#and it's been four hours and I still have the imprint of my slipper on my ankle

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all, it's weird question time again! This one is another "I know this is atypical but have zero frame of reference for how atypical*" question So you know when you get those like fabric lines on your skin sometimes when your pillowcase folds or whatever while you sleep? Like, red indented lines from sustained pressure, but not bruises? How long do those usually last? And also: is there a quantity of time for those to last that is like a "probably mention that to your doctor" amount of time? *I have POTS and salt wasting syndrome and am currently very anemic, so I've got like a trifecta of "you're not circulating right"** **the Schoolhouse Rock lyric popped into my head and then I could not word it any other way lol

[lovetnaomi]

Nightmares & Curiosities

               It wasn’t like he hadn’t felt this feeling before, he had been made out of another person’s anger after all, he was familiar with feelings that weren’t exactly his. Satan glanced up from his book to the soft steps coming down the hallway. It was unusual to hear someone wandering around the house at this time of night, he was starting to suspect something had happened. _________’s steps were soft as they wandered around the house.

The first day they had gone towards the kitchen, he had just suspected that it was because of feeling hungry in the middle of the night, thankfully he was on dinner duty the next day and had added an extra helping to your plate, but not enough so that you would notice. He had even added in a special dessert from the human world hoping that would help, his brothers all stared at him suspiciously but chopped it up to his perfectionism each of them eating it although with obvious suspicion on their faces. He glanced towards you making sure that you cleared your plate. That didn’t help. Around the same time, the middle of the night, you were up again.

It was the second day, you wondered aimlessly through the halls, stopping between each of their doors, before heading back to your own room. It wasn’t as though he was particularly worried you could be sleepwalking for all he knew. But it made him immensely curious. And he knew himself that he loved a good mystery. But if solving this mystery could help you stay in bed at these hours he wouldn’t be distracted by the sounds of your feet tiptoeing around the hallway instead of a good book.  

On the third day you had wandered outside, it left him completely unprepared. The last thing he wanted was for you to know that he was listening to you aimlessly wander around in the middle of the night if you found out what was happening you likely would stop the situation before he could find the answers he was looking for on the why. It wasn’t like he could just go up and ask you, he knew you would try to hide whatever it was for worry about upsetting any of them. But he couldn’t leave you to wonder around in the cold devildom air this time of year, he sighed doing his best not to feel like he was scrambling to his room and grabbing a jacket to wrap around you as he chastised you for going outside in this air. Or the dangerous that existed outside their house. Not all demons in the devildom knew that you had pacts with them. That was majority of what made your life so peaceful here, the obvious unspoken declaration that they could, and would, hurt them if they ever hurt you. Satan swallowed, glancing at his flashing green eyes as he passed a mirror, taking a breath to curb the anger. It was a hypothetical scenario. No one had harmed you in anyway. You were just outside. He sighed, a coat curled into his hands without wearing one of his own as he stepped outside, only the soft imprint of your feet without any shoes on in the snow outside. You were already gone.

He wondered if the house was too warm, was that what had woken you at an odd hour? Or was it too cold? Were you curious about the devildom snow that had suddenly been falling? What was that feeling buzzing around in his chest each time you woke and wandered around the hall? As someone born with literally someone else’s rage he wasn’t exactly thrilled to have the pact giving him your emotions too. Especially when he couldn’t make out what was happening and why.

On the fourth day he decided to just wait outside your room, he would quietly follow you around the house. The pattern you had taken each day was sporadic. You had even stopped outside his own room once, it was as if you were looking for something. Trying to find something without wanting it. The clock struck nearly two in the morning when you finally opened the door, he drew into the shadows, watching you pull your blankets closer around yourself, glancing towards your lack of slippers before wandering further down the hall. You took your time stopping at each of their rooms, it was actually surprising that his brother’s hadn’t noticed your scent outside their doors the last couple days. It had been driving him insane. Maybe it was because your scent had been throughout the entire house mingling with their own, since his brothers didn’t know something strange was happening, they hadn’t noticed the odd patterns. Or maybe it had been like this all along. Satan took a breath, watching you, you glanced outside watching the snow fall, but thankfully not going outside this time, before continuing to the next room. It was then that he noticed the redness of your eyes. Were you homesick? Maybe he should suggest a trip to the human world over tomorrow night’s dinner. You stumbled your way following the path, he would make his brothers clean their mess that strayed throughout the house tomorrow. You were observing each picture throughout the hall with the eye of an expert painter, before completely circling the house and returning to your room.

By the fifth night he was absolutely frustrated. There was no way he would be able to get into his novel any time soon, instead of trying to indulge himself in the colorful ways of the latest mystery novel he had been looking forwards to for four months, he was instead listening to the strum of the clock to hit almost two o’clock or later and then curiously listening to the sound of your footsteps. The soft careful steps never came that night. Satan let out a sigh at nearly four a.m. realizing that he would finally be able to enjoy his book. But instead, his mind plagued itself of why you were wandering the halls at these hours of the night when no one else was awake, when most humans would be asleep, or they would get sick eventually. And why you suddenly stopped.

And then the sixth night, there was no noise again, except the fighting of Levi and Mammon, which eventually would fade into the background and the quiet noise of Beel wandering into the kitchen until their fridge was empty.  But other than the usual sounds there was no noise of you wandering around the house after everyone else had gone to bed. Satan sighed, maybe you had discovered he was listening to you and became quieter with your steps as to not disturb him. Closing the book, he stood up wandering up the stairs and out of the library. Down the hall into the kitchen, only Beel raiding the fridge, and then back down the hall, Mammon leaving your room quietly, a sign that you were likely asleep or not in there. It wasn’t surprising to see Mammon checking that you were still in there in the middle of the night, it was actually pretty common, until he fell asleep himself. For a demon of greed, it was strange how he wasn’t able to hold onto much and was either taking or being taken from. So, it wasn’t surprising that Mammon was instinctively making sure you hadn’t been taken out of the house either. Not that any of them would let anything or anyone kidnap you. But there was something he couldn’t quite judge him on about checking in just to make sure that you were still there.

Satan sighed, turning back to the library, maybe tonight his brain would let him focus. Who was he kidding? He had a real-life mystery in front of him, sure it wasn’t a murder mystery, not that he would want one in their house, but it was something. Baby steps. He bumped into something, swinging around “watch where-“

It was Belphie. It was known that Belphie was more of a night time person in the first place, but it was still early for him to being wandering around. He didn’t look right. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I was looking for ___________,” his eyes glanced towards Mammon down the hall, still trying his best to be quiet as he wandered to his own room, “But I’m guessing they’re already asleep.”

“I haven’t checked.”

There was silence. Satan glanced towards the ceiling, wanting to know if Belphie felt the feeling that had been blooming from their human, in the middle of the night swirling around in his chest. But also wanting to keep it a secret, something from ___________, and his alone that he wouldn’t share with his brother’s.

Belphie spoke up first, “I was worried about them.”

He didn’t even need to ask, Belphie continued.

“They’ve been drawing on my pact for a couple days now, usually they ask, but I don’t think they’re doing it on purpose this week.”

“How?”

“___________, they’ve been drawing on my sin, I think they’ve been using it to go back to sleep, I got a couple books on insomnia, but…” Belphie glanced towards the side, he understood the point.

“I’ll look into it.”

On the seventh day, Satan found himself wandering into the library later than he usually did, and there you were, just standing there. There you stood, wrapped in a blanket, slippers finally on your feet, doing your best to distract yourself from your reddening eyes, whispering to yourself to keep yourself awake.

Ah, he knew what this was. It wasn’t insomnia. He knew this emotion circling around in your chest, it was fear. You were having nightmares. You were drawing desperately on Belphie’s sin of the Sloth hoping he wouldn’t notice to try to keep the rest of them from noticing that something was terribly wrong. He was tempted to go get the two of you some drinks but was worried you would disappear from his sight now that he had his answers before he could confirm that he was correct.

“_________,” you jumped turning towards him, eyes wide, face reddening as you were quickly trying to disguise the emotions that were swirling in your chest faster than a vendor could make cotton candy, “come here, I’ll pick something out we can read it together.”

Surprisingly you nodded, sitting on the couch as he picked up something you would like, although it wasn’t anything scary or dark, but that was for another time if you wanted, it was still something you would’ve read, or at least enough to keep you enticed. Satan sighed, moving to the couch and pulling you closer so you would be surrounded by his arms. You moved the blanket so it surrounded the both of you, the blanket was big enough to swallow the two of you, it made him curious of how you wandered the halls so often without tripping on it. A small scoff escaped him as he popped open the book, his voice softly streaming into your ear as he began reading to you. Normally, the story would’ve enticed the two of you for hours, but tonight it wasn’t long before you were asleep. He considered carrying you back to your room, but likely whatever it was that was causing your nightmares would resurface it he let you go. Besides, what was the safest place in all of the devildom but in the arms of one of the devildom’s most powerful demons? After that your soft footsteps didn’t linger around the house, but instead would prod right towards the library. Sometimes he would put his book down to switch to something more suiting to the situation, or he would read his book to you, but either way you would be wrapped in his arms.

Several nights later he glanced down, you were already asleep in his arms, a soft smile sprouted on his lips, running his hands through your hair, maybe it wasn’t so bad for these feelings swirling through him. After all, he could feel the feeling of being safe blossoming with the dexterity of a cherry blossom and the strength of a world renown fighting champion. His arms curled slightly further around you. He would ensure that this would be the safest place in the world for you. You would always run back to him.

[punkdaddylouis]

un: harry del rey ♡♡

just trying this one out. since my fics and account altogether recently got removed from a site, i have decided i will post my fics here instead. so under the cut is the first chapter for baby loves when daddy gets high, book one of the del rey series. thank you in advance for those who will give it a try.

♡♡♡♡

Louis looks through his window as he clutches his paintbrush, gazing at the massive picturesque gardens, with a magnificent pool that's the shade of cerulean nestled in the midst of the freshly cut grass, and then holds up his palette.

He breathes through his nose, letting the breathtaking view take root in the crevices of his mind, and then he paints.

Painting is something that he can easily lose himself in, it's an age old routine that he mastered years ago that allows him to sink into a blissful brand of artistic autopilot.

After thirty minutes of letting his paintbrushes convey things that his mind could never begin to articulate into words, Louis backs away a bit to look at the masterpiece he's making and sighs. Not good enough, the voice in his head tells him menacingly, he needs to do better.

He sets down the brush and palette then wipes at the stray sweat that he can feel trickling slowly across his temple and turns around, taking the glass of juice Valeria left on the nightstand beside his bed. Louis takes a sip, eyes blinking against the sun, gaze fixated directly at the house that is nestled beside his own.

Del Rey, he thinks. He sees, right there, getting out of his posh, vintage car and taking his guitar with him.

Dressed in floral sheer shirt, dark skinny jeans—they look tighter than normal, he notes—and his trademark gold boots reflecting the sunbeam perfectly. His curls have gone longer, headscarf holding it in a loose demure, once pinkish pale skin from last month now reddish tan. Louis lowers down his drink, eyes never leaving the sight, mind momentarily mesmerized by the fact his neighbor has possibly grown a pair of...

"Ses fesses," Louis murmurs to himself, eyelids getting heavier without his consent. His eyes just can't help ogle those...oh God.

And then he blinks rapidly, dragging him out of the trance that he quickly fell under. This isn't like him, he's startled even by his own attitude. He turns away from the window, cheeks heating rapidly when he catches a glimpse of heavily-lashed eyes staring back directly at his own—his neighbor has a knowing smirk on his face that holds the implication that he caught Louis checking him out. Checking his arse out. Louis' heart crawls up his throat in mortification.

Fuck. Shit, shit, shit. Louis' screwed. All of the subtlety—all of the guises of seeming mysterious and carefully acting like he is disinterested in his neighbor—has been for naught; he knows that Del Rey caught him practically salivating over them and he couldn't possibly be more embarrassed.

It's been several months since Louis moved to this side of the town, and during the first few days he must admit he was quick to take notice of his gorgeously handsome—no, not handsome. He's more than that, really, his features put him under the definition of beautiful, or ethereal. He's just. Insanely attractive, and Louis wants to paint the elegant curvatures of his body for hours on end—neighbor.

And he watched him from afar as he went out to do mundane things like take out the trash or pick up the daily newspaper; but this is the first time that Louis' been caught. With full on eye-to-eye contact and everything. Louis laughs under his breath at himself, his heart rate still racing from the seconds long contact, like he's a teenager once again, a young boy that has just spoken to his crush for the first time.

But he can't help it, the eye contact was just so intense; it felt like Del Rey was drawing him to be seduced into staring longer, until he has drowned in his eyes and lost all of his sensibilities. It felt like in the span of four seconds, Del Rey was able to provoke Louis into ogling his arse some more with something as simple as the movement of cherry-blossom lips forming into a smirk.

More, Louis. More.

Louis swallows hard, then looks around his room in sheer panic. He considers calling his maid to distract him but quickly decides against it, and then just settling on taking a deep breath, before swiftly turning back around to look over yet again at his window, hoping to get another glimpse of Del Rey.

But then all he sees now is the vacant drive way, one that's connected to his neighbor's home.

Louis doesn't know whether to sigh in relief or in disbelief.

~*~

Later on in the afternoon, Louis decides to make a last ditch effort to find inspiration and goes over his cabinet and rifles through his drawers. He withdraws his pipe, handkerchief filled with kush, and his Zippo lighter with a small sound of relief. Maybe he can find a muse this way.

He falls asleep instead.

~*~

Sunlight streams through where his window was pried open by his maid earlier to let fresh air in and Louis is irritated by it.

Summer has officially commenced in California and the sun is demanding that it's ever-so-bright presence be known and constantly in his eyes. Louis has known that California would be like this, he saw the overwhelming abundance of a bright sun and happy skies in the movies that he watched when he still lived in bleak Paris while he was still under his foster parents' care, but that doesn't mean that he still can't be annoyed by it.

He scoffs bitterly at the thought of Paris, even though it was in the past and he refuses to ever let himself dwell over the city and the memories that it harbors for too long. Louis has always had the notion to always, always fucking live in the moment, in the now imprinted in his mind. Louis rolls his eyes at himself because of how absurdly he's thinking again.

Get it together, Tomlinson.

He swings his legs over the side of his massive bed and sets his feet on the ground, padding across his room and then out, making his way downstairs with his phone in hand.

"Valeria?" He calls out.

Not even a minute has passed and Valeria's immediately right in front of him. "Oui, monsieur?"

"Apportes-moi ma serviette et ma crème solaire, je veux m'effondrer sur la chaise longue jusqu'à la nuit tombée. Il fait chaud dans ce putain d'état," Louis tells her, dismissive tone mixed with his trademark raspy voice. Valeria nods twice, and then she's off. Louis proceeds outside where his pool is and sits on one of the pool chairs, waiting for his maid with the sunscreen.

