#i guess saying 'solas's mouth' is not welcome there

[lostiel]

said something about solas on tiktok that apparently "violates community guidelines"

[vivispec]

Happy Friday and welcome to DADWC! For your Lavellan/Solas, perhaaaaps: "A meticulously clean elven mosaic" from the Artifacts of Thedas!

i may have gotten carried away and spent the better part of 2 dadwc chipping away at this one, but in my defense my fridays are pretty full. it was a LOT of fun thinking about Viera, and her faith after everything. i def think it's getting a full write one of these days

@dadrunkwriting Viera'vun / Solas words: 1445 cw: discussion of character death

Solas had never seen Viera bow her head until now, nestled there within the rubble.

Their travels had led them deep into the embrace of a long forgotten forest, and to the clan whose camp spilled from the mouth of its nearly buried temple like water from a cracked vessel. Her absence that morning had been no surprise—the Herald often rose with the sun, and the promise of a hunt amongst her kith come dawn had nearly kept her from sleep the night before—however, when the hunters returned and she did not, he couldn’t hold himself from questioning. 

No satisfying answers were forthcoming. “She is where she needs to be,” they told him, “leave her. An outsider wouldn’t understand.” It was truly impressive, how they handled the ‘flat-ear’ in their midsts with such tolerance. As morning bled into midday, however, and Viera was still nowhere to be found, he searched for the answers on his own, following the echo of her mark as it called to him from within the ruins.

And ruins they were, a shrine to the dead that was itself decaying. Dust danced in the light pouring in from above, seeping its way through what remained of the high ceiling to feed the blankets of moss that coated each and every stone. The Dalish residing there had not been negligent, however, and while much of the room had been consumed by time’s passage and nature’s reclamation, not all was lost. It gleamed as it caught the light, a mosaic spanning the back wall entirely, carefully cleaned and preserved. From within varying shades of restored tile towered a hooded figure, pointing into the distance with a crook in his elbow, an owl lifting to follow his outstretched hand. A countenance he recognized, if bitterly so. 

It was at its feet he found her, still as those who were honored here. He’d nearly overlooked her amidst the mess, eyes passing over the crown of her head until she moved, bending further forward in her deference. At her lowest point she whispered a prayer, too quiet for him to hear, before lifting her eyes back to the altar and the offering she’d made there—old bones, carved and painted, nestled within bright purple flowers. That was when she noticed him, surprise flashing across her face as she turned towards him, before a smile overcame it.

“Ah,” she breathed, “you found me.” Her head tilted, questioning him with a blink. “Is something wrong?”

“Not to my knowledge, no,” he answered, clasping his hands behind his back before padding closer. “I only thought to search for you, when you hadn’t returned by midday.”

“I told the two I hunted with to mention where I’d gone. They didn’t, did they?” He bit his tongue to keep from saying anything hasty, though she read the answer easily enough across his face, sighing. “I might’ve figured. I only wanted to make an offering, but…I guess I lost track of the time.”

He studied her as she returned her eyes to the mosaic and her hands to her lap, the woman outlined in gold. For all the worries she carried he’d hardly seen her so relaxed as this, shoulders sloped and features soft. It was reminiscent of those rare moments they stole together, quiet and away from camp. “You don’t often speak of your faith.”

“I don’t often find that there’s much to say,” she answered, though his words hadn’t been a question. “Even as the Keeper’s kin, I wasn’t very diligent. Not compared to Ilo’s family, anyway. I prayed before and after the hunt, gave offerings when it was time to…I guess it was always just a personal thing, to me. Private.”

“Shall I take that as a hint?”

“Not at all, it wasn’t intended that way. In fact, I’d like it better if you stayed.”   

She’d gotten bold with him since their jaunt in the Fade, possibly dangerously so. Still, despite his pause, he did oblige her. Picking a path through the debris he joined Viera at her side, there beneath a glimmering face shaped by hands he knew to be unwilling, ones that were long dead. Cleansed after millennia by those deluded into worship. Before his lip could curl his eyes flicked away, down and to the altar, to the flowers and the bone. It was there that his growing discomfort softened into something somber, something concerned, recognizing what it was she’d come here to do. 

“...It is for the First?”

He didn’t look at her, but still he could feel her—the way she froze as if seen, exposed, before letting free her breath to fly. Her words caught at first, tripped by an unsteady heart, but she pushed through it. Often, he knew, she did. “It is. You recognize the offering?”

“The bones of an owl, the messenger between the Fade and the waking, carved with a prayer,” he said, “and the likeness as well. Falon’din.”

“Friend of the Dead.” She sighed through her nose, enough to push the petals atop the stone to tremor. “I never had the chance to make an offering for Rehn, after I buried him. I’m sure the clan did once they were a safe distance, but I…I never could. I was too busy running.” From the corner of his eye he saw a flicker of movement, of fingers swiping quickly the peak of her cheek. “I’m not running anymore. Even if his soul has long since passed on, I needed to do this. I have to move on.”

“If only it were so easy as that,” he muttered, and meant it. She didn’t dispute him. Gesturing with his chin, he carried on, pushing past the pang that asked questions of himself. “The flowers you’ve chosen, your purple phlox: I’ve not seen them used in this way. Have they a meaning for you?”

“I saw them while we were on the trail this morning, tucked at the edge of the treeline, like they were sitting in the shade. It reminded me of him, how he’d read scrolls while I climbed trees. He liked flowers, purple ones especially.” Her eyes roamed up the mosaic, flashing like its tiles as they climbed, a ripple stretching across her brow. “We’re taught that the Creators are trapped. After everything, I couldn’t see the point to it anymore—why pray to gods who can’t hear, let alone answer?—but then there were those damned flowers. I couldn’t get them out of my head all morning, it was like…like…” She shook her head as she searched for the words, growing still as she found them. “Like he was reaching for me across the Veil, one last time. ‘Keep climbing, Vie, I’m just below.’ Like somebody was, anyway.”

“You might be more correct than you believe,” he said, meeting her gaze as a question tilted her towards him. “I’m sure you’ve surmised that the Veil is thin, here in this long forgotten remnant of the past. For all my criticisms of the Dalish, your kith have treated this place with due reverence. It is not so hard to believe that which troubles you might have resonated with the denizens of this place—Love or Compassion, maybe, drawn by lost goodbyes or unresolved remorse, and beholden to those who restored their home. Enough, even, for their sympathies to reach across that barrier between worlds, to draw you to this place where you might know peace.”

“Or, perhaps,” she countered, softly, “my proximity to people like my own was simply enough to reawaken memories I’d believed buried. Maybe, flowers are merely flowers.”

“Of course, it is a possibility. The phlox specifically, however, gives me pause.” Running his hand along the rim of the altar, Solas gently lifted one of the blooms, tilting its lavender petals with the pad of his finger to face the starburst at its center towards him. “Across cultures spanning centuries it signified many things: the hope for unity and harmony, or deep bonds between friends and family. ‘We are alike’. There is another interpretation I prefer, myself.”

“Which is…?”

“‘Our souls are united’,” he answered, and let the flower fall back to the stone. “Nuarehn’s soul may have long since passed, but just as his memory lingers in the shade of the trees, I wonder, too, if he might linger within you.” Turning from the altar his hand clasped her shoulder, feeling as she breathed his words in. He squeezed, and let her go. “I will tell the others that you are safe. Take all the time you need, lethallan. We will be there for you, when it is done.”“I will,” she uttered, quiet. “Ma serannas, lethallin. Ma serannas.”

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 18

Masterpost

@sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @misspelledwitch @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lavmars @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta @whump-it @haro-whumps @simplygrimly @alex-ember @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @mnmlover2002 @jordanstrophe @princessofonward @xmonster-under-the-bed @as-a-matter-of-whump @5boys1house @crystalrainwing @starnight-whump @chifechi @unicornscotty @penny-for-your-whump @getyourwhumphere @likeit-or-whumpit @jasm0307 @lightdrinker @hurting-fictional-people @captainseconds @glamrockgregory

CW: recovering pet whumpee, environmental whump, references to an amputated finger, paranoia/hallucinations

-

As he turned to lock the final door behind him, Rowe could see that he had been in a warehouse, evidently a rarely-used one. A single floodlight was on, illuminating nothing but a bare wall and the road leading up to it. Rowe had been correct- it was night. The open air was a thousand blessings as he breathed it in. His eyes felt clean, he could stand up properly, he wasn’t wearing that fucking collar anymore.

The happiness was short-lived, but he let himself have it. He was free. He just had to get home, now.

Rowe would have panicked, at that moment, but instead his heart toughened, because Kasia hadn’t been able to break him down. He was missing a finger, and the throbbing pain made sure he wouldn’t forget in a hurry, but he was still there, still himself. His nightmares would probably take a new form, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to sleep alone again, but he was fine. He was a Pet. He was a person. Surviving was a skill of his.

He rested a hand on the wall, making sure he was hidden in shadow, and let himself take some of the weight off his scarred leg. Burnt, smashed, sewn up and burnt again. He would be limping, by the time he got home. But get home he would, and in some way, it was thanks to his leg. He had been sat on his bed, back when he couldn’t walk, looking for something to distract him from the feelings of anger and uselessness and what if he throws me out?

So he’d looked down and practised his reading. He remembered it perfectly. Tomas G…Grz…. something… 12 h-a-r-t… Hartland Road… your Pet… s-p-l-i-n-t…. bed rest for up to one week…

Rowe had read the address, and perhaps even then he’d known he might one day need it. It didn’t solve the problem of knowing whereHartland Road was, or whether he’d make it there without being stolen or beaten up or killed, but he had to try.

Kidnapped, he thought. You’d only say stolen for a piece of property.

The warehouse was evidently on the outskirts of town. Was it the right town? Rowe thought so, as he studied the lights shining down the road. Several of the shapes were familiar to him. The colourful string bulbs that were hung up along the shopping streets, the glow from the theatre on the hill, the dark spot where the graveyard sat. From his bedroom window he had to crane to get a good look, but he could see it well from the office. He ached to be back there. In the warmth and familiarity of it. Back with- Master? The word sounded strange now. Especially since- since Rowe felt like he understood him now. Understood his intentions.

He started to walk. Kasia’s jacket rested on his shoulders, and he couldn’t bear to put his arms in. The idea alone made him feel trapped. The thing smelt distinctly of the bastard, but Rowe knew it was preferable to the cold of a dead night. He found a main road soon enough, built up above the rest of the grassy flatland, so he gingerly climbed down the hill and walked alongside. He would be hidden from passing cars well enough, but his bare feet soon began to take the brunt of the choice of rough land over tarmac. Stones, sticks, was that roadkill, oh, god, all were littered through his journey which was only sparsely lit by the occasional road light. After a particularly sharp stone, or possibly even a discarded glass bottle, Rowe knew his foot was bleeding. He ground his teeth together. It wasn’t real if he couldn’t see it. And right now, he couldn’t see his own hand in front of him.

He kept his eyes on the lights from the town before him, slowly drawing closer.

He thought he heard footsteps behind him, running closer with horrifying speed. As they drew near he could hear Kasia screaming at him.

You think you can fucking get away from me? You think you locked that collar? You really think I won’t come back?

He kept his eyes fixed on the town. “It-it-it’s n-not real,” he whispered past the lump in his throat. He was trembling with fear. “It’s not real, I locked him up, I st-stopped him, it’s not real, it’s not.”

The paranoia wouldn’t leave him, though. Every passing car, though they were few and far between, made him jump and crouch down, hands clamped over his mouth. He couldn’t shake the fear that it was Kasia after him, out searching for the rotten escaped Pet. His leg burst with pain every time, making him whimper and cry when he tried to stand back up.

The sounds of footsteps gradually stopped, and Kasia’s voice faded, but Rowe could still feel his hands clawing at him. His back tingled with the overwhelming sensation that someone was behind him, creeping up and reaching out to grab-

Against his better judgement, he turned back. Darkness there, and nothing more. “Fuck, f-fuck, keep it together,” he muttered.

Just up ahead, he could see streetlamps. Proper ones, glowing a gentle orange. He went as far as he could along the grass, then climbed up, wetting his hands in the dew. He checked for cars, and seeing none, scrambled fully onto the road.

He realised he couldn’t run anymore- his leg would give out, or he wouldn’t be able to contain a howl of pain- so he limped as quickly as he could towards the next patch of shadow, over and over.

Eventually he came upon a sign: Welcome to….

It was half shadowed, but it was a map. He pushed himself up on his tip-toes, eyes scanning the jumble of letters and lines and symbols. Eventually he spotted it. Hartland Road. He traced the direction in his head, making sure it was committed to memory, although he knew he wouldn’t forget it even if someone tried to beat it out of him. And then, he started walking.

He couldn’t tell exactly what time it was, but he would have guessed around three or four in the morning. The pub, as he passed it, was quiet, although he still kept his distance, hugging the shadows.

He soon reached the base of the hill he knew he’d have to climb. As he started to ascend, he saw the Pet hospital in the distance. Oh god, would he have to go back there to get his finger treated? He pushed the question to the back of his mind. If he did, there wasn’t anything he could do.

A few cars drove by, as he walked. He wanted to duck into one of the smaller streets that branched off, but he had only memorised one route home, and he didn’t trust himself to improvise in the dark. So instead he squared his shoulders, stopped hunching, tried his best to look like a person walking home in his heavy jacket, not afraid, not prey. It didn’t feel quite right, but it was easier than he’d expected. And it worked- no cars stopped, no one seemed to give him a second glance.

He finally reached the street, the name lit up. Hartland Road. The sign was scuffed, like kids had popped the cap off their beers along its edge. It was fixed to the wall of a garden, weeds poking out through the bricks, a flyer from the council tied at eye-level to the neck of the streetlamp. Rowe took everything in as he walked. The bicycle clipped to a fence, the parked cars, the black bins left out for collection. Before, he never would have taken notice. None of it had mattered. But now, Rowe felt as if he had a new connection to the world around him. He could interact with it. He wasn’t leashed or under the watchful eye of an owner, he wasn’t crawling or blindfolded in the boot of a car. He was in pain, yes, but he was always in pain, so constantly that it hardly registered anymore. He was free.

Rowe didn’t recognise the house itself. The only times he’d ever left it, he’d been unconscious, or practically so.

But when he turned around, he saw the same view he’d had from his bedroom window every morning and night. He was home.

He remembered Kasia’s key, but it no longer fit into the front door. The lock must have been changed. Rowe hated that the alternative was to make a loud noise, at this hour, but perhaps that was the smarter way than simply slipping inside like- like Kasia. So he hesitantly pressed down on the doorbell, hitting his fist against the wood as well. He waited. He thought about how he’d never rung a doorbell before in his life.

Silence. Rowe wasn’t exactly surprised, but his heart still tightened. Suddenly the fresh air didn’t feel freeing, it felt exposed. He rang again, knocking harder, not giving up. Surely he would know it was urgent? Surely he would come down, and Rowe would get to see his face again?

Faintly, he heard the creaking of the stairs. “I-I-It’s me!” he said, hushed. “It’s me, I…”

His words died as the door slowly opened. Half a face, an eye framed by blond curls peered out, full of apprehension. In a heartbeat it landed on Rowe and widened, and the door flew open.

“Tomas,” Rowe said, loving how it felt to say his name, loving him, loving everything. “I’m back, I, I’m back, I’m back.”

Tomas raised a hand over his mouth, and for once he was the one shaking. “Oh my god… oh my god.”

And then he was reaching both arms out for Rowe with a sob. Rowe threw the horrible jacket to the ground and fell into him, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding on tight. He couldn’t have known whose knees failed first, but suddenly they had collapsed on the floor, clinging onto each other, not leaving a shred of space between as they both cried. Soaked in the orange light that pooled through the still-open front door.

[tu-sugar-mami]

So @alcinassugarbby asked for another part of my previous music drabble, where R teaches Alci how to perrear to latino music. And if you want to get the vibe you can listen to the Spotify playlist i made specifically for this.

Also, just to let you know, this was written with latino people in mind.

I took my time with this one, but please enjoy ;)

------

The castle was huge af, you yourself had gotten lost in its infinity many times, mostly when you have the late night cravings and sneakily you manouver you way out of Alcina's hold and have to find your way through the darkness of the hallways in order to find the kitchen. It was like a neverending maze, but just as it was great for parties and hide and seek games, it was a pain in the ass to keep clean.

Maids had stopped roaming the castle's halls a long time ago (more like, the family outlived them), and Alcina never bothered to hire new ones, so the chore of cleaning the place fell upon the daughters.

Your mom raised you right, you were not going to let the girls struggle with the the chores when you could do something about it, and so, you being in your right age to put music to clean but not old enough to put Juan Gabriel, you pulled out your phone, connecting it to the speaker you made Alcina buy for you, and you started to sweep and mop, with your sleep shorts on clinging to you like a second skin and an oversized shirt (courtesy of Alcina's wardrobe) hanging on your body.

You were the only one currently in the castle, as the rest of the family went out for some business stuff with MM, leaving you the entire place to do as you pleased, so you didn't hesitate to blast the music through the whole east wing while dancing around the room you were cleaning. Though you lost track of time, and when you felt a hand on your shoulder just when you were crouching throwing it back, lost in the music, you jumped 3ft in the air with a surprised yelp, only to run to the nearest couch to grab a deadly weapon, a decorative cushion, and wield it with assertive determination towards whoever had dared to put a foot inside your home.

"Whatever are you doing, dear?" You heard your lover's amused voice and you blushed, letting out a squeak of surprise at being caught while dancing like that. You didn't even hear her arrive, but then again, the music was too loud.

You quickly turned the music down, so it wouldn't hurt her ears and so you could hear her better.

"I uh, was cleaning?" You said, unsure of your answer. You went to her, giving her a welcoming hug, though it was mostly to hide your face.

Alcina, the ever teasing woman, looked at a flustered you and a smirk formed on her face. "What an interesting way of cleaning. I'm sure the floors will be sparkling when you're done." And if it wasn't enough, she added: "You're really good, my love, you should teach me sometime." Alcina could say stuff like that all day, but in reality she loved the cute way your butt bounced up and down and as cool and composed as she looked in the outside, she was having a hard time keeping her eyes (and hands) off of your lower back. Because she's a gentlewoman, and a lady, and not because her daughters are wildly unpredictable and no one could assure her they wouldn't barge through the door at any moment effectively interrupting and testing her self control.

Though what she said gave you an idea, and now it was your turn to smirk mischievously. "Oh, i can definitely teach you. I would love to, even."

Her expression went blank and her face went pale, or well, even paler if it was even possible. "No." She said without a pause.

You giggled, and she giggled too because she cherished your laugh.

"No, but really. I could teach you. I mean, i'm no master myself but i know my moves." To prove your point you smoothly swinged your hips left and right, while holding Alcina's hands to make her follow your dance.

"I don't think i can do that, dearest. Maybe is best if i refrain from doing such dance." The smile on her face was small but it made the whole room brighter and you wanted to kiss her right there, although at that exact moment one of your favorite songs, and a classic at that, could be heard from the speaker and you didn't waste a second to dance along with it.

"Watch this, Alci." You said as you started to move at the rhythm of Yo Perreo Sola. Your left leg bouncing against the floor, then you started to move your hips in a rhythmical circle with a little pause and bounce of your butt at the end of every lap. It was really simple, yet Alcina looked mesmerized. And when you bent over, with your hands on your knees, and started going up and down, Alcina's eyes were definitely glued to you.

"See something you like?" You asked, smugly.

Alcina was speechless. But her gaze fixed on your behind let you know that in fact she did like it, she did like it a lot.

You stopped and you could have sworn you heard Alcina whine. "Why did you stop?" She asked, with a tint of disappoinment in her voice.

"You didn't say anything, so i thought you might not like it." You turned away from her to hide your smirk, because it was all bs, you knew she was enthralled.

"No, no. I like it. Although i must admit, i'd rather wish you'd dance for me like this more often." When you faced her again ahe was watching you intently.

"Tell you what, you dance for me first and i'll dance for you tonight in our chambers, how's that sound?" You were struggling to keep your grin under control as Alcina seemed to seriously think about it.

"You really want to see me dance like that, don't you? You little devil."

"There's nothing else i'd wish for right now."

Alcina sighed. "Fine, i am willing to do it." She held your face with her hand and leaned to kiss you. "Just because i really like that butt of yours."

You blushed but went to choose a song nonetheless.

"Let's start with something easy." You said as you browsed through the Colores album, looking for a song that you thought fitted her perfectly and 'Negro' started to play.

Alcina had listened to your songs before, but it never ceased to amaze her how different each song was, the rhythm and lyrics, not to mention the many different languages, and seeing you so excited to share part of your culture with her– it just made her heart soar.

"Alright, how should i start?"

Your huge bright smile made it impossibe to hide how much you were enjoying this. "You see, my dear apprentice, perrear is an art where your hips are the brush and the room is your canvas. Now, with me, stand like this and try to move you butt up and down along with the beat."

Alcina was hesitant. How a lady such as herself would allow her body to move in such an... aggravating... manner? Well, the answer was that she loved you. She would do anything for you and if it was your wish to see her dance, then she'd swallow her pride and try her best.

With awe you witnessed how your lady attempted to perform the basic step of perreo, though you could clearly see she was being shy, and you didn't blame her. The first time you tried to learn in front of your full body mirror was like that too.

"How's this? Am i doing it right?" She asked, unsure.

Her posture was a bit awkward, and you placed your hands on her to correct it. "Yes, now try to lean down a bit, like this. You can put your hands above the knee for support." She did. "Now, the tricky part. Try and arch your back a bit, just a bit, while you throw it back."

"I'm not throwing anything back, dear." Alcina said, confused, and even glanced behind her to confirm.

You giggled. "Baby, i meant your butt. Like this."

Alcina followed your example, and she being an extremely smart, talented and observing woman, picked up the move real quick.

"Now try to draw a circle with your hips. Yes, just like that. You're doing great, babe!"

"I sure hope so, my love. I'm really looking forward to you dancing for me tonight." She smirked, stopping her moves and pulling you close to her, her hands on your back pressing you against her front. "I putting a lot of effort and i require praise and kisses." You were more than happy to comply to her wishes, climbing on a chair and proceeding to kiss her hungrily. Wet kisses could be heard in the room, and Alcina's hands under your shirt gently scrapping the bare skin of your back were driving you crazy. But you knew you were getting too lost in the moment, and as much as you wanted to keep drawing those delicious groans from her you still had a goal to accomplish.

With a last bite to her bottom lip you pushed yourself back and jumped to the floor, ignoring Alcina's whine of disappoinment.

"Let's move to something a little more difficult." You say, a little bit out of breath, as you change the song to Gasolina. It started with a rapid beat and you wasted no time following it.

"Oh god..."

"Now you do it."

You'd be lying if you said seeing Alcina try that specific step didn't stir something in you. Definitely her leaning down, moving her hips side to side, slightly rotating her waist, in a rapid pace was a sight to behold.

"My love, you're drooling." Her amused voice reached your ears and you got out of your trance.

"I guess i'm really good teacher." You day, the back of your hand hiding your mouth.

"Mmh, well i think so too." She laughed. A beautiful laughter indeed. "Do you happen to have more knowledge you'd like to share?"

You lit up as a new song came into mind.

"I do!" Wait a sec!"

You quickly change the song and run back to Alcina's side.

"Third step! Should be easy enough." You squat and thrust your hips forward in a repetitive smooth motion while gradually rising with every 'Tra' of the song, slowly, tempting, alluring. "What do you think?"

Alcina is staring again, and you can almost hear the Microsoft startup sound as her brain reboots.

"Would you look at that! It's already night time." She said, pointing to a half covered window that lets in a faint but clear ray of sunlight. You opened your mouth to deny it but Alcina was already hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around her waist. "And i believe we made a deal." Her husky voice and hungry eyes left no room for arguing, though you wouldn't complain.

-----

I think i should put links to videos so you can get a reference.

If you love my work, buy me a coffee?

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villainsicle - Part 14

Thanks to everyone for all the comments on the last part, and especially to @the-polari-person for the memes they made. Everyone really wants to punch Medic, and I think this part will reinforce that. I hope you enjoy!

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

@trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room

@literally-just-kirby​

@the-polari-person

@teachunks

@daydreamed-snippets-2nd-blog

@sunflower1000

@lightdrinker-blog

@regalwritten

CW//Whumpee liking whumper, pet whump, dehumanization, conditioned whumpee, orders, implied past torture, mentions of death, mentions of execution, arguing, conspiracy

Traitor ran their fingers affectionately through Villain’s hair.

“An Asset can be far greater than any weapon you may have ever yielded in the past. I am sure you have all heard of the incident suffered by our late former Asset Coordinator, but any equipment can malfunction.

I assure you, the risk is worth it. May they rest in peace. But, a well-trained Asset is just as dangerous as a well-maintained gun. With the right care, it will only harm those who must be harmed.”

The somewhat sorrowful expression that had begun to show through disappeared, replaced by a sharp smirk.

“But words can only do so much. Demonstration is much better. Cadet!”

Villain drew back, nodding firmly their acknowledgement. There was a notable strangeness to their gait, a refusal to put weight on their leg.

“Circumspicio.”

Another firm nod, before they closed their eyes. For a few moments, tense and quiet as they were, their hair rose about their head, writhing like an inferno of serpents. When they at last opened their eyes, their hair did not calm.

“Eight soldier on deck, move left. Two plane on deck. Most soldier sleeping, in dorm. Supervillain talk to Department Head. Assets in kennel.”

“Where is Ali Silica?”

“Ali Silica, in kitchen, drink water.”

“Maximilian Kesim.”

“Maximilian Kesim, in dorm. Sleep.”

“Ella Jacklin.”

“Ella Jacklin, on deck. Has weapon. Guard door 24.”

“Good.” Traitor’s gaze returned to stare forth. “My Asset may not be particularly useful in situations of combat, but it is invaluable for recon and scouting. They can see through our cameras, our computers, all of it. And in an enemy base? Every enemy movement can be mapped. I can’t count how many times it has saved my life.

It is the most valuable Asset we have. Usually, we would not be doing something like this. But, my Asset is currently off duty due to an injury. And thus, welcome to the course.”

Again, they laid their hand atop Villain’s head.

They smiled.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Villain looked at the camera.

That was all Counselor could look at, all they could notice. The other action on screen was immediately rendered irrelevant to them.

No. They could only see those eyes.

The same eyes they’d spent the last weeks gazing back at, in person and picture alike. At the very least, they were the same eyes, on the same person. In every physical sense, Villain was the same.

But...

They were happy. Maybe they weren’t, maybe it was just a trick of the light... But, no, no matter how Counselor squinted, what they told themself, they could not ignore that fact. Villain’s eyes glimmered with contentment, pressing their head into Traitor’s hand, who stroked their hair affectionately. 

There was nothing fake, nothing practiced, about that warmth. It was just as real as the sorrowful or fearful expressions that Counselor had seen on Villain’s face so often. The only ones they ever seemed to show.

They were happy. Why were they happy? Ordered about, spoken about like an object... And why were they talking like that? They were generally rather quiet, but they never seemed to struggle with their speech.

It wasn’t until Hero spoke up that Counselor realized their mouth had been hanging ajar.

“I...”

Hero was at just as much of a loss for words as they were.

“I don’t know.” Counselor shook their head, frowning. “P-Pause it. Please. I don’t want to see it.”

They did so.

For a long, tense moment, the two sat there, one in the computer chair, the other with their legs dangling off the bed. It was Counselor, who managed to clear their throat first.

“Where did you get this?”

“The flashdrive?”

“Mhm.”

“Leader. Leader gave it to me.”

“Leader?”

“I didn’t... I don’t know. I guess it makes sense?”

“It does, but...” Counselor gripped a clump of blanket in their fist, knuckles quickly turning white. “I, Hero, what the fuck! I don’t know what I expected. Some sort of backstory, certainly, but... What did Traitor do to them?”

It wasn’t the type of explosive tone that they often took, but they couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help but release the furious flame burning in their chest, its smoke scratching their throat.

“I don’t know.” Hero shook their head. “What is the, the Asset program? That wasn’t a thing when we worked for them, was it?”

“No. No, I don’t think so. I certainly never heard of it.”

“Me neither.”

“You think...”

“Do I think that’s why Leader looks like they’re about to faint whenever you so much as mention Villain? Absolutely! You’d think they would have told us.”

“I- I guess. What is there even to say? What was that even about?”

“It certainly wasn’t meant for an uninformed audience. Something about... training? Training assets?”

“That’s what Villain was, weren’t they? An... Asset.”

“I think so. A... A forced soldier. Traitor was treating they like a fucking dog.”

“Yeah.” Hero nodded.

“And...”

“An incident. What were they saying about an incident?”

“Someone died. The way they were talking about it, I think. Someone died. Whoever tried to make videos about this beforehand? An... Asset Coordinator?”

“That’s certainly what it sounded like.”

Counselor tried to release the grip they held on the blanket, but found themself unable. Tension and fury kept their muscles clenched, blood pounding their ears, even as they did little more than sit.

“Were they ever really a villain at all?” They finally whispered. “In the video, it was all orders. They were just following orders. We’ve been treating them like a villain this whole time, but-”

“I think we need to see more.” Hero interrupted. “We need to- We need to know. How long until this flashdrive mysteriously goes missing?”

“I don’t know.” Counselor bit the inside of their cheek. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t. I need to-”

“You really should. We should.”

“I know. I know. But I need to see Villain.”

“Oh.”

“You watch, okay? I’m going to talk to them.”

“About... it?”

“Yeah.” They nodded, before frowning, their gaze becoming downcast. “How long until they mysteriously go missing?”

“Fair enough.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Are you hungry?”

The Asset- no, dammit, Villain looked up as Counselor entered the hospital room. The thoughts, the words of the video refused to stop swirling in their mind, twisting even their inner monologue, now.

The blankets on their bed were turned and tossed about-- either they had tried to get up, or they had not slept well. Neither option was good.

But they were awake now.

“Are you hungry, Villain?” Counselor repeated themself, approaching the bedside. An impulse to straighten the bed linens ran through them, but their hands were full-- they placed the platter down on the table beside the hospital bed.

They took a moment to reply, as if they were unsure whether or not they were expected to speak. They decided upon the former.

“Yes.”

“That’s good. I made you some lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“Y’know, when you eat at noon.”

“I- I know. Sorry. Don’t usually eat lunch.”

“You don’t?”

“Medic says I only need dinner.”

“Oh.” Another wave of furious warmth ran through them, but they let it burn out. It wasn’t the time. “Well, if you’re hungry, I have food for you.”

“Y-Yes. Sorry. Thank you, uh, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Villain sat up, taking the platter from their bedside table. It was a simple arrangement-- with little to no knowledge of what exactly Medic was up to, Counselor had decided to play it safe, making whatever was least likely to upset Villain’s stomach. A sandwich, some yogurt, and some carrots. Simple and small, but food.

Yet, as the former Asset gazed at the plate, they looked almost confused. Genuinely perplexed, staring at an abstract painting.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes! Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just... This doesn’t look like what Medic has me eat.”

Counselor frowned.

“What does Medic have you eat?”

“Um... Don’t, um.” They furrowed their brow, looking for all the world to be trying to do mental calculus. “Don’t know word, um, I don’t know what it is called. It’s white, and dry. Tastes like chalk.”

At that point, Counselor would have believed it if Villain had told them that Medic was making them eat actual chalk.

“Well... This is something different, for today.”

“Okay.”

Still, the food before them put a confused expression on their face. Eventually, after considering it for a long moment, Villain began to tear pieces off the sandwich, eating them in that manner.

“Villain?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Y-Yeah. Yeah. