friend? Companion? Who knows, but Roman sure was a special kind of stupid.

“I am going to hug the bear,” Roman opened his arms, “and pray that it works.”

“You’re going to die.”

“You said he looks scared, so I’m gonna let the kid know he’s safe!” Roman yelled back striding towards the were-bear with confidence. Why, out of everyone, did Youngblood have to get stuck with him?

Moments later, Roman was launched through the wall of the barn, landing right on his rear with a painfully loud thud. Youngblood couldn’t help but burst into laughter before drawing his grappling hook sword.

“You alright down there? Never mind, I know the answer,” he paused to sling the weapon toward his partner and instruct him to grab it as he pulled him back into the barn.

“So, what’s the game plan, genius?” Roman asked while brushing himself off.

“First of all, duck.”

“Where?”

“No, idiot,” Youngblood shot back, shoving him to the ground before barely managing to dodge Henderson’s attack, “I meant duck as in ‘that kid is going to pounce you and tear you to shreds.’”

Roman looked at him with those stupidly cute starry eyes once again, “thanks for saving me, again. You’re really strong!”

The elf couldn’t help but flush and stammer; that’s the first compliment he’s heard in a very, very long time.

• • •

Finally, it was over. Unfortunately, they didn’t find Roman’s family sword, but they did manage to get a temporary one from Dorian in return for the magic nail. It was a blessing, Roman insisted, that they made it out of that barn somewhat unscathed.

“By the way, youngins, there’s buckets o’ water in the back,” Dorian gestured, “you two look like you could use em.”

“Roman’s the one that dragged us into this mess anyways,” Youngblood grumbled just loud enough to be heard, earning a gasp from Roman.

“Ah, kids,” Dorian chuckled as the pair headed out of sight, “never stop fightin’, do they?”

• • •

“Damn it, Roman, stand still!” Youngblood yelled, splashing said man with a pail of water and almost missing, then scooping another bucketful, preparing to chase him once again.

They were right behind Dorian’s, in a small shed with a big tub of water and various metal tools and trinkets on low-hanging shelves and a few scattered about the trampled-down, wheat-covered floor; a perfect recipe for pain. Yet, Roman decided to mess with his elven companion and run around like a little kid.

It didn’t take long for Roman to run into a shelf, then proceed to trip on a hammer. Instinctively, Youngblood dropped the pail of water and ran to catch him just seconds before a possible concussion.

“See, you should’ve listened,” Youngblood sighed, but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his face seeing Roman look up at him like a mischievous puppy.

“Thanks, again.”

“I’ll drop you.”

• • •

The sun was setting along the horizon, tinting the wheat field a light shade of blue. The duo was exhausted, but especially Youngblood.

“We should rest,” Roman suggested, “I’ve got a temporary sword, so I’m satisfied for now.”

“Yeah,” the elf agreed, rubbing his neck and sighing, “you should head home. It’s getting dark.”

“What about you?” the ward questioned, “I can’t just leave you out here, it’s cold at night!”

Youngblood shuffled in the grass, “I’ll be fine, besides, it’s not like I can’t sleep on a rock or something.”

There was a moment of silence, before Youngblood felt himself be lifted off the ground and carried by none other than his himbo companion himself.

“Roman, what are you doing?!” the elf yelped in surprise.

“I’m not letting you sleep out here, you’ll sleep on a bed tonight,” Roman beamed, before tossing propping his shorter companion onto his shoulders.

“A piggyback ride? Seriously?” Youngblood shouted, but Roman didn’t let his bitterness offend him, and kept walking.

“Yup! It’s how my father told me to carry heavy things!” the man grinned, “hey, how about making that noise you made before to kill some time?”

“I’m still baffled that you don’t know what singing is…”

“Singing! Yes, that! Can you do that again? I like it!”

Youngblood allowed a grin to slip by, resting his head on Roman’s and humming. Maybe meeting this guy wasn’t too bad if it meant he could finally rest peacefully.

[sassyhobbits]

Yes, another part please!😊

Would That I, part 2

ok, so i have given this HOF AU a title and have a vague idea of where its going. anyway, enjoy this part! its a bit longer than the first one!!