Moments later, Louis is eventually lying on his front in only his black swimming trunks, his back completely bare, all of his tattoos in plain sight. He's got his eyes closed, sunscreen applied to his skin, and yep—Louis really plans on sleeping here until the sun hides from him and all that. Yeah, good plan. Good—

But then his plans are ruined by the doorbell ringing from the living area. Louis scrunches up his nose and calls out, "Valérie, dites à peu importe qui cette personne est que je suis—,"

But he cuts himself off short when he hears his maid say in turn, "C'est le voisin, monsieur, il veut vous parler. Il dit qu'il joue de la guitare et serait heureux de se joindre à vous pour jouer."

And—what? A neighbor who plays guitar? Louis bolts right up from his relaxed position and immediately grabs for his slippers and runs inside the house, his shirt and towel still laying poolside, completely forgotten.

"Venez-vous de dire quelque chose au sujet d'une guitare?" are Louis' first words as his eyes attentively land on the boy he knows is the only neighbor he has who plays said instrument.

"Ooh, French, I like it," the boy with the curls and the red, plump lips drawls in a low, syrupy voice. And, God, he looks even more beautiful in this close proximity. And much more young, too, he notes. Louis must still be dreaming, because—because surely this isn't happening.

Valeria stands beside the two of them, with who Louis has in his head nicknamed Del Rey staying put on the doorstep with a fluid persona, slivers of inked skin on sight (so they do have tattoos, then, Louis' always wondered if he's right on that front), and Louis in just his swimming trunks, looking quite baffled and rooted in the middle of his massively posh living area. Massively posh, Louis mentally scoffs in his head, but of course, this is Beverly Hills!

Clearing his throat, Louis suddenly feels rather exposed with his torso missing a top and his feet and soles touching the tiles. Valeria backs away and nods at Louis, breaking the silence that followed once blue has met green. Louis' grateful for it. "Est-ce que je peux vous apporter à tout deux quelque chose, monsieur? Un verre de jus de fruits et des gâteaux? Dois-je le laisser entrer?"

Completely out of his depth, Louis only nods at her feeling lost, and then she disappears right back in the kitchen.

"Anything... I can do fo' you?" Louis tries then, swallowing the lasts of the saliva that's dried in his tongue, addressing Del Rey and his unexpected visit. "Forgive me, monsieur." He shakes his head. "I am no very good in Anglais..."

It's true. Louis sucks at speaking English, whether it's American or British, and he feels like an idiot, talking to the person he's been stalking through his window ever since he's moved here in broken English while sunscreen dries uncomfortably on his skin. Perhaps the day that truly tests his English skills has finally come; he's now regretful he did not pay attention to English class back in the days. Back when he was in Paris and living his rebellious teenager years, and couldn't give a single fuck about English and all of its subject-verb agreement rules. Well, it's too late to go back and change it now, though, innit? He's bloody thirty-one now for fuck's sakes.

Smiling softly, Louis watches Del Rey gesture with his hands—long, delicate fingers swaying in the air, while his massive, massive hands make enthralling gesticulations—and watches his mouth move as he speaks, again, slowly, "It's alright if you're not fluent, as long as we can communicate well. That'd be fine, I suppose." After a beat, they just stand there and look at each other, Louis drinking in Del Rey's languid posture. He's so tall, albeit he's hunched. Seconds pass and Del Rey eventually says, "I'm Harry, by the way. I'm sorry if I came here unannounced—it was just that I've realised we haven't properly met yet, which is a shame, considering the fact that we're the only neighbors in this side of nine'o'two one'o, so...yeah."

Blinking at him, Louis suppresses a short circuited laugh and motions for Harry to come in. He's so fucking relieved; he thought for sure that his neighbor stopped by with the sole plan of giving him a tongue-lashing for practically eye-fucking him like a right pervert. "Okay, okay," Louis lets out, breathy, "bonjour, Harry. My name is Louis, nice t'meet you. Uh, veuillez entrer.”

Harry smiles toothily, showcasing his perfect white teeth in a heart-achingly charming manner, and Louis' gaze doesn't leave Harry as he lets himself through his extravagant threshold. The ends of his gold boots are pointing toward each other endearingly, and his long, slim legs move in calculated strides that's reminiscent of how a model would grace a runway. He feels his skin crawl nervously all of the sudden, because this is actually happening.

"You've got a nice house, French neighbor." Louis hears Harry say from behind him, sounding as awestruck as anyone else that ever enters his home.

Louis chuckles weakly. "Thank you, Anglais neighbor."

Harry follows him as he leads him to where the pool chairs are once they step outside, and when they choose where to sit—which is next to each other—Louis picks up his shirt from the patio and pulls it back over his chest, clearing his throat once more as he faces Harry with a troubled facial expression.

His heartbeat is racing.

"Look, mon amour, about the... uh, earlier when you catch me—," Louis begins to explain, until Harry releases a breathless giggle that quickly makes him shut up.

"Amour?" Harry breathes out in a sketchy accent, a smile painting his lips. Louis wants to touch those red lips, see what they feel like against the pads of his fingers. Or perhaps, paint them using the reddest shades that he owns until he can show the entire world. "Isn't that love in French?"

Louis can only nod in affirmation at the question thrown at him, his face heating up rapidly. "Oui... I—I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, Harry smiles and says, "No, it's—it's cool. I like it. I mean, I love it. You can, like, call me that. I think it's...yeah. Cute."

Louis sighs in relief. "Oh." Harry grins at him, cheekily and Louis almost melts with this fond type of attraction that hits him as a result of it, and that's when Valeria finally walks in on them staring right into one another's eyes while fully clothed during a hot California day beside a luxurious pool that is worth more than most peoples' houses, tray of juice and biscuits in her steady hands.

They thank her and she leaves without a word. Louis mentally praises himself for hiring her, she's not inquisitive of Louis and his doings in the slightest of ways, which is why he even fancied the thought of taking her in in the first place.

~*~

Their afternoon together turned out to be great, much to Louis' great relief.

Louis learns about Harry's profession of being a nightclub singer in a gay bar called Velvety Roses, where he says he plays his guitar and pours his heart out to an audience that mostly consists of sweaty bikers and men in their late thirties and early forties. Which—wow. That probably explains the radiating seductive demeanor Harry holds in just his presence alone... Louis can see him as being successful with his job, with several of the attendants jostling for the best view of him crooning beautifully along with the sultry notes that he elicits from his guitar. Men probably crave his...attention. But he can't judge; Louis yearns for the exact same thing from him, too.

Louis also learns Harry is a very cheeky lad, smarter than he looks, taciturn too, but much happier to just sit and ramble continuously about nothing and everything, with that syrupy slow way of talking that he has going, green eyes sparkling and keeping Louis engaged while he does so.

In theory, Louis would've sighed and rolled his eyes at how talkative his companion—an American one, too—was. But there's something that's distinctly different about Harry, something that makes him so delightful that Louis actually wants to spend time with him and urge him into talking more. Because really, Louis can't understand what Harry was even saying half of the time, given that there was an obvious language barrier between them. But even so, Louis doesn't even seem to mind. He loves hearing Harry talk, even if he is entirely unsure on why Harry even came over to his home and why they've even been talking for such an extended period of time.

"Sorry I didn't bring anything for you, Mr. Tomlinson, like—a pie or something. I mean, isn't that what we are infamous for doing to newcomers? To welcome our neighbor to the neighborhood?" Harry giggles loudly, and then claps a hand over his mouth like he's embarrassed of the seal-like bark of a laugh he just emitted. "Sorry, again. 'S just—kinda repetitive. Neighbor...neighborhood..."

Louis laughs. "It's okay, it's—cute. Harry, cute. Also, please... Louis is the name. Pas monsieur Tommo."

"Mhmm, as you wish, Louis."

They've ran out of biscuits long ago, and their drinks are also almost empty; the moon has risen completely up in the sky, and the stars are slowly beginning to join the celestial body and illuminate the night, too. It's a beautiful scene, but Louis finds Harry more beautiful.

Breathing in and out, breathing in and out, Louis racks Harry's languid posture from where he's draped over the chair next to him and smiles when their gazes meet. Harry brushes a hand across his forehead, tucking his curls back under his red and blue headscarf. "No work tonight, Harry?" Louis asks, breaking the silence.

And for the first time ever since they've started talking, Louis wants to punch himself for ever speaking because Harry's eyes immediately widen, like he's woken from a deep trance and has just realized that the moon was out and playing games with the smiles that seem to be glued on their faces. "It's getting late, I should go," Harry says in a soft voice.

Louis nods at that and stands in sync with him, not saying any more. They both go inside and head towards the living area, with nothing that can be heard in his empty mansion besides their intertwined breaths echoing off of the walls. Louis leads Harry to the door and then opens it for him.

"Merci, Harry, for—"

"About earlier, Louis, I," Harry cuts in, turning around to face Louis, "I should let you know... I did see you looking at me from your window, but. I don't—I wouldn't calling it 'catching you', though. I've always seen you watching, so. I didn't just notice you, but rather I've always been aware... if that makes sense? I think it's just more so that this is the first time that you've caught me looking back."

Louis stares at him, tongue-tied while mortification overruns his veins. "You've always..." His eyes grow big, cheeks numbing because of all of the heat that's flooding there so rapidly. And then he groans, and starts to ramble, "Oh mon dieu. Je suis tellement désolé. J'espère que j'étais pas bizarre, oh mon dieu."

Laughter bubbles from inside Harry's throat and leaves his mouth, startling Louis into cutting himself off and blinking up at Harry. "I don't know what you just said, but Lou. It's okay, it's okay—hey." He takes Louis' hand and squeezes at it. "Don't worry, Louis, it's all good. Didn't you realise that... just by admitting I catch you every time actually meant...I also do the same with you?"

Louis' still looking at Harry—gawking, really—and in the end Harry just winks at him, retreating backwards with his hands on his back and across the yard, leaving Louis speechless on his front door, still in his dried up swimming trunks and t-shirt.

And yeah, why didn't Louis realise that anyway? Harry stalks him back. Louis watches as his hair bounces against his shoulders and his hips sway confidently away from Louis. He stalks him back? Louis' mind flashes back towards the knowing smirk that Harry aimed at him earlier today, and the realization hits him like a vicious punch to his stomach.

He does. Oh mon Dieu.

[aeyemenethes-blog]

Lathbora viran Ch. Fourteen

Tis Friday again and here's another instalment. Also found on my AO3 page at http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213937/chapters/25070688

Elfroot? Lavender?

Warm sunlight coaxed me back to consciousness; my hand travelled down her ample hip and my body shuddered, relaxing against her back. Silk and velvet blankets enveloped us as did the sweet combination of sex.

Sex?

She moaned and rolled over, her arms encircled me, running sharp fingernails along my shoulder, trailing down my spine. I shivered and groaned.

“Morning, Solas.”

My eyes snapped open meeting her bright blue eyes sparkling with elation and love. I bolted upright, hearing the bed creak and bend to my quick motions. Plush blue and bronze draperies hung from the over-stuffed four poster bed to only let small rays of the winter sun in. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I tried to reorient my senses.

Yesterday…gods…I told Ellana I love her! Then I got drunk…

Turning, I glanced down at the young, virile Elvhen lass who rested her head on the palm of her hand and stared up at me through half-lidded eyes. There was a glow along her cheeks which high-lighted the rich midnight of her hair. I groaned and let my head fall.

…really drunk.

Dark, wavy strands of hair fell into my eyes and I let my breath out slow and even. She didn’t know where we were; not even an inkling that we are in the past.

You are in the Fade, Solas.

I know that! Relieving a–

Dream?

NIGHTMARE!

The Wolf’s harsh laugh echoed in my head. At least one of us enjoyed being tossed into the past. The problem was, when was I?

Lithe arms wrapped around my chest then slithered with great intent lower. Delicate hands traced the taut muscle of my abdomen, raising a trail of goose bumps in their wake. As one hand met the dark curls toward my cock, I snatched it up in my hand and brought it to my lips to give it a gentle peck on the palm.

“It feels like it’s been too long since we shared a bed, Ellana.” I said, wincing at why it had been so long. With my face turned from her, she couldn’t see the pain, pinched expression, and I blessed the gods for that.

Ellana giggled that bell-like laughter that haunted me in my dream walks more times than I comfortably could admit. “Silly halla, we made love a few hours ago, but if you want we can relive those moments again.”

Hot breath singed the tallest point of my ear followed by the scorching flick from her tongue along the edge. My cock hardened its response. It would be so easy to lose myself in the past, and succumb to whatever desire demon spun this addicting story.

Are you so sure it’s a desire demon?

No…I could be driving myself insane. This Ellana is gone.

But she lives again as the Inquisitor.

Pulling away, I slid the heavy drapes to the side and invited the sunlight in. Behind me, Ellana hissed having not acclimated to the light. I stared at the stained glass windows with their halla and wolves prancing in their motif. The pleasant mix of bronze and blue greeted me in the collection of furniture in the room. This was my tower, and no traces of the Inquisition were imprinted on the new fortress, yet.

My heart ached at the raw wounds seeing the images brought back. Traveling through the Fade to relive memories normally granted me small pleasures, but I always avoided these specific areas. They were never shadows to me.

“Is everything al–” Ellana began.

The broad oak door to my room, slammed open and I heard the familiar clank of armour. My heart dropped into my stomach and I felt the colour leech from my skin.

I know this day…

“Fen’Harel?”

Claustrophobia set in as I felt my body turn toward the speaker of its own volition even as my mind screamed to stop. Don’t engage. Go back to bed. Be sick! I was detached, divided between knowing the outcome, and being forced to relive its raw horrors.

“General Aly’xin, I assume you have a good reason for intruding into my private chambers while I have company.” I felt my mouth open and throat loosen as the words were said, and I began the spiral toward events that I desperately regretted.

“I would never invade your privacy for anything less.” The General stopped at the top of the stairs and bowed at the waist.

My eyes scanned the dappled green and gold plate armour the Elvhen wore. It was shaped and delicately carved to resemble a lush rendition of the forest. A blue cloak draped over one shoulder and I caught the stylist begins of the embroidered wolf’s head that symbolized my army. Like all who served me, the General lacked the intricate vallaslin that signified slavery to their perspective god.

Lifting his head and pushed the copper braid behind his shoulders, Aly’xin glanced over at the soft shuffling of slippers that came up behind me. His cheeks flushed and he quickly looked away.

“Pardon me, Lady Ellana, I didn’t mean this…”

“It is quite alright, General. Fen’Harel keeps no secrets from me.”

I could only watch as the conversation between the figures of my past spiralled down its dark, inevitable end. My mouth was not my own, and I became a passenger in my body as it carried through the motions. Aly’xin told me about the army that marched toward Tarasyl’an Te’las with the marked faces of June and Sylaise on each soldier. My eyes fell on Ellana who stood next to me watching for my orders.

So much love reflected from that gaze and I watched her hands come to rest on a swollen belly. I covered her hand with mine, pressing my forehead against hers. Closing my eyes, I drank deeply of her lavender and citrus perfume, and her warm femininity before I drew away and laid her hand on top of the General’s glove.

“Go with Aly’xin, Vhenan.” No! Don’t let her go.

But these were shadows of the past so my warning fell on deaf ears. I watched as the General escorted her from my room. He turned and nodded his head before disappearing into the dawn. We both had mates who were heavy with child and I trusted that he would see Ellana to safety just as he would his own.

You should’ve kept her by your side, Solas.

I know…but at that moment–

I know.

Dressing in my own gold and emerald plate mail, I buckled the wolf pelt across one shoulder and pulled my hair up in a tight braid. Curling my fingers around my ebony staff, I descended the great stone steps to confront the army. All around Elvhen ran, clutching bundles, children and all manner of property as they prepared for evacuation.

Tarasyl’an Te’las was quickly emptying of its inhabitants leaving only the remnants of cooling breakfast and heavy luxuries that couldn’t be carried behind.

“Are you sure you won’t come with us, milord?” Aly’xin stopped at my side with a hand poised over his blade.

I sighed, my ears falling under the weight and sorrow wrapping around me. “This war will never end if I do not give them what they want, my friend.”

“Sacrificing yourself is not the answer, Solas.” The General grabbed my shoulder and jerked me to stare into his forest green eyes. “Would you let your child grow up without its father?”

My eyes narrowed and I ripped my arm from his grasp. “I will not let my child grow up in slavery to the Evanuris. Besides, I have a plan.”

“Solas?” Aly’xin called after my retreating form. “Fen’Harel!”

I turned my head enough so that he saw the raw energy blazing from my eyes. “I order you to get my people to freedom, General. Don’t disobey my will.”

I was too far to hear the man’s reply but no one reached out to grab me. Crossing into the courtyard, I saw saddles being placed on the halla and goods secured to ladened aravels. “Tuelanen ama na.” It was the only pray I could utter as I marched through the gates.

Watching as my body made its way to stand between the army and my people, I found I couldn’t look away. As if the action alone would dishonour the sacrifice as it unfolded. A practiced calm guided my fluid movements and a determined heart steeled my mind, quieting the silent screaming that took place even then.

I really had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but the Evanuris played their hand and I would play mine.

The army fanned out in front of me as scorching flames with each eye full of scorn and sorrow. Some soldiers looked on in regret and fear, but they knew and I knew, what their orders were. Above them astride majestic golden halla were the Evanuris in question. Upon seeing me, they held up their hands and called a halt to their infantry.

“Fen’Harel! You stand alone. Has your faithful abandoned you to the wolves?” June’s baritone voice, thick as honey, echoed over the battlefield filled with the sneer on his lips.

Pulling my shoulders back, I stared down the Elvhen who stood against me with my head held high. “I am the Dread Wolf, brother. I always walk alone.”

“We are here to make you stand down,” Sylaise spoke and I detected a sliver of remorse in her silk smooth voice.

A lilt that stung me as a hive of bees would.

“Did you give Mythal the same option?” Anger and frustration milked my tone. “Did you invade her sanctuary just to watch her death writhes?”

“We do not answer to you, Wolf!” June cried out, signalling to his men.

“Not yet…” I rushed headlong toward the army as they careened to meet me, “…but you will.”

The battle played out as brief as it was bloody. Elvhen fell at my sides, their blood slick and running down like droplets of fiery rain. I shed my form for the black wolf that brought fear into the hearts of men. With every soldier I cut down, I offered a prayer up to the Creators that they would find blessed peace, for the orders from an Evanuris are unbreakable whenever the vallaslin is worn.

Green grass became slick and red from the fresh corpses I dispatched. And still more replaced the fallen until the sun sat high and hot in the sky. I huffed and staggered feeling the weight of a hundred and growing deaths.

Too much…too long.

Pain shot through my side as an Elvhen spear found its mark in my flanks. I bellowed and wobbled, but still managed to keep my balance. Whipping my great, black head around, I snapped down on the Elvhen’s neck and was rewarded with a sickening crunch and squelch of warm blood that coated my muzzle.

Another embedded into my hips and I reared up just as one flew to my heart. Growling, I forgave the misguided creature, but I would go to the Creators without fear, knowing I did everything I could for the Elvhen people.

A shadow darted in the spear’s path just as the tip hit, and a raven haired Elvhen fell to the ground. My eyes widened and I felt the whole world change.

She fell and so did I.

My arms were Elvhen as I scooped her up, my breath hitched in my throat. “No…”

Ellana reached up to brush her fingers along my cheek, a smile touching her bloodied lips.

“Why?” I couldn’t understand. “I told you to go.”

She coughed up blood and I winced seeing the shaft of the spear protruding from her belly. I placed a hand just under it and she hissed out, but didn’t yank my palm away. Instead, she pushed something round and cold next to my body. I looked down to see my foci glowing faint as it touched me. My gaze jumped back up at her.

“I won’t…let you…walk the Din’an Shiral…without me…ma vhenan.” Ellana touched the tip of my ear. “Ar mala lasan revas.”

I watched the light flee her eyes, replaced by blind nothingness. My body shook as I felt the mana I supressed rise up to the surface. Holding her to my chest, I howled and released a wave of energy through the army. Soldiers fell, flattened by its force.

Still astride their halla, June and Sylaise exchanged looks of unease, but they still did not call off the army.

The blood from Ellana and our child mixed with my wounds and began to glow and swirled around me. Without mumbling a word, the orb floated upward. I felt the energy surging, swelling, ready to break me, but there was no pain. I was passed feeling pain. All I wanted was to live in peace with a family. I never asked to be a warrior, king or a god.

But the world never cared for what I wanted even when I retreated. The cries of the helpless always seemed to find me, to invade my seclusion.

“I didn’t want to…but you give me no choice.”

And I spoke the words that would change the course of Thedas. Blood swept and swirled up in the mana, weaving a web and seal that would never break.

. . .

Bolting upright, I clutched my pounding head. My body shook and felt as sticky as it was cold. Heaving lungfuls of air, I slowly looked around to see the familiar reliefs painted of the Inquisition’s progress. Only when my breath was steady did I settle against the headboard of my bed.

Fenedhis!

There wasn’t a tea strong enough to clear my mind after that. Why did I dream walk into my past, and that day especially?

“Are you alright, Solas?”

I jumped at the soft voice. The Inquisitor stood at the foot of my bed clutching the opening of her robe. Worry creased lines in her beautiful forehead and pressed a frown along her lush lips. My heart twisted at the memory and I tore my gaze to stare up at the ceiling. Dorian stared back down.

“You were making an awful racket.” The Tevinter also frowned despite the smarmy tone of his voice.

“Some of us need our beauty rest.” Came Vivienne’s sharp reply.

She leaned against the balcony with her arms crossed tight to her chest and that imperious glare.

Of course I cannot freak out alone…even here I have an audience.

“Go back to bed you two. I think he’s calmed down.” Ellana commanded with a tone that suggested she did not approve of either one of their comments.

Neither protested, choosing to leave the two of us alone.

Returning her gaze to me, Ellana gave me a shaky smile and sank down on the edge of my bed. Her hand found mine and she squeezed it with reassurance. “Whatever happened, you are safe, Solas.”

Before I knew what I was doing, I pulled Ellana beside me and held her tight in my arms. She squeaked but didn’t push against me. With her warm body pressed on mine, I relaxed and remembered to exhale.

“I apologize for the fright I must have given you, Inquisitor.” I said, running fingers absently through her hair.

It felt wonderful to have her by me as if she didn’t just die in my nightmare. My memories.

“You worried me, Solas. I’ve never seen you thrash about as you did, nor hear you scream like that. Was it a demon?”

“It might as well have been.” The words hissed from me and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It is over now and I am recovering.”

Her hand fell on my chest and ran along the muscles beneath my robe. I shivered but didn’t move to stop her. The gesture was comforting and helped to ease the tension that built up in my body.

“Do you need to share what happened?” Ellana asked, plucking at the ties that kept my robe shut but didn’t work to loosen them.

I can’t.

“No. I’d rather not relive it, even in the telling.” She wouldn’t believe me even if I tried.

For a while, we said nothing and I allowed the darkness to cradle me as I held her. She still smelled of lavender and citrus, but with a tongue of wilderness on her skin that refused to leave even after bathing. Her touch was still soft with an edge of curiosity, much like her mind.

I wondered if I was fortunate or damned, sitting here with my reincarnated lover beside me, though she remembered nothing of our time spent together in Arlathan. When I discovered her in Clan Lavellan I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, tantalizing and dangerous. But I couldn’t resist. Even now, I just wanted to dive right back into the life that would’ve been. That's why I took her memories of our time in her clan. If she stayed with me, we would regret it. But...

My hand landed on her flat stomach and I rubbed it absently. Ellana jerked at the movement.

“Solas?”

I can't let you go even if it hurts. I abandoned the touching and pulled her against my chest. “Stay with me tonight?”

Her eyes widened in surprise and she blushed.

“I don’t mean have sex with me.” I blurted. “I mean just as a companion. I need you here by my side…for tonight.”

She didn’t frown, instead, her smile grew and there was a spark in her eyes. Resting her head against the crook of my shoulder, she pulled herself under the blankets, fully clothed.

“Of course, Solas. Ar lath ma vhenan.”

“Ar lath ma vhenan, Ellana.” I whispered into her hair and knew that we spoke the truth.