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inkedinfantasy · 1 year ago

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a comm for @emmyselch! some bittersweet pre-dying gasp moments between emet-selch and her OC Lou 💔

He supposed he should have anticipated she would be restless tonight of all nights. Short on time but in dire need of a proper rest, the Warrior of Light and his Scions were spending one last night with the Ondo before finally setting foot in Amaurot. And of course, wherever they went, Lou would follow. He would expect nothing less of her.

Damn it all, he’d tried. None could deny that he’d tried not to care, to maintain the detachment his mission demanded of him. To his credit, it was usually far easier than this. He could not recall when he had last willingly spent so much time with any of these sundered souls, let alone one so singular and familiar. It had allowed hope—and even more disastrously, affection—to take root, worming its way into the cracks of his heart to bloom into something new and so dangerously fragile.

Hemera always did have that effect on him.

But she was not Hemera, not truly. Lou was but a fraction of their soul, who still managed to be as reckless and exasperating and wonderful as they were, certainly, but time and distance from the world that was had still changed plenty. Contemplating her, he saw someone with whom Hemera would surely be great friends, but he could no longer reconcile them into the same person.

And the more time that passed, the less he found he minded.

She was alone when he approached her, sitting perched on a high shelf of rock above the Ondo settlement and staring out at the distant lights of Amaurot. Creation only knew how she’d managed to scale the steep cliffs to make it up there.

She looked over but did not move to stand as he neared. She was plainly full of nervous energy, her fingers drumming restlessly on her folded arms as she sat.

“A sleepless night, so close to the end of your journey? One must consider you either exceptionally eager or exceptionally foolish.”

“I’ve a lot on my mind, as you can well imagine.” She attempted a smile, weak and strained, before looking back out over the city. From here, they had a clear view of the sweeping spires of Amaurot stretched out in the distance. The sight of his phantom city was beautiful and eerie and heartbreaking all at once.

“It looks so much larger, even since the last time you brought me here,” she murmured, gazing out at the vast expanse of towering buildings and small, glowing lights. “Like it goes on forever. Just how much of it did you remake?”

“Not even near the whole of it. Amaurot was the beating heart of the known world.”

She was silent for a moment, lost in thought. “I haven’t told them anything, you know. About the city. About coming here.”

Truly? That she had kept her time in Amaurot a secret was unexpected, and more than a little gratifying. “Such trust you choose to place in me.”

“I…it’s complicated.” She shifted in place, avoiding his gaze. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we want to understand. We want to know what you’ve hidden down here. What makes you think this is the only way.” She hesitated, and then, a touch softer, more vulnerable: “I want to know.” Her eyes finally met his, a flush painting her face at the admission.

Knowing would not be enough. It never had been. She would not be satisfied until she had seen the true fate of the unsundered world for herself.

He thought of his dark, empty recreation of Amaurot populated with ghosts, pictured terror and death, the skies raining down fire, monsters carving through everything in their path. Was this the source of the line she drew between them, that he had watched his world burning alive before his eyes while she watched hers die slowly, by inches? Were she in his place, would she truly not do anything she possibly could?

That question had been answered once before, and he wasn’t prepared to hear the answer again.

“No,” he said, his tone far gentler than he’d intended. “I would not show you that, not tonight.”

Silence fell between them, the weight of “not tonight” almost tangible. Tomorrow would be a different story, and one that would be coming to an end.

He considered staying silent, bidding her goodnight and retreating back to the city to await their coming. He disregarded that consideration almost as quickly as it occurred to him. Neither of them were under any illusions as to what would happen when the Scions arrived in Amaurot. In some bitter irony, fate once again saw fit to set their stubbornness and convictions against each other.

The least he could do was make sure they got a proper goodbye this time.

“If you’re unable to take your rest, there’s no sense in wasting the evening. I don’t suppose you’d let me steal you away for the night?”

It had the tone of a lighthearted invitation, one he’d made several times before, but he could see in her searching look that she knew exactly what he was offering. A final night together, one last adventure before they met as enemies.

She knew this, and still she stood, taking his outstretched hand. “Yes.”

With a warp and hum of aether, they vanished.

* * *

They reappeared in the middle of a park, a wide expanse of green tucked in among the towering buildings at the heart of the city. It had been the first part of the city to come to mind when he’d thought of places Lou might like.

She would have enjoyed it in its prime, at least. Like most parts of the city, the park was noticeably underpopulated, missing the liveliness of a real piece of nature that existed even in the midst of a city such as this. The dim murk of the deep sea did it no favors either, creating the impression of a dull, overcast day.

“If you should wish to explore, you should see it in its best light.” He raised his hand, and snapped.

In the dark gloom beneath the waves, he conjured a small bubble of springtime. The park brightened under the warmth of an artificial sun’s glow, spilling over the vibrant green of the grass. A few patches of flowers bloomed, lazily waving in a gentle breeze. The soft, illusory chirr and buzz of insects and distant birdsong surrounded them in an instant, completing his small pocket of life in the bones of the ghostly city.

She turned slowly in place, taking the whole scene in, her grin bright and awestruck. “This is…it feels so alive. Is this more creation magic, then?”

“Not quite,” he said. “A trifling illusion, to capture a perfect day.”

It was an excessive, entirely frivolous use of magic, especially with their final confrontation yet to be had. But damn it all, did they not deserve this moment of peace? In that moment, it felt more than worth it, if it would keep her smiling.

“How far does this reach?” she asked.

“As far as the park does. Restored in its entirety, if only for the moment.”

She turned that bright smile on him. “Well then, we’d best get a move on, hadn’t we?” She took hold of his hand, and he followed as she led him further into the park.

They wound their way aimlessly through their private spring day, guided by whatever caught Lou’s eye. She was utterly captivated, fussing over all the unfamiliar plants they passed, speculating out loud to herself about what species they might have been a precursor to. She took a particular interest in an aromatic flowering shrub growing in picturesque rows along the border of the park land.

“Reminds me of the sage that grows wild in Lakeland. We’d pick it to cook with or dry or sell, and it always took ages to get the smell off my hands.” She smiled, lost in some fond memory as she reached out almost absently to pluck a leaf off the small shrub. Her fingers passed through the illusory plant, the leaf dissolving back into a wisp of aether in her hand. Her smile faltered ever so slightly, taking on a melancholy edge before melting into a yawn. “I—forgive me. I must be more tired than I thought. But there’s still so much more I want to see.”

Knowing her, she would drive herself to exhaustion exploring the city if she could. Surely, he could come up with some sort of compromise.

He considered bringing her to a recreation of Hemera’s home, and discarded the idea for several reasons. First and foremost, he could not recall what state he’d left it in last he’d visited, or if it currently existed in any form at all, for that matter. He must have destroyed, reshaped, and remade it a thousand times over at this point, frustration and grief and the terrifying slow decay of his recollection warring within him and leaving him unsatisfied by every vision he conjured up.

More personally, he’d realized that he did not want to place her against the backdrop of Hemera’s life. There was somewhere else he could bring her, somewhere just as intimate that no other living soul had ever seen.

“I believe I’ve just the place to show you,” he said.

She took his hand again without hesitation. “Lead the way, then.” He opened another portal, and they vanished once more.

* * *

When they rematerialized, he didn’t say anything at first, merely watching as Lou looked around, taking in the room they’d appeared in with a puzzled furrow to her expression.

“This looks like someone’s home.” She looked at him, the obvious question in her eyes.

“It is,” he said. “It’s mine.”

He heard her small, sharp intake of breath clearly in the silence. His home had been the very first thing he’d ever recreated. Even on her first trip to Amaurot, he hadn’t brought her here. The idea of showing her this place had still been too raw, too personal, for all he had already been far closer to her than he’d ever intended to be.

“Is this where you go when you’re not—” She made a vague gesture to indicate whatever it was she imagined he did when he wasn’t following them around, “—or is this where you lived…before?

“Both, I suppose. It is where I tend to spend my time while in Amaurot and a recreation of my former home.”

Our former home lingered unsaid in his mind as he played back days waking up here and being able to believe, if only briefly, that everything was as it should be, that any moment he’d hear Hemera talking far too loudly for the early hour or Hythlodaeus’s laugh from the kitchen. On days like that, the moment after he remembered, the empty truth of the place had been more than he could stand.

Right now, that silence was filled by Lou’s commentary as she explored.

Her attention had been captured by the gaudy, multicolored lamp sitting on one of his end tables. The style of of it was entirely at odds with the sleek, uniformly Amaurotine look of the room itself. “So what’s the story here?” she asked.

“That was a gift from Azem—Hemera. A token from their travels, handmade by an artisan as thanks for diverting a flood that threatened his hometown. Or so they said. I wouldn’t be surprised if they bought it for next to nothing from some tacky shop and concocted a story to convince me not to throw it away the first chance I got.”

Even as he spoke of ridding himself of the thing, he could not keep a hint of fondness from his voice. Lou had gone quiet as he’d recounted the story, her eyes on him and a pensive expression on her face.

“What?”

She hesitated. “I don’t—it would only ruin things. This night has been wonderful, and I don’t want to say something awful and spoil it all.”

“I’d be curious to know what you’re thinking that’s apparently so terrible.”

She exhaled a small sound that was more breath than laughter. “Of course you would be.” She cast another glance at the lamp before relenting. “Maybe you’re right and I’ll never be able to understand, not fully. But I can see why you love this place so much. I can see why you would do anything to save it. Wicked white, I’m set out to do the same thing, aren’t I?” She let out a small, watery laugh. “Can I really begrudge you for fighting for the world that’s yours?”

“Ours,” he insisted fiercely. “All of this is yours, too.”

“Maybe it was, once. But I’m not that person anymore, and I can’t—I’m so sorry. The world that was…so much of what I remember about it is beautiful. But I can’t give up this world for it. I won’t. This is my home, and I love it, and I have a promise to keep. I just wish it didn’t mean losing this.”

The words poured out of her now, a flood of emotion she couldn’t seem to hold back. “You’ve showed me so much more of the world than I ever could’ve imagined. You’ve done so much for Tai-Rinn, and I don’t think I could ever express how grateful I am for that. And that’s not even the whole of it. I—” She cut herself off, her hands at her sides clenching in to fists as she squeezed her eyes shut. A moment passed, and she let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping slightly before continuing in a quieter tone. “We knew each other before, didn’t we?”

It was the question he had been hoping for from the moment he’d first glimpsed the color of her soul, and still it near knocked the breath out of him. His silence said more than enough.

“I just—I keep remembering things, these bits and pieces. And…I think most of them are about you.” She swallowed nervously. “I care about you so much. But I can only tell you that as myself. If that makes a difference, we can forget I ever brought this up, but…I know I’d regret not telling you when I had the chance, nevertheless.”

He took a step closer to her. “You’re not Hemera. Anyone who knew them could see that. It was you I wanted to bring here.”

“Emet-Selch, I—”

“Hades.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I have been known by my title, by other faces, for countless lifetimes. I would have you call me by my name.”

They had inched slowly closer together as they were speaking, close enough now to touch. She reached out to him tentatively, one hand coming up to gently cup his face.

“Hades,” she murmured.

He leaned in and kissed her.

She responded readily, her other arm sliding around his waist even as he pulled her closer. She was so warm, and that tender, fragile thing growing through the cracks of his heart bloomed like a flower that had been aching to drink in the light.

Even as she broke the kiss, she did not withdraw, merely tightening her embrace as she buried her face in his shoulder. They said nothing, just holding each other for a long moment.

He shifted when he could feel her starting to lean a touch too heavily against him, exhaustion finally beginning to catch up to her. “You need to get some rest.”

She hummed vaguely, the sound muffled against his coat. He stepped back, keeping a steadying grip on her arms as she stumbled slightly before righting herself as he led her down the hall.

The bed in his room was neatly made and looked as though it had never been slept in, so long had it been since he’d last made use of it. Lou paid the state of it no mind, barely pausing to kick off her shoes before flopping down face first with a sigh. She turned her head just enough for one blue eye to peer drowsily up at him from the pillow.

“Will you stay?” she asked, already sounding half asleep.

He sat on the edge of the bed, taking her hand where it lay between them and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Yes.”

He held onto her hand, thumb brushing over the back of it, and she was asleep in minutes.

* * *

There was no change in the light to mark the passage of time, of course, but that mattered little. The Warrior of Light’s approach was the only timetable that mattered now, and his arrival was impossible to miss. The searing flare of his light-poisoned aether blazing into view at the outskirts of his perception marked the only living soul in his sight, save the one still sleeping in his bed.

Well then. It seemed he had a choice to make.

The noble course of action would be to wake Lou and and return her to her companions as discreetly as possible before retreating to await the Warrior’s challenge. A challenge that, should she return, would inevitably involve Lou.

Regardless of what the Warrior and his Scions might think, it was not as if he took some particular joy in the thought of dispatching them, though neither would he relent. It was his duty, a dispassionate necessity to facilitate the restoration of his world. Their world, he thought, glancing down at Lou. Returning her would mean pitting her against that duty, and the distinct possibility of seeing her killed.

In that moment, he made his decision.

Across his countless lifetimes, he’d found nobility to be quite overrated, anyway.

Rising as carefully as he could from the bedside, he quietly exited his home. Just outside, he passed a hand over the door, a powerful magical seal flaring to life.

She would be furious. She might never forgive him. But she would be alive.

Without looking back, he opened a portal and vanished.

#my writing #ffxiv #emet selch #shadowbringers

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darkandlightdance · 2 months ago

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Okay, several things before finishing the transport cutscene. 1) there is no way we are going to enter Sharlayan without some kind of trouble. 2) poor Tataru always watching the shop while we're away (aside from her trip to Kugane and her side trip there) 3) the scene in the ship is a deliberate call back to the 1.0 opening scene isn't it 4) why is that specific song playing in the background and can the WoL hear it or is it for us 5) how the fuck can you contact me directly now but needed to kidnap and possess Minfilia to do so before!?

Oh! and the big one: the narrator has the intonation and diction of the unsundered. figuring out why they're doing the narrating is going to be interesting. adding more after the second bit of narration, why are they directly addressing us? what is going on this time?

we are getting more hints that we have lived before and that the unsundered can recognize us. that they who became Hydaelyn knew us well.

has Hydaelyn always known us or is it just that we have un-sundered enough to recognize now?

Hydaelyn directly admitting to being a primal and explaining shit while using power they don't have to spare makes me like them more. Though the implication that we'll be seeing them again soon is very worrying. I do hope that we tell our companions about that conversation. Letting them know that our "patron" thinks that there is time-fuckery going on would probably be very helpful.

Okay the immigration officer is an Archon fan. She seems slightly cooler after G'raha says he brought outside aid to help the Students reform but still professional and not cold or mean. At least until the twins. I can't tell if that was her trying to keep them from getting into more trouble or a swipe at them.

Did we just get Esti's last name!? Also someone teach the poor man how to lie.

On the topic of certain songs playing, first it was the ARR theme/opening song then it was the Shadowbringers song…Is that for a reason Square? How to tell? deep thoughts about this stuff.

Poor G'raha feeling uncomfortable in the rich neighborhood. :(

Wow, the room is so cluttered with books and stuff they were obviously using it as storage and just kept the half of the room with the bed uncluttered. :)

Has anyone translated the posters on the walls of the meeting room? Because I recognize a few things on there. And the general art style is that of the concept art.

Unanimous votes when people are at polar opposite points on the political spectrum are never a good thing. That means something happened to get them to move/not move in the same direction or there is some kind of control going on.

So like is everyone just forgetting Y'shtola is blind? Do Sharlayan's use aetheric ink? Is she still burning her fucking life energy on the damn seeing spell?

So how are they planning on avoiding the Fourm knowing what they're doing when just after denying Eorzia aid the Scions arrive stealthily in Sharlayan? And are looking into history and things they apparently don't want anyone to know.

#ffxiv #ffxiv liveblog #ffxiv endwalker

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vischys · 1 year ago

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"Great! Then for this plan, we will call it..Go-Go Pow-Pow-Power Rangers Battle Plan!"

Ink's endearing silly remark 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 from Dante who was propping his Devil Sword against his shoulder.

“These kiddos, I like. From what playground did you find them?”

“ The Devil's, ” Vergil supplied sardonically.

“Heh, just my kind.”

Vergil's eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Navarro donning upon his respiratory mask once more.

Not another explosive with deafening ringing, Vergil thought warily at the memory of what Navarro's flash bomb did was still fresh in his mind and ears, more of the latter. His stance bent slightly in instinctive wariness, ready to trick away the moment the irascible youth would cast his explosives.

"Hey guys! Heads up! Smoke!"

His relief was imperceptible as instead of ear-piercing ringing, only carbon was emitted in the wake of the mild explosion dealt by the bomber, something that he simply kept at bay by a wavelet of demonic energy.

Dante let out an appreciative whistle at Navarro's arsenal whilst Vergil's gaze was trained at the smoked-veiled scene ahead of them. Even if Ink and Rust were concealed, the cambion could still pinpoint their respective positions from their voices and demonic presence. He could register the sound of metal hitting flesh followed closely by it being sundered along with Ramon's telltale roar and stomping. They weren't able to witness Ramon's own brand of self-healing due to the smoke screen, however.

"Hey, you two!"

A pair of twin gazes fixed upon the small stature of Ink's second making a beeline toward them, similar in curiosity yet different in impression. Dante's was tinged with amusement whilst Vergil's was cool impatience.

"We're going to help you out. What I can tell you the HYDE pills help out by healing wounds quick, it makes them very strong. But whatever this asshole did, he probably mess with the pills in his own way. His own damn version."

“Why am I not surprised,” the secondborn muttered wearily, his handsome features scrunched up in calculation whereas Vergil's jaw tensed.

“ Hmph. We'll see if his so-called own version can grow him a new head upon decapitation. ”

A catcall from Dante. “Talk about bloodbath.��

"So Ink says that we're going to help you guys by breaking this guy down for you nicely and see if we can find an opening for you."

Dante's light blue eyes and Vergil's gray eyes stared down at Navarro synchronously, pining the masked youth with contrasting verdicts.

The elder of the two, attesting to his lone nature, naturally regarded the bomber's tiding with something akin to personal offense before it subsided to an understanding compromise. As much as he disliked of letting another cleared his path in his stead and would rather close the curtain to this chaotic act with his own means and terms, Ink and her comrades had their own claim in their settlement by dint of their associate, Ethan, as well as being the collateral target of the Horrors in their attempts to apprehend Ramon. Whereas the younger, laden with both curiosity for what Demon Blood Youths were capable of and the desire to simply wrap up the party, did not share his brother's initial reluctance and sensitivity toward the details how it's done.

“Sounds solid enough to me! Show me what you got, kiddo!”

Vergil exhaled discreetly and gave a terse dip of chin to convey his unspoken consent. We will find it, regardless.

As much as he respected Ink's and the youths' wish, by no means he shall allow his demoiselle to travail for an opening at the risk of her own safety. No, he too shall look for an opening upon his own as the trio fought on as they saw fit. That line of notion reminded him of a certain part that obnoxiously protruding from the wretch's transmuted form.

Practically pleading to be targeted, so to speak. The large, bulging eye embedded upon the man's now massively deformed arm. Could it be that simple and obvious?

“Wait.”

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 a hiss of displeasure at his demoiselle’s sudden intervention. Were it anyone else, the Yamato’s deadly descent would continue and reap the craven perjurer’s life, but as it stood her unyielding stilled just against the fabric of the craven’s business suit, right where his heart was. And at Vergil’s abrupt pause, so did Dante, blinking in surprise at his elder brother’s uncharacteristic acquiescence when it was known that the Darkslayer spared none those who made attempts at his life and those he held dear.

Keep reading

#now i'm motivated! 『reply』#demon blood youths #ink #navarro #rust #ResidentDevils #exactly the meddling kids! ;)#apologies for the lack of action in this reply #but I should like to see what the DBT is going to do next #and have the twins coordinate their attacks accordingly #also laughing at Ink's adorable quotation of power rangers lyrics!

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pretentiousgayguyidk · 2 years ago

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Rome Lucia Callo

Would like to humbly request

Hakkai x male reader where Hakkai thinks reader is a girl and is really awkward but oh snap readers actually a dude and was just cross dressing for Mitsuya who wanted to see the dress on a person and Hakkai is just a mess please and thank you have a good day

My love for our bi disaster Hakkai is unmeasurable- like gender envy, kinning and simping?!?! Like genuinely Hakkai's like one of my favorite characters (we ignore that is at that about everyone but Kisaki lol) also pretty sure this is the only fic thats pure fluf- cause i usually wind up mentioning at least one sad thing

Bro you have such a cool name- like God damn

"Could you turn around?" Mitsuya asked, (Name) nodded. He was modeling a dress for his good friend, Mitsuya being excited to see how it would look on a person.

The dress was mid length, with a softly pleated skirt and tight accentuated waist. It was a more casual dress verses some of the others Mitsuya had made, most of them being wedding dresses. The elegance from his previous works carried over, the embroidery on the chest and waist was proof of his friend's skill. He examined the corset and gently pulled on the lacing making (Name) gasp. Mitsuya looked up at him concern in his eyes.

"Too tight?" (Name) shook his head.

"No, I'm okay." Mitsuya nodded and finished tying it off, quietly observing his friend a calm yet giddy expression on his face.

There was a knock on the door followed by the door opening, a pretty man almost as tall as the door stepped in, wearing a golden dangly earring on his left ear. His hair was bleached blond a swirly design shaved into the side of his head. He had a bright smile on his face, a cute scar adorned the left side of his mouth.

"Taka-chan I got the fabric you want-" he cut himself off as his gaze fell on (Name) red immediately dusting is face as he turned to look the other way. His shoulders squaring up as he seemed to shrink into himself. (Name) smiles and waved at him before turning to grab Mitsuya who had his face in his notes trying to see what he wanted to change and keep.

"Hey, Mitsuya. Someone's here to see you." He perked up with a him, his glasses crooked and his hair askew. He nodded with a small smile, stepping out of his office and into his apartments main room. Being met with a short circuiting Hakkai, who had his face hidden from Mitsuya's friend's view.

"Hey Hakkai? You alright man?" Hakkai silently nodded. A shorter girl popped into the apartment a roll of fabric tucked sunder her arm.

"She's too pretty, made him blue screen again." She stated bluntly, gesturing at (Name) who blinked in confusion. He knew people thought he was pretty but to be able to pass as a chick was something else entirely. He and Mitsuya shared a glance before bursting out laughing, surprising Hakkai and Yuzuha.

"He's a guy."

"W-what!?" Hakkai shouted, his face dark red as he had a mini identity crisis. Did he seriously blue screen over a guy? He's a cute guy, but Hakkai hasn't liked a guy like that since highschool. Mitsuya chuckled at his friend and pat him on the back.

"He's pretty cute isn't he?" The silver haired man tested, Hakkai practically went brain dead his face as red as a tomato as he stared at his feet. It's been a long time since someone has made him feel like this.

"Well, Hakkai-kun's pretty cute too, especially when he's all flustered like that." (Name) purred, flopping back on Mitsuya's couch. All that was heard from Hakkai was quiet whining as he hid his face, flustered and humiliated. Yuzuha burst out laughing at her brother's misery, smiling cheekily.

"Why not take him on a date? You seriously need a partner, I can't keep taking care of you." He rubbed his face and glared at his sister and friend.

"You guys are so mean!" He whined, (Name) giggled making Hakkai tense up and glance back at him.

"Alright, stop teasing him so much," Hakkai sighed in relief who knew his problem could be the thing saving him?

"Can't have him having a heart attack before I take him on a date~" (Name) crooned, stepping closer to Hakkai, who was melting at the closeness.

"Oh god- what have I gotten myself into..." Hakkai whispered into his hands, making everyone laugh.

"Well, if you aren't dead by the time Mitsuya's done with me and this dress. I'll be taking you on a date, if you're free." All Hakkai could door was nod, trying to find a way to calm down his burning face.

Months later Hakkai learned that (Name) was actually just as easy to tease as he is, all it took was one compliment before (Name) could even speak to make him blue screen. So despite them going on casual dates frequently, they were both flustered messes the entire god damn time. Mitsuya and Yuzuha couldn't tell if it was adorable or annoying.

#male reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #hakkai shiba #hakkai x male reader #hakkai x reader #hakkai fluff

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aminiatureworld · 4 years ago

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Needled Words

Characters: Childe, fm!reader

Word Count: 1,691

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: When does a joke go too far, when is a jab more than just friendly? Where does the line blur and where does it stop?

In which Childe’s teasing becomes too much for the reader

Author’s Note: For some reason this prompt made me think of Nancy Mitford, mostly because she was known also for being a slightly mean-spirited teaser. Ah Childe, my beloved. Communication in a relationship is key y’all.

Childe

You knew that Childe was only joking. After all, didn’t he read his letters to you? Brimming with little asides and jokes.

“Dear Tonia, I would say I was happy to get your letter, if only it was sopping wet. Did you leave it out in the snow again? I swear, if you were in the illustrious Tsaritsa’s army, you’d probably end up attacking your own regiment, and then I’d be forced to execute you for treason!” No one could mistake such an opening for anything except a slightly barbed bit of teasing.

Nor were the younger one’s exempt. Teucer’s antics had resulted in quite a bit of teasing. “Teucer, I think the Mr. Cyclopses have better survival instincts” and “I didn’t take you for someone who spent other people’s money!” This latter statement was made after Teucer spied the hand-crafted, very expensive, fireworks that were sold in Liyue. Of course, Childe had bought him the fireworks, and of course he never begrudged doing things for you when he teased you either. Still, you somehow felt as if things were different when directed at you.

Not that they really were. It wasn’t so much that you were picking up a different tone, it was more that, unlike Childe’s siblings and other friends, such as Zhongli, who was subjected to endless old man jokes, you couldn’t seem to take them well. When he joked about how many times you ran into the countertop you began to wonder if you truly had something wrong with your hand-eye coordination; when he said you were the laziest person, he’d ever met you wondered if you weren’t sleeping in too late; when he teased that he had to be your personal babysitter you wondered if you were truly good enough to be an adventurer. It wasn’t Childe’s fault, it really wasn’t, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

Of course, you could tell him, could finally let it all out and stop pretending that it wasn’t painful to try and keep all your emotion sunder wraps. But you couldn’t help but feel as if that would in some ways disappoint him. He was a Harbinger, tough, aloof. No words could ever hurt Childe, of that, you were sure. So how would he take it, the knowledge that his part was all too liable to shatter at every poke and prod? You couldn’t blame him if he turned out to be ashamed.

So, you kept it to yourself, smiled through all the jabs and teases. It didn’t matter, it really didn’t. You were fine! Or if you, weren’t it wasn’t worth it trying to change anything. You didn’t want to lose Childe, didn’t want to see the change when he went to say something before stopping, looking at you’re with barely concealed disappointment. Childe lived with his emotions to the forefront after all. And you wouldn’t ask him to change something you ultimately loved about him.

Thus, the days continued on, as did the teasing and the feigned smiles. Some days it was worth it, some days you were left with nothing but happiness bubbling up inside, the love that humans reserved for a very few number of friends and lovers. Yet those days were often days with minimal teasing, and you couldn’t help but notice the layer of anxiety that pressed on your love the days that were filled with Childe’s jabs. Lying in bed, limbs tangled with his, you stared up at the ceiling, wondering what you should do. You felt trapped, by your emotions, by your pride, by Childe’s words. They were all encircling you, and you could do nothing to defend yourself. You tried to keep the tears to a minimum; after all your partner slept so little already.

You didn’t know when the subtle shift happened, when it all became too much to handle. Maybe it was after Childe’s recent trip to Snezhnaya, where, surrounded by Harbingers who saw their coworkers as enemies rather than allies, he had sharpened his wit even more so than before. If his earlier teasing was unfocused, general quips, then his current ones struck quite closer to home.

“Wow my dear I didn’t peg you for a Treasure Hoarder, I don’t think that arrow could hit anyone if it tried!”

“I think you truly have the makings of someone who gets scammed by a Mondstadtian duke, or perhaps a Fontaine prince who has lost all his mora in a flood. Remind me to never go shopping with you.”

“Honestly, I think if you ran into the Electro Archon, she’d think your vision was fake. It’d be an easy way out.”

The whiplash of Childe’s proclamations of “princess” mingled with sentences that, had they been geared at anyone else, would surely be insults was shocking, and you found yourself less and less able to keep these two aspects of your partner compatible in your mind. Even less did you find the ability to simply brush it off.

You didn’t know why it was a comment about your socks that finally caused you to break. Really, it was too juvenile.

Laundry in your shared apartment was often seen as a punishment, the chore that each of you pushed onto the other. As such there was often a pile of laundry in the laundry basket, and incredibly slim pickings in your drawers. That being the case you often found yourself wearing mismatched socks. Perhaps it was a little odd, or a little childish, but it was certainly preferrable to spending all day at the river scrubbing your hands red. Who cared anyways? No one would notice such a small thing, especially once you had put your boots on.

However, nothing could get past Childe’s wicked sense of humor, and apparently your clothing choices were prime fodder for him.

“Nice socks.”

“Oh, thanks,” you replied, already having a sense of where it was going. The smirk that played across your partner’s face was full of mischief, and usually that only led to one place.

“I think that you’ll be quite the icon among toddlers all throughout Liyue. People will be asking you if you’re lost all day, or maybe they’ll ask you how it feels like to be nine.”

It was really a silly comment to get so upset over, such a small, insignificant thing to cry over. Yet there you were, standing in the kitchen, frozen in horror as your vision became fuzzy with tears. Unsure about any other course of action you buried your face in your hands and prayed Childe wouldn’t think about what you were doing.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

You could hear the panic and concern mingling in Childe’s voice. Almost immediately a warm hand was on your shoulder, and you were suddenly flooded with the presence of the person you loved so much, the person you were now crying about. You could tell Childe was saying something, was whispering soft words of comfort, but in the moment your thoughts felt all too loud. Overwhelmed by the situation you turned into your partner’s shoulder and let yourself cry.

Eventually sensing you had lost all your tears Childe drew back slightly.

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“Yes please,” you replied, voice still small. Nodding Childe moved towards the kitchen. Within a few moments he was back, glass in hand.

“Was it the teasing?” He asked as you drank. Whatever you had to say about your partner, he certainly wasn’t stupid.

“Yes,” you mumbled, nodding for affect.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I had gone too far. I promise I’ll be more careful from now on.”

“But Childe, it, it’s not just this time.”

“What do you mean?” Childe asked, voice flooding through with concern once more.

“It’s, I’m sorry, it’s just that, it’s all the time. Not all the time, every time you tease me. It’s not your fault! Of course, it’s not, it’s my fault. I don’t know, I just, it really hurts sometimes, all the time? I don’t know. I just, I’m sorry.”

Childe’s expression was one of abject horror. Taking your hand, he rubbed small circles on the top with his thumb. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how much it was affecting you. I should have been more careful.”

“But I don’t want you to feel like you have to, I don’t know, I know you tease everyone, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You aren’t making me uncomfortable.” Childe’s voice seemed just as hurried as yours. “It makes me more uncomfortable to think that you’ve been burying this the whole time. You’re damn good at hiding things you know. But this isn’t a war or something, you don’t have to hide what you’re feeling, for whatever reason. Better if you tell me, y’know?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Doesn’t look good on you, or sound good. I’d rather hear you happy.” Childe leaned in to press a soft kiss against your forehead. “I love you, okay? You mean more to me than a little bit of teasing.”

“You don’t think I’m being weak?” You managed to make out as your anxiety lessened its grip on you.

“Weak? Girlie you’re one of the strongest people I know! Weak my ass. If you wanted to rule the world you could give me a run for my money. Of course, I’d win though. I mean, I would be there right with you.”

“I know you would,” you smiled, despite yourself.

You knew that Childe probably would still retain the odd sense of humor and levity he already had. Old habits die hard and all that. Still, you had managed to say what had been haunting you all this time and, more than that, you had been assured that you were good enough, strong enough. Those few words, no matter how short, meant the world to you.

#genshin impact #childe x reader #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact fanfiction #oneshot #requested #my writing

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demigodforfend · 2 years ago

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Nightmares Without Dreams

Forfend did not sleep. It did not dream. However, it did rest and with that rest often came a deluge of the day's thoughts and worries as well as a host of old memories.

Usually, it was its worries that plagued it excessively in the twilight hours. They were quiet things during the day. Distant. Ignorable. At night, though, they bore their claws and sank into its mind like lions' teeth.

Not tonight. Tonight, it was memories that haunted it.

Blood and battlefields and broken weapons. Screaming, crying, begging. Monsters on both sides of this war, but innocents on only one. Fire. Pain. An ominous red glow staring down at the world with unconcealed vitriol.

Forfend tried to push the thoughts away, but they wouldn't go.

They were too fresh. It had happened only three months ago. Only several thousand years ago.

The gap in its consciousness had been filled rapidly by time. It had missed so much. The Sundering still felt so close for it, but for others it was only a distant story. A history lesson. Nothing so tangible as Forfend's lived experience existed.

It sighed with the slow hiss of a doused fire giving up the last wisp of smoke.

Its mind was drawn back to the last battle it had been in. Forfend found it strange how broken up its memories became in its last moments.

It had been wounded. It knew that.

It had been fighting desperately against... something of Atrox's twisted design. The specifics were probably moot. All of those damned things were murderous monstrosities regardless of what they looked like. Still, it was bothering Forfend that it couldn't recall any details at all.

And then it had woken up with Fletch stanced to flee in front of it.

It should know more. It was not prone to failing to remember things. That was a trait more common in beings of flesh and blood.

Forfend's mind was not infallible, but its memory was exceptional and it did not have such gaps elsewhere.

Frustrated, Forfend lit the rune on its face and stood. It needed to move for a bit. Maybe it could reset its thoughts and have a more peaceful rest when it returned.

It exited its storehouse-turned-home and saw Jessie sitting on the edge of the forge with a coffee in hand.

Startled, it asked, "What are you doing up so late?"

"It's not late anymore. It's early," Jessie countered and nodded at the horizon.

There, the first edgings of purple crept into the blackness of the night. It would not be daylight for hours yet.

"What are you doing up so early?" Forfend tried again.

Jessie shrugged. "Woke up. Couldn't get back to sleep. Same as you, I'd guess."

Forfend nodded.

"I'm gonna use the opportunity to get my morning rounds done early and maybe do the grocery shopping when Maja gets the place open."

Forfend nodded again. Jessie was always the practical type.

"Bell needed out to pee and I couldn't get back to sleep after. What's your excuse?" Jessie asked.

Forfend hummed, pondering if it should share or not. It decided on honesty. "I do not sleep, but I often have much too much time with myself when I rest."

"Nightmares," Jessie nodded sagely. "Are you alright?"

Nightmares. They weren't nightmares in the traditional sense, but it was as good a word as any. Frightening images had left it awake and fretting. What else could that be but a nightmare?

"I am okay." The longer it stood here and spoke with its friend, the more that felt true.

"You want to make the rounds with me?" Jessie offered.

"Yes," Forfend accepted immediately.

"Great. I'll get dressed." Jessie stood and stretched. He set his coffee cup down on the edge of the forge and wandered back into the house.

A few minutes later, he returned in full uniform and reclaimed his coffee cup. He slipped his free hand into Forfend's oversized palm.

"Tell me about your nightmare?" Jessie inquired gently as they walked leisurely toward the edge of town. "Might help you get it out of your head."

Forfend nodded and spoke freely to Jessie who listened intently. Jessie had no advice to offer. These were age old problems, long since solved or deemed unsolvable or forgotten or unknowable. But he listened anyway.

And Forfend did feel better when it finished speaking.

A silence lulled between them.

"Thank you," Forfend said with all the sincerity in the world.

Jessie smiled. "No problem. You can let me know if you have anymore nightmares. I don't mind going out early to chat. Besides, this way, we get to see the sunrise."

Forfend followed Jessie's gaze.

Gold stretched across the horizon and reached up into the dusky blue still hanging overhead, tinging the edges purple. It was breathtaking.

It was the dawn of a new day and Forfend was struck by the nearly tangible feeling that everything was going to be alright. It took that feeling to heart.

#twilight of the demigods #forfend #backstory #side story #dnd

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

Guess what, guys? IT’S WEDNESDAY! >:D You know what that means~!

TIME TO SHARE!

I’m excited because I finally, finally found the inspiration and motivation to write chapter 13 of my main fic! And I used the good old, ‘And he returned...’ technique! X’D

Time to talk about mages and templars everybody!

“Ma halla,” Cyfrin’s voice came forward, laced with tiredness and unusually serious as his eyes fell upon his sister, “the Chantry has not had control over either side for years. If they had, the Chantry in Kirkwall wouldn't have met the fate that it did.” He picked up the stick they had been using to tend the fire, giving the logs a gentle poke and sending sizzling embers upwards, “Now, it is merely a war of endurance; who can last the longest and who can end it with the most spite, the most damage. Blood will run for many moons as it has for several years now. Except this time, light is being shone on those crimson puddles rather than being mopped up with a," A finger rose to slender lips, a pantomime of silence and secrecy.

Fane sighed, grimacing a bit when Mhairi shifted against his side and watching those embers rise and then blink out of existence. Cyfrin was right. This was a war without end, and each side was merely swinging at whatever happened to move now. Power corrupted, and it had done so in this instance; mages overwhelmed by the taste of air, magic responding with giddy excitement; templars breaking the chains that held their hands and feet in place, as well as their swords. Both had never known what it meant to be free, and now that they had it in aces, they couldn’t cope with it. All the common folk, them included, could do was wait it out, like a parent waiting for their child, who refused to listen, to settle down. That was all there was to it.