pt 1

~~~

Celaena wasn't sure how long she sat there, curled in a ball against the wall, clutching her chest, and trying to ground herself in a world that had suddenly been swept out from under her feet.

Mate.

It was all that was swirling around in her head. Just that. Celaena Sardothien, half-breed, had found her mate even though she wanted nothing to do with the sort. She had banished all parts of her Fae heritage after the king of Adarlan had butchered them across the continent. It had been so easy to forget that part of herself as she grew but now…

How could it be him? Her mate hadn’t been Sam or Dorian or Chaol but Rowan rutting Whitethorn. Celaena knew enough about the Fae to recognize a mating bond didn’t mean love but… this level of hate? It had to be a mistake.

Mate. He was her mate. Mate, mate, matematemate-

“Are you alright?”

Celaena’s wide eyes slowly lifted from the floor towards the figure standing before her, finding a tall woman hovering with a concerned look on her face. Female, Celaena had to remind herself upon seeing those delicately pointed ears. Not a woman.

When she didn’t respond, the female took a step closer, the torch light spilling onto her face and allowing Celaena a better look at her. Dark, angular eyes and silky black hair left tumbling down her back. She wore the same drab, functional clothes as the rest of the residents of Mistward. Her full lips pressed together tightly as she studied Celaena.

“Are you hurt?” the female asked, crouching down so that she was at the assassin’s eyelevel.

Celaena couldn’t will any words to her lips, not even something mean to score her some privacy. She didn’t deserve this female’s kindness, the concern in her kind eyes.

The stranger swallowed hard, seeming to understand that Celaena was in no position to be answering questions. She placed a hand over her chest before saying softly, “My name is Arya. I’ll take you somewhere you can rest.” Her lips tightened again, giving Celaena a once-over. “It looks like you could use something to eat too.”

Celaena didn’t have the fire within her to argue as Arya began to help her up from the stone ground, wrapping a surprisingly strong arm around her shoulders and guiding her slowly through the halls. She should have been more worried about where this stranger was taking her, but Celaena couldn’t find it within herself to really care.

She was vaguely aware of a few twists and turns down the halls, of curious eyes following her. Celaena got the impression that Mistward didn’t often see new faces.

Arya eventually opened a door and herded Celaena into a small, cozy room. There were a few other females scattered around, lounging on worn couches or sitting in little chairs by the fire. All of them looked towards her as Arya shut the door.

The demi-Fae female didn’t pay the others any mind, leading Celaena to a small seat and urging her to sit. “Leila, could you run down to the kitchens and ask Emrys for some tea?”

Celaena heard soft footfalls and the door opening and closing again, meaning whoever Leila was had followed Arya’s request.

Celaena glanced around the room, observing the other females in there with her. There were two others, both looking towards her with curiosity.

A towering female with dark brown skin took a step closer, nostrils flaring as she scented the air. Her eyes narrowed. “This is the one that just arrived with General Whitethorn.”

Celaena’s heart twisted in her chest at that damned name.

Arya blinked at the new information, about as much surprise as she would show. “What’s your name, girl?”

Celaena hesitated a moment before rasping, “Elentiya.” These strangers didn’t need to know who she was, Celaena or Aelin. It wasn’t any of their business.

Another female with pale skin and a mass of curly red hair came forward, green eyes running over her from head to toe before lingering on her face. “You’re hurt.”

Celaena reached up, running the tips of her fingers over her swollen bottom lip, feeling dried blood flake away. Right. She had forgotten about that. “It’s nothing.”

“Did Whitethorn do that?”

Celaena tensed, fingers curling into fists and looking down. “It doesn’t matter. I deserved it.”

There was pity on Arya’s face. A few weeks ago, Celaena likely would have clawed it out. But now…

The door swung open, a muscular female striding back in with a mug of steaming tea which she unceremoniously shoved into Celaena’s hands.

She held the mug tightly, glancing around at the four females surrounding her, waiting for one of them to say something.

Arya went first. “Well, Elentiya,” she said softly. “These are some of the female barracks. I’m Arya, this is Leila.” She inclined her head towards the female who had brought her tea who was stronger than many males Celaena had ever seen. Her dark hair shifted as she nodded her greeting. Then, Arya motioned towards the tall, dark-skinned female. “This is Sahala, and this-” a nod towards the red-head. “Is Eryn.”

Celaena said nothing, only wishing they would all stop looking at her. She took a sip of her tea to avoid the awkwardness.

“Do you know where you’re staying, Elentiya?” Eryn asked, those bright blue eyes wide and glimmering in the firelight.

Celaena blinked. No, Rowan hadn’t had the opportunity to show her where she would be staying before…

No, she didn’t want to think about that now.

Her silence said enough. Arya nodded slowly. “Well, we have an extra cot in here for you to rest your head for the night. Do you have a change of clothes?”

A shake of the head.

“I have some that should fit you,” Eryn offered. She raised a brow. “I’ll take you to the baths too.”

Celaena didn’t remember the rest of the night, drawing deep within herself. She barely remembered eating, taking a long soak, and changing. The females who offered her a place to stay seemed to understand that she wasn’t in the mood to speak, so they gave her some space.

Celaena was just thankful she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the thin pillow.

It meant she didn’t have to think about Rowan Whitethorn for a moment longer.

…

It wasn’t right.

None of this was right.

Rowan was furious. Beyond furious. That whiny brat, the would-be queen, couldn’t be who he thought she was. That feeling in his chest had to be a trick, a ruse of some sort.

But deep down he knew it wasn’t.

Aelin Galathynius, the princess-turned-assassin, was his mate.

It shouldn’t be possible, not after he had loved and lost Lyria. He had never heard of someone having two mates in a lifetime but… he knew someone who might know more than him.

People practically jumped out of his way as Rowan stalked through the halls. He couldn’t imagine he looked particularly pleasant at the moment, and he already had a shitty reputation here. He figured no one wished to be within a hundred feet of him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rowan knew he had left Aelin alone in a place she had never been, but he had other things to worry about first. Besides, he didn’t want anything to do with her at this moment.

Rowan’s feet led him down towards the kitchen. It seemed of freshly baking bread, and he could hear Emrys singing softly. He entered the warm kitchen, eyes immediately locking on the older male.

“You! Story-keeper!”

Emrys jumped, clearly not hearing Rowan’s approach. He placed down his knife and turned, wiping his hands on his dirty apron.

“What can I help you with, Prince?” Emrys asked, voice soft.

“Have you heard tales of someone finding more than one mate in a lifetime?”

Emrys blinked, surprised by the question. He placed his speckled hands flat on the old table before him, a furrow between his bushy brows. Rowan knew the question would raise suspicion, but Emrys knew better than to go blabbing about the compound.

“I have yet to hear stories of that sort,” the old male said before pausing. “Though I haven’t heard any stories negating the possibility either.”

“So you believe it is possible?”

Emrys shrugged. “Who am I to say, prince? I have found my mate, and I cannot imagine another person out there who I could love more but… the gods work in mysterious ways. Who’s to say that there isn’t more than one person out there in the world someone could be matched with?”

Rowan ground his jaw, frustrated that he wasn’t able to get more of a solid answer. Finding a mate at all was rare… finding two shouldn’t be possible.

And yet, here he was.

Gods, had it felt this intense when he had recognized Lyria as his mate? The feeling in his chest was near-overwhelming, but perhaps time and sorrow had muddied his memories of the female he had lost.

The compound felt much too small. He knew that Aelin was somewhere within these halls, somewhere far too close. He couldn't stay here any longer.

Without another word to the cook, Rowan strode from the kitchen out the back door. The moment he was in open air, he shifted and tore into the sky. He had a destination in mind, and place that would hopefully give him the time and space he needed to sort through the anger and confliction swirling inside of him.

He would worry about Aelin Galathynius later.

…

The next day, Celaena slept.

Rowan didn’t come to retrieve her, hadn’t said what would be expected of her during her stay at Mistward. She was in an unfamiliar land with unfamiliar people.

Deeply and terribly alone.

The females who let Celaena stay with them kept out of her way. Eryn had brought a plate of food to her which Celaena didn’t have to stomach to even look at. She was too busy trying to learn how to breathe, to think, to be, with that strange bond strangling her heart.

Sleeping was the easiest way to avoid it.

She heard the females whispering to one another, saying that Rowan Whitethorn had left the compound in a hurry yesterday without news of where he was heading. Celaena didn’t care. He had probably already given up on her. She would take a few days to rest before she left. She would find the information she needed some other way.

She was vaguely aware of the day turning to night, the females she was staying with all retiring to bed. They all said goodnight to one another. They didn’t say a thing to Celaena.

Her sleep was deep and dreamless. She had been fully intending to sleep the day away once more, but it seemed someone else had other plans.

The sensation of someone watching her awoke Celaena early that next morning. Her eyes slowly cracked open, vision beginning to clear only to find a male kneeled down beside her, far too close for comfort.

Celaena gasped, sitting up straight and scrambling rather ungracefully to the edge of her tiny cot. The male released a bark of laughter at her reaction.

“Come, now. Surely I’m not that hideous am I?” he chuckled. “In fact, I know I’m not.”

He was right, Celaena supposed. The male before her was unfairly beautiful with luminous, dark brown skin, tight, golden curls pulled back messily, and eyes that held laughter in him. His pointed ears and sharp canines showed his Fae heritage clearly, as did the insufferable swagger that seemed to ooze out of his pores.

“What the hell were you doing?!” Celaena snapped, wishing she had a weapon or something. But Rowan had taken those.

“I was studying you. I thought you’d be more frightening.”

“What?”

The male shrugged. “Well, I figured if you were able to scare off Whitethorn so easily you would have fangs or horns or scales or something. But no. You’re just about as pretty as I am.”

Celaena dug the heels of her palms into her eye, banishing the lingering fatigued. “Who are you?”

“You may call me Fenrys,” the male said, standing to his full height. “I’m one of Maeve’s bloodsworn. Like Rowan.”

“And what the rutting hell are you doing here?”

“Since Whitethorn had some sort of important, secret business to attend to, he asked me to come here for the time being.” Fenrys smiled widely. “I’m here to train you.”

[rax-writes]

Enchanted - Part I

Fandom:  The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Pairing:  Caliban x Reader

Warnings:  None

Notes:  I’ve been thirsty for this blond bastard since he popped up in the show, so it’s about time I write for him. // So this is slightly OC, because the reader is a Spellman and it gives some backstory on that, but I still tried to keep it predominantly a reader insert.

As the only trueborn daughter of Edward Spellman, conceived during his very brief, loveless marriage to his late bride, you had grown accustomed to being treated differently. Your aunties fretted over you endlessly, despite being well aware of the fact that you were an extremely proficient witch. You were given unearned, unquestioned respect by each member of the Church of Night, as well as every witch and warlock you met. Typically, they asked you endless questions, being that your father had intended for you to be his successor, prior to his untimely death and Faustus Blackwood’s treachery-ridden rise to the position of High Priest. This meant that you had been a sponge for each and every one of Edward’s theories, teachings, and creeds, as well as his extensive knowledge of spells, conjuring, potions, and other witchcraft.

You prided yourself on being a witch of above-average skill and know-how, although that did not mean you were keen on being subjected to impromptu interviews about it all. Additionally, it seemed as though every single creature you encountered knew your father, which often meant they were twice as heaven-bent on killing you, as he had not been one to take mercy on monsters. All in all, it was rare that you were treated as you – not Edward Spellman’s daughter.

That is, until you encountered a certain self-proclaimed Prince of Hell.

Of course, you had been vehemently against Sabrina entering the Netherworld to save her boyfriend. However, you were aware that her determination knows no bounds, so she’d certainly be going with or without your approval, therefore you decided it’d be best to join her endeavor. Upon entering Hell, you, your sister, and her companions found yourselves on a somber, despondent beach, and a medley of wails filled your ears – which could only mean one thing.

“Wait, so… Hell is a beach?” Harvey inquired dubiously.

“Not quite. Hell is a vast realm, full of a myriad of abysmal regions, and this is merely one of them. In particular: the Shores of Sorrow,” you explained. This new information seemed to distress him further. Theo stood, fear in his eyes as he looked to the cages standing out on the water.

“Guys, look…. What are those?”

“They’re the souls of the damned,” you responded, in unison with another voice. At first, you thought it was some sort of echo, but quickly deduced that it was a separate voice entirely. You turned to see a man standing a short distance away on the beach, and your first thought was that he was so beautiful that he looked monumentally out of place in this dreary landscape. He was quite tall, with lovely green eyes, blonde ringlets cascading around his handsome face, and a body that looked to be hand-crafted by Aphrodite herself.

The visually pleasing stranger held searing eye contact with you as he took a few steps toward your group. He seemed intrigued by the fact that you – someone who was clearly not from Hell – was familiar with your locale.

“They drown as the tide rolls in, over and over… for all eternity,” he elaborated, as your party approached him. He surveyed your sister and her friends, then returned his eyes to you with a charming smirk. “Although, I’m certain you already knew that.”

“Hi, we’re looking for Lilith,” Sabrina stated. “Uh… Madam Satan, Queen of Hell. She’s in Pandemonium, if you happen to know the way.”

“I would be more than happy to assist anyone accompanying a woman of such intellect and ethereal beauty,” the man stated, charm dripping from his voice as his eyes remained set on you. You would not deny that he was easily the most attractive man you’d ever seen, but you were also conscious of the fact that you were in Hell, therefore he was almost certainly a demon – not exactly ideal dating material. So, you merely met his gaze, donning a smirk of your own, crossing your arms gracefully, and giving a slight tilt of the head to wordlessly meet the challenge posed by his advances.

“All blood flows to Pandemonium. Follow the blood-red road where it flows, and there you’ll find the throne of Hell,” he responded, after your silent exchange, as he gestured toward a small creek of blood nearby.

“Thanks,” Sabrina said, nodding. “And you are?”

“We greatly appreciate your kindness, sir, but I’m afraid we’ve no time for formalities,” you interjected. It was just as well, as the man seemed hesitant of answering her query.

“Understandable. Although, I do hope to cross paths with you again,” he admitted, then took a step forward to take your hand and bring your knuckles to his lips, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so. He then turned to your sister. “Never step off the road. It’s clever you’re wearing dead men’s shoes, though… any demon worth his salt can smell mortal flesh a mile away.”

The two of you shared one last, lingering look, then he slowly spun on his heel and returned his attention to the nearby elaborate sandcastle.

“Come on. Let’s go,” Sabrina said, and the five of you made your way to the flowing blood.

After a not-so-pleasant stroll through the Field of Witness, and the Forest of Torment, where you searched with Theo and Harvey as Sabrina and Roz located Dorian’s pestilential flower, as well as an excursion to a hellish version of Sabrina’s high school, you found yourselves in the throne room of Pandemonium. Lilith decided to allow Sabrina to leave with Nicholas, so long as she would crown Lilith in front of all of Hell. She agreed to do so, but as soon as the ceremony began, it was evident that the Kings were still displeased.

“And who do you propose would rule?” Lilith asked.

“Ahh,” Beelzebub responded, and it was clear that Lilith had stepped right into his trap. “All hail Caliban, Prince of Hell. Molded from the clay of the pit itself. Native son of the inferno, born to restore and rule our dark domain.”

To your surprise, the good-looking blond from the Shores of Sorrow stepped forward, clad in a different outfit, one more suitable for Hell, and smiled at your sister. “Hello again.”

“Uh… hi?”

This Caliban explained that he intended to restore stability to the Nine Realms, and ultimately, conquer the Earth to make it the tenth circle. Unsurprisingly, your sister was simply not having it. She claimed the throne as her own, shut down Caliban’s refutation, and decreed that the Infernal Court be dismissed.

As Caliban turned to go, he locked eyes with you. With a small smirk, he stated, “It appears our paths will cross again, enchantress.” He left through the colossal double-doors of the throne room, and silence befell the room, before you all left, Nicholas Scratch in tow.

Upon returning to your room for the evening, you laid in bed, unable to sleep and staring at the ceiling. Although you attempted to steer your train of thought to more important matters, such as how to help the coven and what it would mean for Sabrina to be the Queen of Hell, you found your mind veering back the dashing young “prince.” Aside from the fact that he’s a demon, and that he sought to descend Earth to chaos and enslavement, he had challenged your sister – and that simply wouldn’t do. So, you conceded that you must push your unwelcome thoughts to the side, such as how his eyes made you feel vulnerable and on fire all at once, or how pretty that alluring voice of his would sound in the bedroom…. Hell help you, you were going to need to try much harder than this.

A sudden whooshing sound and a bright light brought your attention to the corner of the room, and as the vortex of fire dissipated, you saw none other than the object of your desires standing before you.

“To what do I owe the pleasure? Here to berate my baby sister some more?”

“No. I am here for you.”

You sat up in the bed, then swung your legs off the side, staring at him quizzically. You noticed that Caliban eyed your attire hungrily, and you briefly thanked yourself for choosing a red silk nightie with black lace trim this evening. Opting to bask in the feeling of him undressing you with his eyes, you stood and crossed your arms over your chest – both to show resolution, and to accentuate your chest. His gaze grew ever more ravenous.

“Speak your piece, then.”

“I wish to court you,” Caliban stated coolly, that smirk of his gracing his lips.

“And why is that?”

“You have piqued my interest. Your beauty is beyond compare, and your intelligence and self-assuredness are both endearing and intriguing. I am quite taken with you,” Caliban admitted, now perusing your bedroom and investigating your elaborate bookshelves. He then turned to you, and in a few strides, he was standing in front of you, towering over you as those enthralling green eyes seemingly bore into your soul.

“Allow me to court you. I vow to do my utmost to make you happy, and keep you unquestionably…” he trailed off, bending down to hover his lips mere centimeters above yours as he finished his sentence, “... satisfied.”

You did not miss the way your breath caught in your throat as a result of his actions – nor did Caliban. It caused his smirk to widen further. Nevertheless, you squared your shoulders and looked up at him with all the confidence you could muster.

“Stand down from your attempted coup d'état of Sabrina’s place on the throne, and I will gladly court you, Caliban.”

“Although my name falling so sweetly from your lips is enough to persuade me of almost anything, I’m afraid that I cannot comply with your request, princess,” Caliban responded. “But, if bartering is the ticket to courting you, then so be it. Even if I wanted to, it is impossible for me to stop the Plague Kings’ quest to unseat Sabrina Morningstar and Lilith, but I can let you in on how they plan to do so, which will allow your sister time to prepare for it. And if the Kings or Lilith ask, you didn’t hear a word of that from me.”

You pretended to mull it over for a moment. If you were being honest, it wasn’t exactly twisting your arm to go out with someone as mind-bogglingly attractive as Caliban, so having the opportunity to do so and help Sabrina certainly seemed to be a win-win.

“I agree to your terms.”

“Excellent,” he said, his smirk changing to a toothy grin, flashing a set of perfect pearly whites. He seemed genuinely thrilled that you agreed to court him. “You may inform Sabrina that the Kings intend to evaluate her progress as Queen of Hell for a short time, and if she fails to meet their expectations, they shall send she and I on a quest to find the Unholy Regalia. Whoever is the victor shall earn a rightful place on the throne, by infernal law. So, I would advise that Sabrina watch her p’s and q’s for the next few weeks, but still prepare for the inevitable quest for the Regalia.”

“Thank you, Caliban.”

“Anything for you,” he responded, taking your hand and placing a kiss upon your knuckles, as he had earlier that day, before cradling it in both of his hands. “Now, where would you like to go for our first outing, little dove?”

“I have heard rumors of a carnival coming to town this weekend. Take me?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Caliban said earnestly, then sat down languidly on the ornate velvet couch immediately behind him, and gently pulled you down to sit with him. “In the meantime, I would very much like to get to know you better, if it would please the lady.”

The remainder of the evening was spent on that very same couch, with the self-proclaimed Prince of Hell. The longer you talked, the closer you grew in proximity, until you were nestled against his side with your legs tucked underneath you, his arm draped around your shoulders. Caliban listened intently as you told him about your life, and he readily told you tales of his own past and answered all your questions. A large percentage of the conversation entailed you explaining earthly matters to the Hell-born gentleman, and he was genuinely interested in all the information you had to offer. It was incredibly refreshing for someone to be interested solely in you – not your father’s legacy.

After a while, your eyelids began to feel unbearably heavy, and eventually, you succumbed to sleep, your head falling onto his shoulder. As Caliban looked down at your sleeping figure, after sharing an invigorating, intimate night of soul-sharing, he vaguely wondered of the possibility of love for a man made of clay.

The warm, fuzzy feeling now forming in his chest was all the answer he needed.

Part II

[theheraldsrest]

“Inner circle receiving/giving gifts”

‘Tis the season, you know? -Cabot

Cullen

 He’s that type of person who has been with a group for a long time, but still doesn’t know what to get anyone. His main gift to people are sturdy and powerful weapons. Receiving a gift, he’s quite humble about it and accepts it, unless it’s from Sera. His favorite gift, though, would have to be receiving a weapon made just for him, a new cloak, or even a box of baked goods from home. If romanced, he’d either still get them a weapon but with etching on it saying “Andraste’s Blessed” or he would get them something so simple, yet so meaningful such as a piece of necklace with a small chess piece tied to it. He's such a mess if you get him anything, keeping it with him or putting it somewhere he can see at all times.

Josephine

 She tries to get everyone such fine gifts: cloaks, clothes, candies, and cakes. She tries to make the gifts perfect for everyone. When receiving a gift, she absolutely adores it, complimenting details and designs, thanking her friend over and over again. Her favorite gifts are new parchment, quills, ink, a new writing stand, and the little cakes from that one shop, oh dear she really should write a ‘thank you’ note to them- If romanced, her gift is all she can talk about for the rest of the day, or if she can’t talk about it, admiring it. She also gets her love their own signet ring and tickets to the opera, "since you loved it so much last time!"

Leliana

Oh she knows EXACTLY what everyone wants, you can bet on it. She knows what everyone is getting and for who and if there is something in particular they want. Even if it’s impossible to get, she finds a way, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t add her own little touch to it, a simple Inquisition emblem for each of her closest allies and friends or even a feather tied to it. Get this woman shoes. Honeyed wine is also a plus. Hums in delight with each gift, thanking everyone, including Cole as she opens a box with a nug in it. 

Vivienne

She does what she believes is a service to the inquisition by giving everyone an outfit that actually looks presentable. If not an outfit, at least a specifically made piece of jewelry for everyone. Get her anything exquisite and she’ll be pleased. Of course, you get her something so simple as a tome of magic, she’ll be delighted and gushing over it.  

Varric

Most of his gifts are jokes. Bull gets a shirt the size of his man boob upper peck, Solas gets a paper smiley face, Cassandra gets ANOTHER fully edited chapter of Swords & Shields, etc. It’s people’s expressions that are the best gift he could receive, he says. If you wanted to get him a gift, look no further than giving him a joke right back. Seriously though, he does appreciate those, along with some new improvements for Bianca, a new coat, or even new boots. He’s a simple man with simple needs.

Cole

Four words: Get. This. Boy. Puzzles. Really, anything is fascinating, but puzzles just seem to keep his attention, to a point where he’ll have other people do it but listen to how they solve it. As for giving gifts, it’s...questionable. Varric is wondering why his son his boy Cole gave him a candy wrapper until he explains that he heard Varric say he needed help ‘wrapping up’ his story and Dorian is trying to contain his laughter when he connects the dots between him having said that he was quite ‘cheesy’ to the cheese Cole left him. 

Solas

Sweet and simple, a small charm that he made to keep people safe. Everyone (including Sera, Dorian, and Vivienne) has a special one made specifically for them, some for magic, some for strength, and some for protection. Politely declines most gifts as he didn’t really request anything, but for some he does keep, such as books from Josephine and a new staff from the Inquisitor. He might have not asked for anything but it doesn’t mean he didn’t want anything. Painting supplies and some old artifacts are enough to have this old man grinning from ear to ear. Especially given to him by his Vhenan, he would be so joyous over such little things and a little surprised over how well his love knows him. You have no idea where he kinds an old ancient piece of elven jewelry that he gives to you as a gift, but he’s very excited to explain to you it’s value and the history behind it.

Cassandra

Someone help her, please. She doesn’t know what to get anyone or what anyone likes. In the end, she settles on just getting everyone war horns. Some appreciate the thought, some are never able to find them after receiving them, and others have theirs taken away immediately because they won’t stop blowing them at midnight cough SERA cough. For gifts, if you want to make this woman happy, just get her some new armor or even a better fitting sword. Romancing her, she actually tries to find something meaningful for you, such as a shield with your emblem on it, sturdier than any you’ve ever used even if you don’t use a shield. You have also come to learn that if you want to steal this woman’s heart, just get her romance novels and poetry.

Iron Bull

Ale. Beer. Alcohol. That’s his gift to everyone. There’s nothing more to say, he just gets every alcohol and then challenges them to a drinking contest. He’s happy to receive armor, weapons, potions as gifts, you know the usual stuff, other than the shirt Varric gives him. Romanced, whatever you give him, he holds it in high honor. A dagger? He’ll use it for everything. A new eye patch? He wears it all the time, barely ever wearing his old one. Armor made from dragon scales? Everyone is surprised to see him trying to keep it clean. As for giving, you have two options. One, he gives you his old eyepatch along with a dragon’s horn, saying he “has his eye on you.” Your other gift is rope, to which he hints at making you his gift later.

Dorian

He’s never really had many people other than his family that he could give gifts to, nor did he want to give gifts that said “I’m doing this because I have to.” So he went with gifts that said “I tolerate you” such as rings that he enchanted himself to help them in battles to come. He would never admit it, but it did bring him some joy to get gifts that weren’t just clothes and jewelry like he usually got. Instead, he took it in stride with everything he received, even the box that had an angry buzzing emitting from it from Sera, her only response being “Throw it downstairs when Egg is being annoying.” If in a romance, he frets over what to get you. Nothing too gaudy but also nothing too simple, he wants you to know that he cares but not make it overwhelming. He finally settled on giving you his family amulet. He jokes about you returning it in disdain but is actually really pleased when you keep it. That said, he’s only very excited when he finds out that you got him several books of rarity that delve deeper into magical studies.

Sera

Those who accept her gifts take it with caution. Most of the time it’s harmless jokes, others it’s close to almost getting hurt The bees, they’re everywhere. You don’t even have to look far for a present for her. Hell, send her a bucket and she’ll think it’s the best thing in the world before filling it and placing it over a door. In a relationship, it’s still all jokes. She gets you a crude model of Corypheus’s head with a dumb expression or her own artistic rendition of her naked body. Anything you get her that is meant to be sentimental rather than joking, she’s all “Pfft, you’re such a lovey-dovey person. You’re gonna make me puke, Inky!” When in reality, she loves it and keeps it on her at all times.

Blackwall (Thom Rainer)

You bet your ass that he made little wooden carvings for everyone. Leliana receives a raven, Solas receives a halla, etc. He doesn’t deny any gits, but does mention quite a few times how he really doesn’t need anything. Doesn’t stop people from getting him new Grey Warden armor or even some weapons. When romanced, he makes sure to add even more detail to the carving he makes for you, little things that only you and he can recognize, such as how he drew a little griffon on the bottom or how he painted it your favorite color. You can see the twinkle in his eye when he sees that you got him some new wood carving tools and/or his own personnel Grey Warden emblem.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Painted - Chapter Two

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was. 10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting. Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would. Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own! Pairing: Dean/Reader Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter Two

He’s back.

It took Dean Winchester no time to drop everything he was doing and go to her. His coffee was left to cool at his desk, his computer booted up, and his case file open wide for the world to see. As he sped down the streets of downtown Boston, he clicked on the siren on his dash.

“Is he in the house? Are you in danger?”

“No. I’m safe.”

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. It had been ten goddamned years, but when he heard her voice he was shot back in time. He’d thought about disconnecting the number dozens of times. He hadn’t been a field agent in a long time, after all. Eight years away from the city, and only one back at the Bureau. He was getting his toes wet - not sure who he wanted to be.

But if Y/N called, he knew where he would be.

Making it to her house in record time, he drove through the already-open gate. She had followed his instructions and called in the break in. Local PD was already on the premises and seeing the squad cars let him breathe easier.

“I’m safe.”

It was why he had chosen the job, after all. To keep people safe. It was also the reason he left. He got out of the car, remembering to take his keys with him as an afterthought and pushed through the open door.

He stopped mid stride when he saw her. It had been a long time, a decade, a lifetime. She wore jeans and an oversized flannel, her Pitbull rested protectively at her feet. Her hair laid wet and tangled, pushed behind her ears as she nodded, talking to an uniformed officer.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his in a moment that completely slowed time. “Dean,” she exhaled his name like a sigh of relief.

“Hi Sweetheart.”

The officer turned to look at him, surprised. “The FBI? Agent Winchester, I didn’t realize you’d be here…”

“Have you taken her statement?” The officer nodded to him, his eyes still wide in shock. “Then I’ll take it from here.”

The Officer stepped out of the way, making room for Dean to go to her. Y/N stood as he approached, her hands flexing at her side like she was actively trying not to reach for him. “You came.”

“I told you I would,” he said quietly.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Her voice broke, her eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He reached for her, capturing her by the waist before she collapsed. He held her steady, lowering her back onto the stool.

“Sorry,” she said breathlessly, holding her head. “Haven’t eaten today.”

Dean crouched slightly to meet her eyes, his hands on either side of her. “Show it to me, then I’ll take you to get something to eat.” He reached up to push a lock of damp hair behind her ear.

“I can’t leave Castiel here.”

“We will take him with us,” he promised, offering a supportive grin. “We will eat on the patio.”

“Okay.”

She took his extended arm and allowed him to support her weight as they walked down the hallway. He didn’t need her to show him where the painting was, he just followed the sounds of crime scene techs talking, photographs being snapped.

“Did you notice anything else out of place?”

“Just the painting.”

One of the officer’s was calling to the prison. It was impossible that he could’ve gotten out, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t have resources to plant the painting. If Dean was sure of anything, he was sure of that.

He felt Y/N tug at his arm at the entrance to the hallway, halting mid-step. He glanced at her. Her pupils were wide and her lips were parted, ragged breaths escaping. “I’ve got it from here,” he told her, his hand lingering on her arm for a beat before releasing her and leaving her standing next to her dog.

Dean made his way down the hallway, officers making room for him like he was Moses splitting the Red Sea. He walked until he saw it, the painting. He settled on her eyes in the painting, delicate, detailed, but expressionless. They were missing the light that made Y/N Y/N, but it captured her likeness well enough.

He’d seen them before, of course. The paintings were famous. He thought back to the twenty-three year old girl who blushed in embarrassment the first time she saw them hanging on a wall. Dean didn’t look at them for her body, he knew it didn’t belong to her. He looked at the painting with the eyes of a detective. It was a piece of the bigger puzzle, just another clue. He leaned in closer to the painting and took a large inhale through his nose. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back any kind of reaction. He knew she was still watching him. They all were.

“Tape off the house,” he instructed, looking back to the techs and officers. I want this entire place looked over. Leave no stone unturned. I mean it. I trust you’ll secure the space, and then leave it to us. My team will be taking over from here out. Johnson,” he said, turning to an officer that he recognized. “Call the FBI field office and let them know the details and that I said I'm taking the case.” His gaze turned from the officers to Y/N. “Let’s get you some clothes. I don’t think you’ll be sleeping here tonight.”

“You read my mind.”

****

They sat at a table on the patio of a coffee shop, Castiel sleeping at Y/N’s feet. She watched Dean blow on his coffee. He looked good if she was paying attention. His strong jaw was speckled with light hairs, his full lips were pursed, blowing on his coffee to cool it enough to drink. He held the mug in large calloused hands. His moss green eyes flickered to her, catching her staring, and she suddenly felt unbelievably vulnerable.

“So, you’re a PI, huh?” He asked, his voice rougher than she remembered it to be.

Y/N shook her head. “Not frequently.”

“Why not?”

She held her own mug between her hands, tapping the lip with her index finger. “There weren’t enough wins. I couldn’t save…” Her voice trailed off and she sighed. “Well, you know what it’s like. So I opened a self defense gym. Preventative measures instead of cleaning up the messes after the fact. I’ll take special cases, and I consult every now and then. They say I have a special eye for it.”

“I suspect you do.”

“What about you, Dean?” She looked back to him, through the steam on her cup. It was the transitional time in Massachusetts when the summer shifted to autumn, and the chill nipped at her ears. “Where have you been the last ten years?” She wasn’t meaning to sound so accusatory, but that’s how it came out - pointed and full of resentment.

Silence settled between them, heavy and pressured. He cleared his throat and placed his mug down. “After everything that happened I was approached to be a part of a tactical team with the military. I didn’t feel I could decline.” Her eyebrow shot up in surprise. “I joined the Marines. I’d always thought about it after high school, it’s what my father did… and after everything that happened... I needed a change.” She watched his fast twist in itself, his lips curl and his eyes drop back to his coffee. He felt guilty for being messed up. She wanted to reach out to him and take his hand in hers to comfort him for that.

“You still answered my call… on the line that you gave me that long ago. Your work line.”

“I never got rid of it.” His eyes flickered up as he gazed at her through long dark eyelashes.

“Why?”

He chuckled low and shook his head. “It sounds insane.”

“I’ve lived insane. Try me.”

“I worried that this would happen… that someday you’d call. Every time I went to cancel it, every year that went by, I just sat in my car in the parking lot and never went in to do it. Couldn’t risk it.”

“This was your case… the one that changed you.”

He grunted, leaning back in his chair. “You sound like you’re saying from experience.”

“Well, it changed me too,” she said with a mischievous grin. His thick eyebrows shot up in surprise. She unsettled people frequently, especially when they knew her past.

“Of course.”

“Are you still in the marines?”

“Once you become one, you’re always a jarhead.” He grinned at her, a dimple pressing into his cheek. “But no, I’ve been out for two years. I got pulled back into the Bureau. They wanted me, begged me to do it.” He sighed.

“You don’t want it?”

Dean’s eyes locked with hers. “It’s been a lot of paper work. Never much wanted a desk job.”

“You’re not at a desk now, agent,” she challenged.

He grinned at her. “When a beautiful woman calls me I’m duty bound to come to her.”

She smiled and peeled her eyes from his. The banter was flirty, light, but it was a Band-Aid taped over a wound that was too close to bursting. “I’m glad you answered,” Y/N said quietly, Castiel nudging her leg with his nose. “It was instinct to call you the second I saw the painting.”

A jolt ran through her as he took her hand in his. He squeezed it gently, cradling it with care. “Y/N…”

She pulled her hand out of his and wrapped it around her mug instead, sipping her coffee. “I can’t.”

“Of course.” He nodded with an understanding that felt unfair, unwarranted.

“Do you think it’s him?” She asked, almost blurting out the question that was sitting on her tongue from the moment she saw Dean again.

Dean sighed heavily and clasped his hands together. “I don’t see how it can be. He’s been in jail for a decade, Y/N.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes stung as fear pressed insistently against her chest preventing her from taking a full, deep breath. She didn’t think it was possible to live this way anymore, she didn’t think she had to. It was like for the first time she’d thought she could breathe easily again, just to get the breath knocked out of her in one swift kick to her stomach.

“As sure as I can be, but not sure enough to not check into it. Never sure enough to not check into it.” He leaned forward, his green eyes intense. “I’ll figure this out. I can promise you that.”

“I don’t know who else would do this.”

“Has he contacted you?”

“Not in years. He gave up eventually when I wouldn’t take his calls or write him back.”

“He wrote to you?”

“Every day for the first year. He’d send me drawings…” She tightened her grip on her mug, her knuckles whitening as a chill seemed to crawl up her spine. “I stopped opening them after the first week.”

“Do you still have them?” Dean asked slowly, carefully.

Y/N was familiar with people walking on eggshells around her. It was no real surprise that Dean would do the same. He was cautious, calculated, a professional. She wetted her bottom lip with her tongue, a nervous habit to keep her from picking at the dry skin. He made her nervous. The situation made her skin itch beneath her clothes, heat rising up the back of her neck. “Yes. They’re locked in a drawer. I’ve thought about burning them a thousand times but I just…”

“Can’t bring yourself to?”

She nodded. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m punishing myself for not realizing. Or maybe it’s a reminder to never let it happen again.”

“I’d like to see them.”

She sat up a little straighter in her seat, her jaw tightening in an expression that she was sure resembled a grimace. “They’re personal.”

“I suspect they are.”

“What do you think you’ll learn from them?”

“I don’t know, which is why I need to examine them. I need you to trust me…”

“I trust you, Dean. I think you should know that by now.”

10 years ago

“It’s inappropriate, Agent Winchester! I gave you orders to wait. She needed to be evaluated, but you went in anyway and now… ” Captain McLeod was pissed, to put it mildly. Her nostrils flared and her eyebrows furrowed as she looked up at him. For such a small woman she was terrifying, and in any other circumstance he would’ve rolled over and played dead like she obviously wanted him to. But this wasn’t any circumstance.

“She's imprinted. I know that’s what the psychologist said. She trusts me. Only me.”

“You can't be her connection, Dean.”

“I have to be. We can’t take another thing from her. I can’t abandon her after everything she’s been through.”

“You aren’t trained in psychology,” she hissed.

“I’m taking pointers from the hospital psychologist. I‘ll take her lead. I’ll tread lightly. Come on, Rowena. This is the right thing and you know it.”

“She’s having a mental break,” his captain said, her voice low. She grasped his shoulder. “I don’t want you to get too attached to someone so unstable.”

He nodded, trying to keep his expression neutral, because if he was honest with himself he would have to admit that he was already attached. How could he not be? “I’ve got this. You can go, I’ll report on what I find.”

She looked at Dean suspiciously, but finally nodded with a sigh. She had no choice but to trust him, and that fact was to his advantage. He watched her leave, before quickly entering Y/N’s hospital room again.

The hospital room was bright, the blinds raised and the light bleeding in. She looked absolutely exhausted, deep purple half moons rested under her eyes. Her hair was freshly brushed, pushed behind her ears, and down. The monitors beep steadily, showing her heartbeat, blood pressure and a dozen other numbers that he couldn’t begin to decipher. The top of the bed was raised allowing her to sit up a bit, and her bandaged arms rested on her lap.

“Dean,” Y/N said breathlessly as her tired green eyes caught his. He could tell even from where he stood in the doorway that her eyes were more grey than green from her exhaustion.

“Hey, Sweetheart.”

“I thought you left.”

“I told you I wouldn’t.”

Her eyes flickered down to her hands where she picked at her nails. “I know you did.”

“I won’t leave you. You can trust me,” he promised, walking to her. He sat in the chair next to her and pulled it close to her bed. She looked so small and fragile in that bed. Seeing photographs of her before the incident was jarring, she looked like a completely different person.

“Okay,” Y/N said, her voice weak. She nodded and sucked in her breath.

“You can talk to me if you need to.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Don’t feel pressured to talk.”

“You’re sending mixed signals, Agent.” She smiled then, it was weak but the spark in her eye wasn’t something he could ignore.

“Yeah, most of my dates say that.”

“Is this a date?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“What? No - of course not. I…”

It sounded better than he could’ve ever imagined, and fuck, he hadn’t expected it to come as soon as it did. She was laughing. “Relax, Agent.” She exhaled, trying to catch her breath. “I was kidding.”

“Sure, of course you were.” His back relaxed again. He felt tightly wound, stressed. He hadn’t been able to truly relax over the last twenty-four hours. Pressure was higher than ever and things hadn’t gotten much better. No one was convinced it was over, himself included. He would have to get some information out of Y/N eventually, but he wanted to tread lightly after all she had been through. Kindness was the least that she deserved.

“It’s over, Dean.” She looked like she was reassuring him. “Right?” Her eyes met him with fear and intensity behind the brave face she was putting up.

“I don’t want to upset you,” he said carefully.

“I’m already upset. Just spit it out already. You look like you’ve sat on a thumbtack.”

Dean wanted to laugh at her image of him, but there wasn’t much to laugh about. He hated this part of his job. Y/N had been smiling a moment before, she felt safe and that wasn’t something that should be squandered or minimalized. It was a big thing. After he told her what he had to say, she wouldn’t feel safe. Not really. “We think there may be more.” ------ Chapter Three Read on A03 Here Tag List:

@lyarr24

@dean-winchesters-bacon

@waywardbaby

@akshi8278

@sexyvixen7

@deanwanddamons

@siospins

@beanie-beebo

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 23

cruel summer masterlist

AN: Sorry if there are mistakes in this. It’s 7k words long (as opposed to my usual 2-3k). We’re maybe kinda getting somewhere? Anyway. I have enjoyed hearing your responses so much, especially as we come up on the end of this thing. Have I mentioned how much I adore you all? All angst to be blamed on Miss Taylor Alison Swift, and not me in the slightest, okay? xo.

Aelin is so completely exhausted. All she wants to do is sleep but it seems her body’s forgotten how. It’s as if every time her eyes are about to close, her brain startles her awake, making her heart race with adrenaline, anxiety spiking and coursing through her body. This must be some sort of sick punishment, she thinks. Around 5 am, she gives up trying to get any rest and gets out of bed. She may as well have a productive morning if she can’t get any sleep. She throws on her sneakers and plays an exercise video on her television, her feet stepping in time with the hip-hop cardio she used to do every morning at home. The familiar moves relax her, raising her heartbeat so she can’t feel the difference between her endorphins and her prickles of anxiety. Aelin is surprised to realize it feels… good. She smiles when realizes she’s found the magic cure for her restless mind today. Exercise. She doesn’t plan on stopping moving until her body gives out. By the time her parents wake, Aelin has finished two exercise videos, gone for a swim, and walked Fleetfoot. She makes a hearty breakfast of fried eggs, bacon and fruit salad. And is skipping toward the coffee machine for her third cup of coffee when Aedion, Lysandra, Evie and Gavin stride in for the day.

Aelin pauses, realizing her extended family’s appearance means she’ll have to go to the park shortly. The park where Rowan is. Her mind flashes back to their farewell embrace, less than twelve hours ago. She wonders what it’ll be like to see him again. Will he avoid her? Will he say hello? Will he pretend like nothing ever happened between them?

Nope. Aelin isn’t ready to think about that. Instead, she hops from foot to foot around the kitchen, skipping through patches of light like a cat, looking for the best sunshine to curl up under. However, Aelin has no intention of sitting and napping any time soon. She skips all the way to the coffee maker, refills her giant mug and hops back, careful not to let the hot liquid slosh over the side. She must look ridiculous, a constant flurry of movement, but she can’t stop. If she stops, she’ll have time to think. And she can’t do that.

Aelin knows her family thinks she’s gone crazy — she doesn’t care.

“Visual noise,” Aedion complains from behind his coffee mug, waving at Aelin’s ridiculously moving body, but Aelin ignores him, continuing to dance around the kitchen, humming to herself as she sips.

“Did you not get enough sleep, sweetie?” Evalin asks her son, and Aedion laughs.

“I have two kids under the age of ten.” He pauses with a wry smile as a well-timed squeal peels through the kitchen as Gavin chases Fleetfoot out to the back patio. “I never sleep.”

“If that’s true, then why does Lysandra never complain about it?” Aelin asks, and her brother casually flicks her off.

“Because Lys sleeps like the dead.”

Lysandra appears in the doorway, fresh faced, her pink lips curling into a grin as she laughs at her tired husband. “It’s not my fault that a pin dropping would wake you up.”

She pushes his blonde hair back affectionately and kisses his forehead. Aedion looks up at his wife with such love in his eyes, it nearly knocks Aelin out. She takes a large gulp of her coffee, and looks down at the ground where her feet move in tiny circles, tracing the tiles beneath her toes. Up, up, and around. She lets her eyes follow the pattern of her foot, practicing tendus as if she’s back in elementary school ballet.

“Do you want to stay here and rest while we take the kids to the park?” Lysandra asks, and Aedion shakes his head and brushes his lips against Lysandra’s hand. Aelin brings her leg off the ground, tapping it lightly to her knee, before placing it down again. She focuses on the position of her turn out and pointing her toes, just like her old dance teacher used to tell her.

“No, I’ll be fine. Just. Coffee, please?” he begs, and Lysandra rolls her eyes at him, but continues smiling. “If Aelin didn’t drink it all. Seriously, how much caffeine have you had? You’re vibrating the entire room. Sit down, it’s exhausting just looking at you.”

Aelin sticks her tongue out at her brother and watches as Lysandra pours Aedion his coffee with two packets of sugar in the raw and a splash of vanilla creamer. Aelin briefly thinks about how Rowan also needs to put a million things into his coffee to drink it – in fact, last week she filled a glass halfway with coffee and filled the rest with milk, and he still said it was too strong for him. She remembers the way his eyes gleamed when she told him he needed to toughen up, and he smiled and just said he liked things that tasted sweet and then kissed her.

Aelin stops herself. She shouldn’t be thinking about that. She and Rowan are over. Finished. He made that perfectly clear. Aelin slams her mug against the counter a little too hard. It clunks loudly against the marble, silencing the room as she finally stills.  

“So, should we get going or what?” Aelin asks, her foot swinging back and forth distractedly. If her movements are any indictaton, she’s not nearly ready, but she needs to pull off the band-aid eventually.

“Are you okay?” Aedion asks, raising an eyebrow at her odd behavior. But Aelin simply smiles and reassures him with the mantra she’s been saying over and over for the last twelve hours.

“I’m fine.”

The walk to the park seems longer than ever, for some reason. Aelin’s heart thuds loudly, beating in time with each step, filling her with unease as she grows closer to the park. When t finally comes into view, Aelin starts to feel nauseous. It’s probably her third cup of coffee that pushed her over the edge into jittery illness, but she suddenly wants to go back home and tell her mom she’s sick. She’s not ready for this.

But before she knows it, they’re at the entrance. She won’t be a coward, she decides, stepping through.

Aelin keeps her eyes wide open, searching for a flash of silver hair, her stomach roiling with knots as her family heads to their first ride. It gets worse with every corner she turns, holding her breath in anticipation of seeing those dark green eyes and wondering what emotion they’ll hold. Her constant anxiety works its way through her body, exhausting her quickly, and soon Aelin needs a snack break, desperate for a sugar boost.

As soon as she’s ordered her ice cream, Aelin is interrupted by a widely smiling Elide. Aelin smiles back at her beaming friend, knowing that she had a much better weekend than Aelin did and not wanting to bring her down. She heard all about it on the ride back home last night. And she assumes Elide and Lorcan went for a repeat as soon as they were off the bus.

“Hey!” Elide wraps her arms around Aelin’s waist, coming in for a giant hug.

“Hey yourself,” Aelin laughs. “You’re in a good mood again,” she quips, and Elide shoves her arm.

“Shut up. Let me be happy,” Elide grins.

“Judging just the size of Lorcan’s hands, I’m sure you’re very happy.” Aelin winks at her friend, whose cheeks flush and her brown eyes sparkle with glee, confirming Aelin’s suspicions.

“You’re the worst.”

“No, I’m the best,” Aelin says with a chuckle, and it feels good to smile, even if it’s not quite genuine.

“Speaking of, how’s your other half feeling?” Elide asks.

“Dorian?” Aelin replies. “I haven’t heard from him yet today.”

“No, you idiot.” Elide looks at her with narrowed eyes. “Rowan. Lorcan said he called in sick this morning.”

Aelin freezes, the nauseous feeling spilling into her stomach again. “He did?”

Aelin’s pause gets Elide’s attention, an Aelin tries to force a mask of calm on. She’s not entirely sure it works. Elide quirks her head to the side, trying to figure out what’s going on, looking like a confused animal.

“You didn’t know?” Elide asks slowly, and Aelin shakes her head as the snack attendant hands her an ice cream bar, but she’s not feeling hungry anymore. “I assumed you would have been there decked out with soup and juice or whatever.”

Aelin gnaws at the skin on her lip and shrugs. “Rowan and I actually…” She breathes deeply and plasters on a small smile for her friend. “We didn’t have as good a weekend as you. We actually, um, ended things.”

Elide gasps, horrified, and opens her arms to hug Aelin as she apologizes. “Oh my god, Aelin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—" But Aelin stops her quickly.

“It’s fine,” she says with a shrug. “I’m fine.” Aelin sighs, her heart beating loudly in her chest as she repeats her practiced words, the ones she stayed up all night rehearsing and repeating over and over in her head until it became her truth. “We both knew it was just a summer thing, and now summer is over, you know?”

“Yeah…” Elide says sadly.

“Seriously, Ellie. You don’t need to give me that sad face. I’m fine,” Aelin repeats again.

“Okay.” She knows Elide is appeasing her, but she appreciates it. She doesn’t want to keep having this conversation. “Well, if you feel like coming out tonight and getting wasted, a bunch of us are hitting the Mason Jar after work,” Elide says. “You’re welcome to come.”

Aelin smiles, grateful at her friend for dropping it. “I think Dorian and I are supposed to hang later, but we could probably come after? I’ll let you know.”

Elide accepts Aelin’s half-committed response with a small nod, gives her another hug and heads off to her next shift.

Aelin takes one lick of her ice cream, hoping it’ll settle her stomach, but it does the opposite. It tastes like chalk in her dry mouth and she struggles to swallow it. She makes it back to her family, getting ready to go on the log flume. She gives the ice cream to her mother instead, who accepts it with a happy smile, completely unaware of her daughter’s upset. Aelin starts to dance in place again, needing something, anything to do.

Aelin thought she’d be relieved to know that Rowan isn’t in the park, but it’s brought her anything but comfort. Instead, she feels antsy that he’s in his apartment and not at the park. She said she’d see him in the park, and the first day, he goes and stays home? Aelin has a distinct feeling he’s not sick and wants to call him out.

Aelin pulls out her phone, ready to text Rowan and ask how he’s feeling, call his bluff. But she knows she can’t. Who is she to judge him for staying home and avoiding her? Rowan asked for space, and her checking in with him on day one is the absolute opposite of that. She’s furious with herself for even contemplating it. Why is she such a selfish bitch? She can’t even give him a single day off from her? Her chest tugs uncomfortably with the realization that he’ll have the rest of his life off from her. Aelin points and flexes her foot and reminds herself that she’s fine. She stands on her toes and plies, again and again, as she repeats the thought to herself.

She shoves her phone back into her pocket and doesn’t take it out again until the day is over.

When she pulls it back out, she’s not surprised to see she has no notifications. She’s been with her entire family the whole day. Who else would be texting her?

Instead of going back down that spiral, she texts Dorian, asking him if he’s still up to hanging out tonight.

He texts her back immediately. What do you want to do? Movie night?

Aelin pauses. The idea of sitting and watching a movie for hours sounds like torture. She needs a way to get out of her head. She impulsively texts him if they can go for a run instead. Dorian’s response is immediate.

A RUN?! We don’t run.

We do now. Dorian doesn’t reply, and Aelin starts feeling her heart pound again with nerves.

Please? Aelin texts again. She’s not above begging. She can’t help but feel ansty as she waits for his reply.

Fine. But I get to pick where we get dinner after.

Aelin smiles and walks home quickly. Dorian is already waiting on their back patio, running shoes in hand when she arrives. And she can’t help but smile.

“You’re the bestest best friend in the whole world,” she says, hugging him tightly, and Dorian shrugs her off, but she sees his pink ears as she showers him with praise.

“Where to?” he asks, shoving his feet into his shoes, and Aelin doesn’t wait for him to be ready to take off through the house, startling her parents who are opening a bottle of wine and settling in for dinner.

“Try and keep up, Dor!” she shouts, winding her way to the front door and taking off down the long driveway.

Unsurprisingly, Dorian catches up quickly. Despite him complaining about running, Dorian is actually fairly athletic. He played lacrosse all of high school and into college, and running comes second nature to him. He keeps stride beside Aelin, who breathes loudly as she finds her pace.

Aelin isn’t much of a runner herself – she danced and swam as her sports, but she can’t deny there’s something meditative about the even-paced tread of running. Her body falls into a solid rhythm, and she listens to the soft thud of her feet on the hot asphalt to center her as they take off into the neighborhood, the sun starting to set behind them.

“So…” Dorian starts, and Aelin turns her head lightly towards him to see what he wants to talk about. He doesn’t continue, so she assumes he’s trying to prompt her into some conversation, but he’s going to have to work harder than that.

“Ace,” he continues, breathing her nickname out like heavy sigh. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” Aelin asks, pumping her arms harder so she can talk and run simultaneously.

“You don’t need to pretend,” Dorian says carefully, his lips pursed. “I know.”

“Know what?” Aelin asks, turning her focus back to the steady thump, thump, thump of her footfall on the street.  

She’s not looking at him, but she knows Dorian is staring at her like she’s the biggest idiot in the world.

Aelin swallows loudly as she croaks out, “How?” And she watches the tension pull at Dorian’s neck and shoulders as he contemplates his next words.

“A little gay birdie told me.”

Aelin stumbles, losing her footing for a brief second, before ploughing forward. “Manon?” she pants, and Dorian nods.

“We’re actually, uh, friends now?” Dorian tells her nervously as he runs beside her. “I’ve been hanging out with her a lot since she’s started dating Nimi. They’re moving in together.”

“I didn’t know…” Aelin says quietly. Sweat beads run down her forehead and into her eyes, and Aelin wipes at them with the hem of her shirt, refusing to break step again as she thinks about all that she’s missed this summer. She hasn’t spent nearly enough time with her best friend. Yet another thing to add to her ever growing list of things to feel bad about.

“You’ve been busy.” Dorian shrugs and blots off his own sweat. “But you’re… not… anymore?”

Aelin shakes her head. “It was just for the summer. You knew that. It’s fine,” she says for the millionth time that day. “I’m fine.”

She watches as Dorian slows down his pace, so he can turn to her fully, his blue eyes piercing through her. “No, you’re not,” he says, and Aelin’s entire body stiffens under his intense scrutiny.

“Yes,” she insists, not letting his slowed pace affect her. She needs to keep moving and moving fast. “I am.”

“Aelin, come on. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter,” he says, becoming more agitated. He grabs at his curly bangs and tugs them off his forehead, a sure sign of his annoyance with his friend. “I know you. I’ve never seen you like this before. You were so wrapped up in him, I’m surprised anyone could pull you two apart. You can’t just end something like that and be fine.”

“Well I did, and I am, okay?” Aelin can feel her pulse racing as she stares at her best friend. She’s always run a little hot, but she never snaps at him.

“I just don’t understand why it ended at all. You’re obsessed with each other and—”

“Dorian, stop!” she hisses as her feet stutter to a complete stop. His lips part in surprise as he stops just in front of her, but he gives into her demands, hands up in defeat as he quits talking.

Her shoulders heave with her heavy breath as she struggles to tamp down her sudden burst of anger.

“Can we please just finish our run and not talk about my no-longer existent love life? Please?”

Aelin knows she can’t handle this conversation. There’s a reason she needs to keep moving, and it is so she doesn’t have to think about this. About being obsessed with Rowan, about being so wrapped up in him that she almost convinced herself she could have him forever. She can’t think about all that she’s lost. Not yet. So, she’ll keep moving instead.

“Can I give you a hug?” Dorian asks, and Aelin shakes her head immediately.

“I appreciate that so much, but… I just can’t, okay?”

Dorian nods, though she’s not sure he really understands what she’s saying. She doesn’t really understand what she’s saying either, honestly.

They pick their feet back up and start their run again, although it doesn’t distract Aelin as much as she wishes it would. Now that Dorian’s poked that tiny hole in her wall, she can feel the sadness start to mix with her anxiety, creating a cacophony of heartbreak seeping into her body. It threatens to drown her in a deadly tidal wave of her own creation.

By the time the pair finishes their run, Aelin is desperate to keep the emotions at bay. She will literally do anything to erase them.

“Dinner?” Dorian pants as he wipes sweat from his brow.

“Yeah,” Aelin breathes heavily. “Where do you want to go?”

Dorian shakes his head. “Lady’s choice.”

Aelin sighs. She doesn’t want to have to make any more decisions right now. So instead, she chooses Dorian’s favorite restaurant. A small Mexican restaurant with cheese coated everything and killer spicy margaritas. If Dorian is surprised, he doesn’t say anything – though he knows Aelin isn’t the biggest fan of the place because cilantro is in literally every dish, and she can’t stand the herb. But Aelin can’t help but think that a margarita sounds pretty damn good right now.

They agree to shower and meet up in an hour, and Aelin takes the time to put on a full face of makeup and do her hair. She needs protection from the real world. If she’s going out and seeing people, she’s not going to be Aelin tonight. She’s going to bury herself beneath layers of hairspray and makeup and too tight clothing. She takes the time to blow out her hair straight, something she hasn’t done since the very first week of summer, and cakes on foundation, dark eye shadow and liner and finishes with a thick coat of mascara. She stands in front of her closet, needing the proper clothes to accompany her non-Aelin look, something to act as armor. She finds a pair of old ripped jeans, which are far too tight, but she manages to shimmy into them, and finishes with a strappy black crop top from her college partying days.

She stares at herself in the mirror, armed with cleavage and sultry eyes, she doesn’t look like herself. And she feels a modicum of relief. She can be someone else and forget her problems. Just for the night.

Dorian whistles when she enters the restaurant, spicy margarita already waiting on the table for her. She brings it to her lips and takes a long sip as Dorian peruses her look.

“All this for me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and Aelin can’t help but roll her eyes at him.

“I thought we could go out dancing after dinner,” she says, quickly swallowing a large gulp of her margarita. It’s spicy and sweet and salty and tingles all the way down as it settles in her stomach. She knows dancing is a long shot – Dorian hates dancing. In public, at least. He can’t stand the bad club music and overheated floors and gaudy lights and overpriced drinks. It’s not his environment; he’d rather do karaoke at a dive bar any day of the week, but Aelin is desperate to keep her endorphins up. Karaoke just won’t cut it.

“Dancing?” He looks put out, and Aelin crinkles her nose at his frown.

“Yeah, you know. Loud music, sweaty bodies, dimmed lights, more drinks...” “I hate dancing,” Dorian scoffs. Aelin is undeterred by his less than enthusiastic attitude, already prepared for his pushback, as she grabs a chip and dunks it into the bowl of salsa between them. “You do not,” she says, exasperated with her best friend already. “You’re just a music snob. But once we get enough liquor in you...”

She lifts up her margarita, already half empty, and Dorian finally cracks a smile. She’s breaking through to him. She knew she’d be able to. Knew the restaurant would help bribe him. “Elide texted me about drinks?” he says, and Aelin sighs. She knew she should have just told Elide they couldn’t come. “Why don’t we just get drunk at The Mason Jar with everyone else.” “Because there’s no dance floor at MJ’s. Pleasseee?” Aelin begs. “Are you going to yell at me again if I tell you you’re acting a little manic?”

Aelin pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. She knows she is. She’s been chasing an adrenaline high all damn day – running and twirling and skipping from activity to activity, unable to stop moving. She can’t think about what happens when the endorphins fade. “I just. Want to dance. Please, Dor. Please.” She pauses and waits for him to answer, hoping against all hopes she can get him to agree to dancing. She knows it’s a long shot, but she’s willing to do anything at this moment to get him to agree .

“If we go dancing, then will you actually talk to me about you?”

Ugh. Anything but that.

“Tomorrow?” Aelin asks, hope blooming in her chest that she can push those feelings off for another day – or ideally until she’s back home in Adarlan and completely alone, and Dorian frowns again.

“Let’s eat first and then decide how we’re feeling,” he says.

Aelin isn’t completely happy with his answer but agrees. She’ll never get him to agree if she pushes too hard.

Instead, she asks him about the last few weeks. She wants to be informed about everything. What has he been up to? How did his friendship with Manon form? What have they done together?

Aelin listens closely as Dorian launches into his stories of what he’s been doing with Manon, following every word as he describes their adventures around Terrasen. He tells her about their time at the brewery and getting free drinks all night because Manon and Nimi convinced the bartender they were newlyweds. And how Manon let him bleach her hair, and he ended up bleaching his arm hair by accident. He pulls up his sleeve to show the evidence, and Aelin cackles wildly at the orange tinted hair on his arm. Dark hair doesn’t bleach well without toner, he explains, causing Aelin to laugh hysterically again.

It feels so good to laugh. Dorian can tell and continually tells her stories, one progressively more absurd than the other. By the time he’s explaining the first time Manon wing-manned for him, and picked up a dude, because she “just assumed,” Aelin is having a hard time breathing through her giggles.  

“But you do like dudes,” Aelin says through her laughter.

“Yeah, but only on occasion! And I can’t believe she even didn’t ask.”

Aelin laughs at her best friend, who is clearly acting put out to get her to laugh more. She appreciates his efforts.

“You still hooked up with him, though, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dorian says with a fiendish grin. “He was hot.”

Aelin smiles so widely she feel like her face might crack. “I missed you, Dor.”

He runs his hand through his dark curls and bats his dark lashes at her overzealously. “Yeah, yeah. Me too.”

Aelin bites her lip as she begins to launch into her one last plea for dancing, but it turns out to be unnecessary.

“Alright, to Red Square?” he asks, and Aelin squeals with glee.

“Are you sure?” she asks, wanting Dorian to have a good night, too. “You could invite Manon if you want.” Dorian raises an eyebrow at the suggestion. “Won’t that be a little weird?” “No, I already told you, it’s fine. I’m—“ “You’re fine, yeah. I heard you.” She knows he doesn’t believe her, but as long as he’s willing to go dance with her, she doesn’t particularly care. He bites his lip and Aelin smiles, knowing he’s convinced.

Dorian shoots off a quick text to Manon, who replies quickly that she’s at drinks with Elide – of course, Aelin should have known – but that if they get drunk enough, she’ll be happy to watch Dorian make a fool of himself on a dance floor.

“I like her,” Aelin snorts as she links her arm with Dorian, who pulls her close and kisses the top of her head. Her heart stutters as she thinks of all the times Rowan ghosted his lips across her hair and forehead; his favorite spot to kiss. But she shakes it off quickly, thinking about all the liquor she’s about to consume. She’s ready to have her mind erased. There’s exactly one dance club in all of Terrasen — a Russian vodka bar with a cramped dance floor in the back, where barely twenty people can smush their bodies against each other like sardines, swaying to the bad DJ playing hits from five years ago. Just ever so out of touch. They’re famous for their signature cocktail. The nanotchka. A sugary combination of strawberries, champagne and vanilla flavored vodka. They taste like candy but are seriously lethal.

Aelin immediately orders three.

Dorian lifts an eyebrow. “Manon isn’t coming for a little while yet…”

Aelin smirks and picks up the drinks off the bar. “I know. These are both for me.”

She wiggles her hips as she slurps down half of the strawberry concoction, feeling it warm her immediately. Dorian laughs and grabs the third one for himself, watching Aelin throw back the first drink in record time.

“Dance time?” she asks, feeling looser and lighter already.

Dorian holds out his hand for Aelin to lead the way, and she makes her way from the empty front bar to the back room, which is already pulsing with heavy bass and flashing colored lights.

“I love this song,” she says, traipsing onto the dance floor. Bodies part for her and Dorian, making room for them as she slides into the middle, hips swaying with the steady thrum of the bass. She closes her eyes and lets the music flow through her. With Dorian next to her, she feels safe enough to let loose. She sways happily to the music, sipping at her second drink just enough to keep it from spilling. He matches her pace, grinning at her as she sings along to the song blaring overhead.

We're all here -- the lights and boys are blinding We hang back, it's all in the timing It's poker, he can't see it in my face But I'm about to play my Ace

Dorian spins her around, and she whirls in a circle, her hair spinning around her shoulders as she continues to sing too loudly for the small dance floor.

Baby, we're the new romantics Come on, come along with me Heart break is the national anthem We sing it proudly We are too busy dancing To get knocked off our feet Baby, we're the new romantics The best people in life are free

Her heart swells with the lyrics, singing her affirmations. Before she knows it, her second drink is empty, but Dorian replaces it with a third quickly.

Some time between her second and third drink, Aelin’s head starts to swim, and her body floats away. She’s no longer in control of her limbs – she’s just moving. A body unto someone else. Three quarters vodka, one quarter sweat. And one hundred percent unencumbered by feelings. This is exactly what she wanted. She’s almost forgotten about the persistent painful tug against her chest. Almost.

Aelin is completely wasted by the time Manon arrives with Nimi. She knows they’re not exactly friends, but she can’t help running off the dance floor to greet them with big smiles and hugs. She throws her arms around Manon’s shoulders, stumbling slightly into the tall blonde. They both sway momentarily while Manon regains her balance, but Aelin barely notices, as she moves onto greeting Nimi.

“Whoa,” Manon mutters under her breath at Aelin’s forceful hello.

“You both need drinks!” Aelin chirps, and insists that she get their first round, despite their insistence that they can’t stay for that long. Aelin shushes them and promises the nanotchka will change their lives.

At the bar, Aelin orders another round, and feels someone pressing into her, trying to get to the front. She attempts to move to the side, but the hand on the small of her back just shifts to her hip as she moves. She looks up into the eyes of a tall man with shaggy brown hair and blue eyes. He’s looking at her like he knows her, but she can’t place him.

“Well, well, well, never thought I’d see heiress Aelin Ashryver at Red Square,” he chuckles darkly, and Aelin sways on her feet and narrows her eyes, trying to remember the man in front of her.

“Do I know you?” she finally asks, trying to gather her drinks quickly, but she’s much drunker than she initially thought, because she knocks one over immediately, spilling it all over the bar.

She apologizes to the bartender, but the man in front of her smirks and offers to get her another.

“No, it’s fine,” she says quickly. “I probably don’t need another one anyway…”

And it’s true. As Aelin looks up, she realizes the floor is tilting slightly. She forgot how strong these drinks were. She definitely should have paced herself more.

“Cairn,” the man finally says, and Aelin struggles to remember why that name sounds familiar. “I’m a friend of Sam Cortland’s,” he clarifies. “We met briefly at his party.”

The main thing Aelin remembers of that night is kissing Rowan under a streetlight and how handsome he looked. Everything else was a blur. She shivers and grabs the remaining two drinks, trying to steady herself enough to walk back to the dance floor.

“Right. Well, my friends are waiting,” she says, motioning back to the dance floor, and he finally releases his grasp on her hip.

“See you out there,” he says with a wink, and Aelin can’t walk away fast enough. Even wasted, she knows that guy gives off bad vibes. She finds Manon, Nimi, and Dorian, who have taken their spot in one of the booths, which surround the dance floor.

Dorian pouts upon seeing her two drinks. “None for me?”

“I could only carry two!” she says with a laugh. “Now, who’s coming to dance with me?”

She braces herself on the side of the table and pointedly looks at her friends, but they all avoid her.

“We really are leaving soon… our ride is on the way,” Manon explains, and Dorian grimaces as he pleads a break. His feet are tired. He’s sweaty, and he’s almost ready to leave, too.

Aelin looks at her phone. It’s already after midnight, somehow. She asks Dorian to give her twenty more minutes of dancing, and then they can head out. He nods and says he’ll be waiting at the table for her whenever she’s ready to go.

Aelin slides between the mess of sweaty bodies, finding her place on the floor again. She doesn’t go all the way to the center, wanting to be able to flag down Dorian, should she need him. But, she gives into the music again and starts moving.

Her drunk feet barely leave the ground as she flails her arms and hips. She thinks that’s safest. But she lets herself ascend again. After a few minutes of moving, she feels someone’s hands on her hips as a warm body presses against her back.

She stiffens as she looks over her shoulder and sees a leering Cairn, trying to look down her shirt. She expertly spins out of his arms, and takes a step away to keep dancing alone, but he follows her, undeterred.

“What are you doing?” she shouts over the music.

“Dancing with you,” he says, his hands reaching out to grab at her waist and pull her into himself again. She can feel him hard against her, and Aelin is completely disgusted. Her head swims as she tries to regain her senses, but she’s too drunk, too out of control, and she’s not strong enough to pull out of his grasp as he moves their hips together, his erection poking into her stomach uncomfortably.

“I want to dance alone,” she says, trying to extract herself again, but his fingers are hooked into her belt loops, and Aelin is stuck. She looks over to Dorian’s table, trying to get his attention, but the table is empty. Her heart pounds, suddenly feeling very alone and unsafe and abandoned.

“No one who’s dressed like you are right now wants to dance alone,” Cairn says and dips his head to her bare shoulder. He skims his nose against her skin, and Aelin focuses and pushes against his chest as hard as she can. He barely moves. “Sam told me you were a little tease,” he sneers, and Aelin starts to feel sick.

“Just, leave me alone, please,” she begs, her eyes darting around the room for Dorian or Manon or Nimi. Where did they go? She’s way too drunk for this. Her heart pounds wildly, and not just from the hours of dancing she’s done.

“I don’t think I will,” he says, letting his hands slide down her thighs and grope her ass.

She’s about to shove him again when she’s pulled back aggressively, whipped out of Cairn’s grasp by two strong arms. She stumbles back into her savior and immediately feels warmth creep up her back and neck. She knows his grasp before she even spots his face or hears his voice over her shoulder.

“She said to leave her alone,” he says lowly, and Aelin can’t help but look over her shoulder at her silver haired protector. Part of her thinks she’s dreaming, until she sees the coldness in his green eyes waver when he looks down at her. His anger hardens again as he looks back at Cairn, and she trips over her feet again. The floor is definitely not even, Aelin decides as she stumbles back into Rowan’s chest. His grasp steadies her, and she can’t help but relax into it slightly.

“Who are you?” Cairn sneers. “Her boyfriend?”

“No,” Rowan sighs. “Not her boyfriend.” Aelin can hear the pain behind his exasperation. It’s enough to shatter the walls she’s attempted to keep in place all day, and she can feel tears start to prick at her eyes. God, she’s so, so stupid. Here he is, still saving her. Always saving her.

“Well, then, fuck off and mind your own business,” Cairn says, reaching for Aelin again. Aelin pushes backwards, away from Cairn, and Rowan pulls her with him as he takes a giant step back.

“There you are!” Dorian calls, jogging up beside her. Rowan immediately releases Aelin, and she feels the loss of his warmth acutely, despite Dorian wrapping his arm over her shoulders. “Hey Cairn,” Dorian coos at the sleazy man in front of them. “Should have known you’re the type to prey on drunk girls.” He stares at him, waiting for a comeback, but Cairn stays, staring. “I think you’re done here,” Dorian says again, firmly, and Cairn finally rolls his eyes and stalks back onto the dance floor.

“Are you okay?” Doran asks, looking her over, and Aelin nods, but she can’t help but be distracted by Rowan’s hovering presence.

“I thought you were sick,” Aelin says, and Rowan’s shoulders stiffen as he looks down at her, his face unreadable.

“I figured I was allowed to play one day of hooky.” He pauses. “Is that a problem? You’re not going to tell your parents and get me in trouble, are you?”

Aelin’s brow furrows. “No, of course not,” she mumbles, suddenly feeling nauseous on top of everything else. The wall crumbles in front of her, and pain rushes in, knocking her senseless. “I’m sorry…” She tries to look at Rowan, really look at him, but her head is swimming, and she can’t stand up straight. She slumps against Dorian, who holds her up.

“Let’s get you home,” Dorian says, leading her out of the bar, but Aelin can’t focus on anything except for the slight warmth coming from Rowan’s body, just inches away.

She ignores Manon and Nimi’s concerned looks as Rowan piles them into the cab of his truck. Rowan pauses, staring at them. Aelin wonders what he’s thinking.

Dorian speaks up. “We’ll be fine. Our Uber is already on its way.”

Aelin wants to apologize again, but she can’t say anything. All she can do is watch as Rowan slams his truck door shut and drives off, leaving Aelin slumped against Dorian, her head pounding and her stomach clenched.

The Uber arrives quickly, just as Dorian said, and he pulls her in after him. The Uber driver chats aimlessly with Dorian as Aelin leans against his shoulder. She tries to breathe steadily, but all she can see is Rowan’s angry face, and all she can feel is her broken heart.

At first, just a small tear falls down Aelin’s cheek, but she wonders what she’s fighting it for. Her shaky breath gives way to a loud cry, and she shocks the entire car when a sob rips out of her chest, and her shoulders heave as she lets out her tears. What is her problem? Why did she do this to herself?

She needs to apologize to Rowan, needs to tell him how much she cares about him, how much she wants to be with him. But, she has no idea how to make that future work. She thinks about giving up her life in Adarlan and staying in Terrasen with him for the first time ever. What would that even look like? She has no idea what she wants to do with her life, still. And even if she decided to do that, would Rowan even have her anymore? Her heart splits painfully as she tears herself apart. Sobs wrack through her body as her shoulders heave with the weight of her sadness.

She briefly hears the Uber driver ask Dorian if she’s okay, and she holds up her hand, repeating her mantra over and over – “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

But she and Dorian both know it’s a lie. She’s not fine. She hasn’t been fine since she pushed Rowan away. And for what? To make them both miserable?

She wants him. No, she needs him. So fucking badly. She can’t imagine feeling this empty hole in her chest for the rest of her life. She needs to figure out how to fix it. She just doesn’t know how. She ruined everything.

Aelin’s tears don’t stop, even as Dorian leads her up the stairs of her house and sits her down in her bathroom to wipe away the caked streaks of mascara from her cheeks. He pours her a large glass of water and helps her change into her favorite shirt of Rowan’s to sleep in. Aelin is infinitely grateful when he curls beside her in her bed, without her having to ask him to stay, as her tears continue to pour down her face.

“I’ll take that hug now,” she whispers, and Dorian doesn’t wait a second before wrapping her up into his tight embrace. He rubs at her back and lets her cry it out.

“I don’t know what to do, Dor,” she says, her voice cracking. “Every second I’m not with him I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Her tears fall in earnest again, dampening her pillow.

“You’re so dramatic,” he chuckles, pushing her tear dampened hair off her cheeks.

“I leave in five days,” she cries, and Dorian hugs her tighter.

“You’ll figure it out,” he says. She nods, not sure that’s true, but she’s grateful for her best friend. He stays with her, smoothing out her hair and whispering hushed affirmations until Aelin finally falls into a fitful sleep.

~*~*~*~

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters – ask me HERE

tag list:

@thewayshedreamed​

@b00kworm​

@alifletcher2012​

@aknymph​

@the-third-me​

@mymultiversee​

@superspiritfestival​

@empress-ofbloodshed​

@http-itsrebecca​

@queen-of-glass​

@but-she-was-aelin-galathynius​

@westofmoon​

@rowaelinforeverworld​

@iliketoasterstrudels​

@bamchickawowow​

@hizqueen4life​

@faerie-queen-fireheart​

@giorgia-the-trashpanda​

@acourtofmoonlight​

@m-like-magic

@rolltide7​

@wordsafterhours​

@amren-courtofdreams​

@alserath​

@tswaney17​

@jesstargaryenqueen​

@joyceortiz13​

@itsme-malin​

@aesthetics-11​

@keshavomit​

@yingyingbearbear

@alxanxah​

@but-she-was-aelin-galathynius​

@minaidss​

@meowsekai​

@deepdarktrashhole​

@samotita​

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​

@ehazzard7​

@cursebreaker29​

@flourishandblottsx​

@maastrash​

@nishlicious-01

@sailorsassley​

@aelin-queen-of-terrasen​

@anunforseeablereader​

@galyxsy​

@greatwombatblaze​

@queenofbumblebees​

@kaitlynn1216​

@januarystears​

@officialasianbitch​

@jewel334​

@justgiu12​

@df3ndyr

@l0sts0uls1128​

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

@annejulianneh111

@readstudyhike

@sjmships

@studyliketate​

@iammissstark​

@maybekindasortaace​

@dean-winchesters-impala-1967

@heirofthenightcourt​

@sleeping-and-books

@acourtofmarauders

@cmoff1

@stardelia

@alyx801​

@verryberriess

@viajandosinalas

@grace-k-sterling

@tottenhamboys20

[thoughtsaboutshows]

A Different WIP Wednesday: Behind Closed Doors

This isn’t exactly a WIP but it is a completed scene from an abandoned (for now) collection of Nabrina missing/extended scenes from the show.  This one is from the end of Part 2! 

The dress was uncomfortable.  It was beautiful and while she didn’t mind a collar or a plunging neckline, the gold threaded dress she was currently wearing was itchy.  And the fact that Lucifer had picked it out for her made her want to rip it off even more.  She knew she couldn’t though, the literal world was depending on her to pull this off. 

So she slipped on the gold shoes as well and played with the mask, contemplating waiting to put it on until she got there.   They were all waiting for her downstairs and she knew Lucifer was waiting for her too at the Academy.  She could picture his smug smile while sitting atop his throne of skulls, believing he’d won.  But he hadn’t, not yet at least.  

She’d attempted a Hail Malphus pass in trying to stop her Aunt’s wedding.  She and Nick had worn another glamour and it had gotten them both expelled.  But this was even more of a risk, more of a last ditch effort to keep Satan himself from destroying the Earth.  From keeping herself from becoming the Queen at his side, and his child bride?  Her stomach churned at the thought.  His face had been dripping with victory when she’d tried to defeat him at the stone altar.  Heaven, his bragging eyes had even been present when she showed up at Dorian’s and he revealed his master plan.  He’d nearly jumped with glee when Nick appeared from behind the curtain, finding joy in the tears that were running down both their cheeks and enjoying that their relationship was in ruins.  In Lucifer’s mind, it was one less tie his daughter had to the world she loved so much.

Nick hadn’t given up there though, showing up in her room hours later begging for forgiveness, for her to see his love for her had been true despite what the Dark Lord had tasked him to do.  

Fix the Acheron and maybe I won’t hate you for the rest of my life. 

That’s what she had said to him.  But it couldn’t have been farther from the truth.  Hate him?  She couldn’t.  That’s why his betrayal had hurt so much.  It had cut a deep gash in her heart that he had mended after her breakup with Harvey.  It had made her question everything since he’d sat with her at lunch, which Nick claimed he’d done out of his own volition and sheer awestruck reaction to seeing her for the first time.  She wanted to believe that, and she guessed a part of her did or she wouldn’t have let him help.  Her trust in him was shaky at best.  She was unwilling to allow him to be the one to help her zip up that uncomfortable dress or clasp her shoes.  But she could trust that he was smart, and a damn good warlock.  So she handed over the Acheron and sent him away to work on it.  

He’d taken it in stride, accepted it as the tiniest of olive branches.  If he couldn’t hold her hand at least he could work on something to hold the Dark Lord.  He found a quiet room in the Mortuary and went to work immediately, putting all he had into it.  His heart had plummeted into his stomach, making him nearly lose his lunch when the Dark Lord told Sabrina of his plans.  It was nothing he’d expected, and thought his devotion had to do with guiding a wayward witch to sign the book of the beast.  Now he knew he played a role in the end of the world.  He didn’t care much about that, meaning what he said to Sabrina in her kitchen.  He only cared about her and it was Lucifer’s statements about her ruling by his side that had Nick fuming the most.  That’s what had kept him working furiously on the Acheron, hands shaking and mind racing as he said all of his spells.  

As the time drew nearer, and really it wasn’t enough time but it had to do, they all met in the Mortuary foyer before walking over to the Academy.  Sabrina was in her gold dress and everyone else wore their demon glamours; it would be quite the show.  Nick kept his distance from her, his entire focus trained on the Acheron still in his hands as he continued to mutter spells despite the fact that they were nearly leaving.  She took note of how he looked at it, eyes almost begging for it to work.  His entire face was furrowed in concentration, but it wasn’t the cute kind she’d admired when he’d perch on her bed studying or they’d research in the Sanctum.  Back then she could swoop in and kiss his lips or his jaw and it’d draw a chuckle from him and he’d be willing to take a break.  This concentration was desperate, and Sabrina knew without a doubt that desperation was for her.  

She also knew that she could try and kiss him all she wanted, and he’d still be working on that damn Acheron.  Because that is what would save them all.

Save her.

Still her feet that wore the uncomfortable heels couldn’t move in her uncomfortable dress to go to him.  It seemed too big a task in that moment, like facing down Nick was scarier than facing down the Dark Lord.  

Yet when they finally started the journey to the Academy, her mask in hand because she couldn’t bring herself to add another uncomfortable gold item to her outfit just yet.  She found her gazes darting to him and her footfalls falling into step with his.  Even when it seemed they were miles apart, they were in sync.  He caught her looking nearly every time, having stolen some looks of his own.  He could sense she was a little scared, his fearless girl.  

Except she wasn’t his anymore, he’d lost her.  She didn’t lose him though, she never would.  He’d tied himself to her long before Lucifer came calling.  She didn’t believe that right now but that didn’t really matter.  All that mattered to Nick was that she got through this, that she wasn’t forced into a role she didn’t want and that she survived.  And if his tie to her tethered him to a sinking ship or disaster, he’d hold on tight because it’d be worth it.  Because she’d be above the surface breathing another day.  

Her heart tugged to walk by him, take the Acheron out of his shaking hand and so it could hold hers instead.  But her head kept her in between her Aunts with her eyes forward, avoiding his dark eyes for the rest of the trip.  She knew how easily she got lost in them.  

Her eyes stayed ahead but her thoughts continued to drift to him.  She kicked herself for using the time she should be preparing to dwell on her boyfriend, her ex-boyfriend?  She wasn’t sure what they were anymore, but what she did know was that the story of them wouldn’t stop replaying in her mind.  She begged and prayed anyone left out there that it wasn’t all a lie.  She didn’t think it was even possible to fake the glint he’d had in his eye when he asked her to the Valentine’s Dance.  Or how his smile emphasized the curl of his tongue against hers when he’d kissed her properly for the first time.  Not that their stage kiss hadn’t felt real all on its own.  She hoped that he’d meant it when he toasted to her future as a High Priestess of the Church of Night.  And they hadn’t spoken of it, but what business would he have had lying to his familiar when he yelled out that he loved her, trying to get Amalia to spare Sabrina.  The same broken pleading was in his voice when he kneeled in front of her and told her he really did fall in love with her.  

And in return she spat in his face.  

It seemed deserved at the time, and it might have been.  But as her footsteps brought her closer to the Academy, she’d wished she’d have told him she loved him too, thrown the Dark Lord’s devotion right back in his face with a grab of Nick’s hand.  

Because she was pretty sure she had fallen in love with him right back.  

Nobody wasted any time when they climbed the steps to the Academy.  Zelda led the charge in search of Lilith and next steps.  Nick passed the Acheron to Ambrose as he walked by, shooting it one last inspecting look.  

Nick and Sabrina somehow found themselves alone on the steps in the back of the line, and he stopped her from going in with two gentle fingers on her arm.  If she was surprised she didn’t show it.  In fact, she looked almost relieved he had done it.  

“Sabrina.”  Nick started.  His voice sounded like gravel, rough and painful.  He reached out and his fingertips grazed the gold fabric of her dress.  She let him do it, which surprised both of them.  “I know this is all messed up and I hate the reason we’re all here...but you look beautiful.”  

“Thank you, Nick.”  She answered him, using his shortened name.  It made him visibly calmer, though being alone with her right now still made him nervous.  He couldn’t help commenting on her beauty.  He should have told her more just how stunning he found her, more exquisite than anyone else he’d ever seen.  So just in case, he’d told her now.    

“I’m so sorry, Sabrina.”  Nick apologized as he changed the subject.  He couldn’t help apologizing one last time either.  He hadn’t known what he was going to say when he stopped her, and the pressure of it all had obviously turned his brain to mush.  In reality there was nothing to say, he just wanted to be by her one last time.

She squeezed her eyes shut to try to keep the tears at bay.  She didn’t think they could really haven’t this conversation now, despite not wanting to go into this with things left unsaid.  She took a deep breath when he struggled to find more words.  She grabbed the hand that was playing with her dress and intertwined their fingers.  His hands were warm and soft, just as she’d remembered.  

“Nick…”. She said his name again and took a step closer.  They were outside in the open but somehow it had felt like the air had been sucked away.  The only life giving source left was each other and it seemed nothing could tear their eyes apart.  She saw the worry in his, muddled with something else she could only describe as love.  She figured hers looked the same and she cursed Lucifer all over again for playing with both of their hearts.  She leaned in a little bit more, and he memorized the scent of her, just in case.  As she breathed him in she thought she might have kissed him, might have folded herself in his arms, or at least told him she’d forgiven him.  

But she didn’t do any of those things because Lilith slammed the door open and demanded Sabrina come with her.  They couldn’t keep the Dark Lord waiting any longer.  

With one more lingering and longing look Nick gave a supportive nod.

“We’ll talk after?”  He asked with hope and lifted his and to gently graze her cheek.  She leaned into it slightly and nodded quickly in response.  With a deep breath he went inside the door and looked back at her once before disappearing down a hallway in search of the others.  

Lilith rolled her eyes and dragged Sabrina inside, giving her one last recap as to the plan as Sabrina out on her mask.  Sabrina had the plan down and was filled with a hopefully well placed confidence that this would all work.  The sooner they started the ruse the sooner the dress could come off and her comfy PJ’s could go on.  The sooner she could she have a real conversation with Nick.  One without the end of the world looming or hiding behind curtains.  

She couldn’t wait until she could. 

Because she wasn’t pretty sure anymore.

She loved him.

And when this was all over, when the Dark Lord was trapped in the Acheron, she’d tell him.

But she’d be too late. 

[hailbop1701]

@yueci picked prompt #42. Here you go, sweetie! Thanks for picking this week! 🥰

Fandom: Almost Human

Type: X Reader

Stolen Hearts

Word Count: 1,123

John Kennex X (Thief) Reader (Almost Human)

Hey everyone welcome back to Prompt Wednesday! Now, this was fun to write but if I'm being honest I had no clue where I was going with it. I left it opened ended in both the beginning and the end. Who knows maybe I'll turn this into a future project or maybe one of you would want to take a crack at this type of storyline! 🤷‍♀️ who knows? But for now please enjoy "Stolen Hearts"

No beta typos and mistakes will be present.

-H❤🖖

“This was one of my worst ideas,” the choked strangled voice of one detective John Kennex said to absolutely no one. The detective squirmed and struggled against the shackles around his wrists. John groaned in pain as the harsh metal bit into his skin, his shoulders ached with the weight of his body. “I really should have waited for Dorian before meeting Anna,” he laughed breathlessly and took a good long look at his surroundings. 

Concrete floors, battered walls, and broken dirty windows. “Well, isn’t this a cliche,” Kennex muttered unimpressed, and there it was sitting on a beat-up table ten feet in front of him. His damn leg, 

“Now that’s just not fair,” he muttered a scowl breaking across his bruised face. The sound of heels against the hard floor made John look up sharply; there you were striding across the floor graceful as ever. You blended in with the shadows easily, for all he knew you could have been standing there the entire time. 

John gave you a bloody smile, “You here to finish me off, sweetheart?” he asked, chuckling softly at his innuendo. You smirked stopping less than a foot away, he could smell your perfume. Lilies and cigarette smoke, with a hint of bourbon. John couldn’t help but smile with more tenderness. 

You give him a crooked smile, “Hardly, I came to repay a debt. I no longer owe you anything John,” your voice was sweet like honey but held the burn of whiskey. ‘Dorian is never gonna let me hear the end of this,’ he mentally chided trying to push his smitten thoughts away. 

You pulled a bobby pin from your hair and easily undid the locks, “We need to hurry before Insyndicate comes back,” you whispered grunting under John’s weight. The detective huffed and groaned out in pain as you helped him over to the table housing his leg. 

“How did you get past them all?” Kennex asked shakily sitting down, you breathed out a little laugh. “I have many talents John, and one of them is-” an explosion rocked and shook the walls of the old warehouse. 

“Explosions?” 

“I was going to say subtly but…” you shrugged, smiling almost sheepishly. You grabbed his leg from the table and despite his protests helped John put it on. Taking his arm over your shoulder you pulled the injured man toward the exit, “I met your ex, she was a peach,” you said sarcasm dripping from every word. Kennex snorted, 

“I bet that went over well,” 

You grinned, “Let’s just say she won’t be walking or seeing right ever again,” the venomous tone made John look at you in surprise. “What did you do?” he asked, hating the dread and worry filling his whole body. You rolled your eyes, 

“I defended myself and you should really stop asking questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” you murmured pushing open the exit door with your hip. Kennex shook his head ruefully, 

“How did we get here?” he asked, spitting out blood onto the sunlit gravel. You pressed your lips into a thin line, 

“Well, I drove, and you were bashed over the head and dragged,” you sassed not wanting to think about the deeper meaning of the question. John gave you an unamused look, sighting you rolled your eyes. 

“I broke into your apartment, you hunted me, I escaped. That kept happening and then we slept together and lather rinse and repeat, that’s how we got into this mess,” you grumbled, keeping an eye out for any Insyndicate you may have missed on the way in. 

“The good ol’ days,” John whispered, his voice breathy and wheezing. You looked down at him, your heart dropping like a stone. Cursing under your breath you hurry along to your car, the sound of shouting and running footsteps several yards behind you. Shoving John into the backseat you quickly looked him over. 

Cuts and bruises littered his body making it hard to see the most problematic areas. Using gentle hands you prod up and down his torso, your fingers skimming over his ribs. John couldn’t tell if the burning was from the pain of broken ribs or your lingering touch. “I think you punctured a lung,” you mumbled mostly to yourself. Biting your lip you pulled back and slammed the car door shut. 

Getting into the driver’s seat you pulled on a pair of sunglasses, John couldn’t help but cough out a laugh. “Those are mine,” he accused, his lips quirking upward. You pushed them down a little so he could see your eyes; giving him a wink you peeled out onto the drink and drove until the hospital and Dorian came into view. 

The back door was yanked open before the car could come to a full stop. John was gently lifted and set onto a gurney before being quickly ushered into the building. You got out of the car and stood hesitantly by the open door. Dorian looked at you sadly as a few MX’s and Sandra Maldanado exited the building. 

You looked down at your feet, hands shaking you held them up so they could cuff you and take you in. The Captain looked at you with mild approval and nodded for the androids to do their job, 

“Thank you (Y/N),” she whispered when she got close enough. She placed a kind hand on your shoulder as the cuffs were fastened and secured. “We’ll talk to the DA, see if we can get your sentence reduced or-” Dorian floundered trying to make up for everything. 

You gave him a soft smile, “It’s okay Dorian,” you whispered as you were being led away. The DRN looked at his captain pleadingly, 

“We can’t let her take the fall for it all,” he whispered his voice steady but the emotion in it made Sandra wince. “I’ll do my best Dorian, maybe we can get her on a monitor,” 

Dorian brightened at the thought his mind going back to John the android couldn’t help but smirk. “John could watch over her,” he suggested with a knowing smile. Maldanado laughed, understanding his meaning perfectly. 

“He would fall for a thief, wouldn’t he?” she asked with a snort. Dorian grinned crossing his arms, “head over heels,” he agreed following his boss back into the hospital. 

“At least this didn’t end as Romeo and Juliet did,” Sandra whispered remembering all the times she warned and told John to stay as far away from you as possible. 

“I don’t think the story is over just yet, but so far so good,” Dorian sighed looking into the room where his partner and best friend lie. Sandra nodded rubbing her hands together nervously, 

“So far so good,”  

 Tagging:

Everyone:

@thottiewithashotgun

@lauraaan182

@writerdee1701

@stileslover13-blog

@cowenby2

@bluesclues-1234

Prompt Wednesday:

@stardustednerd

[viking-raider]

A Soldier’s Daughter - Chapter IV

Summary: Their time in Kaer Morhen has come to an end, so Skye and Geralt leave the Witcher Stronghold, heading back to Temeria to get answers to Skye’s burning question.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/OFC

Word Count: 8,653

Previous Chapters: I II III

Rating: PG-13 - Witcher!AU, Language, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Surprises and Shocks

Inspiration: The Witcher on Netflix, with instances of the Games and Books.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think! Thank you to the marvelous @wondersofdreaming​​ for the encouragement and beta!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @wardl0w, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @bellastellaluna, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernatural, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog​, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue​, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx​, @henrythickcavill​, @tinabean37​, @hnryycvll​, @msblkfire84​, @romangenesius​, @emelinelovesjc​, @strangerliaa​, @lovieebby​, @pinksdaydream​, @fanfictionaddiction99​, @seb-owns-these-tatas​, @oh-for-fic-sake​, @sauvage-et-libre​, @mis-lil-red​, @angreav​, @crazyandanonymous4u​, @the-mighty-jellybean​ @henrycavell​, @jimmypagesandbrianmayshair​, @iam-laiya​, @worshipping-skarsgard​, @thetruthandotherstories​, @ruthoakenshield​, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​, @theonetheycallhannah​, @nina-skyee​, @thatgirly81​, @inanna999​, @suueeeeeee​, @spideysimpossiblegirl​, @x-wingwarriorbbpoe8​, @beckster07890​, @daddys-littlewhitegirl​, @magic-and-the-macabre​, @stxphmxlls​, @radaofrivia​, @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​, @starstruckkittyangel​, @heartfelt-pen​, @stuckupstucky​, @dummiesshort​, @la-cey​, @singeramg​, @queenoftheworldisdead​, @brooklymw

Their time in Kaer Morhen was coming to an end, there was only a month left before the first thaw of Spring and the path was clear enough for Geralt and Skye to make it back down the mountain and trace their steps back to Dorian in Temeria.

Skye was anxious about returning home to face her parents and find out the truth about her ancestry, she didn't know how to feel about the prospect of finding out she was a Quarter-Elf, but she knew Geralt's words in Roach's stable were right; no matter the outcome, she would still be herself.

“Morning, Geralt.” Skye smiled as he entered the dining hall for breakfast.

“Morning.” He smiled back at her, sitting across from her at the table, his steaming plate of breakfast already waiting for him. “Did you sleep well?” He asked, digging into his food.

“I did, and you?” She replied, picking up her own fork.

“I did.” He answered, nodding and giving her a soft smirk. “Are you sparring with Vesemir today?” He asked, washing his bite of food down with some ale.

“I am, right after I finish here.” Skye nodded, focused on finishing her breakfast so she wasn't late; Vesemir was a stickler for promptness.

Geralt nodded his head back and a comfortable silence fell over them as they finished eating, then went up to the training room with her. Skye frowned, as she stepped into the room and didn't see Vesemir there waiting for her, like he had been everyday for the last two months. Geralt smirked and grabbed a sword off the wall and faced her.

“You'll be having a different teacher today.” He chuckled, seeing her surprise.

“Oh, this should be good!” Skye laughed, grabbing her own sword. “I beat Eskel's butt four times already and I've kicked Vesemir's just as much. You think you can do any better, Geralt?”

“Oh, I assure you, I can.” He grinned, spinning the sword in his hand. “I'm not as old as Vesemir or as hot headed as Eskel can be.” He told her, stepping into the middle of the room. “Unless, you're scared?”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?” Skye teased back, moving to join him.

“Not really.” He shook his head, planting his feet. “I like that fiery nature of yours, though.” He smirked and raised his sword.

“Get ready for a fire storm then, Witcher.”

Geralt chuckled at her and stepped forward, swinging his sword in a tall arch and down, forcing Skye to step back and twist to the side to dodge it. She flared her eyes at him, twisted her sword and struck back at him, Geralt dropped his blade down, half dropping to a knee and blocked her blade from connecting with his leg. Not pausing, Skye yanked her sword back up, righted it in her hands and swiftly smacked his exposed shoulder. Geralt laughed, then swiped his thick arm out, knocking her feet out from under her.

“I know, he taught you to stand on those toes.” He commented, straightening up and extending his hand out to her.

Growling, Skye took his hand and let him pull her up back onto her feet. As soon as she was back on her feet, she hooked one of her feet around his ankle, pulled, and drove her shoulder into his chest, sending him to the ground.

“He did.” She grinned, proud of herself. “He also taught me that!” She giggled at him. “So, two for me and one for you.”

“Are you going to help me up?”

“No!” She laughed, backing away from him. “Took all my body weight to get you down there to start with.” She blushed, waiting for his next move.

“Smart girl.” He teased her, getting up.

They sized each other up and started again, blocking, circling and trying to trip the other up, the more they went at each other, the quicker they moved, finding their rhythm together. Skye started noting Geralt's proclivity of twisting his thick body to put more force behind his swings and sword movements. It amazed her that someone Geralt's size was so agile and fluid in his movements, they reminded her of a dancer or a ballerina, which made her snort.

“What's so funny?” Geralt panted, tilting his head at her, sweat on his brow.

“No, you'll cut my head off, if I tell you.” Skye shook her head, similarly out of breath and sweaty. “It's not very—Witchery.” She explained, slowly losing herself to a fit of giggles at the image of Geralt in a tutu.

“Come on, out with it, mouse.” He felt himself grinning at her, a giggle bubbling in his own belly.

“I'm not a mouse.” She replied, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

“You sound like a mouse, when you giggle, and you're the size of one.” Geralt informed her, licking his lips.

The sound of their laughter rang out in the training room, echoing out the open doorway and into the hall. The sound caught the attention of Vesemir as he was coming down from his private rooms and followed it to the open training room door. Peeking around the corner, Vesemir cracked a smile seeing Skye and Geralt standing in the middle of the training mat, their sweaty faces, red with exertion and laughter, their shoulders shaking as they continued to laugh at, and with, each other. It warmed the older Witcher's heart to see the two of them finally loosen up with each other, letting down guards, bias and protective walls, allowing their full personalities free.

“You reminded me of a sword wielding ballerina, when you fight.” Skye finally managed to laugh out. “All you need is a tutu and you'll be set.” She leaned on her sword as she laughed even harder, picturing Geralt in all his normal Witcher gear and a frilly pink tutu around his waist, in the heat of some dire battle with a fearsome monster of yore.

Geralt let out a loud laugh, getting the same basic image Skye had floating around her head. “People will undoubtedly fear me even more with a tutu on.”

“And be jealous of your fashion sense.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Shall we finish, Geralt of Tutus?” She asked, using the cuff of her sleeve to dab at her eyes.

“We shall.” He nodded, composing himself.

Taking a couple deep breaths, Skye composed herself as well and brought her focus back on Geralt, who had his gold eyes narrowed and trained on her. She shifted and planted her feet, gripping the hilt of her sword in both hands, her blade at an angle and the tip pointed at Geralt, taking note of every twitch and shift of his shoulders, arms, hips and feet, trying to take in all the information she could, so she could anticipate his eventual move. Skye's back tensed slightly as Geralt tilted his hips at an angle and bent at the knees, waiting for the attack that she knew was coming. Despite facing him and her eyes never leaving his, Geralt moved quite suddenly, he took two long strides towards her, surprising her. Skye just managed to lift her sword to block one of Geralt's blows, stumbling away from him, trying to give him a wide berth to recover herself and get back on the offensive.

But, Geralt kept coming at her, not letting up on her, just moving closer and closer to her, and kept the blows coming. One of his blows disarmed Skye, sending her blade skidding across the floor and against the wall, making her gasp. Skye took a step away from Geralt, tripping over the edge of the mat. Snapping forward, Geralt wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him, saving her from falling flat on her butt.

“Wh-”

Eskel's voice started behind Vesemir, who spun around and slapped a hand over his mouth, giving him a look that screamed 'shut it'! Then, turned back towards Skye and Geralt.

Skye looked up at Geralt, eyes wide, as he looked down at her, both of their hearts thundering in their chests. Blinking once, Geralt lowered his head a hesitant inch closer to hers, before going for it and kissing her, full on the lips. Skye took a sharp breath through her nose, resting her hands on Geralt's broad shoulders, utterly caught off guard by his kiss, the warmth of his lips against hers, holding her firmly against his solid body. Both of their eyes closed, melting into each other, Skye nudging against him, returning the kiss and wrapped an arm around his neck. Vesemir and Eskel chuckled, rolling their eyes at the two, thinking it was about time they kissed. Turning, Vesemir dragged Eskel down the hall, giving the two love birds space and privacy.

“Vesemir didn't show me that move.” Skye said, pulling her head away from Geralt, cheeks warm.

“I hope not.” Geralt whispered back, licking his lips and the lingering taste of hers. “I've wanted to kiss you for a few days now.” He admitted, his cheeks warming a bit more.

“Was this your attempt to kiss me, then?” Skye smirked at him.

“No, actually, I didn't plan on kissing you.” He replied, shyly. “It just sorta...happened.”

Skye nodded her head at him, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “When do you..we..plan on leaving after the first thaw?” She asked, after they stood there quietly for a moment.

Geralt frowned at her, brows low over his eyes as he regarded her. “The next day or two afterwards.” He told her, tilting his head. “Most of the snow should be melted away, making the trek down to the main path and through the pass easier than it was, while we were coming up.” He explained to her, his arm dropping from around her waist and took a step back from her.

“You must be antsy to get back to your farm.”

“Well, my parents' farm holds a lot of answers to questions I currently have.” She replied, feeling the air around them shift and change, like their kiss never happened. “What are we doing after that?” She asked, trying to get that feeling back.

“We'll see, when we get there.” Geralt told her, moving away from Skye and putting back the sword he had taken for their sparring session, then quietly left the room.

Leaving Skye standing there, mourning for the loss of the sporadic moment that led to their kiss.

“You've earned this.” Vesemir said, on Skye's last sparring session with him, taking her short sword from her and putting it in a leather sheath, he had actually made himself. “So, it's only right, that it goes with you, Skye.” He told her, holding it out to her.

“Are you sure?” Skye asked, slowly taking it from him.

“You are one of the best female swordsmen I have ever seen.” He told her with a deep conviction and nod. “Takes someone with great skill to beat not only an old man, but two of the top Witchers in the Continent, and you've done those three things, many times over again.”

Skye smiled at him, securing the sword belt around her waist and the bottom strap to her thigh, feeling the comfortable weight on her side. “Thank you, Vesemir.” She said, throwing her arms around his shoulders and giving him a hug. “For everything. You've been a massive help to my sanity, more than you realize.” She whispered into his ear.

“And you, mine.” Vesemir smiled, hugging her back. “You've been such a spot of sunshine in this gloomy hole in the mountain.”

“Thanks.” Skye chuckled, biting her lip and feeling a bit emotional.

The old Witcher had become very important to Skye over the last three months at Kaer Morhen, he had given her something to look forward to, when she got up in the mornings, something to practice on her own time and focus on. Instead of wandering around the grounds of the old stronghold, twiddling her thumbs and losing her mind, trapped with him, Geralt and Eskel, day in and day out.

Not only that, but Vesemir, like he had with Geralt and Eskel, had become a father figure to Skye, though he was closer to being her great-grandfather several times over again. Nonetheless, he was more a father figure than Tarzad, for obvious reasons, and it was something Skye had desperately been missing in her life. Vesemir had become as fond, and protective, of Skye as he had with Geralt and Eskel, like a daughter he didn't expect he wanted, but was more than happy and proud to discover.

“You're more than welcome, Skye.” He smiled, hugging her back.

The next day, packed and ready to go, Geralt and Skye said good-bye to Vesemir and Eskel, who planned on staying another day, before setting out on the Path himself.

“I'll miss you.” Skye lamented, hugging Vesemir for the hundredth time.

“Oh, nonsense.” Vesemir huffed, shaking his head at her. “You'll be out of here a week and be glad you don't have to see my ol' worn face until next winter.”

“You're getting soft, old man.” She teased him, giggling.

“Hey, what about me!” Eskel faked a pout, making her laugh harder.

“Oh, I suppose, you too.” Skye sighed, dramatically, moving around Vesemir to give the younger Witcher a hug as well. “You behave, or I'll hit you with an Aard next time.”

“Oh good god, Geralt, don't teach this thing how to Aard!” He said with a dramatic gasp and looked to Geralt as he fussed over Roach's saddle. “She'll be the death of us all.”

“Oh, shut it!” She laughed, punching him in the chest.

“Gods, help! She's attacking me!” He tried to sound frightened, but only fell to pieces with a fit of laughter. “I'll miss you, Skye. You're as good a partner in crime, as Geralt.”

“The Continent help us!” Vesemir laughed, shaking his head. “You'll take care of her, Geralt.” He added, narrowing his eyes at the white-haired Witcher.

“Of course, I will.” Geralt frowned back at him. “I got her here in one piece, didn't I?”

“He did.” Skye smiled at him, sweetly.

Geralt met her eyes for a moment, then turned back to Roach. Ever since their kiss, he'd been hot and cold in turns with her, one moment he would easily laugh and smile at something she said or had done, then in another moment, sometimes a split second later, he would close her out again and go so quiet, it was as if he no longer had a mouth. Vesemir assured her he was just processing an army of things and he would come back around to her again, if she was just patient. So, Skye did just that, she didn't push him to answer or follow her, letting Geralt come to her on his own, while still trying to show him she was reaching for him.

At least, she hoped she was showing that and he was seeing and feeling it.

Good-byes said once more, Geralt boosted Skye up into Roach's saddle behind him, no longer loath to touch and be so close to him. She wrapped one arm around his waist as he directed Roach towards the portcullis of Kaer Morhen, and twisted her upper body back to wave at Vesemir and Eskel, before they disappeared around the bend.

“So, where to first, Geralt?” Skye asked, twisting back to face him and wrapped her other arm around his waist. “Back through High Rock?” She inquired, resting her chin on his shoulder to see the side of his face.

“No.” He shook his head, frowning and stone faced. “We're going all the way to Flotsam, before we stop in a town.” He told her, gripping Roach's reins tighter.

“That's almost a week and a half journey, don't you worry we'll run out of supplies by then?” She asked, concerned.

“No, we can get water from the streams we'll pass and I can hunt, if we run out of food.” He said, his voice toneless.

Skye could feel how stiff Geralt was as she hugged herself against his back and felt a sharp and icy spike going through her gut. Maybe, he was just trying to get to Dorian as quickly as possible, so they could get their answers and be on their way, to wherever Geralt wanted to start on his new year of Witchering. But, a teeny voice in the lurking darkness of her mind, was paranoid that Geralt was up to something much more complicated, that threatened to be painful.

“Okay.” She whispered, resting back and loosening her arms around his waist.

Geralt rolled his eyes shut, biting his lip and pushing his jaw out, he wasn't trying to be cold or distant, least of all, hurtful. But, the sprout in his gut had deeply rooted itself into him and he was scared to let Skye in, afraid something would happen and the horror with Renfri would happen all over again, and his attachment to Skye was stronger and more tangled than it was with Renfri. Geralt and Renfri had only known each other for a few days, when he found himself in love with her, it was such a whirlwind, that Geralt was still confused and hurt by it, on various points. One being the seeping paranoia that Stregobor was right, that Renfri had gotten into his head and convinced him he felt all those things. With Skye, He didn't start feeling the tingle until almost two weeks into knowing her, finding her a nuisance and troublesome beforehand, and even then, it took him almost two months locked in Kaer Morhen with her, and Vesemir's mercilessly pointing out the obvious to the Witcher, to admit he did indeed love her, hopelessly so, and Skye couldn't play mind games like Renfri had.

Vesemir had also been right, when he said that if he wasn't careful, he'd end up hurting Skye anyway. His old mentor had recently added on to that point, stating that if he did end up hurting Skye bad enough, he'd run him through with his own sword. Sighing, Geralt relaxed, dropping his head forward, he just couldn't win, could he. He didn't need someone needing him, much less needing them himself. Things like that, always went sideways and back fired.

“Have I done something wrong?” Skye asked that night, when Geralt all but ignored her attempts at conversation.

Geralt sighed again and shook his head at her. “No, Skye. You haven't, I'm just tired.” He told her, quietly, which wasn't a complete lie.

“Can I help?” She asked, slowly, biting the inside of her lip.

“I don't think so.” He said, poking at their camp fire, pushing a half burned log deeper into the pile.

Frowning at him, Skye laid down on her blankets and covered up, watching Geralt through the dancing flames, his eyes looked like they were melting in the matching fire light. It's what she dreamed up, once she drifted off, Geralt's amber-gold eyes, melting down his cheeks as they kissed, slow and sweet, his hands pressing all over her body, through her clothing, igniting fireworks in her nerve endings as his palms glided over them. It almost felt real and she was disappointed to wake the next morning on the cold hard ground, alone and untouched.

Flotsam came into view as Geralt and Skye stepped off the ferry that took them across the Pontar River, almost three days earlier than when they left it for Kaer Morhen, the melted snow and warmer weather making the traveling slightly easier on them and Roach. But, Skye still couldn't help the nagging feeling that Geralt was purposely rushing them more than usual, but kept it to herself. They stayed in Flotsam long enough to replenish some supplies, have an early lunch, then moved on again, passing through Biały Most in the failing light of the afternoon, before camping by the bank of the Ismena river that flowed between Biały Most and Dorndal.

The closer to Dorian and Skye's family's farm, the more antsy she got and the quieter Geralt became, it was almost as if they had absorbed the energy and adopted the feelings towards each other they had when they first set out.

“We'll be in Dorian in the next two or three days.” Geralt told her, slowly turning the spit he had constructed over the fire, a hunk of meat skewered on it.

Skye nodded and sighed, drawing in the dirt at her feet with a small twig, she hadn't been in the mood to talk for the last day, finding little point, with Geralt speaking even less. The air between them was tense and charged with their brooding, unaddressed thoughts and feelings, and concern of what they would learn and find, once they did get back to Nica and Tarzad's farm.

“Geralt?” Skye called, laying in the bed of the inn they had gotten for their last night on the road before reaching the farm in the late morning of the next day.

“Hm.” Geralt hummed back, stretched out on his blankets on the floor, as usual, when they shared a room.

Skye bit her lips, trying to collect the courage she had a moment ago back up, clearing her throat. “Would you--” She bit and cleared her throat again. “Would you—lay—with me?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was a long silence in the room, before the shuffle of Geralt throwing back his blankets and the squeak of the floorboards as he stood up. He stood at the side of the bed for a moment, his eyes on Skye for a long moment, before turning to sit down on the bed's edge and slowly laid down on his back beside her. Skye sat up, getting a quick glance from Geralt, as she untucked herself from her blankets and used one to cover him up, in spite of it finally being Spring, the air was still cold. After covering him up, Skye laid back down beside him, both of them staring up at the ceiling in an awkward silence.

“Thank you.” She mumbled, unable to take the quiet any longer.

“Are you all right?” Geralt squeezed out, heart thundering.

“Just cold.” Skye whispered back, curling her cold toes under her blanket.

Blinking a few times, Geralt carefully rolled onto his side to face her and met her sideways glance, then slowly draped his arm over her waist and pulled her side into his chest. The warmth of his body blanketing her and turning in his embrace, Skye snuggled herself into his chest, tucking one arm between them and resting her other one over his side, lifting her head as Geralt tucked his other arm under it, pillowing her head with his thick bicep.

“Better?” He rasped, his strong fingers rubbing away the goosebumps rippled down her back.

“Mmhmm.” Skye nodded, eyes shutting heavily, the scent and warmth of Geralt's body lulling her to sleep, as was the safety she felt being wrapped up in his arms.

Geralt hugged Skye against him and rested his chin on top of her head, melting into her and the mattress. He hadn't slept so well in years, it was so deep and peaceful. He didn't remember the dream he had, which was a relieving change, since a large percentage of his dreams were of the monsters he had killed over his life as a Witcher. No Kikimoras swiping at him with countless legs. No Manticores trying to sting him or crush him with their lion-like jaws. No deafening screeches of a Wraith or blinding screams of a Bruxa. Just floating in quiet and peaceful darkness, wrapped around him like a warm blanket, or in Geralt's case, wrapped up in the warmth of Skye's body.

“Are you ready?” Geralt asked, glancing at Skye over his shoulder as they neared her family farm on Roach, later the next morning.

“As I'll ever be.” Skye replied, hugging her arms around his chest even tighter.

They came into the clearing of the farm yard, which looked almost exactly as it had,when they left it, over three months before. There were a few changes to the farm, several of the animal pens that had been in disrepair over Skye's life had been replaced and rebuilt, there was also a porch swing now and the broken barn door had been fixed.

“Seems my father has been busy.” Skye commented, sliding off the back of Roach, her boots squelching in the mud and muck.

“Seems like it.” Geralt replied, getting down as well, panning his eyes around the yard for any sign of her parents.

“Mama!” Skye yelled out, looking around as she walked towards the house. “Hush, Nillie.” She snapped at the braying donkey.

The door to the small cottage flew open and Nica came running out, tears already streaming down her cheeks, when she reached Skye, throwing her arms around her neck and squeezing her against her body, sobbing into Skye's hair.

“My sweet baby!” She wept, overjoyed. “I never expected to see you again, so soon. Is everything well?” She asked, holding Skye at arm's length.

“Everything is fine, Mama.” Skye assured her, wiping her eyes.

“Has the Witcher been good to you? He hasn't hurt you, has he?” She fussed over her.

“Geralt is very good to me, mama.” She answered, smiling over at Geralt, who remained standing by Roach. “He's a perfect gentleman.”

“Ger—the Butch--”

“He's not a Butcher, mama.” Skye corrected her. “That is greatly more complicated than you can understand. Where's father?” She asked, quickly changing the subject.

“He's gone to the market. Mona gave birth to litter of piglets last week and he's gone to sell some of them.” Nica explained, composing herself. “Why have you come home so soon?”

Skye bit her lip and looked away from her mother.

“You're not--” Nica lowered her voice. “Pregnant, are you?”

“Witchers can't have children, besides Geralt and I have never been intimate.” Skye shook her head, cheeks warm with embarrassment. “We need to speak to you about something, that we perhaps should go inside to discuss.”

Nica looked Skye over and over at Geralt, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Yes, of course.” She nodded, looking back down at Skye. “I'll put the kettle on.” She said, giving Skye another hug, before going back inside.

“Come on, Geralt.” Skye called over to him, motioning inside with her head. “She's putting the kettle on.”

“Are you sure you want me in there, when you ask?” He asked, lifting a brow at the open door.

“Yes.” She nodded, she would feel a million times more comfortable, if Geralt was there with her.

Nodding back, Geralt followed Skye into the cottage, dimly lit by tallow candles and the fireplace. It was furnished with a mismatch of furniture, threadbare rugs and drapes, but had a warm and homey feel to it. Skye helped her mother prepare the tea, before sitting down with her and Geralt at the dining table.

“So, what is it you've come to talk about?”

Skye took a deep breath and a fortifying gulp of tea, before answering her mother. “Are you aware that I have Elven blood?” She asked, wanting to get to the heart of the matter and not dally around it.

Nica's back went stiff and her eyes flared, startled. “Whatever gave you that idea?” She demanded, then looked to Geralt, eyes narrowing. “Did you put this in her head?”

“No, he didn't.” Skye answered for him, rubbing her sweaty palms on her legs. “Geralt and I went to Kaer Morhen after we left here, where he, and a few others, spend their Winters.” She started to explain. “While there, another Witcher, Vesemir, started teaching me how to use a sword.”

“What!?”

“You heard me.” Skye sighed, cupping her hands around her cup. “It was during that, that I learned, purely by chance and accident, I'm able to use Signs, namely a Heliotrop.”

“Only someone with a certain Mutation or Elven blood can do Signs.” Geralt said, softly.

“Skye does not have a mutation, unlike you.” Nica hissed.

“Mother!” Skye barked, slapping her palm down on the table top. “He isn't saying I have a Mutation. We know I do not, which only leaves the latter explanation.”

The anger went out of Nica like helium out of a balloon, and she stared down at her untouched tea. “It's true.” She muttered, not raising her head. “You do have Elven blood in you.”

“Why didn't you never tell me?” Skye sighed, heartbroken, and slightly betrayed.

“I was ashamed of it.” Nica replied, lifting her head and meeting Skye's eyes. “I was afraid that if it was known, that it would only cause endless trouble and hardship on you. After the Great Cleansing and the persecution that anyone of Elven blood endured, I was afraid of it's danger to your future. So, I kept it a secret, I'm the only one that knows of it, and I never dreamed that you would find out.”

“That's why I claimed Tarzad was your father, that way your blood could never be—“

“Wait, wait, wait!” Skye cut her off with a wave of her hand, a boulder sized lump in her throat. “Claimed he was my father?”

Nica nodded, her body drooping under the weight of the secret she had carried with her for the last twenty-one years. “Tarzad isn't your biological father.”

Skye's mouth dropped to the table, shocked. “What?” She squeaked out, tears welling up in her eyes and head spinning.

“Your—Tarzad—had been gone a year after joining the Temerian army, I became lonely, living here alone and isolated. I never expected or looked for comfort, but one day, who I originally thought was a man, came to the farm and asked for a hand out. So, I brought him in and shared some of my food with him. He returned several times over the following weeks and...we grew very close. “ She explained, ringing the tip of her finger around the lip of her tea cup. “One thing led to another and we became lovers. It was after our first intimacy, that I discovered that he was an Elf. But, I didn't care, I loved him. We were together several times, when Tarzad returned for a short time and he stayed away.”

“Tarzad resumed our marriage in his short hiatus, and I behaved as if nothing happened. When he left again, your real father saw me a few more times, before disappearing himself. It was not long after that, I learned I was pregnant with you.”

“How can you because that Tarzad isn't my real father?” Skye asked, desperate.

“Because, we were never intimate, when Tarzad was here.” She replied, biting her lip. “He has a certain—mechanical—issue, that makes it impossible to do so. Enos did not have such an issue, so he is the only one of them that it could be your father.”

Skye rested her elbows on the table and pressed her hands to her face, struggling to believe what her mother was telling her. She wasn't Quarter-Elf, like they had believed she was, she was Half-Elf, taking after her mother in appearance, which allowed Nica to pass Skye off as a Human, to lie to her, Tarzad and everyone else in Skye's life.

“Does Tarzad know?” Geralt asked, frowning at Skye and gently resting his hand on her knee, under the table.

“No.” Nica shook her head, looking pathetically at her daughter. “I never intended anyone to find out about Enos and myself.”

“Well, that seems to be out of the bag, doesn't it.” A voice called. “Wife.” Tarzad stepped out of the hall and into the kitchen.

“Tarry!” Nica gasped, jumping to her feet in surprise. “I can explain--”

Tarzad cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I heard all of it, so there's no explanation needed, Nica.” He told her, then looked down at Skye, who hadn't moved. “It doesn't matter either.” He added, softer. “I've claimed Skye as my own, and I stand by my word.”

Skye lifted her head, her and her mother blinking at each other, they had expected a fire storm of Tarzad tearing the house down in the fit of anger of finding out he had been lied to about Skye's parentage and his wife cheating on him with an Elf. Everyone, including Geralt, looked at the old Soldier with surprise.

“Really?” Nica gulped, stunned.

“Really.” Tarzad nodded, softly. “I could never give you a child of our own, one that you deserve. So, if this is how it's to be, then so be it.” He told her, resting his hand on Skye's shoulder. “You will always be my daughter, Skye. No matter what.”

Skye rested her hand on his and smiled softly at him, touched by his words, and nodding her head, unable to find her voice.

With the truth out on Skye being Half-Elf, things shifted between the three of them. Her mother no longer felt swallowed and consumed by the dark and looming secret over her head, Tarzad seemed freed by the revelation, having felt the strain. Skye felt freed by it as well and looked forward to leaving with Geralt the next day, going on their way across the Continent and seeing him slay monsters. They stayed the night on the farm, Geralt opting to camp out like he had the last time, and Skye stayed in her old room. The real issue didn't come until the next morning, when Skye woke and went out to Geralt's camp. But, instead of finding him and Roach, she found a dead campfire and her sheathed sword, with a note tucked inside of it, resting against a tree. Frowning, she slipped the note out of the scabbard and read the scrolling sentences.

'Skye,

I know you're going to be upset with me, when you finish reading this, but I've done it for your own good. Even though, Tarzad has claimed you as his daughter, by blood, you are not. Which, causes the Law of Surprise I took from him in payment of saving his life, null and void. So, you are free of me and the obligation to continue on with me as I travel the Continent as I do my trade as a Witcher. I hope you understand why I've parted with you in this way and can forgive me, someday. ~ Geralt.'

Skye blinked rapidly, her eyes burning and blinded by tears. “Geralt!” She cried out, turning in a circle. “This sick joke isn't funny! Come out, you little shit!”

But, the only sound was the chirping of the early morning birds and the leafy rustle of squirrels foraging for food. Anguished, Skye crumpled the note in her hands and screamed at the top of her lungs, hot tears dripping down her face. Nica and Tarzad came running, hearing her scream in the house, and found her on her knees, sobbing and rocking.

“Skye, what's happened?” Nica asked, dropping to her knees and cupping Skye's face in her hands.

She blubbered and held out the crumpled note that Tarzad took from her and read aloud. “He's left.” She trembled.

“This is good, isn't it?” Tarzad asked, frowning down at her.

“Oh.” Nice whispered softly, seeing it now.

“Oh?” Tarzad looked to his wife.

“You're in love with the Witcher, aren't you?” She asked Skye, softly, stroking Skye's raven hair off her flushed and wet face. “Oh, Skye.” Nica sighed, hugging her against her breast and soothing her hand over her back. “First love is always that hardest, especially with someone like a Witcher, they can't feel or love like we do, my darling girl.”

“I thought he had, mama.” Skye sobbed into her chest, hugging her shaking arms around her mother's waist. “I thought he had.”

Geralt made it to Anchor by mid-morning, having left Skye's family farm just after midnight, once he knew the little family was sound asleep. He felt conflicted and guilty for up and leaving her like he had, but he had done it for her own good, or at least that's what Geralt repeatedly told himself. The life on the road, being a nomad for nine months of the year, running into one dangerous situation after another, wasn't suited for someone like Skye, who had lived a mostly sheltered life on a farm in a major city.

Even though she had fared well on their long and grueling journey up to Kaer Morhen, they hadn't run into any of the trouble Geralt was accustomed to running into the rest of the year. He feared that while he was away dealing with some monster or another, leaving her behind at the nearest town, that some of the townspeople would turn on her for keeping him company or treat her as if he had taken her hostage. A young and beautiful girl with the likes of an emotionless and evil Witcher, wouldn't settle or bode well with people, whether they knew she was half-elf or not.

“She's safer there.” He said out loud to Roach, who tossed her head. “Don't judge me!” He snapped, frowning at the mare. “You know what it's like on the road!”

Roach snorted and shook her head at him.

“Fine, I could have told her to her face, but you know as well as I do, how stubborn she is. The first sight of what direction we were going in, she'd follow.” He continued to argue, feeling the throb in his chest. “I am a Witcher, I don't feel and I sure as fuck don't fall in love.”

Roach stopped dead in the middle of the road.

“Oh, come on.” He growled at her, trying to nudge her forward again. “Roach, stop being so stubborn!” He hissed, kicking her sides, but the mare refused to budge. “Oh all right!” Geralt roared, dropping her reins and swinging one leg over the other side of the saddle to slip down off Roach's back. “I love her! Is that what you want to hear?”

“I love Skye.”

Roach tapped a hoof on the ground, tossing her head and flaring her lips. Rolling his eyes, Geralt gathered her reins and continued on foot, grumbling under his breath the whole way. He stopped in Anchor overnight, before continuing on, trying to put as much space between himself and Skye that he could, more to prevent himself from turning back for her, than to try and dissuade her, in case she tried following after him, that's if she even managed to find out which way he had gone.

Which is exactly what Skye had done. After calming herself down and collecting her bearings, Skye took up the sword Vesemir had given her and decided to go after the Witcher, not caring how long it took her to find him again.

“Skye, wait!” Tarzad called after her as she started towards town.

“You're not changing my mind. Mama has already tried and failed.” Skye called back over her shoulder.

“I'm not going to stop you, child.” Tarzad told her, grabbing the back of her elbow and pulled her to a stop. “But, you can't follow the Witcher on foot, when he has a horse. You'll never catch up to him, come with me.”

Sighing, Skye followed after him and into the barn. Tarzad pulled one of the new horses he bought out of a stall and tossed a saddle over it's back. He had just finished saddling the shiny black horse, when Nica came into the barn, carrying a pack with her.

“What's going on here?” Skye asked, looking at them suspiciously.

“We know nothing we say will stop you from going after him, Skye.” Nica said, opening one of the saddlebags and tucked the pack inside. “So, we might as well help you be prepared to chase him halfway across the Continent, so you don't get yourself killed.” She explained, securing the bag closed. “There's three changes of clothing, food and water in the pack, it should last you a few days, if you ration it.”

“Here.” Tarzad came around the horse to her, holding out the reins. “Arthas is a good and strong horse, he should do you good to catch up with the Witcher's mare. Take this as well.” He pulled a dagger out of his back pocket and pressed it into her hand.

“It'll help you keep you safe, along with your sword.”

“As well as this.” Nica said, holding out a moderate leather pouch of jiggling gold pieces.

“I can't.” Skye shook her head at them, overwhelmed.

“You can and you will.” Nica told her, sternly.

“That dagger was my father's, his father had given it to him, and so on.” Tarzad explained. “I had hoped to give it to a son, but you're just as, if not more, than worthy of it.”

Skye choked up and hugged her arms around their necks. “Thank you for understanding.” She sniffled, pulling back.

“Love is a funny thing.” Tarzad smiled, hugging his arm around Nica's waist.

“Just be safe, Skye.” Nica replied, her bottom lip wobbling.

“I promise, mama.” Skye assured her. “I am the daughter of a soldier, after all.” She said, grinning at Tarzad.

“That you are, my dear girl.” He smiled back at her. “Now, up you go!” He said, stepping back and letting Skye lift herself into Arthas's saddle. “He's almost a full two days ahead of you.”

“I don't know where to start.” Skye said, as it all came tumbling on top of her.

“He's a white-haired Witcher, Skye.” Nica chuckled, shaking her head. “It's hard to miss him, even when you're not paying attention.”

“That's a fair point.” Skye snorted, nodding her head. “I'll go to Dorian first, see if he passed through and where to, if he did.”

“Sounds like a good start.” Tarzad agreed with her.

Skye rode Arthas into Dorian with all due haste and slipped out of his saddle as she entered the market, leading the Friesian by the reins through the thicket of people bustling around. It was luckily the second day of the Spring market, with the bluster of Winter over, neighboring farms could bring in whatever they had to sell, so they could buy their seeds or farm animals to get the Spring harvest started, in preparation for the next coming Winter. Skye picked her way through the crowd until she found a merchant she was familiar with, and also happened to be the town gossip line.

“Elza!” She cried, throwing on a giant smile as she stopped by the middle aged woman's stall of herbs and seeds.

“Skye!” Elza called back, standing up and throwing her arms around Skye's neck. “How are you, dear girl?” She asked, lowering her arthritic body back into her chair. “I heard you had gone off with a strange man at the start of Winter.”

Skye smirked at her. “I did, but I was wondering, if you've seen a Witcher around? Large, gold-eyes, white-hair, brown mare. Might have passed through the night before the market started.”

Elza drummed her fingers on the corner of her stall, considering and recalling. “Yes, I believe so. I believe a man of that description came through here, very early in the morning.”

“Do you know where he went?” Skye asked, antsy.

“Why would you be chasing after a Witcher?” Elza asked, narrowing her eyes at Skye.

“I have my reasons, do you know where he went?” She replied, growing impatient.

“Mhmm, he went out the northern gate.” She revealed. “Wh-”

Skye quickly turned away from Elza and picked her way out of the crowd, swinging up into Arthas's saddle when the sea of people thinned out and burst through the streets of Dorian, dodging around corners and side streets, towards the north gate of the city, towards Anchor. It took Skye nearly a day to reach Anchor, riding hard most of the day and not stopping when night fell around her, not wanting to waste any more time catching up with Geralt. When she did reach Anchor, a few hours before dawn, she questioned anyone in the streets that might have seen Geralt and Roach, before stepping into the tavern, spent and thirsty.

“What will it be?” The Barkeep asked, as Skye stepped up to the counter.

“Whatever is the warmest and a mug of mead.” She told him, rubbing at her dusty face.

“Are you looking for a room?” A woman behind the bar asked, looking Skye over.

“No.” Skye shook her head, even though she struggled to keep her eyes open. “I am looking for a Witcher, gol--”

“Gold-eyes, white-hair, built like a brick house and broody?” the woman interrupted her, nodding her head with a disapproving crease on her brow. “Yeah, he was here yesterday morning, for a short while, before moving on again.”

A measure of exhaustion in Skye's road-worn body vanished at the lady's words. “Did you see where?” She asked, minty eyes wide with desperation.

“No, I'm sorry.”

Just like that, Skye was tired and deflated again. “Thanks.” She mumbled to the woman and barkeep, taking her food and drink to a table, hunching over it.

“You lookin' for a Witcher?” A gravelly voice asked beside her.

Skye rubbed her gritty eyes and nodded her head, not looking up at the voice's owner. “Geralt of Rivia.” She told him, dunking her wooden spoon into her bowl of hot liquid of some sort that smells slightly fishy.

A body slipped into the chair in front of Skye, elbows on the table. “Why are you looking for the White Wolf?”

“He has something that I want back.” She growled, upper lip twitching at her meal.

“And, what would that be?” the Stranger pressed her.

Skye lifted her head and looked at him, her angry expression never altering as she stared straight into his eyes. She wasn't about to tell this punk that she was tracking the Witcher down for stealing her heart, then having the audacity to run off with it. That would have created more attention and trouble than she already had trying to locate and catch up to Geralt in the first place. So, Skye did the next thing that came to her mind.

“My gold.” She lied, coldly. “I employed him to kill a monster that's been harassing my farm, but the bastard took my money, and ran.” She explained to him, taking a slurp of her food; which was definitely a fish stew.

“I want it back.”

“You think a wee thing, like yourself, can best a Witcher?” The man snorted, grinning and dragging his eyes over her body. “That's rich!” He laughed aloud, slamming a palm down on the table in his fit; spilling some of Skye's early breakfast in the process.

Narrowing her eyes, Skye jerked the dagger Tarzad gave her out and stabbed the tip of it into the table; between the man's slightly spread fingers and made him go pale. “Yes, I do.” She growled, darkly, yanking the dagger out of the table and slipped it back into its sheath in her waistband.

“You're pretty handy with a blade.” He said, examining his hand, not a mark on it.

“I missed.” Skye huffed, chugging down some of her mead. “What do you want, anyway?”

“I overheard you talking to the innkeeper's wife about a Witcher that matched the White Wolf.” He told her, settling his eyes on her. “I happened to see him, on the road, as I made my way home.”

“Oh, and where would that be?”

“On the northeast road from here to Vizima.” He replied and slid his hand, palm up, across the table towards Skye.

“If I find out you're lying, I won't miss the next time I see you.” Skye warned him with a growl, pulling a gold coin out from her pouch and dropping into his hand. “Now, piss off.”

Smirking and closing his hand around the cold metal, the man nodded his head and stood, leaving Skye to finish her food in peace. Finishing her meal, Skye stopped by a merchant's shop to replenish her stock of food, knowing it was going to be a little bit until she arrived in Vizima and didn't want to run the risk of running out, then went on her way, finding the road, that was more a trail, between Anchor and Vizima.

“You think he'll still be there, when we arrive?” Skye asked Arthas, as she sat by the little fire of her camp that night, needing to rest before she fell over. “Why would he do that?” She sighed, looking up the gelding as he munched on the grass. “He kissed me and gave me so many signals that he loved me. I seriously don't believe he's emotionless, either.”

Arthas nickered and huffed through his flaring nostrils, still munching on the sparse grass.

Skye sighed and shook her head. “He's right, he doesn't have a claim on me, since the Law of Surprise doesn't count, but I thought, that since we love each other, that would have been enough. It would have been for me, if the roles were reversed.”

But, just like with Dorian and Anchor, Skye didn't find Geralt in Vizima, and had hit a dead end, no one had seen Geralt pass through the city, and with so many options and routes for Geralt to take on whim and fancy, his trail had gone hopelessly and discouragingly cold. He could have gone north to Houtburg or La Valette, or west to Dorndal or Ellander. She was sure he wouldn't be heading back to Kaer Morhen, not until Winter, that is, and that was eight months from now. She considered heading there and waiting out the long months until Geralt returned, explaining to Vesemir what had happened, but shook that off, she wasn't going to wait that long to confront the Witcher on abandoning her like he had.

So, Skye did something that was probably more than silly and desperate, she pulled a gold coin out of her pouch, designating heads for north and tails for east, then flipped it, the mid-morning sunlight glinting off of it, before it dropped to the ground at her feet.

Heads.

Picked the coin back up, she did it again, heads for Houtburg and tails for La Valette.

Heads again.

“Houtburg it is, then.” She sighed, storing the coin away and asked a man setting up shop for directions to the city, thanked him and mounted Arthas, going on her way and praying she was going in the right direction.

-- Chapter V --

[louiseleblancdiggory]

"i'm gonna kiss you right now" for rowaelin

Ok so I used this prompt to make a part 2 for Drunk Mistakes (I really want to kiss you right now prompt)!! I hope you guys like this because I had fun writing it. It is heavily inspired on a conversation I’ve had with my best friends

Drunk Mistakes (part 1)

Tipsy kisses

--

Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to read into her words.

Aelin’s heart was beating so fast that maybe Rowan was narrowing his eyes because even he could hear it. Underneath the covers, Aelin twisted her hands, both of them starting to sweat.

“Nothing at all?”

She shook her head, getting up from the bed. If he kept staring at her like that, she’d probably break and commit the same mistake from the night before. All Aelin wanted was for Rowan to drop the subject and believe that she was just a blabbering drunk. She just wanted him to forget last night.

“Did I do something? You know how I get when I get drunk like that.” She said, forcing worry and curiosity in her voice but not turning her face to him. She entered her bathroom and Rowan, thank the gods, didn’t follow.

She looked at herself in the mirror and almost gasped. A corpse looked better than her at that moment. Smeared makeup, the hair a mess and huge bags under her eyes, the pounding headache wasn’t the only thing a hungover brought to her. “Fuck, I look hideous.”

She was trying to change the subject, trying to make things seem natural again. Judging by Rowan’s silence, it wasn’t working.

“Ro.” She called again, finally looking back at him through her reflection in the mirror. “Did I do something?”

Rowan stared at her for a few seconds before shaking his head. “No. No, you didn’t.”

Aelin nodded back, a forced smile on her lips. She couldn’t tell if she was happy or disappointed with his answer.

—————

Six weeks. It had been six fucking weeks from her little drunken incident and Rowan was still acting strange around her.

Whenever she thought of it, Aelin wanted to cry. This is why she didn’t want to tell him about her feelings. This is why she didn’t want to make a move on him. If he was all tense and strange after hearing her say she wanted to kiss him while drunk, Aelin couldn’t phantom what he would do if she had said the words sober.

Maybe a restriction order. Or just finding excuses to not even look at her when they went out, even if he was already doing that.

“I hate this.” Aelin murmured, taking a deep chug of her beer. She was a little tipsy and the beer sent a rush to her head. “And I hate beer.”

“No, you don’t. You love beer, you’re just bitter lately.” Fenrys answered, putting an arm over her shoulders and pulling her close. Aelin laid her head on his chest, groaning quietly. “Just talk to him.”

“Last time I talked to him in a bar, I fucked it up and that’s why things are the way they are.” Aelin grumbled and Fenrys only chuckled, rubbing her arm with his hand. “Gosh, I’m an idiot. Four years. I managed to keep my mouth shut for four years and then I get drunk one night and fuck it up.”

Fenrys wasn’t surprised at the words. He had been her friend for much longer than she had known Rowan. Actually, both of them met four years ago because of Fenrys. Both he and Rowan were planning on going to pre-med, and were to be roommates during freshman year of college. Fenrys threw a party during the summer and that’s when Aelin met Rowan.

Since the beginning Fenrys had been the first person to know about Aelin’s feelings towards Rowan. The other four people were Manon, Lys, Elide and Dorian. Manon and Dorian were currently traveling the world in their gap year, only sometimes stopping by Orynth. Elide and Lysandra knew everything, but Fenrys had always understood better. She didn’t even had to tell him four years ago, the asshole just guessed.

After that Aelin was more careful in expressing herself with Rowan when there were other people around.

“Everyone makes drunk mistakes, baby.” He said, voice always carefree.

“You were supposed to stop me from making this certain mistake!” She smacked him across the chest. That had been their pact; Fenrys wouldn’t let Aelin confess her feelings when she was under distress, sad, overjoyed or, as he had failed, drunk.

“I tried! I fucking came by and swept you away, it’s not my fault you have this big ass mouth.” He hissed when she hit him again. “You were dancing with Vaughan and then I blink and, oh gods, where is Aelin?”

Aelin huffed a laugh at the sarcasm in his voice. “Three seconds earlier and I wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

Fenrys laughed, ending his beer. He put the bottle on the table with a loud thud and everyone around them, including Rowan, turned to them. That was the first time during the night that he had looked at her and not averted his gaze quickly. His eyes narrowed a tiny bit while he watched Aelin and Fenrys. When Fenrys put his hands on her shoulders and drew her away from his chest, Rowan shook his head quickly and turned back to talk to Lyria.

“You want my advice?” Fenrys said, looking her dead in the eye. Aelin laughed at his sudden seriousness.

“Yes, give me all your extensive knowledge.”

“Smartass.” He replied, not letting go of her shoulders. “I fuck up a lot—”

“I have noticed, yes.” Aelin nodded solemnly.

“I will gag you if you don’t shut up.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “As I fuck up a lot, I know when a situation needs disfucking—“

“Did you just say disfucking?” She was either a little bit more than tipsy or Fenrys was just being his usual self.

“For the love of the gods, will you let me finish? Yes, disfucking. When you un-fuck what you fucked up.”

Yeah, just Fenrys being his usual self.

“Fuck down then?”

“Disfucking.”

Aelin was bitting her cheeks to keep herself from smiling. This was the stupidest conversation she had ever had and the alcohol made it ten times funnier.

“Proceed. How do I disfuck Rowan?”

“How do you what?” Vaughan who was passing nearby stopped, eyes wide and brows furrowed.

“Oh, gods.” Fenrys rubbed his temples, sighing and looking at Vaughan. “Disfuck. Now get out.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Vaughan said, turning to Aelin.

She shrugged. “Un-fuck what you fucked up.”

“Fuck down?”

“No!” Fenrys shouted and everyone looked at him again. “Disfuck and fuck down are different.”

“What the hell?” Lorcan sitting by Rowan’s side murmured.

“Mind your own business, M-rated Grinch.” Fenrys snapped at Lorcan and this time Aelin could help but laugh. She was almost doubling over when Fenrys turned to Vaughan. “You get the fuck out.” He turned to her. “And you, baby, shut the hell up and hear my teachings.”

She nodded, breathing hard. She looked at Rowan again to see him with furrowed brows. He turned away again. She sighed.

“You won’t disfuck this situation.” Fenrys explained. “It won’t help, it’s already too throughly fucked.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“What you will do, is kiss Rowan.” Fenrys finished, flashing her a smile.

“Someone needs to disfuck your brain. How is that supposed to help?”

“It won’t. He thinks you don’t remember but he does remember. He won’t forget. If the relationship is destroyed, at least get the kiss you’ve wanted for four years.”

“He’s right.” Vaughan added quietly.

“Bloody gods, you’re still here.” Fenrys turned to his brother-in-law. “Didn’t I tell you to piss off?”

“I was curious.” He shrugged, approaching Fenrys and Aelin. “But he’s right. Everything already went to shit, so why not?”

Aelin’s heart constricted at the words. “The two of you are so, so helpful. I feel much more comforted now that you guys said my relationship with my best friend is ruined.”

“They have no social skills, that’s why. It’s a wonder they can ever have a conversation with other people.” Lyria said, coming on their direction. “But they’re right, you should kiss Rowan.”

“You can’t have one private conversation these days.” Fenrys grumbled and Lyria hit him in the back of the head.

Aelin ignored him and turned to one of her closest friends. “You think?”

“I mean, yeah. I’ve known you for four years and Rowan for longer than that. I have been wondering why the two of you haven’t done it yet.” Lyria said, her voice calm and steady. She smiled knowingly at Aelin.

“Isn’t he your ex? You’re trying to pair up your best friend and your ex?” Fenrys butted in.

“You can’t have one private conversation these days.” Lyria mimicked Fenrys and the two immediately started bickering as usual.

Aelin stared at them for a few seconds before turning to Vaughan. “Can you take Lorcan away from Rowan?”

“Anything for you, princess.” Vaughan smiled at her, turning around and starting to walk to the bar. “Salvaterre, drinking competition. You say no, you’re a spineless coward and I’m showing Elide your baby pictures.”

Aelin watched as Lorcan immediately got up, following Vaughan as he threatened her friend.

Without giving herself time to consider what she was about to do, Aelin drowned the rest of her beer and got up. Her head was buzzing and she didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the adrenaline. She dodged Lyria who was still standing near Fenrys, arguing with him. With a purposeful stride, Aelin walked up to where Rowan was sitting. He saw her seconds before she stopped in front of him, brows high.

“You ok?” He said when she stood before him.

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” He answered, and Aelin could hear the confusion on his voice.

“Neither am I. A little tipsy, but that’s besides the point. And I lied six weeks ago.” She said, voice coming out rushed. Her heart was thundering and her mind was racing. She was feeling an adrenaline rush and would probably want to murder Fenrys, Vaughan and Lyria when it ended. “I was drunk, but I remembered the whole night.”

Rowan’s eyes widened at that, and some sadness took over his expression. “You lied?”

“Yeah, sorry. I thought that you were giving me an out the following morning. Because, you know… I said I wanted to kiss you and you didn’t want that.”

“I—“ Rowan started, dumbfounded.

“But it doesn’t matter, because I can’t disfuck it so I am going to kiss you.”

“You will?” Aelin sworn she could see Rowan fighting a smile.

“Yeah.” She nodded at herself. “I’m gonna kiss you right now.”

Aelin grabbed Rowan’s face in her hands, stepping in between his legs. The second before Aelin’s lips met his, she could see him finally smiling.

Rowan’s hands went immediately to her waist when her lips touched his. Rowan’s mouth was warm and soft against hers, and Aelin sighed contently. He drew her closer, and Aelin felt her body flushed against his. Aelin skimmed her hands from his face to the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair. When Rowan’s tongue swept over her bottom lip, Aelin opened her mouth and would have probably moaned if they weren’t in public.

They kissed until Aelin lost track of time, mouths and tongues moving against each other, his fingers hugging her waist and hers playing with his hair.

When they finally drew apart, both were breathing hard, a small smile on Rowan’s lips and a very satisfied one on Aelin’s.

“So this is disfucking.” She said after breathing in, voice raspy.

“What the hell is disfucking?” Rowan’s brows furrowed, but he was still smiling.

Aelin merely stepped forward again, catching his lips with hers.

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass 

[dragonagecompanions]

hi there, so in love with your works. Seriously *bows head* thank you all so much. If its not too bad, I wanted to know how everyone in DAI from the advisors to the companions would react to a teen inquisitor who is brilliant at cooking? Yet the inquisitor has no idea about people from Leliana's agents to everyone else pinching her food.

Cassandra: She thinks she is being sneaky and subtle, insisting that because of their age and responsibility it is better for their young herald to stay close to camp and not take a watch when they leave Skyhold. There will be time for that when they are older, and bearless of a burden. If they will take on the difficulty of closing the rifts, then the most they should have to do is help around the camp, and after a long day nothing is appreciated more than hot food.

No one contradicts her, and the Seeker is left to silently congratulate herself on enjoying the absolutely divine way that their young leader has with rabbit and Hinterland herbs without making the Inquisitor feel worthless.

(And if everyone else lets her take a lead on that because she has mattered the speech, well...it’s really good stew.)

Varric: Damn, this is the stuff. Its like being back in the Hanged Man, except the bread is trying to actively strange him, and the pies aren’t staring back and.. 

It’s nothing like the Hanged Man, really, but the sheer comfort of phenomenal food at the end of the world? The same kind of warmth as sitting with your friends as the city goes to shit and laughing at a joke no one else gets. Their young protagonist has a good skill set on their hands, and If Varric’s writing table moves a little closer to the door into the kitchens, well.

Keeps the ink from freezing.

Solas: It had been a passing comment about the frilly cakes in Val Royeaux,  some exchange of banter with Varric about time passing and philosophy and the unending banal that one takes on to keep the miles from turning monotonous. He’d had no idea the Herald was listening, and so it makes it all the more touching when- after waqving to them as they take on the climb to the library- he comes down from his painter’s perch to find three petit fours waiting for him on his table. 

It drives home that they are a thoughtful young person, so different from the rest of this world, and if he uses the sweetness of the frosting and cake to drive away the twinge of guilt that his plans still move at speed....it does not take away from their talent, or their kindness. He will be content with that.

Blackwall: Food is food, particularly on the road. Hard tack and sausage has kept many a soldier alive, and he is the last person you’d hear complaining that he can’t put his pinky out eating meat from a spit. Luxury is for soft handed nobles, not men and women striving to make the world better. Let them have the best cuts-- Blackwall would starve before he robs true heroes of a hot meal.

And yet the first time he comes back from gathering firewood to find that the reason the inquisitor was tying so much string around the side of a wild hog was to make a porketta, and he got a good whiff of roasted pork slowly spinning in it’s own drippings....It would be a harder sacrifice. It made the Inquisitor so happy to watch their work be enjoyed and help people though, that it would the crueler not to take some. 

And if he dreams about the tender meat and crispy skin all perfectly seasoned and roasted for days afterwords, that’s no one’s business of his own. 

Vivienne: She cuts an imposing figure, and for the Madame de Fer is quite proud. It has cowed more than one recalcitrant novice into place with only a long legged stride alone, and for that she is a legend in her circle. Of course the stories do not tell how she would never be cruel or unfeeling to a child, and particularly not one far from home and frightened of every shadow like the ones that the Templars rip from families and depost in a new and strange place.

She expects a similar attitude from the young Herald, particularly after her (rahter stunning) entrance on their first meeting. And perhaps they were a bit overawed, but before it could become something she needs to address Lady Vivienne is pleasantly surprised to find their young leader coming to her for advice from a letter from some minor Orlesian lord. And while surely it will be up to Josephine to craft the response Vivienne is delighted that the Inquisitor wants her input.

That they went to the effort to bring beignet’s with them as a bribe...For that, she will give them every secret of the author’s well kept family scandals. 

Sera: Their Bitty Herald can make cookies better than Sera can make cookies, but they aren’t the kind that you throw at people as a prank or that come out all rock hard and brown and blegh. They are the soft gooey kind that make you want to steal the whole plate and eat them on your roof but also throw the plate at their Quizznitor because....because cookies!

She will trade pranks for cookies, who ever her Jenny in training wants to see doused in water or flour or...or...pudding! Pudding for cookies is the most fair.

Dorian: Southern food is bland and tasteless, and Skyhold’s resident ‘Vint will endure it for as long as he must to help defeat this ancient magister and get things on the right track. And the beer isn’t the worst, much to his own dismay as his delicate palette accepts the swill. But the food is all friend or brown or smothered in gravy, and he’d just as soon not.

So when they finally stop for the night under the endless web of branches that keep the sky from meeting the Fallow Mire, the pond water full of dead people sounds more appealing than one more night of Varric’s nug stew. Which makes the fact their valiant young Herald just ladled him a bowl of Minestrone so much more impressive. Their shrugged explanation of ‘I’ve always wanted to make it and the merchants had actual artichokes on the way here and you can tell me if I got it right’ does nothing to take away the warmth and delight the gesture brings to him. 

It would be like coming home, if anyone had ever made sucha rustic and delightful soup for him without strings and hooks attached in Tevinter, and for the first time on the whole mission Dorian isn’t chilled the rest of the night. 

The Iron Bull: He isn’t sure which one of the Chargers talks to the Herald (lies, it was  Krem), but one night half the fortress is piled into the Rest and the Inquisitor is waiting with four bowls of unreadable origin. The explanation that these are four kinds of curry and each is hotter than the last is the best gift he’s ever gotten, but the wager of a single coin (he won’t steal more than that from the kid) that the Iron Bull can’t finish them for the spice is even better. 

Three hours later finds him chewing on one of Stitche’s poultices for a burnt tongue (and throat and stomach and probably ass in a few hours) but one coin richer and hoarse voiced from the roaring laughter he’d gotten after a straight face convinced Krem to try the last bown and he’d literally wept.

Good times. 

Cole: The nug is made of bread, and it isn’t a nug but it looks like one. And it’s wearing a tiny hat! ‘Roll the dough out, has to be thin so it rises to keep the shape, he likes nugs so much and doesn’t ask for anything and Sera bet me I couldn’t.’ You made it for me. Thank you! He says hello back!

Josephine: When their ambassador hears that not only does the Herald have an aunt who married into a merchant house in Antiva but the inquisitor spent a summer there and learned to make authentic Paella, Lady Montiliyet’s mind is a whirlwind of plans and thoughts of just the appropriate bribe that would spare her from getting down on her knees and begging a fifteen year old to make her favorite dish. Eventually Leliana gets tired of little doodles of steaming bowls on all their meeting notes and sends a raven  three windows over, Josie, really with an ‘anonymous’ request to make it and leave it in the war room in exchange for a trade of equal value. 

And when Josephine finds out that all the Inquisitor wants is the creepy love letters from young  Orlesian nobles to go away, she takes great delight in her strongly worded letters to their mothers in between heaping mouthfuils of white wine rice and shrimp and the warm bite of saffron that will always be home.

Leliana: It is written on no report or schedule, and her agents will go to the grave without speaking of it to another soul, but the Inquisition’s spymaster has a man in the kitchens whose only role is to fetch firewood and water and try to one day recover his shattered after a terrible mission in her service. It’s easy work for a man who gave so much, and somewhere he is able to do good work until the tremors and the nightmares stop. The kitchen staff is kind to him and treat him well, but his true mission is known only to himself and his mistress.

The second the herald starts making  Cassoulet he is to fetch her immediately. She won’t be caught in a meeting and miss her favorite food again, damn it.

Cullen: It’s hard for the Inquisitor’s commander to be at ease with someone who is both a child and at least nominally his leader. They are someone he wants to protect, but also the key to stopping the world and someone who must be on the front lines. That is gift alone to the world, but when the rumors begin to swirl that they will also go out of their way to make things that people like it brings a small smile to his face. The world would be better if had more people like the herald in it. 

Especially if they could all make little crocks of shepards pie like the one that sits on his desk after a day of long meetings and a lyrium migraine. That might make everything right again.

-- Mod Fereldone

[emerald-amidst-gold]

*pokes head in through your door* Did someone request OC asks? :D

How did your Warden react to Zevran’s failed attempt on their life? Were they amused? Angry?

Did Alistair’s parentage surprise your Warden? How did your Warden’s feelings on the nobility affect their relationship with Alistair?

How did your Warden respond to Wynne’s comments if your Warden romanced someone? Did they tell her it was love or that the relationship was purely physical?

Did your Warden believe that Leliana was telling the truth about her vision from the Maker or were they skeptical?

How did your Warden speak to Sten? Did they fight with him often or were they more humorous in their responses?

How did your Warden react to Loghain’s fierce love for his daughter? Did they share a strong sense of loyalty to their own family?

*whips my head around smiles* That's meeeee! The OC asker in the flesh! Or well, digital. But, pah! 'Tis I! >:D

*rubs hands together* Let's do this! I've itching to share more of Elise, so thank you so much! X3

How did your Warden react to Zevran's failed attempt on their life? Were they amused? Angry?

Gonna be completely honest, Elise found it amusing. XD

At first.

She's lived her entire life in the Circle, a dismal cage with gilded bars. When she was conscripted, Elise looked at the world around her and went, 'I love it. I love it.' Tomes and stories that told of grand assassinations, trysts, and all manner of political intrigue were riveting to a mind that only knew stone walls and high, unreachable windows. So, when Elise found herself apart of an attempted assassination, a Crow assassination no less? Her heart sped up, her palms turned sweaty with excitement, and her magic sparked to life with more ease than she had ever thought herself capable of.

Obviously, when faced with Zevran after the fact, questions and answers holding dark shadows, Elise snapped out of her romanticizing. She saw that pretty bound books and an author's 'personal' representation of events they knew nothing about was merely fantasy; they weren't true, they weren't idyllic. They were cold. They were hard. They were just veneer to paint over the atrocity of war and power-mongering. People suffered for what she found so enthralling, and Zevran's attack, and later his past, makes her realize that she is truly naive of a world that she claims she loves.

Elise knew nothing about the outside world. Just like those authors knew nothing of the suffering of the people caught in the crossfire of war--those that had to do ungodly things just to survive.

Did Alistair’s parentage surprise your Warden? How did your Warden’s feelings on the nobility affect their relationship with Alistair?

Alistair's lineage did surprise Elise somewhat. However, in Ostagar, when she had met Cailan, and then went on to meet Alistair, something...stuck. There was a resemblance; Elise could see it in the faces of two seemingly different men. Cailan and Alistair don't look exactly alike, of course, but there are a few characteristics that made Elise pause while speaking to Alistair and go, 'Where have I seen the slope of his nose before?' or 'If his hair was just a shade lighter, he would be..' So, when Alistair finally shares the truth of his birthright, Elise takes it in relative stride, but it also makes her heart sink a bit.

By Redcliffe (in my play-through at least), Elise is beginning to development feelings for Alistair. She finds his presence comforting, his views refreshing, his resolve endearing, and his gentle awkwardness lovable. He's been with her since the beginning, when she was mildly frightened and unsure of a cage with no bars, but still a cage due to what she was; a mage. Alistair saw that, knew what she was, and still, he treated her like an equal--reaching out when nightmares took her, offering her a witty quip or a playful smile to try and lift her back up from the mud, and reassuring her she wasn't alone in this long and bloody task of their's.

Alistair treated Elise as a person, and Elise offers that same kindness when he reveals his connection to the throne. However, she can see the warmth in his eyes fade a little upon telling her, a crooked, wry smile replacing the jovial air of another, and Elise knows that Alistair knows.

She's a mage and he, a king. There is no happy ending in store for them, but love is as persistent as it is fleeting, and they fall into each other's orbit despite the pain it later brings them both.

How did your Warden respond to Wynne’s comments if your Warden romanced someone? Did they tell her it was love or that the relationship was purely physical?

Elise was kind of belligerent, not going to lie. It's actually the first time I envision that hardened side of her beginning to shine through.

When Wynne points out the fact that she and Alistair are both Wardens, and that he's the son of a king destined to follow in those heavy footsteps, it only succeeds in bringing those painful fears to the fore and reasserting to Elise that she can't be happy because of what she is. This conversation happens after the Broken Circle quest, so Elise is still haunted by those horrors of a home sundered, and most of all, Cullen and his words towards her. So, two sources have said to her, 'You can't have this because of what you are.', and that tears into Elise's slowly hardening heart. She knows her duty, she knows what she is and she's proud of it, and Elise believes that shouldn't bar her from what others are freely given.

"I am a mage. I am a Warden." Elise spat, fists clenching and unclenching sporadically as she glared into the elderly mage before her. "But, I'm also a woman--a person, Wynne. I have feelings, and I won't sweep those aside just because you think it's best, because the 'world' somehow suddenly demands it!" Magic tingled at her finger tips, sparks latching onto tiny energy nodes of the Fade as her hands began to shake. "I care for Alistair. I want to see him happy because this world hasn't let him be so! So...so, fuck your concern and wisdom! I have choices, Alistair has choices, and if that's irresponsible to you, then leave because my heart won't change. No matter what pain it could bring me!"

Did your Warden believe that Leliana was telling the truth about her vision from the Maker or were they skeptical?

Now, I think I've mentioned that Elise is somewhat religious. She believes in the Maker and Andraste, but like Dorian says in Inquisition, she doesn't believe in the Chantry's rhetoric.

In regards to Leliana's vision, the magically curious side of Elise comes out and she ponders if the vision was the work of it. She doesn't outright ask Leli that, knowing that it would probably be rebuffed or met with a, 'I'm...not sure.', but it lingers in the depths of her mind and Elise tries to do some research into similar occurrences, to no avail. All Elise knows is that Leliana finds strength and hope in what she saw, so she doesn't challenge it and spoil it with practical applications. After all, the nature of faith is shaped by the unknown, and Elise always did like a good mystery. So, even if she didn't completely believe it herself, Elise knows what it meant to Leliana to have that warmth long denied by a Chantry brazier.

How did your Warden speak to Sten? Did they fight with him often or were they more humorous in their responses?

Elise was fascinated by Sten. She had only read of the Qunari in the few meager tomes she could find--most struck from the records by the Chantry due to 'heresy'. So, when at camp, Elise took the time to learn from the stoic man. She asked questions, listened to his answers, sat, mouth agape at some of the more profound stories Sten would opt to share, and soaked it up like a sponge. Elise would challenge some viewpoints of Sten's, those concerning mages and the general people of Ferelden, but mainly because she wanted to hear his side. Elise was eager and undeterred by Sten's brusque, aloof, and outwardly annoyed demeanor. She just saw a person--a person who she could learn from. And I think Sten responded well to that curiosity and open-mindedness, even if he didn't show it all that well.

How did your Warden react to Loghain’s fierce love for his daughter? Did they share a strong sense of loyalty to their own family?

So, to start, Elise doesn't remember her family very well. She was taken to the Circle at young age, barely able to remember how she even came to the tower. But, her found family is everything to her and she would die, be tortured, and branded every manner of beast if it kept them safe.

And I'm not lying when I say that Loghain's love for Anora, and she for him, was what made Elise want to spare him.

In that moment, as the teyrn knelt upon the floor before her, sword limp, eyes downcast with all manner of emotion, and blood dribbling from wounds she had managed in a duel unnecessary, unfair, Elise didn't see a traitor, a murderer of Wardens and kings, or even a man whose sense of duty had been so warped that it led him astray.

No, she saw none of that. Instead, she saw a father--a father of both daughter and country.

Elise drew her lips tight, tasting the salt of her sweat and a hint of iron. Her hand shook upon the hilt of her sword, suddenly feeling too heavy, too much as she continued to keep it trained upon the defeated man. All eyes were upon her, their gazes like wildfire and bramble--burning, piercing, anticipating. Yet, she could not move. She could not do it.

She could not take a father from his child! She could not! Not when it wasn't necessary! Not when the Queen had asked, pleaded with tears in her blue eyes for a way out of this foolishness, for an end to the constant suffering! There was a way! There was!

"I--", Elise began, as shaky as her arm that brandished a sword instead of a staff. The tremors increased as the wildfire upon her back blazed, and her grip faltered, sword plummeting to the ground with a harsh clang. "I...won't kill you. I accept your surrender. I accept."

There were gasps and whispers of disbelief, but she blocked them out as tired eyes traveled from that abandoned weapon to her face, searching, seeking, and quietly suspicious. But, before any words could be uttered between them or explanations could be voiced, there was a shout--a familiar, but dreaded shout of anger, of disbelief, of betrayal most foul. One word. Just one, and it was sharper than her sword that lay upon the ground, coated with blood of thought up foes.

"What!?"

----

*drags hand down in front of my face in an elaborate fashion* And scene!

Thank you so much, friend! I hope you like the answers even if they are a tad long! :D

[blarrghe]

Spending a holiday together + 14 - “Well geez, if you don’t like what I’m wearing, I can go and change.” 😂

This prompt was far too similar to something I actually wrote for the chapter of Twelve Nights I just finished, so I am going to post the whole little excerpt (which is also the ending of this chapter) here :) More body language than the actual line, but this chapter makes me very happy. Some holiday hurt/comfort for yas. The full chapter is also up now! --

The windows of Lavellan’s Crafts were dark, because of course they were — it was going on nine 'o'clock at night on Satinalia — and Dorian sat in his car in the tiny, empty parking lot on the street, staring bitterly out at them, wondering what he had expected. When he got out and walked stupidly up to the shop and around the side of the building, he found that all the windows set into it were dark. Because, again, of course they were; it was Satinalia, and Taren Lavellan had a family somewhere in this whimsical little village that loved him. He was probably sitting in front of a fireplace in one of those happy, warm looking little cabins with golden candlelight in the windows and hot cider in his mug and a collection of aunties and uncles and grandparents and children all singing holiday carols and exchanging homemade gifts around him. 

Dorian stomped on down the road, his feet wet with the snow that had soaked through and probably ruined his shoes, his face stinging with the cold wind that tore thin tears from his eyes — well, no. He had no one to impress. It was Satinalia, and he was alone, and cold, and crying. 

He wound up at the tree, still brightly lit and sparkling in the town square, and he very much wanted to kick it. He didn't, because it was huge and spiked and would just stab him with needles if he tried, so he kicked at the snow around it instead, now entirely unable to feel his feet, nevermind agitating his stubbed toe, and then sat down heavily on a bench. The same bench that he'd found Taren sitting on, waiting for him, just the night before.

The whole beautiful festival seemed to have happened ages ago now, even though the ice sculptures still decorated the sidewalks and the little food stands sat boarded up for the evening around him. He stared up at the dazzling lights glowing through the spiked branches of the great pine tree, and felt sharp and bitter to match it. What was he doing? What had he been thinking, last night, coming out here to take in some frivolous, charming entertainment? It had been a mistake. A great, stupid, amateur mistake. He didn't belong here, and he needed to stop wanting to. He needed to get back in his car and drive back up the mountain and stick to what he was good at. Which was being sharp-tongued and quick-witted and alone. And maybe drunk. He patted at his coat, pulling out his shining flask and tipping it into his mouth only to find it nearly empty. He needed to go back up the mountain and drink himself into a proper Satinalia stupor. He bent his head into his numb, red, cracked and possibly bleeding hands to shake out one last quietly self-pitying cry, shaking enough with the cold that it was hard to tell where shivering ended and frustration began.

"Hey!" — Dorian looked up to see a tall elf waving at him from across the square. He mastered his snivelling and tried to smooth down his hair. The elf crossed the square towards him, and he recognized the bright hair and simple tattoos of Taren's friend — or cousin or uncle or whatever — from the lodge. "Dorian, right?" 

Dorian had already forgotten the elf's name, so he simply nodded grimly and attempted to look like he wasn't bitterly crying alone on a bench in the cold. The elf just sort of stared down at him with a curious glint in his eyes.

"Were you...were you looking for Taren?" 

"I was…" — he stuttered, voice hoarse and teeth chattering — "I was just leaving." 

"Oh. Well, he's at the community centre," of fucking course he is, "there's a holiday potluck. It's not far…" the elf continued to look him over, curiosity and blatant pity on his face, "actually, I have to carry some stuff over, if you wanted to help me and, you know, warm up a bit." He suggested, holding up one of two heavy looking cloth bags filled with boxes of paper plates and large bottles of soda. 

An absolutely terrible idea, but Dorian nodded slowly and stood up, taking the heavier looking of the two bags. The elf then turned with a pleased expression and set off with long, loping strides down the road. 

—— 

When Dorian tried to picture what was conveyed by the words “community centre”, what he arrived at resembled a large school gymnasium; some kind of generic, empty room with laminate floors and fluorescent overhead lights. Shabby furniture, maybe a basketball hoop. That wasn’t at all what he found.

The community centre building was long, all one floor and built of wood with a low roof and a tall chimney, sticking out against a wide hill of snow bearing the signs of children at play — sled marks and drooping snowmen all across it. In front of the building lay a large gated area holding back a sprawling playground of slides and climbing structures and even a small skating rink. Inside, the wood panelled walls were adorned with amateur artwork and framed photographs, display cases filled with trophies and clipped newspaper articles, and too many homemade holiday decorations. Beyond a front desk and a bit of warmly lit hall, his guide opened a door into the wide gymnasium he had expected. It was not lined in slippery laminate flooring or lit in glaring white, but continued on with the shining hardwood of the lobby. Overhead the ceiling was decorated in hanging paper snowflakes, while strings of lights and bright candles cast a soft glow over the long tables set out across it. 

“Hey, Keeps!” called the elf ahead of him, shouting across the sea of cheery, chattering people — old, young, elvhen and otherwise — who were mingling about, laughing at their tables and piling food onto their plates from the long line of dishes set out at one end of the wide hall. At a table in the far corner, an elf with haphazard curls of red hair and glowing, tattooed skin turned around. 

Well, there he was — Dorian's breath faltered in his lungs — Taren. 

“Look who I dragged in from the cold!” 

The murmuring of conversation around him quieted slightly for a moment, and then built itself happily back up, apparently thinking nothing of him. But as Taren turned to look back at the call of what was apparently his nickname, still laughing a laugh that Dorian could probably pick out of a sea of thousands, he stopped, and regarded Dorian in stunned silence. 

Shit. Shit. 

Taren rose from his table and walked over; cautious, curious pace increasing as he got closer and was able to make out the absolute dishevelment of Dorian's appearance — shoes wet from the snow and hair soaked through, dirt and blood on his hands and redness in his eyes — until he arrived in front of him. Taren stopped, reaching out with a firm but careful grip to steady Dorian’s drooping shoulders. 

"Hey, whoa," his brows scrunched together, confusion and worry and something else that was far too bright in his eyes, "Dorian, are you okay?" 

Dorian was taller, and he almost never slouched, but right now he was so hunched over with embarrassment and lingering cold that he shrank under Taren’s hold, looking up at him and his bright yet uneasy eyes. And he began, helplessly, to laugh. 

“You,” he struggled through the sentence, straightening a little, resisting the urge to simply fall into him, “you have antlers,” he snorted, Taren’s mouth moved from a worried frown to a confused half-smile, “on your head.” He did. Taren was dressed head-to-toe in the most ridiculous — absurdly ridiculous — adorably ridiculous — festive getup imaginable. No; worse than anything Dorian could have ever imagined. His sweater, which looked handmade and as though it had seen many a Satinalia, was bright blue and decorated with snowflakes that were embroidered into it with shining silver thread, zigzagging white and blue patterned stripes, and a collection of little green trees around the collar and wrists. He also wasn’t wearing shoes, but large, fuzzy, bright blue slippers with white fluffy pom poms tufting the tips of the toes, and on his head, pushing the messy curls and waves of his thick hair away from his beautifully tattooed face, was a headband; a headband with antlers. They looked to be made of felt and pipe cleaner and sparkly pom poms, spiralling about in some approximation of the patterns carved into the antlers of halla, and hanging off of each one were little bows and — were those bells? 

Taren reached a hand up to his head, touching the antlers as though he was surprised to find them there, and as he did, the springy felt-and-pipe cleaner accessory bounced, and the bells jingled. Taren grinned. “They were a gift,” he said, and his fingers hooked underneath the strap of the headband to begin pulling them off. 

Dorian shot a hand up to his head, catching Taren’s wrist and halting his removal of the absurd thing while still stifling his laughter. “Don’t.” he wheezed, “don’t you dare. They’re magnificent.” 

Taren lowered his hand, taking Dorian’s with it, and the bells on his head jingled again. “You want some food?” he asked, moving his free hand down Dorian's arm while he kept Dorian's in his other, still bracing him like he might fall. 

Dorian let go, remembering himself, and took a sudden step back. "I" — what, again, had he expected? — "I didn't bring anything, I just" — behind Taren, sitting out next to a tray of sugar cookies shaped like snowflakes and what looked to be a heavily vandalized gingerbread house, on one end of a long table laden with home cooked meals and large steel vats of hot cider, was an assortment of expensive, gold foil wrapped chocolates in a beautifully carved wooden bowl. He looked back at Taren. 

"I…" Taren followed his gaze, and blushed. "I don't really like sweets." There was a slight inflection to the statement, like it was a question, more than an excuse. 

"I" — Dorian glanced away from Taren again, this time looking at the crowd, all comfortable and happy and paying both of them almost no mind. Then he looked back at Taren, still smiling at him in that goofy, lopsided way, while antlers made of fairy dust and stupid, ridiculous holiday magic drooped over his halo of hair. "I hate you." he said. 

"Uh huh," said Taren, patting his arm once, and leaving his hand there for one infinite moment while bells jingled (on his head!) and children laughed and magic was real, "I'll get you a plate."