Fane slowly rubbed his palms together, wringing his fingers a bit as he spoke, “Whatever it is now, it doesn’t matter. It’s a mess made for a different rag,” With a tired movement, he let his head roll to the side a bit to rest atop his sister’s, relishing in its silkiness. To think, he had almost abandoned that comfort for fear. He continued with another sigh, “All that matters is staying away from it. It isn’t our fight; it never has been.”

Silence passed between them all after his words had fallen, the crackling of the fire and the drone of crickets and cicadas the only sounds to fill the air. Cyfrin only gave him a nod that said, 'I agree' before going back to idly poking at the fire. However, Fane could feel something like a tense ripple from Mhairi, her body suddenly rigid where it rested against him.

Shit, Fane thought, growling a bit as he recognized this rolling wave exuding off Mhairi. He should have kept his mouth shut.

A few more moments of silence passed before the words he had been dreadfully waiting for passed lips gingerly being bitten into.

"Is it really not our fight, though?," Mhairi asked in a sheepish whisper. Fane watched from over his nose as delicate hands appeared from under fur and cotton, pink with Fereldan chill and palms up, "Or at least, my fight? I mean, I'm a mage, so really--"

"Mhairi," Fane cut off his sister's words, voice dropping low in warning, "Whatever's going through your head right now, end it."

Fane caught the flicker of amber from across the way, their owner knowing where this was going as much as he did, but he was more focused on ice as it hardened before him. He was not going to entertain this ridiculous train of thought! Was his sister mad!?

"But, brother--!"

"Enough," Fane snapped with a harshness he rarely used with her, "Do you want a templar on your heels!? Do you want to be silenced again!?"

Nostrils flared as he brandished a glare downwards, but his irritation cooled as Mhairi's icy gaze melted and turned downwards, guilt and pain in turquoise. Fane frowned deeply at that. Shit, he hadn't meant to…! Damn it all! This was why he should have left on his own! All he did was pull down, down, down! He could never find the right words!

"Of course I don't want those things, brother. You know that," Mhairi said with tightness, voice like a taut cord before letting out a tiny sigh, down-turned eyes staring pointedly at her hands--the tools for which another tool could be wielded in, "It just...feels wrong to turn away and let not only the mages and templars suffer, but innocent people, too. The people on farms and in villages didn't ask to be involved, but they are." A gentle blue glow enshrouded slender fingers and smooth palms, making Fane's nose twitch in irritation and his stomach roll uncomfortably, but he watched it same as her, "I guess I just want to help them, to show them that it doesn't have to end in flames. Magic is beautiful, and it hurts to know no one but the Dalish recognize that."

Fane listened, rapt and attentive even though he knew his face showed otherwise. Mhairi had vocalized these thoughts before to him, and while he understood where she was coming from, that still didn't mean this was their fight. What was there to gain from throwing themselves into the pan? Nothing but an early grave, that's what. Or worse yet, tranquility. The very idea of that happening to his sister made him sick. How such a practice came to be was beyond him, and yet, it made his mind prickle and pull with those odd feelings of ‘wrongness’. Obviously, stripping a person of their emotions was vile and grotesque and disgusting, but it felt like something more to him. It always felt like more with so little.

Fane let out a long sigh through his nose at himself and his sister, the air condensing in front of him, "It's not your job to present that to the world, Mhairi." He shifted a bit, the fur lining of his cloak brushing against the bottom of his cheeks as he did so. He was starting to get warm, uncomfortably warm.

"Isn't it?," his sister forwarded, pressed, pushed, sparkling eyes slowly rolling upwards to look at him; the glow of her hands fading away to let firelight take center stage again, "I’m a--”

Fane growled, his chest rattling from the depth of it. “Yes, you’re a mage, My, but that’s more likely to get you killed, or worse, made tranquil than understood,” He met her slowly narrowing gaze unflinchingly before sighing tiredly, shoulders slumping and voice softening at the look of hurt in icy blue, “Listen: stop chasing after trouble. No good can come from involving yourself in this mess,” His tired eyes shifted to the fire once more, watching it dance and consume both air and forest wood, “This continent is engulfed in war, and it’s not your job to fix the mistakes of others just because of what you are. That type of blind thinking is exactly why all that’s happened, happened.”

He felt his fists ball up against where his hands were resting between his thighs from anxiety and frustration, the skin along his arms pinching to where he could finally feel his scars start to act up. Great. Just what he needed alongside all this ridiculousness. Why did his sister always have to play this card? Yes, she was a mage, but there were a thousand more who could, but wouldn’t do what his sister wished to. And why? Because they knew it was pointless as narrow perspectives were set in the stone of ages.

Time and time again mages had tried and failed to show the world the intended use for magic. Time and time again restrictions were set ever tighter because of those harmless displays, the Chantry crying, ‘Demon, demon! Blood magic, blood magic!’, and a single, single show of defense against such accusations was treated as a literal felony. Now, the Fade touched were doing the only thing they could think to do after so many disappointments; fight. A caged animal was bound to break the door holding it back, and that was exactly what had happened to every Circle; they broke.

They went silent, voices stolen straight from their throats, emotions ripped away so as to be unable to defend themselves any longer, and the beauty his sister desperately wished to show no longer relevant as it had no place in war, in a world where beauty was a stranger. Fane didn’t have much allegiance to either side, both were foolish and pathetic and tiring, and despite his personal experience with magic, he didn’t detest it. It had its uses, just not on him and that was because he didn’t relish getting uncontrollably ill. He was open minded enough to know magic hadn’t been the true culprit, it had only been like the innocents in this pointless war; used against its will. It had been the blade that carved the stone of his body, but it hadn’t been the hand to wield it.

So, he would admit he felt sorry for the endlessly warring factions, even the templars despite his personal feelings regarding them. To be played like a fiddle by a bunch of tottering zealots, zealots that used ‘faith’ as their bargaining chip to garner influence and power while declaring, ‘It is the Maker’s will’. Sadly, despite how thin the veil of deceit was, the people fell for it like raindrops during a heavy downpour, fast and hard. Was it the humans’ ‘god’s’ will to rip away independent thought? To sunder the minds of those who broke the leash long having held them back?

To indiscriminately kill another on the basis of ‘you’re a mage’ or ‘you’re a templar’ or ‘you’re a threat to our power’? Apparently so. Tragic, but there was nothing to be done about it now and Mhairi needed to understand that.

She needed to understand there was no ‘beauty’ in war.

Mhairi let out a disgruntled huff before her form shifted away from him to sit up. Fane squeezed his already tight fists tighter, the leather of his gloves creaking from the force as he watched his sister rise up from the log, her action calm, but her eyes and face held frustration in delicate edges and firelit ice. He felt his expression go hard as he sat up straight, silently mourning the loss of momentary comfort. Again, he should have kept his mouth shut. Why did he even try using words?

“I think I can see perfectly well, brother. I saw the corpses mutilated beyond recognition, the burnt buildings and the sacked ones, the people crying over what they lost, children wailing as their parents wouldn’t wake up. I saw,” Mhairi said, lilt strained and lips twitching with the urge to bend downwards as a forlorn mutter came after, “I wish you would stop treating me like I don’t, like a child.”

With that, Fane watched his sister quickly stride away towards where they had pitched tents, darkened cloak fluttering behind her and kicking up the dusting of snow with her partially bare feet. It was only when Mhairi completely disappeared from his sight, safely burrowing into her tent, did he let out a sigh, the exhalation hard and long.

“Damn it all,” Fane cursed out under his breath, bringing hand out and up from his cloak to rub at his face. He felt ten years older all of a sudden. Scratch that, a thousand years older. How much older could he potentially feel at this rate?

“Tactful as always, ma falon.”

----

Fane can be incredibly harsh, and a downright jerk sometimes. He doesn’t mince words or give platitudes. He says it how he sees it.

Tagging: @noire-pandora @oxygenforthewicked @varric-tethras-editor @dreadfutures @the-dreadful-canine @drag-on-age @a-drama-addict @little-lightning-lavellan @whataboutbugs @blueheaded @aymayzing @rosella-writes @1000generations and anyone else that’d like to share! (no pressure! <3)

#wip wednesday #my writing #oc: fane lavellan #oc: mhairi lavellan #oc: cyfrin azurel #cyfrin's baaaack~ >:3 #and mhairi just wants to help #fane wants to STAY AWAY #you can guess how that works out~ >:3 #although. it IS fane's fault when it happens ehehe~ :3 #i'm so happy to be working on this again! X3 #*bonks the unknown dragon on the head* STAHP. BE NICE.#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #writing

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clairenatural · 4 years ago

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1.2k, destiel fluff. @lily-sunders-regrets asked for coffee shop/roommates/wedding/all three! i hope you enjoy :)

“So. You thought about getting a date?” Charlie asks, sipping on her caramel-apple-pumpkin macchiato (the one Dean refuses to put on the menu out of pride alone). From where he’s standing by the pastry case, Dean glares at her.

“I don’t need one.”

“No?” Charlie sets the offending concoction on the café counter and leans across it, conspiratorially. “Because last weekend you were drunk on rosé and crying about how embarrassing it would be to be best man in your little brother’s wedding single.”

Dean’s glare deepens. “Okay, two things: One, I don’t get drunk on rosé, and two, I’m happy being single. I could find a date if I wanted one.”

Charlie hums and narrows her eyes. “Prove it.”

“The reverse psychology ain’t gonna work this time, Charlene.” Dean shakes his head. “Why are you so invested in this, anyway?”

She sighs and backs off, picking the coffee (if you can call it that) off the counter. “I’m worried about you, Dean. You deserve to have someone. And I deserve to watch rom coms with my best friend without it turning into a pity party about how single he is.”

The audacity. Dean scoffs. “Okay, first of all, I resent that. Second of all—”

The bell above the door jingles, cutting off the rest of his argument, and both he and Charlie turn to see the most beautiful man—no, the most beautiful person—Dean’s ever seen walk into his coffee shop. His hair looks like he’s just rolled out of bed. He’s wearing a badly-sized, tan trench coat, and is gripping the strap of a leather messenger bag like it’s a lifeline. He’s still gorgeous.

Dean suddenly thinks Charlie might have a point.

The man clears his throat, which is when Dean realizes he’s been staring. He snaps out of it and glances down at the lacquered countertop, hoping it hides his blush, and coughs a bit before straightening back up.

“Uh, hey. Sorry, man—what can I get for you?”

“Are you Dean?” the man asks, and Dean momentarily feels like he’s about to faint at that voice saying his name.

“I mean—I’m looking for the owner? I’m coming to speak with him about the empty room in the apartment above this shop?” The man shifts uneasily on his feet, and Dean tries to will his vocal chords back into functioning. “I’m Castiel. We…spoke on the phone?” the man finishes, as if those will be the magic words that will make Dean start acting like a human being again.

Charlie looks between the two of them, then snorts into the dregs of her coffee-flavored pumpkin juice and reaches across the counter to push Dean in the shoulder. “This is your guy!” she smiles at the newcomer—Castiel—then turns to honest-to-God wink at Dean. “I was just leaving, anyway. He’s all yours.”

Charlie leaves the shop. Dean stares at Castiel, who stares back. Dean wishes his rustic hardwood flooring, the one he’d spent ages hand-picking, would open up and swallow him whole.

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

Castiel, it turns out, is awesome enough to forgive the entire encounter. He’s awesome overall, honestly—he’s getting his PhD, which is why he was looking for a place so small and cheap, but he’s so enthusiastic about his studies that Dean can’t be mad when he covers their small table in theology textbooks. He wakes up early to go jogging, which is a character flaw Dean can overlook because it means Cas (he calls him Cas, now) will start the coffee pot before Dean wakes up. On the days he has later classes, he’ll follow Dean down to the café and help him start the morning brews in exchange for a free cup and a cheese Danish. He’s perfect.

Cas claims a table by the window, where he makes himself at home on his days off and between classes. Dean starts to put a ‘reserved’ sign on it after the first time someone else gets there first, because the perplexed expression on Cas’ face was too adorable and Dean’s not sure his heart will hold up if it happens again.

And that’s—well. That’s the only flaw in all this, isn’t it? Cas is adorable. And Dean might be into him. Might be a lot into him.

And Sam’s wedding is creeping closer.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just ask him,” Charlie questions one night, five-episodes deep into a Star Trek marathon. “You’ve been drooling over him since he walked into your shop.”

“Yeah, which was only three months ago,” Dean grumbles. “I’m not gonna freak the guy out and ruin a good thing.” He sighs. “Besides, the wedding is this weekend. Sam will kill me if I tell him about a plus-one now.”

Charlie is staring at him the way she does when she has news he won’t like, and he frowns. “What.”

“You told Sam you have a plus-one two weeks ago.”

Dean blinks at her. “I did what.”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “You don’t remember? You decided that you were going to ask Castiel and sent in the RSVP before you could change your mind.”

Dean does not remember. He stares at her for another moment before she smirks. “I thought you didn’t get drunk on rosé.”

“Shut up,” Dean groans, and buries his face in his hands. God damn it. He hates drunk Dean. “Fine,” he sighs, pulling his head up to glare at Charlie. “I will ask him. As friends, got it?”

From Charlie’s grin, he doesn’t think she does.

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

The morning of the wedding, Dean realizes he doesn’t think Castiel does, either.

He runs through the past week. He’d asked Castiel to come with him to Sam’s wedding. He’d said Yes, Dean, I’d love to, and seemed almost—giddy?

He’d insisted Dean go with him tux shopping, because he had nothing to wear, and he’d smiled a little too wide when Dean said he looked good.

He’d been standing too close all week, swaying into Dean’s personal space over coffee in the kitchen, sitting closer while they were both on the couch.

And now—now Dean has his elbow leaning on the passenger seat as he drives, hand hanging down, and Castiel is bringing his own hand up and sliding their fingers together. And he’s blushing, and he’s not looking at Dean, and—oh. Castiel thinks this is a date.

Dean, miraculously, manages not to swerve off the road at this realization, or the one that follows—that Castiel thinks this is a date and he said yes.

Dean lets their fingers intertwine and squeezes gently. Cas turns towards him and smiles, and Dean’s heart stutters the way it did the first day. He decides he doesn’t need to clear up this miscommunication.

The wedding is beautiful, and Dean cries as Sam and Eileen share their first kiss as a married couple. Cas pulls tissues out of his pocket and hands them over without comment, as if this is something they do every weekend.

Dean kisses him first, later, on the dance floor, when they’re both a little tipsy and a lot giddy, high on the feeling of love that being at a wedding gives you.

He thinks he’ll be reserving Castiel’s seat by the window for a long time.

#deancas fluff #destiel fluff #destiel one-shot #destiel fic #this could be a 30k fic lmaooo but i hope i did it justice condensing it into 1.2k!!!#thank you this was fun to write!!!#im not re-reading this so sorry if there are massive typos #@ my anons w prompts in my inbox I will do both of urs too! possibly tomorrow though!#my words #alcohol mention #over 1k words

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cowboy-anon · 4 years ago

Text

Weston’s Wild West Whump - 2

I DID IT! I FINISHED IT. Holy cow. XD Anyway, it’s a bit of a longer piece. Today, we learn a bit more about Weston, we’re introduced to Graham’s men Dee and Sunders, and we discover Graham is not someone you want to mess with. Enjoy! :D

CW : Animal corpse used as a metaphor, bribery mention, broken bones (and the symptoms that accompany them), concussion, cowboy shenanigans, gun mention and threat (not real), hogtie threat (not yet realized), knife mention, mild cursing, somewhat degrading language, thieving mention, touch of low self esteem, vaguely implied unsafe home life.

(I’m new to content warnings, so if I’ve missed something, please don’t hesitate to let me know! :D )

Tagging: @milk-carton-whump, @unicornscotty, @abitefullofwhump, @alliecat5594, @ihaveacrushonjester (Let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list!

2 - Good Ol’ Righteous Cowboy

Weston has only met Graham twice before this. Once, last week when he came to investigate the ranch’s missing cattle. “Sheriff Graham Miller,” he’d introduced himself. The way he’d carried himself, charming and self-assured, Weston was sure the culprit would get theirs, and if Johnson was lucky, he’d get his cattle back before Weston moved on.

And then Weston found that handkerchief caught on the barbed wire fence, “G.M.” embroidered on it in a stunning shade of blue. As far as leads went, it was pretty thin, but that blue thread and those initials—there was no way it could be a coincidence.

Which is what led him to his second encounter, dressed in Johnson’s clothes, pretending to be a wealthy man in search of some cattle for his father’s failing ranch. Of course, Weston was nowhere near wealthy, and his father’s ranch, he’d remembered with a shudder, was doing just fine, but wearing Johnson’s Sunday best, he sure as hell looked the part.

But with Graham being the one to show him around, he could only see so much. Weston was walked past rolling pastures and prize-winning cattle, sure, but no proof.

Which is what led him to his final attempt at getting it, not exactly a third encounter but one that led to it—this one—kneeling in front of two of Graham’s men, a lasso tight around his middle and with his right ankle throbbing painfully with every heartbeat.

Despite their lack of history, when one of Graham’s men pistol whips him across the face, it feels strangely personal. Weston can feel the malice, sees the satisfaction on the left’s face when his own snaps sharply to the right. The shock of it almost overwhelms the burn. Almost.

Weston stays there for a second, hunched over with his eyes squeezed shut, reminding himself to breathe, letting out a pained groan instead. Another breath, this time bracing. He shakes off the stinging pain and rights himself with a tight lipped smile.

His tongue darts out over his bottom lip, tastes blood. Yeah, he’s sporting a split lip now. He winces at the pain, more an ache than a burn now, and blinks back involuntary tears.

When Weston raises his eyes again, the man has his revolver in hand, arm pulled back to strike him again. God, he hates to admit it, but he flinches, tucking his face into his shoulder, waiting for the blow.

He hears the grunt of effort, expects his view to whip right again in a burst of pain when he hears, “Stop playing with him, Dee. Get his legs.” When Weston doesn’t feel the strike, he allows himself a glance in the direction of the voice.

It’s the man on the right, face stony with purpose.

The man on the left, “Dee” Weston assumes, shoots the man a venomous glare, then turns to look at Graham, who’s digging into the saddle bag of one of the horses.

Graham’s not paying attention when the butt of the gun slams into Weston’s temple.

Weston hits the ground hard, landing heavily on his shoulder, cheek pressed into hot rocky dirt. His head, oh God. He gasps against the blinding pain, eyes skewed shut as he gapes like a fish out of water.

“Dee.” Between the ringing in his ears and his ragged breaths, he hears it, a low reprimand but not a surprised one.

Weston forces his eyes open to look at the two men now looming over him, but he ends up shutting them again. When did the sun get so damn bright?

“You wanted me to get his feet, Sunders.” Sunders. That’s got to be the other man’s name. And—wait, they’re still talking. Focus, Weston, focus! “ —think he was gonna let us tie him up that easy? Graham likes Randy clueless. The sooner he’s tied up, the less questions we gotta answer. Get me?”

Randy? Who the hell’s Randy?

Weston lies there for what feels like ages before the more important thoughts make their way back to him. Graham’s here. Dee and Sunders, they’re going to tie him up. His ankle’s shot, he’s got that lasso around him that’s not going to let him go anywhere.

And all three of them are armed. Great.

Weston worms his arm out from under him and eases himself up until he’s propped on an elbow. For a moment, the world spins. Forget cotton. His head’s full of sloshing water, distorting and disorienting and all too heavy for what it is.

He wants to lie back down, let whatever’s going to happen happen. He’ll feel those ropes dig into the tender skin of his wrists and bite into his swelling ankle. Will they make him walk? No, not with a hogtie. He’ll more likely be draped over the back of a horse and taken back to the ranch, where—

Where what? Who knows what’ll happen back at that ranch? And what the hell is he thinking, lying back down and giving in? He shakes his head with a sneer. If he’s going to that no good sheriff’s ranch, he’s going angry, not complacent.

So he pushes himself up until he’s sitting again, lightheadedness be damned, and squinting at Graham’s back, legs stretched out in front of him, he calls, “You needed three guys to get a hold of me, Graham?” It comes out a groan, nowhere near as snarky as he wants it to be, but it’s dripping with sarcasm nonetheless—and based on the smile that sneaks over the sheriff’s face, it catches his attention. “Why, I’m flattered. ‘Course, I probably should’ve expected as much.”

Dee’s at eye level in an instant. He grabs a fistful of Weston’s shirt and jerks him forward, lips curled up in a snarl. “Why, you—”

But Graham just laughs from his spot by the horses.

Dee’s eyes, still shining with murder, flicker with confusion, and Weston’s gaze snaps over to Graham, doubled over with warm, genuine laughter. What the hell?

The grip on Weston’s shirt wavers as the seconds tick by. Finally, Weston clears his throat and says, “Sure, I find your stupidity funny, too, but—”

Graham’s gun is trained on him before he can finish.

“Dee,” Graham says, motioning with his revolver. It’s a command. Dee barely spares Weston a smug grin before pulling his hands from Weston’s clothes and stepping into place between Graham and Sunders.

Graham squares his shoulders and, accent thicker than Weston’s ever heard it, he says, “What’s funny is you talking about stupidity.”

Weston knows he should be scared, and he is. He feels it, unadulterated fear, making its way to his shaking fingers, twisting knots deep in his stomach, watching him stare down the blackened barrel of this gun, telling him, Give up, give in. Maybe he’ll let you walk away.

It’s so damn tempting.

But Weston has already given in to too many people like Graham with the promise of walking away too many times, so despite everything, he balls his trembling hands into fists, meets Graham’s eyes with a pained smirk, and says, “Please, do tell.”

Graham grins.

“Good ol’ righteous Weston Casey.” He shrugs past Dee and Sunders and makes his way towards Weston, digits lazily fingering his gun’s trigger, blue eyes scanning him and the barely concealed shock on his face. “Yeah, I’ve heard about you. Hardworking, dependable, new in town. You rolled on in here just last month, didn’t you?”

Weston doesn’t answer. Instead, he changes the subject. “What do you mean, ‘righteous’?”

Graham stops by Weston’s feet and sits back on his haunches, eyes trailing idly over his body. “I mean your absurd morals,” he says. “I’d heard about it before, but I saw it clear as day when I came to Johnson’s ranch yesterday. You were angry for him.” He laughs to himself, toying with the trigger thoughtlessly.

But the hammer’s still standing tall by the frame, not pulled back. So the gun’s not cocked yet. It never was. That’s good news.

“It’s a damn shame,” Graham continues. He’s looking at Weston’s face again, a tiny knowing smile on his lips. Did Weston’s realization show? “The bribe I would’ve paid you—beyond generous. Not that you would’ve taken it.”

“What’s this got to do with stupidity?” Weston cuts in. He’s stalling at this point, he knows it, but he needs something—anything—to distract him from the fear bubbling just beneath his surface.

“Well, we’re talking about you, aren’t we?” Another flick over the trigger as Graham’s tone shifts, almost amused. “A good, quiet stranger rolls into town, surely minding his own business when something not quite right goes down. A few cows go missing. Nothing special, nothing new. Cattle go missing all the time around these parts. But being him, he decides he wants to investigate.”

Graham’s voice darkens then. Weston forces himself to be still under Graham’s scrutiny as his eyes travel over his left leg, then to his right. Then to his right ankle, swelling like a cow’s carcass in the summer sun under his jeans. “And he finds out a little too much,” Graham continues. “And he gets in a little too deep. And he decides he wants to do the right thing. Which, in itself, is not a stupid thought.” Graham glances back up at Weston. “But his—your—morals, they get in the way of some really great opportunities. A guy like you would fit into this cattle rustling operation real well.”

At that, Dee’s expression visibly sours behind Graham, but he stays quiet. Smart or scared?

“I know you won’t take the bribe,” Graham says lowly, “but how about a fair trade? Your work for my money, plain and simple.”

Weston scoffs to himself. His heart is in his throat pounding so loud he can hear it, but it’s not even a question. He meets Graham’s eyes through his mop of hair and says, “Over my dead body.”

He means it.

Graham stares at him, and for a second Weston thinks he might burst out laughing again. But he just smiles, more to himself than Weston, seemingly thinking something over.

He tucks his gun back into his holster, shoots Weston a big grin. And then his gloved hands shoot out and twist his right foot hard.

Weston’s broken bones in the past. He’s felt that wet snap of the initial break. He’s felt the numb shock before his brain catches up with his body. He’s felt that nauseating pain that accompanies every jostle and movement of the site.

But he’s never felt anything like this.

Weston shrieks, white hot blinding, agonizing pain that he feels all the way to his fingertips in sharp, involuntary spasms. Overwhelming, all encompassing. In this moment, Weston is pain.

Too much, too much, too much! It’s blaring in his head like a siren, that fear. His face goes hot, then cold. Tears run down his cheeks, but he’s too focused on gritting his teeth against another wail to care.

“See, I gave you a chance just then,” Graham says over his cries. “I offered you a job, nice and respectable like, and you turned it down—and for what?” He leans in close to Weston, a hand still twisted in the fabric of his pant leg. “A few meaningless morals? If you ask me, that’s awful stupid of you.”

Graham wrenches his ankle again, and even though Weston knows what to expect, it’s just as awful as the first time—worse even. Bone grinding on bone, leather on swollen, hypersensitive, hot-to-the-touch flesh.

He throws his head back with a broken sob. “G-Graham—!” Weston doesn’t know why he says that. He doesn’t even realize it’s him saying it, not in his current state, concussed and half delirious with pain.

But he definitely hears “Yes, Weston?” through the haze, barely registers Graham’s hand leaving his leg.

The twisting’s stopped, Weston knows it, but the pain hasn’t. He still feels it, twisting, twisting, the rough seams of Graham’s leather gloves on swollen skin. And he feels dread, prominent, telling him this isn’t the worst to come, not by a long shot, that only makes it hurt worse.

He hasn’t felt a dread like this since his last month at the family ranch.

As the worst of the pain melts from his limbs, just enough for it to be bearable, his wits start to come back to him, and it occurs to him that he cried out Graham’s name in an agony-induced panic. Then Graham had asked him a question: “Yes, Weston?” His stomach drops at the thought.

What had he been looking to say? Would he have begged? “G-Graham, please stop! Please!” Or would he have bargained? “G-Graham, I won’t tell a soul, I swear!” Maybe, Weston realizes with a thick swallow, he would’ve accepted Graham’s terrible offer, helping steal cattle for the man he’s grown to hate in the last twenty-four hours to save himself. “G-Graham, I… I’ll do it.”

Graham had called him righteous.

Weston is a coward.

“Weston, you wanted to say something to me?” Graham is grinning, blue eyes glimmering with mirth. He wants to know what he was going to say just as much as Weston does.

Weston stares at his feet. His ankle is back to that constant throb, but the muscles in his foot and calf are still twitching and seizing from Graham’s rough hands. “Yeah, I did,” he says quietly. “I wanted to tell you, ‘Graham…’”

He shakes his head, sets his jaw, meets Graham’s eyes with a steely gaze. And then he spits at him, fueled by what little fight he has left, “‘Graham, get your damn hands off of me.’”

Righteous. Coward.

Liar.

Graham stares at him for a long moment before rising to his feet, that stupid smug grin still on his face when he looks back down at him.

“I like you, Weston. I really do,” he says, vaguely apologetic, “and you’ve made a lot of stupid decisions today that I could forgive you for. But that decision you made just now, making an enemy out of me? Real stupid.”

Graham turns on his heel and shoulders his way past Dee and Sunders again, only this time he stops between them and, in a voice just loud enough for Weston to hear, he says to them, “Now, I know I told you two to get him trussed up.” The look Graham gives Weston is chilling. “So tell me, what’s he still doing with his hands free?” Graham casts a final glance at Weston before Dee and Sunders make their way towards him for the second time.

This time, they don’t hesitate. Sunders pockets his knife, walks behind Weston, and tugs his arms behind his back, holding them together by the wrists. “Grab the rope from my horse, Dee,” he calls.

But Dee is standing by Weston’s feet, smiling a malicious smile. “His legs first,” Dee says.

Weston can’t see Sunders’s face, but he can hear the exasperation in his voice from behind him when he replies, “There’s no way he’s going anywhere on that ankle now.”

“I know that.” Dee crouches down by Weston’s feet, eyes running down the length of his right leg. “But I want to start with his legs.”

Sunders sighs and drops Weston’s arms back to his sides, already aching at the joints from the position.

“I’ll hold him down.”

Sunders takes his spot next to Dee and puts pressure on Weston’s thighs, holding him still while Dee goes for Sunders’s rope. If Weston didn’t know better, he’d think they were trying to help him.

But he does know better, and he knows their intentions are anything but pure.

He could shove them off, Weston realizes from his spot on the ground. He could, and if he tried, he could get a good solid kick on Dee when he gets back if he uses his left leg. He’d sure as hell deserve it.

But watching Dee take his place by his feet again, Weston doesn’t. Smart or scared, righteous or cowardly—Weston doesn’t know anymore. He just glares at Dee.

Dee smiles back at him. “You got him, Sunders?”

“I’ve got him.”

“Good.”

Dee feels the rope in his hands, tests its strength with a few sharp pulls. Then he turns to look at Graham.

Graham nods at him from by the horses.

When Dee turns back to Weston, he’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I’m gonna enjoy this.”

#weston's wild west whump #weston's wild west whump part 2 #cowboy whump #my whump writing #whump #whump writing #whump ocs #pistol whipping #why did i choose to use so many italics #i swear that made the transfer from google docs to tumblr like 6000% harder XD #thank you for reading!#the mystery that is weston is slowly being unraveled #so stay tuned for that!

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arofili · 5 years ago

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#45, kidnap fam?

(Dear anon: I’m sorry.)

45. “How much of that did you hear?” Maglor asked quietly.

Elrond looked up at him, his eyes hard. “Enough.”

Maglor nodded, closing his eyes. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “We sent you away for a reason.”

“Well, I am here.” Elrond sighed. “Atar...you don’t have to do this.”

He laughed hollowly. “You heard me. I tried. But Maedhros...he won’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. You know our curse, yonya. If we don’t try we will be consumed, turned to worse things. Like we did to you.”

“You made up for it,” Elrond said fiercely. “You must know that.”

“I wish I did.” Maglor looked up into the sky, where Gil-Estel shone bright and damning. “Your father has one Silmaril. Your real father, I mean. Your other fathers...we must have the other two.”

“Atar,” Elrond blurted out, “I came to ask you to come to Valinor with me.”

Maglor stilled. “You’re going to Valinor?”

“If you will come with me, yes.”

“And Elros? What about him?” Maglor looked up at him again, something undefinable glittering in his eyes. “Where is he? He didn’t come with you.”

“Where’s Maedhros?” Elrond asked. He grimaced. “Elros is...busy. Like Atya.”

“Your atya is drowning his sorrows and preparing for a Fourth Kinslaying.” Maglor clenched his fist. “I certainly hope Elros is not.”

“We were offered a choice,” Elrond said, looking at his feet. “Of which kindred we shall be counted as. They said—the Valar said that if we chose mortality, they would give us a land, a blessed land, to the West. Not the Blessed Land,” he added hastily, “not Valinor. But we could take what remains of the Edain and find a new place to live.”

“Beleriand is certainly not habitable anymore.” Maglor nodded, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach. “And if you chose Elvendom...?”

“We could go West, to the Uttermost West, and live in bliss in Aman.” Elrond’s voice was tinged with longing. “Like you, when you grew up.”

“There is a reason we are here now,” Maglor reminded him.

“And you want to stay?” Elrond demanded.

Maglor laughed bitterly. “I have no choice, unlike you.”

“If you forsake this madness, convince Atya—”

“Maedhros will not be convinced. You heard, Elrond. He has been a captive once; he would kill himself before he faces such a fate again.”

“The Valar are not like Morgoth!” Elrond protested. “They would not—”

“Let me remind you which of us was raised in the Blessed Realm,” Maglor said flatly. “This choice of yours, it was offered by Námo, was it not?”

“...Yes. And Manwë.”

“Námo the Doomsayer. Námo who cursed all Noldor who followed my father. Námo who holds my father, and all my brothers save Maedhros, in his keeping even now!” Maglor’s voice grew heated. “No, Elrond. This choice—it is not just. You are peredhil; why must you decide which kindred is better? You are both.”

“I chose Elvendom,” Elrond snapped.

Relief washed over Maglor, dispersing a fear he had not realized he held. Good. He may be damned, but at least his sons would be safe, and live eternal. Aman was not so bad a place, after all. He wanted to go back, wanted to join the peredhil and see his mother again, even at the cost of the Valar’s judgement—he was so tempted by Elrond’s offer.

But Maedhros would not go, not even if asked by Elrond, and Maglor would not abandon Maedhros. Not again.

“Then go,” Maglor rasped. “You and Elros—you have not wronged the Valar as we have. Go with them to Valinor, and live in peace. You will be happy there.”

“I can’t,” Elrond whispered, a single tear streaming down his face. “I can’t go alone.”

“You won’t be alone,” Maglor said. “Even without us...your parents will be there, your real parents. And you will always have Elros.” As much as this conversation hurt, he longed to see Elros again, wished he had come with Elrond.

“I have already lost him!” Elrond wailed, falling into Maglor’s arms. “He—he chose mortality!”

Maglor held him tight, cradling his son like he had when he was a child, though he neared adulthood now. Numb shock overcame him: how could Elros do this? How could he abandon Elrond? Did he not know the pain his fathers had endured for their brothers’ sake, the soul-rending torment of Ambarussa sundered from one another this long age, how utterly this could destroy them both?

Mortality. He would take that kingdom offered by the Valar, lead the Edain, and for what? A life lived in the blink of an elvish eye? The promise of...something, beyond the boundaries of Arda? His grandmother Lúthien’s legacy, to doom his family like she doomed hers? Thingol had not outlived his daughter; would Maglor survive this loss? Daeron, her brother, Maglor’s onetime-lover, had lost himself in his grief; would Elrond be able to endure the long ages of Arda alone?

“It’s selfish,” Elrond wept, “he chose first! We’ve been living with the Edain, when Gil-galad is too busy to mind us, and they’re good folk, they love us, they love him, and he told me how much he wants to know what is beyond Arda. He says he feels his mortality in his blood, that no matter how we study, elves will never know! He was so studious, I was the wild one, you know this, and he’s—he’s pursuing knowledge, just like you taught us, knowledge over glory and eternity, and I told him it was a worthy choice, a good one, and then I chose Elvendom.”

Maglor had no words to comfort him, still reeling with shock and horror. “He...he will die?” he rasped. “And we will lose him forever?”

“I could have followed him, gone with him,” Elrond sobbed. “But I am a coward. I want peace and light and the easy way out. But now I will be alone, and Eärendil will sail the skies and Elwing sits in her white tower doing nothing but mourn and you and Atya are going to get yourselves killed or worse chasing the fucking Silmarils!”

Elrond tore himself away from Maglor, wiping his eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, his voice cracking. Maglor could scarcely stand to look at him: he was so young, and already faced with so much pain. Such were the children born in Beleriand. And so much of that pain was Maglor’s own fault.

“Please, Atar,” Elrond begged. “Please listen to Eonwë. Come to Valinor with me, I will plead for you, and you and Atya can be freed of your Oath and I can have a family there. Please.”

“We cannot,” rumbled a new voice, and Maglor jumped. Maedhros walked out of the shadows, his red hair, once so burning bright, dark and matted with sweat and blood.

“Atya, please—”

“You should not have come, Elrond.” Maedhros used to be so beautiful, once. It broke Maglor’s heart to see him like this. Even after Angband, he had been beautiful, for he shone with purpose and love. Now...even with Maglor here, even with Elrond here, that was all gone. Only the Oath kept him living, Maglor knew.

“Where will I go?” Elrond cried. “Without you, without Elros—what will I do?”

“Gil-galad will not give up his kingship for Valinor,” Maedhros intoned, his voice flat. “Go with him to the east. Celebrimbor is going with him; he wrote inviting us to join him, if we would but forsake the Oath.”

Maglor had not known that. He flashed a look to Maedhros, asking without words if he had been planning on sharing that information. But Maedhros didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge him.

“Gil-galad... Gil is your brother,” Maglor said softly. “You know that, right?”

Elrond looked between them. “He is Fingon’s son, not yours.”

Maglor bit his lip until it bled. It was low, dirty of him to use Fingon against Maedhros at a time like this, but if it would convince him...

Maedhros blanched, turning pale white beneath the web of scars across his face. “This is cruel of you, Makalaurë,” he rasped, still not turning to look at him. “I thought better of you.”

“You—” Elrond broke off. Maglor saw him calculating in his mind; truly, it was not that difficult to figure out, though Fingon was never spoken of in Maedhros’ earshot, and thus he had been forced to learn of his deeds thirdhand. “You and him—and Gil-galad—oh.”

“He will want a herald. I heard his was slain in the last battle.” Maedhros was back to monotone. “Go east with him.” He shook his head. “Elrond, I...”

“Atya?”

Maedhros looked on the verge of saying something heartfelt. Maglor gripped Elrond’s wrist, hoping, yearning for some spark of the brother he loved to flicker back to life.

But Maedhros’ eyes only darkened. “I wish I could choose to unmake myself as Elros has,” he said. “It would be easier.” Without another word he retreated, leaving Elrond and Maglor staring dumbfounded after him.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Maglor said tiredly, but his words did not even fool himself.

“I understand now,” Elrond murmured. “I...you’re right, Atar, I should not have come.”

“Elrond...” Maglor wiped at his eyes. “I am sorry. Truly. For everything we have done to you. You—oh, child, you deserve better than the lot you have been dealt.”

“I have plenty of time left to make something better out of it.” His words were dull. “Gil-galad will take me, but...he cannot replace Elros. He doesn’t even know me as his brother.”

“He will. He will love you, Elrond. Who couldn’t?”

Elrond looked at him, the full force of his betrayal shining through his tears. “I can think of a few people,” he whispered.

If Maglor’s heart had not already been shattered into countless pieces, it would have broken then.

“Goodbye, yonya,” he mustered, and Elrond gave him one last embrace.

He could not bring himself to wish his son joy. It would only serve as a last reminder of all they both had lost.

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codegemini · 4 years ago

Text

Tower Ascendance - Part I

(( Story co-written with @argonas / @thefugitivemango and @sylaesschasewind / @sylaess . @avehi-the-adamant and @grakkar-gorefang for character mention ))

~*~*~

Argonas grunted as he tore the pointed edge of his tower shield from the now-lifeless Mawsworn Shackler-- nothing inside its sundered armored chest plate but ethereal smoke. A hollow suit, at least now. He strapped his shield back to his arm, before continuing towards the next stairwell. Up again. Up eternally, it seemed.

Avehi had made good on her word, and brought both him and his Soulbind Grakkar to the Maw. For Argonas, it was the second time-- third, if when he died counted. Such was the case for the only other time Grakkar had been here; the memories of it shaking him to his core. And being soulbound to him now, to Argonas’ core as well. Grakkar needed help and guidance more than Argonas did, for now.

While Avehi and Grakkar ventured off to recover the misplaced souls of the Lightbound-oppressed Orcs, Argonas entered the infamous Torghast. All evidence outside pointed to Sinafay-- and possibly Sylaess-- being captured and taken here. A possibility that haunted him after last seeing Sylaess in Bastion; with the upset in the Maw upon their entry, the Jailer’s forces were especially active. It was only a matter of time. Time Argonas had hoped to beat, but now it seemed more like a time he had fallen behind.

There was no alternative-- he had to get them out.

No two floors of this place were identical, it seemed. Similar in design and structure, but the layouts were… winding. Confusing. Almost random. It was easy to get lost, Argonas figured out early on. To remedy this, he began leaving “breadcrumbs” to help guide him back out if needed. Light-suffused sigils etched into pillars and gates that-- for lack of originality-- translated to… breadcrumb. Simple, but effective.

Of course he met resistance at every turn. Swarms of Mawsworn sentires, and their ghastly metallic beasts. A hulking armored monstrosity that thankfully he had managed to topple off a ledge. Occasional distant clankings and unholy screams that echoed through the tower suggested the monster was still falling, even now.

But as he came upon a crossroads, he found himself unsure. The stairs both led upwards, one banking left and the other to the right. Into differing chambers, it seemed. He knelt down, brow furrowed, as he etched another “breadcrumb” into the ground. Then, still kneeling… he prayed.

“Light, guide me…” he muttered softly, clearing his mind and focusing his thoughts on Sinafay.

Nothing. Nothing sprang to mind. A simple choice, but one that could either lead him closer to his beloved, or even further away. The Light urged him onward, but he couldn’t feel one way or the other. He grunted in frustration.

“Give me a sign!”

--A streak caught his eye, a soft chime faintly heard from its direction as it darted past him. He turned, shield up just in case it was unfriendly-- like everything else in this accursed tower. But as he focused, he recognized it. A wisp? Here? It zipped to and fro, before ascending the left-hand stairs. Drawn to something, perhaps. Argonas sighed. It wasn’t exactly a sign from the Light, but it seemed a sign, nonetheless. He took off after it, eyes peeled and wary for wherever it may lead him…

~*~*~

“...So then, not only did he convince her to become a Vindicator, but then actually started -dating- her. So, of course, I tried to act supportive, but I was very upset over everything… not because I was jealous… Perhaps a -little- jealous… but you understand how awkward a situation like that is, yes?”

As a spirit, Sinafay's use in the tower was limited, so she decided to give Sylaess something to focus on to keep her present. And what better subject than to catch her up on everything she had forgotten? The whisps appeared entertained as well, floating about the shaman’s spectral form as she recounted the stories from Pandaria to Draenor. Anything was better than focusing on the horrors of the tower. It certainly kept her own spirits up as they started going down yet another spiral stairway. How long had they been wandering through this place? Weeks? Months?

“So she and I got into an argument, and—“

She cut herself off as Sylaess’ ear twitched and the elf suddenly stopped cold. That was usually a sign that she sensed something and they had to be careful. The Draene took on a defensive position, eyes locked on the downward staircase.

A light illuminated the stairwell as a whisp flew up to meet them. Loud clanking could be heard approaching behind it.

Sylaess held a breath. It wasn’t a conscious thing. Her blades were in hand, black eyes sharper than obsidian as she stared down the hallway. Leather creaked softly in her palms as her grip shifted. One. It sounds like one.

But how big is this thing?

The dizzying chatter had indeed kept her from mostly slipping into those delirious states. Seizures, well, blessedly there had been only a handful more. She couldn’t recall what had triggered them. Damn, it actually sounds large.

She set her jaw and let the breath slip past her lips slowly. Carefully. Runes blared to life along her blades.

Slowly, up her armor as she charged forward. Surprisingly quiet, but nowhere near silent, the elf practically leapt down the stairs, blades ready and magic held back by a thread. It was always more effective to go in blazing than it was to reserve yourself, she found, in Torghast.

That way, if you lost, you know you gave it everything.

The Death Knight’s runic blades clashed against Argonas’ shield-- or rather, the protective barricade of Light that emanated from it, surrounding his entire form. He shoved back reflexively, tossing Sylaess from him before readying a counter-attack. Until he recognized her, of course. He stayed his hammer swing, for the moment.

“--Sylaess!” he exclaimed, in an odd mix of excitement and scolding. “Thank the Light I found you!”

Sylaess remained a little apprehensive. She lowered her sabers after they bounced off the shield of Light brightly, shoving her back a good step, the sudden redirection of force jarring up her arms. A thin frown as she stood staring at him.

Could they use the Light, now? Was it another illusion?

The wisp flitted into her face, obscuring her scrutiny. Drawing out a sigh. A cacophony of advice hailing from nowhere and everywhere in her head. “Okay--Okay. Enough. I got it. Fuck.”

She grumbled quietly--well, quietly enough.

“Argo!” Sinafay felt her heart skip a beat… or at least, whatever the spectral equivalent to that was.., at the sound of her mate’s voice.

It felt so long since she’d last heard it, or gazed at his battle worn face. She smiled brightly at him as she skipped down the stairs to meet him, a multitude of wisps following behind her. This time, she resisted the urge to leap into his arms, lest she pass through him again and go tumbling down the stairs. Instead, she stood by where Sylaess landed, weary but well, despite their time in the tower. Her tail swayed eagerly behind her.

“Ah, Sina, my beloved! It is both a joy and a pain to see you like this!” he stated, first and foremost-- in a rather rehearsed tone.

But given he had thought of nothing else than this moment of reunification, it was to be expected that he started running lines in his mind for the occasion. That didn’t make the words any less sincere, however; seeing his mate like this was an odd mix of comforting and sorrowful. The comfort of course coming from just seeing her again, and knowing she could be saved from this place. Sorrow, though, with all the memories he still carried about losing her in the first place. And living without her ever since.

“Argonas. Do you have any idea how to get out? I’m absolutely fucking sick to death of having my ass kicked.”

Syleass’ tone was soft, but the gravelly, ruined sounds of her voice were an interesting counterpart to the gentility. Still, she sounded just as exhausted as her weathered frame looked. And out of patience. If this was another illusion, so be it. The souls did not think it so, but even they could be wrong.

The tone carried a strange desperation from her that Argonas hadn’t heard or experienced since the Exodar.Though even this was different. Weary. He didn’t think Death Knights could get tired. But then… this was more of an emotional weariness, by the sound of it. He nodded quickly to her, both to answer her question and convey appreciation for sticking with Sinafay through this madness.

“Yes!” he stated, proudly. “--I mean… hopefully. I have been leaving small Lightrunes along my path here. But this tower is ever-shifting. The way out may not be the way I came. Though I think we should try, nonetheless. We must get out of here, and reconvene with Avehi and--”

“Were you able to find a vessel?”

He stopped himself short, eyes darting to Sinafay. Perhaps leaving the detail about his Orc soulbind was prudent, for now. More prudent still, leaving out the fact that the Kyrians only gave him and Grakkar one Soul Vessel. To share. Poor Sinafay would have to ride out of this place in the company of Light-only-knew how many Orc souls Grakkar managed to recover. He didn’t know the mechanics, exactly-- would they even notice each other in there? He hoped not.

Either way, a bridge they would cross when they got to it.

“--and another we brought.” he explained, vaguely. “Another Avehi agreed to ferry back out of the Maw with us. The vessel is with them. I did not want to leave them without it in case I did not escape this tower. But once we do, we will all escape the Maw!”

Thankfully for Argonas, Sinafay was only half listening to his words, once again entranced with taking in the sight of him.

“Well, hopefully there’s plenty of room in there. I think a few souls are looking to escape with us.”

Some of the wisps had already begun gravitating around the Vindicator, seeming to take comfort in the Light aura he surrounded himself in. Something a living mortal might miss, but obvious for spirits like herself to make out.

One wisps curiously remained by Sylaess. Sinafay tilted her head slightly at how odd it was. It must have had some form of connection to her. Unfortunately, Sinafay only now realized how little she knew of Sylaess outside their interactions together.

She opened her mouth to ask, only for a loud roar to ring out and startle everyone. The entire tower seemed to shake as a behemoth form began making its way down the stairs, towards the group. The wisps began to flutter about in a panic, and the sound alone caused Sinafay to tremble.

“Fuck,” she whispered as she backed away down the stairs and towards Argonas. She knew what it was, even though she didn’t exactly know how. Knowledge to all the spirits trapped in the tower perhaps, “The Tarragrue…”

Wide eyes turned to her mate, fear in her gaze, “Run… we cannot fight this one…”

~*~*~

#{Story Logs} → “The pleasance of our fairytale”#{Argonas} → “Only a few find the way”#{Sylaess} → “You’re thinking about something and it makes you forget to talk”#{Warcraft Verse} → “Either it brings tears to their eyes”

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thebmatt · 3 years ago

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FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #26 - Free Day!

Herein I commit the chronicle of the Traveler. Shepherd to the starts in the dark.

Thought the world be sundered and our souls set adrift, where you walk, my dear friend, fate shall surely follow.

For yours is the Fourteenth Seat – The seat of Azem.

Rheika held the orange crystal before her as the golden light sunburst pattern shimmered and shined on the floor of the Tower’s throne room. Four circles of white light were formed at the edge of the sunburst, two on either side of her, one before, the last behind.

Franks looked around at the spectacle. “Uh…Rheika? How are you doing this?”

“Don’t think it’s her. It’s that crystal she found…the one that mighta belonged to her” Dahkar hadn’t taken his eyes off Elidibus since his transformation into the Warrior of Light. His greatsword was drawn.

“He’s right. If Elidibus is gonna summon people to empower him, I figure it’s only right we bring in a little help of our own!” Rheika said, smirking.

She pressed the crystal to her breast, and columns of light erupted from the circles, empowered version of the very summoning circles G’raha had used to bring aid to her during her battle against Emet-Selch.

The Warrior of Light, Elidibus, stared at her in wonder. “An invocation of eld…thought not of Hydaelyn’s making….what ARE you?”

Rheika started to think of a smartass remark to throw at him, but before she could, he continued. “No-it matters not! You are the enemy, and you will fall! Even should it cost me everything, I will not forsake my duty!”

He lifted his sword to the heavens, and a pillar of light of his own flashed into and out of existence. “For my people-for our world, I will strike you down!

The team drew their weapons as the columns faded, revealing four people. In front of Rheika stood a raven-haired elezen dressed in the gleaming armor of a paladin. “Well, well. Not sure how you all called us here, but it seems like this is a problem we can certainly do something about.” Her voice was refined and smooth, more akin to an Ishgardian than a Gridanian. She turned to look behind her. “So who exactly- What the HELLS?”

The others all recoiled slightly, startled.

The Elezen looked over to the people to their left and right. Rheika naturally followed her gaze. “Holy…shite…”

Standing to her left was….herself…clad in the garb of a Thavnairian dancer, carrying weapons she immediately recognized as the chakrams Fearless made use of as a dancer herself.

To her right was….another Fearless that had the familiar teal undercut hairstyle, but was clad in black robes and wielding a thuamaturge’s staff.

The two of them were staring at their counterparts in open shock. The other Rheika was the first to speak. “Are you…me? Damn, that is awesome. Stuck to the bow, did you? This is trippy. Holy shit, Syhrwyda, check it out, they have a you! Damn, black hair is a good look on you, girl!” Her voice mirrored Rheika’s own, though slightly raspy.

Fearless turned to look at her counterpart. “Did you say….Syhrwyda?”

Her counterpart looked confused. “What…is that not your name?”

“Class 12 aetherial deiform entity present! I suggest we table this discussion and initiate anti-eikon combat procedures first and deal with the cosmological implications of this after! Unless you all would prefer this thing destroy us?”

The new speaker’s voice was clipped and precise, almost…imperial. The four Warriors in the middle turned. A midlander with sandy blonde hair, carrying an Machinist’s weapon and aetherotransformer stood there, holographic screens deployed in front of him as he read the data that scrolled across them. Though he wore goggles, all of them could clearly see no third eye in the center of his forehead.

A conscript? No he’s right, fight now, talk later.

Dahkar strode in front of Rheika to stand next to the Elezen woman. He looked over at her. “Dahkar Darkspear.”

She smiled, shield raised. “Veilette de Liis. That’s a big sword for someone named Darkspear” she said with a slight teasing lilt.

Rheika reached her mind into the Armory, finding her Ninja soul crystal there and quickly re-established her connection to it. With a quick *pop*, she was glad in her shinobi uniform, twin daggers in hand. “Franks, Fearless?”

“We’ve got the healing, Rheika” Franks said from behind her as two more *pops* sounded behind her, followed by Frank’s fae companion winking into existence.

Elidibus raised his sword, and moved to attack.

Rheika thought Hades had been the toughest battle that they had ever fought.

Elidibus put lie to that statement.

He was every fighting discipline they group had ever seen in one massive primal. Swordplay, thaumaturgy, summoning, he threw all of it at them and more. What was worse, he kept bringing more of those spectres into the fight to help him.

Luckily, the allies she’d summoned with Azem’s crystal were every bit her group’s equal. More than once she’d had to remind herself to stop staring at her counterpart whirling and dashing around the battlefield, constantly throwing and catching her chakrams, using the magic of the Kreigstanz to empower them all. She’d seen Fearless do this more than once, but watching herself do it was…amazing.

Didn’t help that she now knew that she looked really hot in the outfit, either.

Fearless’ counterpart was a terror, herself. Elidibus’ magic might have been devastating, but he was an Ascian, or a primal, or…..well, both, she supposed. Other-Fearless was a mortal, and the devastation she struck him with, massive explosions of flame and boulders of ice, even calling an explosion of pure void energy into existence. More than once she spotted her Fearless watching her in wonder….and the Other-Fearless admiring her mastery of Astrology. Dahkar and Veilette worked in perfect synchronicity, back and forth trading the deflection of blows dealt by the Warrior and harrying him from multiple angles.

In the end, he’d fallen. And when he didn’t stay down, G’raha had sprung his trap, wielding the massive energy of the Crystal Tower to contain Elidibus’ soul…and disintegrate it.

She had given back the Convocation’s soul crystals to the echo of the real Elidibus that remained. He deserved to bid farewell to his friends, one last time, before he too was reduced to aetheric dust, leaving behind the soul vessel he’d taken.

Luckily she had picked it up, for the strain of destroying the final Unsundered had proven too much for the Exarch’s body, which was slowly growing more crystalline. But he’d transferred his soul into the vessel , asking her to take it back to his original body. She’d agreed, and he’d become a sentinel, standing atop the tower on the First until…well probably forever, unless something catastrophic happened.

She hugged her friends, her sister and brothers, then turned to the foursome she’d brought here. “Thank you.”

Other-Rheika ran and jumped into her arms. “No sweat! It’s what we do after all!” Rheika hugged her back, adamantly refusing to let her hands wander, but damn, is this what other people felt like when they hugged her. Cause it was nice.

Her counterpart pulled back. “Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking”

“That I’m suddenly extremely tempted to explore a new and intriguing meaning of the phrase ‘go fuck yourself’? Yeah, more than just a little.”

She giggled. “Oh, it’s very tempting. But if this works like how it did with G’raha did it for us when we fought Emet, I’m guessing we don’t have that long before we go back home. Plus….I don’t think I could do that to Moen and Uri. I mean they’d probably understand, but it feels wrong, you know?”

Rheika looked at her in shock. “Did…did you say Moen? As in Moenbryda? She’s alive in your universe?”

“Yes? Oh fuck, did you lose her? I’m so sorry!”

“She died making sure Nabriales was felled. Used all her aether to make a blade of light strong enough to destroy him. I didn’t even get to know her that well.”

Other-Rheika hugged her again. “Fuck. We all managed to make it to her in time. Between the four of us, we had more than enough spare aether to do it. We’ve become….really close, and through her I got closer to Uri, too. We….we’re really in love. I haven’t felt anything like it with anyone else, really. Wasn’t sure I could for a while. But I guess you know what that’s like, right?”

Rheika shook her head. “I don’t, actually. I’m aromantic. Sounds like you’re demi, I’m guessing?”

“No shit? Huh. Guess we’re not exactly alike.”

“Yeah, I’m not trained in the Kriegstanz either, for another. Now I wanna be though!”

“Really? So what else do you know?”

While the pair of Miqo’te had been talking, Fearless had approached her own counterpart. “So….Syhrwyda? Guessing you had better luck than I did in the parents department?” she asked, sadly.

Syhrwyda shook her head. “By that tone of voice, I’m guessing we both had shite experiences. Mine always demeaned me until they decided I was useless as anything but marriage collateral. I fled, stowed away in a merchant caravan until I ended up in Ul’dah”

Fearless nodded, smiling as she did “Yeah, same here actually, except I ended up in Limsa. Decided I didn’t want any part of them in my life anymore, so I changed my name to just go by the translation. Got father’s name away from me and if they came looking, well, no one would know who ‘Syhrwyda’ was. It worked for a while, at least.”

Syhywyda chuckled. “Smart, that never even occurred to me. I got taken in by a Hellsguard, a captain in the Flames. I think he saw how lost I was and took pity on me. He…treated me like I was his own daughter. Made sure I knew how to make it out there, life lessons my…that they never bothered to teach me. I owe him more than I can ever pay back. So one day, same day I got accepted to the Thaumaturge’s Guild I came home and gave him a copy of my new identification papers….changed my last name to Saztiwilfwyn. Never saw him cry so much, but we were both real happy.”

“Did they ever come lookin’ for you?”

As the duo continued, Dahkar and Franks walked over the Veilette, who was speaking with the hyur. As they approached, she smiled and walked over to greet them. “You boys fought well, not that I expected you wouldn’t. I imagine you have to, tryin to keep up with your own Rheika and Syhrwyda over there.” She nodded in their general direction.

Dahkar laughed. “We do our best.”

Franks likewise chuckled, then extended a hand to her “Aleister Franks. Pleasure.”

She took it, shaking with a firm grip. “Veilette de Liis”

“….why does that name sound familiar…wait, Dahkar, didn’t we fight Hades alongside someone with that name?”

His eyes opened wide. “THAT’S why it sounded so familiar! But…well she didn’t look anything like you. Dark blue skin, purple and red hair, punched like a freaking battering ram, and she was from the Shroud. Your accent…I’m guessing Ishgardian?”

Veilette nodded. “Formerly, at least, my family got exiled and lives in Ul’dah now. Part political maneuvering by the Dzmaels that we didn’t foresee, part discrimination because, well, we might not look it, but we’re Duskwrights and we’ve always faced some semblance of discrimination over it. Not ‘proper’ Ishgardians or some such tripe. Sounds like that other Veilette and I share a love of punching people though. Was she trained in the Rhalgr’s Fist style too?”

Franks shrugged. “No idea, we didn’t get to talk to her that much, and none of us are trained in it ourselves, so we wouldn’t have recognizes it”

Dahkar looked past her to the hyur, who was ignoring the conversation in favor of meticulously inspecting his equipment. “Uh…hey, man. Just wanted to say thank you for the help”

Veilette intervened “Ah, don’t mind him. That’s B. Short for Brorthon, but we all just call him B out of habit at this point. Tripped over his name a few too many times. He’s not rude on purpose, he’s just…been through things and isn’t good with people he doesn’t know well. He’s from Dalmasca, but they conscripted him into their schools when they conquered the place. Discovered he’s a magitek prodigy, so they basically tried to erase his whole past. Got ‘adopted’ by an Imperial family who basically brainwashed him into forgetting a lot of his past. He got out when a couple of other prisoners escaped and came to the Shroud, but the pursuers killed a woman he was close to during the getaway. He’s….been wary of getting close with anyone ever since. Absolute genius with magitek, and fights like hell with a gunblade, but…yeah. “

Franks nodded. “I’m something of a magitek user myself. You think I could try…”

Veilette held up a hand, shaking her head. “I’ve no doubt you could, given time, but I think I feel the spell’s hold on us fading, and I’d rather not agitate him.”

Franks stepped back. “I understand.”

Dahkar threw a salute her way. “Good luck back there.”

She smiled. “You as well!” Then she turned to the others. “Hey, you two! Finish up, I think we’re heading home soon!”

The two Roegadyn women exchanged hugs before Syhrwyda walked over to her friends’ sides. The two Rheikas did likewise.

“You sure you don’t wanna try a kiss before you go?”

The Rheika in the dancer’s costume giggled. “Bye, sweetie. Take care of those guys. I can tell by the way you carry yourself you’re the leader of em. Another difference between us, I don’t think I’ve got that in me.”

Rheik really wanted to offer some encouragement about that, but there wasn’t time, as the four summoned Warriors of Light began glowing. Their Rheika and Syhrwyda reached their companions and each took a hand of the other two (forcibly in B’s case). Pillars of light erupted from the ground, and the group was gone.

Rheika turned to Franks. “Any luck on doing that whole universe jumping thing?”

He laughed. “Not hardly, not sense I got us all here anyway. I think that’s pretty amazing.”

“Yeah yeah. I wanna visit their universe, though.”

Dahkar elbowed her. “You just want to watch yourself with Moenbryda and Urianger.”

She blushed. “You uh…you heard that, huh?”

Fearless put a hand on her shoulder. “You….weren’t exactly quiet, hon. Either of you.”

Rheika covered her face with her hands. “Uuuugh, okay look, maybe you’re right, let’s keep this to ourselves. I can hear the others coming, we’ve got some explaining to do, so let’s leave that part out. Kay? Kay”

The others chuckled, but also added their assent.

They all turned at the sound of the Scions approaching from within the tower.

It turned out they didn’t need to explain much at all. At least not right away. The sight of the Exarch converted and Elidibus gone definitely spoke volumes.

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV 2021 Writing Challenge #Rheika Aliapoh #Dahkar Darkspear #Aleister Franks #oldmanfranks #Fearless Willow #Other Scions from the multiverse

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theexecutionerssong · 4 years ago

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Okay Gaëlle, i hate to do this but I have to. What are your favorite episodes of Supernatural throughout the seasons 1-15🤔 shit you can even tell me why, i would very much enjoy to hear it. Because I am not ready to let this damn show go, so I’ve been watching videos/talking about different episodes all day long.

On are you kidding me sdfghjk i could make you a top 100 but I’ll try to keep it under... 40, in chronological order it is because do NOT ask me to pick my favorites among favorites. And if I start to tell you why, we’ll still be here in a week, so you can draw conclusions from the quotes ^^

2x20 What Is and What Should Never Be: Our happiness for all those people's lives, no contest. Right? But why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero? What about us, huh? What, Mom's not supposed to live her life, Sammy's not supposed to get married? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad?

3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me: Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?

My father was an obsessed bastard! All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He- He's the one who let Mom die. Who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!

4x01 Lazarus Rising: You don't think you deserve to be saved

4x03 In the Beginning: On November 2nd, 1983, don't get out of bed. No matter what you hear, or what you see. Promise me you won't get out of bed.

4x16 On the Head of a Pin: For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.

4x20 The Rapture: I wanna make sure you understand. You won't die or age. If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred, a thousand more like it. - It doesn't matter. You take me. Just take me.

4x22 Lucifer Rising: You're not in this story. - Yeah, well... We're making it up as we go.

5x04 The End: What happened to you? - Life

5x10 Abandon All Hope...: Mom... This might literally be your last chance to treat me like an adult. Might wanna take it?

5x13 The Song Remains the same: It's okay, baby. It's all okay. Angels are watching over you.

6x15 The French Mistake: honestly how iconic, doesn’t need quotes

6x20 The Man Who Would Be King: It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it? - I was there. Where were you?

7x04 Defending Your Life: Hunters are never kids. I never was.

7x17 The Born Again Identity: You’re not a machine, Dean.

8x01 We Need to Talk about Kevin: It was bloody, messy. 31 flavors of bottom dwelling nasties. Hell, most days felt like 360 degree combat. But there was something about being there... it felt pure.

8x07 A Little Slice of Kevin: You can’t save everyone, my friend. Though you try.

8x17 Goodbye Stranger: We need you. I need you.

8x23 Sacrifice: Where do I start to even look for forgiveness?

9x06 Heaven Can Wait: Nobody told you. Nobody explained. You're just… shoved out kicking and screaming into this human life, without any idea why any of it feels the way it feels, or why this confusion, which feels like it's… a hair's breadth from terror or pain. You know, just when you think you do understand, it'll turn out you're wrong. You didn't understand anything at all.

9x11 First Born: no proper quotes but it introduced Cain so that’s that.

9x22 Stairway to Heaven: his true weakness is revealed. He's in love... with humanity.

9x23 Do You Believe in Miracle: I'm proud of us.

10x05 Fan Fiction: Supernatural has everything. Life, death, resurrection, redemption -- but above all, family. All set to music you can really tap your toe to. It isn't some meandering piece of genre dreck, it's... epic.

10x14 The Executioner’s Song (what a surprise): First, first you'd kill Crowley -- there'd be some strange mixed feelings on that one, but you'd have your reason, get it done, no remorse. And then you'd kill the angel Castiel, now that one, that I suspect would hurt something awful. And then! Then would come the murder you'd never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as a much of a savage as it did me... Your brother, Sam. The only thing standing between you and that destiny is this Blade. You're welcome my son.

10x22 The Prisoner: When you finally turn, and you will turn... Sam, and everyone you know, everyone you love... they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world.

11x04 Baby: because it was GENIUS

11x20 Don’t Call me Shurley: Fare Thee Well

12x10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets: Do it. You blast me away, you'll blast away every angel in the room. I'll survive. Castiel, on the other hand, he's hurt. He might live or he might just end up a bloody smear on the wall. Roll the dice... Yeah. That's what I thought.

12x12 Stuck in the Middle (With You): No, you listen to me. You... Look, thank you. Thank you. Knowing you, it... it's been the best part of my life. And the things that... the things we've shared together, they have changed me. You're my family. I love you. I love all of you.

12x19 The Future: It's a gift. You keep those.

13x10 Wayward Sisters: all of it and it’s a damn shame the spin off wasn’t picked off

14x13 Lebanon: I guess that I had hoped, eventually, you would... get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family. - I have a family.

15x03 The Rupture: (just because i’m an angst hoe) You used to trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt. Now you can barely look at me. My powers are failing, and -- and I've tried to talk to you, over and over, and you just don't want to hear it. You don't care. I'm... dead to you.

15x09 The Trap: You don't have to say it. I heard your prayer.

15x17 Unity: My entire life, you've protected me-- from Dad, from Lucifer, from everything. I didn't always like it, you know, but... it's the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on. It's the only thing I've ever known that was true.

15x18 Despair: I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what it could be? What my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer because the one thing I want... It's something I know I can't have. But I think I know... I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having, it's in just being. It's in just saying it. I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive, and you're angry, and you're broken. You're “daddy's blunt instrument.” And you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you see it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell... Knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack... I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean. - Why does this sound like a goodbye? - Because it is. I love you.

#thank you anon i'm now an absolute mess #80% of these were written by the same 4 people sdfghjk #i should have done a top 5 per season it would have been easier #spn #gaelle parle #Anonymous

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pikapeppa · 5 years ago

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Solavellan smut: Three Times

The final chapter of Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This is up on AO3! In which @elbenherzart‘s Nare Lavellan and Solas FINALLY fall into bed together. FINALLY.

It’s quite long that’s what she said; >10k words. Do people like chapters of this length being posted in full on Tumblr? Either way, it’s on AO3 as well.

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Going to Nare’s quarters was a foolish idea.

Solas padded silently up the stairs. With every step he took, he told himself he ought to turn around. He ought to go back to the rotunda and sink his focus into the pile of tomes on his desk. He ought to be learning more about the use and misuse of magic in this world so he could dismantle his most egregious mistake as painlessly as possible.

But his bare feet kept carrying him forward, and he continued making his way up the stairs to Nare’s quarters.

It was strange, that: to think that these familiar steps to that familiar spacious bedroom now belonged to Nare, not to him. It wasn’t that Solas was sorry to pass this legacy on to her, not by any means; he had done all that he could with Tarasyl’an Te’las. It was only fitting that any further memories to embed themselves in these ancient stones would be created by the woman who unwittingly bore his mark.

The same woman whose torrid taste still lingered in his mind.

A pulse of lust dropped into his belly like a gulp of hot soup, and Solas paused on the stairs. It had been several hours since Nare had spread her legs for him on the desk in the basement library, hours since he had gloried in the softness of her lips and the perfect canvas of her skin, and still he was incapable of ejecting the thoughts of her from his mind.

He ought to turn around. He ought to return to the rotunda and to his studies.

For a suspended moment of time, Solas stood unmoving on the stairs, paralyzed by the weight of what he knew he ought to do. Then his feet kept carrying him up the steps.

A minute later, he knocked on the door to Nare’s bedroom. When she opened the door a second later, the smile that bloomed across her face was a mixture of relief and nerves that made his heart ache.

“Solas!” she breathed. “Come on in.” She hurried up the final set of stairs into the bedroom, and Solas followed her at a more sedate pace.

He looked around surreptitiously as he stepped into the bedroom proper. The decor was… far different than it had once been. The hearth was in the same place, but Solas had kept his bed on the upper level. And here on the lower level, he had once had a small waterfall that flowed into a tidy little pond and then back up to feed the waterfall itself. It was an elegant and admittedly frivolous piece of magic that fed itself on a perpetual loop, a little project that he’d painstakingly constructed on a particularly lonely night, and it was the one indulgence he had permitted himself to keep throughout the ages. Even when the war against the Evanuris had grown so terrible that he was barely able to spend any time in the privacy of this room, the waterfall had remained intact: an attempt at keeping some peace somewhere, despite the increasing ferocity of the war.

Now, the miniature waterfall was gone, destroyed like every other subtle work of magic that the Veil had sundered. In its place was a bed: Nare’s bed, made up with simple but comfortable-looking coverlets in shades of aqua and seafoam-green. And standing at the foot of the bed was Nare herself.

Her expression was apprehensive. Solas tilted his head. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Are you staying?” she said bluntly.

He raised his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

She winced. “I – damn it.” She rubbed her arms nervously. “I just… when I asked you if you wanted to be with me, you – you didn’t – um… fenedhis.” She let out a self-deprecating little laugh. “I’m being foolish. I’m sorry. Do you want some coffee? I’ve banished all tea from this room for the rest of the night, don’t worry.” She gestured at the desk, where a tray with a cafetière sat with two cups and saucers.

Despite her obvious nerves, her smile was hopeful and warm, and her teasing reference to his disdain for tea… Nare really did see him as a normal man. She truly saw him as a friendly companion and not as an ineffable figure of power to be revered or reviled.

He gazed at her with a terrible sort of warmth in his chest – terrible in that it felt so good. In the space of these few short months, Nare’s companionship had become so dear to him, and he couldn’t fathom how it had happened. No matter how many hours he spent trying to rid his mind of her while painting his murals, or how many nights he spent pondering this problem while lying awake in bed, he hadn’t come any closer to understanding how he had allowed this to happen. How had he become so hopelessly fascinated by a native denizen of this infuriatingly static world? How had he become so thoroughly ensnared by someone whose existence was premised on his greatest mistake?

Was it possible that the magic of his mark had somehow made her feel more like home to him? Perhaps this was why he had allowed her to become so familiar.

“What were you like before the anchor?” he asked abruptly.

She blinked, so he pressed on. “Has it affected you?” he said. “Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your… spirit?”

Nare frowned slightly and nibbled her lip in thought, and Solas turned away to avoid staring at the lushness of her lips. He wandered restlessly toward the west-facing balcony, and Nare followed him. When they were standing on the balcony in the fresh mountain air, she spoke. “I… can’t really say. A lot of things in my life have changed, beyond just having the anchor,” she said. “Travelling on my own, making friends with shemle– er, humans, having people looking at me like a political figure…” She grimaced and leaned her elbows on the balcony railing. “So much has changed since I was with my clan. If I’ve changed, how could I know for sure if those changes are because of the mark, or because of everything else changing too?”

He raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “That’s an excellent point,” he said. Truly, he was impressed by how analytical her answer was. And even with the analytical and accurate nature of her answer, she hadn’t quite answered his question at all.

It was a masterful response. Wise, careful, open to multiple possibilities…

His heart throbbed again, and he rubbed his forehead. It was unfathomable, and it shouldn’t be possible, but he couldn’t deny the way she made him feel. He couldn’t keep trying to dodge it. Solas had never been one to bury his head in the sand. He may once have been impulsive and quick to plunge in headfirst, but hiding and dodging from ugly truths? That was not how the Dread Wolf operated.

Not until recently, at least, with his admittedly juvenile attempts to avoid Nare. Now, as he stood in front of her gazing into her lucid aquamarine eyes, he could not hide from the most terrible truth he’d had to face in several thousand years.

Nare Lavellan was real. She was incredibly, unfathomably, breathtakingly real. And Solas was hopelessly and terribly in love with her.

She took a small step closer to him. “Solas, is something wrong?”

Yes, he thought. I am enthralled by you, and it is the worst thing that could have happened to us both.

He folded his hands behind his back. “You have shown a wisdom I have not seen since… since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade,” he told her. “You are not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” she asked.

I expected ignorance, he thought. Ignorance was all that he had encountered in the year before his agents had led Corypheus to the orb, after all.

He began pacing slowly on the balcony. “Most people are predictable,” he said. “You have shown subtlety in your actions. A wisdom that goes against everything I expected.” He rubbed his chin, then forced himself to ask her the question he really didn’t want the answer to. “If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours, have I misjudged them?”

She pulled a little face and shrugged. “I don’t know, Solas. I didn’t meet the Dalish that you did. I can only speak for my clan, and I like to think they’d have listened to your stories.”

“They are not stories,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “They are memories collected during my journeys in the Fade.”

Her expression grew apprehensive once more. “I know. I didn’t mean… I don’t mean ‘stories’ in a bad way. Any good story is like a pearl, right? Under all the shiny layers, there’s a grain of truth.” She smiled tentatively. “That’s what Deshanna always says, anyway.”

Solas gave her a sharp look. “Is that what you believe, as well?” he said. “That a story represents the truth shrouded in layers of fantasy and misdirection?”

She frowned slightly, and her eyes moved carefully over his face. “You could put it that way, yes,” she said. “But I think Deshanna’s way of saying it sounds nicer.” She offered him a soft and hopeful smile.

He gazed down at her with an ache in his chest. If only she knew. If only she was aware that some of the most stubbornly held Dalish myths were seeded in a truth so close and so tangible that she could literally touch.

He bowed his head and turned away from her to pace some more, but she suddenly grabbed his hand. “Solas, please,” she said. “Please don’t leave.”

That was the problem; he hadn’t been trying to leave. It was no longer his intention to leave her room, if he had ever even truly intended to leave.

“Please,” she said. “Please look at me.”

Her voice was strained now, and Solas finally raised his eyes to her face. Her beautiful face that was bursting with hope and vitality and more wisdom than anyone in this static world had any right to have…

She took a step closer to him. “I want to be with you,” she said. “I can’t stand the… not knowing. I just – I need to know. Do you…” She took a shaky breath. “Do you want to be with me?”

I do, he thought. More than anything, he wanted to be with her. But he didn’t have the right. The Dread Wolf had forfeited the right to have anything he wanted the moment he’d saved his people and doomed them in the same catastrophic stroke.

He released a slow breath. He ought to leave. He ought to take his hand from hers and walk away.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he said quietly, almost to himself. Then, against his better judgment, he reached out and cupped Nare’s cheek in his palm.

Her fingers tightened on his other hand, and Solas brushed his thumb tenderly over her lips. “I should not stay, Nare,” he said softly. “But losing you would–”

Her tongue darted out and flicked over the pad of his thumb.

He froze. Nare’s eyes went wide and darted to his face, and for the space of a heartbeat, they stared at each other. And in the space of that one single heartbeat, that one single pulsing squeeze of his heart, every final feeble barrier he’d been trying to build against her fell into utter ruin.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “Solas, I’m sor–”

He pulled her against his chest and kissed her.

She let out a little whimper of surprise, but it was swiftly muffled when he coaxed her mouth open and licked her tongue. The next thing he knew, Nare was clutching the collar of his tunic and pressing herself against his front, and his hand was sliding into the thick russet ropes of her hair while his other hand drifted down her spine toward her bottom.

He gripped her buttock and pulled her against his thigh, and she broke his kiss with a gasp. When he gently pulled her hair, she craned her neck back and burst out a single word. “Please!”

He didn’t reply. He sealed his lips over hers and walked her back toward the balcony railing, and then he was clasping her neck and stroking the line of her jaw and kissing her with all the enthusiasm of a starving man at a feast.

He nipped gently at her lips and pressed his thigh between her legs. She pulled his tunic and tilted her groin against his thigh, and Solas sighed blissfully into her mouth. The taste of her tongue, the citrus scent of her hair as he threaded it through his fingers… it was every bit as good as he remembered from that scintillating night they’d spent together in her tent, and it was every bit as illicit and ill-advised as the torrid moment they’d spent locked together in the downstairs library this morning.

And Solas relished it. He sank into her kiss without thinking, without guilt and without bothering to convince himself to stop, because there was no stopping this. There was no point denying the depth of his feelings for her. There was no point trying to push her away, only to have the memories torture him at every moment of the waking day and every second of the dreaming night. Denial was useless, a juvenile attempt to stave off a reality that was better confronted head-on, and if confronting this reality involved the delectable sounds that were trickling from Nare’s lips and the wanton way she was rubbing herself against his thigh, then Solas had no right to complain.

Her hands left his tunic, and she began fumbling with the laces of her shirt. Solas broke their kiss and took her hands. “Nare, wait a moment.”

She wrested her hands from his and gripped his tunic again. “Don’t go,” she begged. “You can’t – don’t – don’t leave me again, please…”

“It is not my intention to leave,” he said soothingly. “I wish only to speak more of what you told me before. About your other… partners.”

He couldn’t quite shave the disdain from his tone, but Nare didn’t seem to mind; she relaxed and gave him a wry smile. “You want to hear about how I’ve never had good sex even though I’m thirty-one?”

He brushed his thumb fondly over her cheek. She said ‘thirty-one’ as though her handful of years spanned an entire lifetime. “I do,” he said. “It is important, given where we are headed.”

Her tongue darted over her lower lip. “And where are we headed, exactly?” she asked breathlessly.

He smiled faintly, then penned her against the balcony railing and slowly lowered his lips to her ear. “To a state of considerable undress if your restless hands are anything to go by, da’len,” he whispered.

She dragged in a raspy breath. Then Solas tipped her chin up and brushed her lower lip with his thumb again. “Tell me what sex was like for you before, Nare. It is important.”

She swallowed hard, then dropped his gaze. “It was… it just wasn’t good. They… I don’t know if it was them or me, but it… I thought I was ready before they, um, entered me.” She shrugged and kept her gaze on the floor. “I suppose I wasn’t actually ready, but I only know that now because you…” She trailed off, then looked him in the eye. “Solas, you make me… I didn’t want any of them like I want you.”

Her cheeks were rapidly turning red, but Solas gazed seriously at her. “You say it didn’t feel good. Did it feel bad?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together and lowered her gaze, and his heart twisted for her. “Were you in pain?” he said softly.

She took a tremulous breath. “I don’t think it was their fault,” she mumbled. “It – it hurt with all of them, so it couldn’t have been their fault, it must have been my–”

“Stop,” he said, quietly but firmly. “I must stop you there. You are not at fault.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If they did not recognize your pain, they were not worthy to touch you.”

Her face crumpled. Solas took a deep breath to quell the sympathetic aching in his throat, then stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Do you recall what I told you about the nature of magic back in the days of ancient Arlathan?” he said softly. “How new spells would spin out for years untold, echoing and harmonizing with those from countless years before?”

She nodded, and Solas gently brushed a tear from her cheek. “Just as magic could linger in an unending flow, so it was with sensations of a more carnal nature as well.”

She darted a glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“I have seen memories in the Fade,” he said. “Lovers twined together in a perpetual cycle of pleasure, bringing each other to orgasm through delicate touch and words alone.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Touching and talking only?”

“Yes,” he said. “It took time and patience, but these were privileges that our ancient forbears had in plenty.”

“That sounds… incredible,” she said softly. “Like an amazing dream.”

He let out a small laugh. “Yes.”

She gave him a shy smile. Then her expression became sly. “You’ve seen these memories, you say?” she said cheekily. “So you watch people doing more than just dressing their hair, it seems.”

He chuckled, pleased by the return of her humour. “So it would seem,” he said. He tilted his head. “Would you be interested in feeling what this is like?”

Her eyes went wide. “In… in feeling what, exactly?”

“In a climax brought to you through simple talk and touch,” Solas said.

Her face slackened, and Solas watched with satisfaction as her cheeks turned red – but not with embarrassment this time. No, there was nothing embarrassed about the way her spine was straightening and the obvious interest in her aquamarine eyes.

“Is that a yes?” he said mildly.

“Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, absolutely yes.”

He smiled at how eager she was. Then he reached for the laces of her shirt.

She drew a tiny breath through her parted lips. His body thrilled at the subtle sound, but he forced himself to calmly loosen the laces. He carefully untucked the fabric from her breeches, then raised his gaze to her face.

“Lift your arms,” he said quietly.

She did as he asked, and he carefully pulled the linen shirt up to reveal the planes of her belly. Her breasts were bare beneath the shirt, and by the time he pulled the shirt off and dropped it on the ground, his cock was a rock-hard rod in his breeches, and Nare’s eyes were dark and feverish with want.

He took a careful breath and looked her in the eye. “If I do anything you dislike, you must tell me right away,” he said. “This is never negotiable. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Yes, what?”

She arched her spine slightly, drawing his greedy gaze back to her nipples. “Yes, hah’ren,” she breathed.

He smiled. “Good,” he said, and he continued undressing her. When Nare was naked, Solas stepped back and studied her.

The fresh mountain air was raising goosebumps on her skin and bringing her nipples to pebbled peaks. The starlight had turned her skin to a lush shade of pearl, and at the apex of her thighs…

Her desperation was obvious, a glossy shine that glazed her cleft and the insides of her thighs, and the mere sight of her wetness was enough to lift a feral sort of hunger in the pit of his belly. He breathed slowly to master the hunger and scanned her slowly from head to toe, then took another small step away from her.

“I will not lay with you tonight,” he said.

Her face slackened with disappointment. “What?” she blurted. “But–”

He interrupted her. “Not unless you ask me three times.”

She frowned. “Three times? Why…?”

“Because I need you to be certain,” he said. He reached out and lightly stroked the slick inside of her thigh.

She shuddered at the featherlight touch, and he breathed slowly to calm himself before speaking again. “This is a gift, Nare,” he said quietly. “One that can only be given freely and without qualm. I will accept this gift only if you are completely certain that you are ready to give it.”

“And what if I asked you to fuck me three times right now?” she said.

He smirked. “Even though I spoke to you of the ebb and flow of pleasure through careful words and gentle touch?” he said. “You wish to curtail that before I have even begun?”

She wilted. “No, hah’ren.”

He chuckled. “A wise choice, da’len.” Then, very gently, he slid two fingers between her legs.

She bucked her hips and moaned, and Solas greedily enjoyed the needy sound before withdrawing his fingers from her warmth. When she opened her eyes and met his gaze, he licked her sweetness from his fingers.

She pressed her thighs together. “Fuck,” she whined.

Her voice was strained with need, and the restless hunger in his gut stirred once more, but he forced himself to ignore it. He tilted his head at her bedroom. “Go inside and wait for me to join you,” he said.

“How should I wait?” she asked eagerly.

He raised his eyebrows in appreciation. For a woman who had never engaged in such roleplay before, she was adopting it seamlessly. “You should stand,” he said. “Near the couch is fine.”

She nodded, then practically ran into the bedroom, and Solas followed her more slowly. When he was facing her, he clasped his hands behind his back.

“Ina’lan’ehn,” he said quietly. “You know the meaning of this word, da’len?”

She nodded. “It means, um… beautiful.” She smiled awkwardly and dropped his gaze.

“That is correct,” he said. “But there is another more subtle meaning as well.” He began to pace slowly around her. “It refers also to the manner in which a thing of beauty brings out the finest traits in all that surrounds it.” He stopped behind her, then tucked her hair over her shoulder and brushed his knuckles along the length of her spine.

She shivered prettily, and Solas leaned in close to her ear. “You are beautiful, Nare. But the reflection of your spirit on those around you is what makes you truly exquisite.”

The tips of her ears were turning pink, but she laughed softly. “You sweet talker,” she said. “You’re just flattering me.”

He paused and tilted his head. “Do you think me to be an idle seducer, Nare?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “No, of course not.”

“I should hope not,” he said. “It is not my intent to shower you in disingenuous flattery.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Oh, Solas, that’s not what I meant. I’m just– ah...” She trailed off, and for good reason; Solas was smoothing his hand over the curve of her bottom.

He squeezed the supple curve of her butt, then skimmed his fingers from her wrist up to her shoulder. When he trailed the tips of his fingers along the side of her neck, she inhaled shakily and tilted her head to the side.

She seemed to be enjoying his touch and his talking, but in truth, Solas was a bit disappointed in himself. He could see why his words might seem like mere flattery to her; the common tongue of this time was a crude language without any of the inherent magic or lilting fluidity of his native tongue. This language lacked the layers of metaphor that Elvhen words so neatly encompassed, so of course his words didn’t have the proper intended effect: they weren’t the words he truly meant.

He frowned, then dismissed the quandary for now. He refused to let a foible of language interfere with Nare’s pleasure. He would simply have to get around the linguistic hurdle in a different way.

He slid his arm around her waist and rested his palm on her belly. She gasped and tilted her head back against his collarbone, and he brushed his lips over her ear once more. “Are you opposed to the use of magic during sex?” he murmured.

“Magic during sex?” she panted. “I… I’ve never – but no, I’m not opposed, not at all.”

“Good,” he said. He slowly slid his hand lower, and when his hand was cupping her sex, he gently pressed his middle finger into her cleft.

She mewled and jerked her hips, and Solas gently kissed her ear. “Patience, Nare,” he whispered. He traced a tiny pattern between her legs with the tip of his finger, then whispered a word in Elvhen: “Isalath’is.”

A tiny burst of magic warmed his palm, and a rush of pleasure surged through his body as the glyph took effect. He bit the inside of his cheek to control his reaction, but Nare gasped and arched uninhibitedly into his chest.

“Solas!” she moaned. “Gods, fuck, I feel so – what is that?” She breathed hard and pressed her bottom back toward his throbbing cock. “What–? How did you…?”

He hastily shifted his pelvis away from her tempting curves. “I linked your desire to mine,” he told her breathlessly. “I can feel your lust, and you can feel mine. We are joined this way until I undo the glyph.”

She moaned and wiggled her hips. “It feels amazing.”

“I am glad you enjoy it,” he murmured. Then he removed his hand from her body and stepped away from her.

She whimpered and gazed desperately at him as he slowly made his way around her. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he said. “I simply wish to look at you.” He paused in front of her and clasped his hands behind his back. He perused her slowly, lingering on the rosy peaks of her nipples and the dip of her navel and the lean lines of her thighs as they flowed down to her calves and her pretty little toes, and with every second that he spent staring at her, her desperation surged more strongly through his groin by way of the magical glyph.

She shifted restlessly and arched her back. “Solas…”

He raised his eyes slowly to her face. “I meant what I said before, da’len. You are truly exquisite. Your beauty captured my attention, but your spirit… A single conversation with you, and I was enchanted. Your passion, your curiosity, your open mind…” He reached out and brushed his knuckles over her belly, and when her muscles jumped taut beneath his touch, he smiled.

He looked up once more into her blazing blue eyes. “You are infinitely tempting,” he told her. “A flame that flickers in my mind when I am attempting to sleep at night, but instead I ruminate on thoughts of you.”

“You think of me at night?” she asked breathlessly.

He gave her a reproving look. “Did you truly think that incident in your tent was the first time I fantasized of you?”

Her jaw dropped and her cheeks turned pink, and Solas smiled faintly. “No, Nare,” he said. “That was not the first time.” He stepped close to her, then gently took her hand and placed it over the bulge in his breeches.

She instantly molded her fingers over his cock. The resulting rush of pleasure raced through his blood, then rushed through him again and again thanks to the glyph that linked them.

Nare whimpered and squeezed his manhood, and Solas shamelessly enjoyed her touch for a moment more before stepping away from her and drawing a deep and bracing breath. His whole body was roaring with hunger, but he couldn’t sate it yet; he couldn’t sate himself on the infinite feast of Nare’s passion until she asked him three times to take her.

“Solas,” she begged. “I want to touch you…”

“Not until you come, da’len,” he said firmly, both as a reminder to her and to himself. “You must come for me first. I want you to think about me wrapping my fingers around my cock.”

He balked mentally at his own clumsy words; he couldn’t decide if they sounded seductive or silly in the common tongue, but Nare seemed more than pleased: the minute the word cock left his mouth, Nare’s reflected pleasure pulsed deep down in his belly.

“Mhmm,” she moaned. “More, please…”

Ah, good, he thought. He began slowly circling her again. “I want you to think about my hand sliding along the length of my cock,” he said. “Imagine me dreaming of you while I grip myself, wishing it was your hand instead.” He reached out and brushed his thumb over her nipple.

She jerked at his touch. “Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, please, I want to…”

He stopped behind her once more and wrapped his fingers around her throat, and she arched her spine with a gasp.

He brushed his thumb along her neck. “Think of this, Nare,” he said. “Focus on my hand here on your neck.” He stepped closer to her, then pressed his groin against the cleft of her ass and gently squeezed her throat.

She mewled and twisted her hips fitfully. Her pleasure surged through the glyph they shared, and he released a shaky sigh before doggedly resuming his talk. “Think of me taking you from behind,” he murmured. “How it would feel for me to fill you up and spill my… seed inside of you.” He squeezed her throat once more and pumped his hips teasingly against the bare curves of her ass.

She sobbed and pressed her hips back toward him. She was near, so near to the precipice of her own pleasure, and if he spoke to her just so…

He nipped her earlobe and pressed his hips to the curves of her behind. “Are you thinking of this, Nare?” he rasped. “Are you thinking about me fucking you?”

She shuddered and cried out suddenly, and Solas gasped: her climax had finally struck, and it was shivering through both of them in tandem.

“Ah, y-yes!” she cried. She strained back against his chest and dug her nails into his wrist, and he squeezed his eyes shut in ecstasy: her peak was pulsing through his body, pouring through his abdomen like a scintillating burst of bliss, and he groaned helplessly as Nare shuddered against his chest.

“Fuck me!” she cried.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. His cock was pounding from the referred pleasure of her climax, and he was desperate to do as she asked, but he couldn’t – not yet.

Not until she asked it of him three times.

“That is once, Nare,” he said, in the calmest tone he could manage. “You have now asked me once.”

She gasped in another breath and nodded, and Solas released her throat and stepped away from her. The moment he released her, she fell to her knees in front of him and reached for his belt.

His cock jerked in his breeches, but he hastily took her hands in his. “Patience, Nare,” he scolded.

“Let me suck you!” she blurted. She shuffled closer on her knees. “I want your cock, Solas, I – I want you in my mouth, please…”

He raised his eyebrows. “Is that a command, or a request?”

“A – it’s a…” She broke off and gazed pleadingly up at him. “Please, hah’ren, I want… can I suck your cock?”

“Yes,” he said. With slightly shaking fingers, he unbuckled his belt and pulled his tunic over his head. He stripped as efficiently as he could without making a fool of himself like an untried youth, but in truth, he was feeling like exactly that: an eager and untried youth bursting with enthusiasm and hunger and barely a thread of discipline, and the reflection of Nare’s voracious hunger through the glyph wasn’t helping matters.

He finally shucked his breeches, and Nare whimpered and crawled toward him. “Please, hah’ren...”

“Not yet,” he told her. He sat gracefully on the couch, then took his manhood in his fist.

Her eyes grew wide, then wider still when he ran his fist along his length, and he couldn’t decide whether the accompanying pulse of pleasure in his gut came from himself or from her. He stroked himself three more times, and when Nare was mewling and writhing her hips like a cat in heat, he finally gave in.

He patted the couch beside him. “Lay here on your belly,” he instructed.

She jumped to her feet and obeyed him, stretching out on the couch and resting her palms on his thigh and his hip. Before he could give her any further instructions, she took his cock deep into her throat.

Shocked and thrilled, he groaned and jerked his hips, and Nare mewled around his length. Then she was suckling him with deep, quick strokes, her lips firm around his shaft and her fingers digging into his thigh, and it felt – fenedhis, it was good, too damned good, far too good and too fast, and his pleasure was rising and hers was rising too and she was grinding her hips unconsciously against the couch as she suckled him, and –

And it was too much. “Slow down, da’len,” he gasped. He ran his palm gently over her hair, then began gathering her hair in his hands.

She whimpered and continued suckling him, so Solas gently pulled her hair.

She released his cock with a gasp. “Please!” she sobbed. “Please, hah’ren, let me...”

“Slowly, Nare,” he said in a firm tone. “Go slowly. There is no need to rush. We have time.”

She whimpered and pressed her hips into the couch, and her nails bit into his hip. “But I waited so long, I’ve been waiting, I–”

He pulled her hair again, more firmly this time. “Slowly,” he said, very quietly. “Will you obey me, da’len?”

She sobbed again but nodded her head, and Solas lessened his hold on her hair. As soon as his fingers loosened in her hair, she took him in her mouth once more, but the heated strokes of her lips and throat were deep and slow this time.

Solas sighed blissfully and flexed into her lips. The pleasure was just as great but less urgent now, and he was better able to concentrate on Nare’s pleasure as well. He slid his free hand over her shoulder, then down along the smooth curve of her spine.

He lovingly ran his palm over her bottom, and she jerked and moaned into his cock. Riled and encouraged, he stroked the smooth globes of her bottom until she was writhing, then slid his hand lower still and smoothed his fingers over her inner thigh.

She jerked again and released his cock just long enough to let out a feral little cry, and Solas groaned as his pleasure surged in time with hers. Her slickness was smeared across the inner margins of her thighs, and he had no doubt that it would grace the couch as well when they eventually stood.

He slid his hand back up to stroke her bottom, and Nare arched her spine and began sucking him faster.

Solas gasped in a breath and pulled her hair. “Slowly, da’len,” he groaned.

She obeyed him, but arched her spine further and wiggled her hips, and Solas squeezed her buttock. She moaned, and he clenched his jaw to stifle his own pleasured moan: her desire was so acute and tense that he could feel it through the glyph. Her fingers were digging into his thigh and his hip, and as he continued to caress her ass, she strained to lift her hips toward his hand…

So Solas followed his instinct and spanked her.

It was a small spank, just enough to feel a hint of sting through his palm, but Nare suddenly released his cock and cried out, and Solas gasped helplessly as her pleasure mirrored itself through his limbs.

“Solas, fuck me!” she wailed.

He forced his eyes open and dragged in a breath. “That is two times,” he gasped. “You have asked me twice now, Nare.”

She moaned and nodded, then dipped her head low and slid her lips over the head of his cock, but Solas stopped her with his hand on her chin. “Enough now,” he panted. “On your hands and knees, da’len.”

She sobbed with frustration but did as he asked, and a moment later she was on all fours on the couch while Solas stood beside the couch and stared at her, trying desperately to calm the inferno of desire that was raging at him from deep inside his gut.

He breathed deeply to try and cool his desire, but it was impossible – no, that wasn’t true. It wasn’t impossible; Solas just didn’t want to cool it. This desire, this sheer and breathtaking lust, the way he felt when Nare looked at him and touched him and wrapped her lips around his aching cock, like a current of lightning and heat and pleasure was rippling just beneath his skin: it was a gift, a blessing he hadn’t realized he was missing, and he didn’t want to give it up.

He hadn’t felt such passion in years. He hadn’t been this lustful in decades, and he hadn’t felt this alive in even more centuries before that. Before the casting of the Veil had stolen his reserves and cast him into a forced uthenera, his life had been a series of catastrophes one after the next, each requiring as logical and passionless a solution as he could manage despite his rage and grief. It wasn’t until now, while staring at the breathtaking sight of Nare’s naked and willing body, that he realized the toll that the constant war had taken.

He hadn’t been alive when he’d fallen into that dark and dreaming sleep, not truly. He had been a shell of a man, a lifeless shell driven by the duality of vengeance and justice, and it wasn’t until now that he remembered what it was to be alive.

It wasn’t until this moment, with this flame-haired woman splayed before him with her heart in her ocean-blue eyes, that Solas remembered what it was like to truly be alive.

“Solas, please,” she begged. “Please touch me.”

He drew a bracing breath and took a small step closer to her. “How should I touch you, da’len?” he said.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Will you… will you lick me, hah’ren?”

Her cheeks were starting to pinken from the bold request, and Solas smiled faintly at her. “There is nothing I would like more than to taste you,” he said. He ran his palm over her bottom again. “Spread your legs further. Let me look at you.”

She placed one foot on the floor and twisted her hips toward him. Solas swallowed hard, then slowly lowered himself to his knees behind her and ran his palms up the backs of her thighs.

She mewled and arched her spine, and a crystalline strand of desire dripped from her fragrant flesh down toward the floor.

A roar of approval surged through his blood, rendering him lightheaded, and he forced out a breath. “Veraisa,” he murmured.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “What does that mean?” she asked.

He tore his eyes away from her pussy. “It means ‘temptress’,” he explained. “One who inspires an endless depth of desire.”

She laughed. “I’m not a temptress!”

He shook his head slightly. “Nare, you cannot fathom the depths to which you tempt me,” he said softly. He lifted his hand and slid two fingers over her slippery folds.

She mewled again and bucked her hips, and Solas splayed his palm on her ass to hold her still. “Every shift of your body is a temptation,” he said. “Every time you speak, every time you laugh – you are tempting me more than you realize.” Nare tempted him, and as playful as he made this sound, it was a hard and brutal truth. Solas had never encountered a more delectable and dangerous temptation than Nare, and part of her danger was that she didn’t realize just how dangerous she was. Without even realizing what she’d done, she had lured him into seeing this world as more than just a deadened place. She had made him see these people as more than walking husks, and she shone with a sort of hope he hadn’t encountered in centuries.

Nare had tempted him to love her, and Solas had fallen directly into the honeyed trap of her arms. And yet, despite the dangers and the pain that was likely to come, he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

It was selfish and unfair and exceedingly unwise, but he couldn’t let her go.

He tilted his head and pressed his lips between her legs, and she cried out the instant he touched her with his mouth. He braced his palms on her thighs and lapped at her wetness, enjoying her nectar just as much as he had this morning, and when Nare began rocking her hips back to meet his mouth, his enjoyment surged even higher.

He angled his head and caressed her clit with his lower lip, and she bucked her hips and sobbed. “Fuck, please, more of that…”

He smiled at her shameless request. It would never fail to amuse him how vocal she was in the throes of her pleasure compared to her shyness at the start and end of their carnal episodes.

He lapped at her clit and teased the swollen little nub with his lower lip until she was writhing, then kissed the precious bud and suckled it very gently.

Nare gasped and clenched her fingers in the cushions of the couch. “Creators, yes!” she yelped. “Solas, p-please, that–”

He continued to gently suckle her clit, teasing her in between with long strokes of his tongue for the sheer pleasure of hearing her breathe his name, and all the while he could feel her pleasure building and surging through the glyph he’d traced between her legs. When she was right at the edge of her climax, he felt it between his legs and in the tension of her thighs beneath his palms. When she finally hit her peak, she arched her spine and cried out, and Solas lapped her clit and slid one finger deep inside of her.

She jerked and let out a wild wordless cry, and Solas moaned helplessly into her flesh. He felt her, felt her orgasm as it pulsed through her belly and her thighs, and when he curled his finger carefully inside of her, it kicked their shared pleasure higher still.

He moaned again, then leaned away from her and gasped for breath, his eyes fixed shamelessly at the joining of his finger with her dew-slicked folds. Then Nare suddenly shifted away from him.

She fell to her knees on the floor in front of him and grabbed his shoulders. “Please,” she sobbed. “Please, Solas, fuck me!”

His cock throbbed eagerly, but he clasped her wrists and looked her in the eye. “That was three times, Nare,” he said seriously. “Are you certain that you want this?”

“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, yes, I’m sure, I’m so sure – Solas, take me!”

He paused for a split second. Take me. Like that foolish Dalish curse – may the Dread Wolf take you…

Nare clasped his neck in her palms and kissed him hard, and Solas opened his mouth to welcome the sleek thrust of her tongue. She tilted her head and aggressively slanted her lips over his, and Solas permitted her lusty kiss for a moment before reaching down and palming her ass.

She gasped against his lips, and Solas took full advantage to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She pressed her breasts to his chest and clenched her nails in his collarbones, then broke from his lips with a moan when he rubbed his cock against her belly.

She pressed her hips toward him. “Solas, please, please–”

“Lie on the bed,” he said.

Nare’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t blame her. His voice was rough and tense, and he sounded unlike himself – almost like a feral version of himself, in fact, but this only seemed to rile her further: she whimpered and clawed his chest and twisted her hips toward him, almost like she was devolving into something feral and wild herself.

He sealed her lips with another kiss, and she moaned into his mouth and grabbed his cock. He gasped, then thrust his tongue back into the precious heat of her mouth, but she was stroking his cock and trying to push his shaft between her legs even though the angle of their kneeling bodies was far too awkward for them to meld, and – fenedhis, he needed to wrest control of this situation before he lost it entirely. He needed to regain control before he did something hasty, like shove her down on the carpet and fuck her like the bestial roar of want in his belly was begging him to do.

He pushed her away with one hand on her hip, but she whined and grabbed at his shoulders again. Veraisa, he thought, exasperated and riled in equal measure. He reached up and firmly gripped her chin. “Go lie on the bed, da’len,” he said roughly. “Now.”

“Yes, hah’ren,” she blurted.

He released her chin. She jumped to her feet and ran over to the bed, and Solas swiftly followed her. She crawled onto the mattress, but before she could turn over onto her back, he crawled onto the bed behind her and placed his palm between her shoulder blades.

“Lie down,” he said, and he pressed gently on her back.

She did as he asked and laid flat on her belly. Solas brushed her hair aside so he could admire the side of her face and the naked canvas of her back, then slid his palm slowly along the center of her back and down toward her bottom.

She whimpered softly and arched her spine, lifting her hips slightly in the process, and Solas forced himself to breathe through the mind-numbing haze of lust that was threatening to blind him. She was so beautiful, the perfect combination of pliant and wanton: she followed his every carnal command while actively demanding more, matching his every action with the most exquisitely pleasured reactions that a corporeal body could provide, and…

And it was all for him. Nare wanted him. By her own confession, Solas was the only person she had ever wanted with this degree of sheer desperate desire.

She wanted him. In this deadened world where apostates were reviled and his kin from the Fade were feared, Nare had listened to him and heard his stories and told him stories of this world in turn. She smiled at him, and she debated with him without writing him off, and now she was here, naked and stretched out on her belly and begging him to touch her with the twisting of her bare body. The scent of her, the sound of her whimpering voice, the complete and uninhibited acceptance that was implied by her willing and submissive pose: she was so raw, so visceral and tangible and real–

She was real. Fenedhis, she was more real than anything or anyone he’d encountered in all his time here – no, longer than that: she was the most real, genuine, guileless person he had known since before he was Fen’Harel.

He exhaled shakily, stunned and overwhelmed by lust and adoration and grief and confusion, but the lust soon surged back to the fore as Nare restlessly lifted her hips.

She arched her spine again, and Solas’s eyes fell to the apex of her thighs – the fragrant and shining apex of her thighs where the glyph he’d traced was channeling her desperation straight to his cock.

“Solas, please,” she mewled. “What are you waiting for?”

He dragged his eyes back up to her face. “I’m not waiting,” he said. “I am watching.”

“Watching what?” she panted.

“You, of course,” he said. “The shifting of your body is like a tidal wave of lust. It is a sight to behold.” He reached up and tenderly stroked her hair. “You think you were to blame for your lack of pleasure in the past, but I assure you that the fault was entirely theirs.”

She stilled and dropped his gaze. “I don’t know about that. I–”

“You misunderstand me,” Solas interrupted. “This is not a question that is up for debate. This is a fact.”

She glanced at him again with wider eyes, and he stroked her hair again. “You are perfect, Nare,” he murmured. “Every part of you, exactly as you are. The precise shade of your eyes, the silk of your hair, the velvet of your skin: you are beautiful, and you are perfect. You are… passion,” he said slowly. “You embody it. It is evident in every movement of your body and every word you speak. It is not your fault that they failed to reveal this facet of who you are.” He smoothed his palm over her back and her bottom, then reached between her legs and petted the wetness there.

She gasped and jerked her hips, and his glyph flared with a fresh bolt of pleasure. Solas inhaled carefully and continued to brush his fingers between her legs. “This is part of who you are,” he told her. “This desire that you feel? The way you want to be touched–”

“I want you to touch me,” she interrupted. “Only you. You’re the only one I – I want you.”

A fresh pang of gratitude and grief squeezed his heart. To be wanted by someone like her — someone bursting with hope and youth and optimism, all the things he had long thought lost…

He shunted the melancholy aside and stroked her wetness. “This is for me, da’len? This desire that is dripping between your legs is for me?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“And the curve of your spine?” he asked. He stroked her back with his free hand and rested his palm on her bottom. “The way your back is arched, like a bow that is ready to spring. Is that for me as well?”

“Yes, yes hah’ren, yes!” she cried. Her voice was strained as she rocked her hips back toward his fingers, and Solas forced himself to breathe as he stared at her. She was wet and shining and ready, ready and waiting for him to take her, and the glyph between her legs was positively pulsing from the strength of her desire.

He took his cock in his hand and slid his shaft teasingly between her folds. She jerked and clenched her fists in the covers, and Solas hissed in a breath. She was hot and slick and waiting, and the mere touch of her heat against his shaft the most pleasurable torture…

He reached out and pulled gently on her shoulder, and she obediently raised herself onto her elbows. Then Solas slid his fingers around her throat.

She gasped and bucked her hips, and he hissed in another breath as his shaft glided teasingly through the slickness of her flesh. “Is this what you want, Nare?” he asked, and he gently squeezed her throat.

“Yes!” she cried.

“You are ready for me?” he said. “You are ready for this?” His voice sounded rough and feral again, but he didn’t care; Nare was writhing and clawing at the bed, and the glyph between her legs was pulsing so hard that he could barely concentrate on anything else.

He slid his cock along the length of her cleft once more, and she jolted and mewled. “Yes, yes!” she whined.

He squeezed her throat again. “Yes, what?” he demanded.

“Yes, hah’ren!” she wailed. “I’m empty without you, please!”

Empty. That was how he had felt, before Nare reminded him what it was to be alive. Before she had appeared in his life, an accidental side-effect of his latest disaster, and shown him in the most wonderful and terrible ways that this world was worth far more than he thought.

His heart twisted, and he dragged in a bittersweet breath. “Then I will give you what you have been demanding,” he said huskily. And finally, at long last, Solas gave himself to Nare.

He gently gripped her throat, and slowly, very slowly so as to savour every long-awaited second, he slid inside of her.

She let out the most beautiful little mewl, and Solas groaned out loud. She was so tight and slick and blissfully warm, and he shuddered helplessly at how exquisitely good she felt. He breathed slowly and pushed himself deeper, and before he was halfway hilted, Nare was panting desperately for air. By the time his hips were flush to the smooth curves of her ass, she was clawing at the bed and crying out in a strained and breathy voice, and the vicarious feeling through the glyph…

Nare was already at the edge of climax. From a single blissful stroke, she was nearly ready to come.

Slowly, torturously slowly, he withdrew from her, and she moaned and twisted her hips. “Solas, please–”

“Be patient, Nare,” he breathed. He slid into her once more.

She cried out and shivered, and Solas forced himself to breathe. She was teetering right on the edge of ecstasy, and he could feel the threshold of that ecstasy through the glyph between her legs, and if he did this right – if he moved inside of her in exactly the right way…

“P-please,” she whimpered. “Please, please, I need you…”

He squeezed her throat and entered her in a long, smooth stroke, and she came.

She gripped the covers and let out a loud and visceral cry, and Solas cried out in turn as her tightness gripped him and her pleasure reverberated through his body. Her climax was a deep and throbbing pulse, as though her entire body was spasming from the crux of her thighs all the way down to her toes, as though Solas truly had filled a part of her that had been aching and empty, and he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw at the sheer intensity of it. By the time the crashing waves of Nare’s pleasure began to wane, she was sweat-laced and shaking and sobbing with pleasure.

“Solas,” she gasped. “I’ve never… that was the first time I…” She trailed off with another sob, and Solas dropped a tender kiss on her back.

“I know, da’len,” he murmured. “Take your time.” He caressed her back with his lips as she trembled and tried to breathe, and when her shaking began to wane, he carefully pulled out of her.

She cried out and reached for him. “No! No, please, I need more–”

He stroked her hip. “Turn over,” he said huskily. “I wish to look at you.”

She swiftly turned over onto her back, and Solas stretched himself over her. He clasped her hands, then slid himself teasingly through her heat once more.

She arched her neck and sobbed. “Please, please, don’t tease me, I c-can’t – I need you, Solas, please don’t tease me– ah!”

Solas sheathed himself inside of her in one swift stroke. She threw her head back and cried out sharply, and Solas silenced her pleasured cry with a kiss. For a mindless, blissful time, he rocked into her and caressed her tongue with his own, and when she was rolling her hips up to meet him, he peeled himself away from her lips.

“Passion,” he panted, and he thrust into her again. “Never forget, Nare. Never doubt that this is who you are.”

“For you,” she gasped. “You’re the only – Solas, only you know me like this. I…” She trailed off as another trickle of tears ran down the side of her face, and through the rising wave of his pleasure, he could feel a bittersweet warmth rising in his chest.

He knew what she had meant to say. He knew what she felt, because he felt it too. Through the conversations they’d had, through the passion they had shared and were continuing to share right now, Solas felt as though Nare knew him – truly knew him, even though she didn't and couldn’t know everything that there was to know. Nare knew his mind and the feral hunger that he had long thought lost. She knew his esoteric interests and she knew his quixotic moods, and she wanted him anyway.

He kissed her again and rolled his hips, and Nare moaned into his mouth, and in a matter of moments they were breathing and fucking each other in a frenzy of rapidly rising rapture. Her palms were hot and sweaty against his own, and he was pumping into her in a driving rhythm and savouring her every gasping moan, and at the moment that his climax finally crashed over him, he had no resistance left to stop the words from leaving his mouth.

He shuddered and groaned, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Ar lath ma, vhenan,” he whispered.

She gasped and squeezed his hands. “Solas, I–”

He cut her off with a kiss. When his climax ebbed away, leaving him boneless and spent, he finally lifted himself from her lips.

She gazed up at him with those big guileless blue eyes. “Did you mean that?” she breathed. “That you…” She faltered and dropped her gaze, and Solas smiled at the inevitable return of her shyness.

“That I love you?” he supplied. He brushed his thumb tenderly along the edge of her face. “I do mean it, yes.”

“Then why…?” She stopped herself once again and nibbled her lip.

Solas shifted onto the mattress beside her and soothingly stroked her belly. “Speak your mind, Nare. Never feel that you can’t speak your mind to me.”

She nervously licked her lips, then glanced at him once more. “Why were you avoiding me, then?” she said in a small voice. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

He gazed at her with an aching sort of fondness. “It wasn’t a lack of desire that prompted my childish behaviour. Quite the opposite,” he said softly. “I avoided you because…” He sighed and told her a very simple version of the truth. “Because you are a da’len, and I am a hah’ren.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she said. “I like that you have things to teach me. Besides, you aren’t that much older than me.”

If only you knew, he thought sadly. But Nare was blithely pressing on. “Besides, don’t you like being my hah’ren?” She gave him a cheeky little smile, but he could see the insecurity in the tilt of her eyebrows.

He skimmed his knuckles over her cheek. “I do. More than you know,” he replied. Even as a young elgar’venathe, he had always enjoyed teaching others and sharing his knowledge. And now, sharing in this kind of carnal knowledge with such an eager and exquisite pupil as Nare was better than the finest dream.

Her smile softened with relief. “Good,” she said. “Because I like it too.”

“Do you?” he said. “I couldn’t tell.”

She shot him a sideways look, then burst out a laugh, and Solas admired the pinkening of her cheeks. “You’re teasing me,” she said.

He smiled at her and tweaked a strand of her hair. “How can I not, when you turn such an endearing shade of pink?”

Nare laughed again, then rolled onto her side to face him and stroked his cheek. “I love you too, Solas,” she murmured.

He smiled at her and didn’t reply; there was no need to speak, not when the happiness in her eyes was a mirror of his own heart. He skimmed his palm along the curve of her hip, enjoying the simple pleasure of having someone so close and so dear whose bare skin was his to stroke.

Then Nare shuffled closer and tucked her head beneath his chin, just as she’d done that night they’d slept together in his bedroll, and Solas closed his eyes against a sudden burn of tears. In this moment, with Nare’s bare body wrapped in his arms and wreathed in the fragrant afterglow of their sex, he was happier than he had been in far longer than he could remember.

And this happiness — this simple, undeserved happiness — scared him more than he could say.

He sighed softly and pressed his lips to her citrus-scented hair. He was Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf of elven legend, and in time he would be forced to assume that mantle again. But for now, he was simply Solas: a mild-mannered apostate with a passion for the Fade and a weakness for one red-haired woman named Nare.

For now, he was simply Solas, and he would enjoy the delicious simplicity of being a man in love.

#solas #solas smut #ELVEN GLORY #solas fic #solavellan #solas/lavellan #solas x lavellan #pikapeppa writes

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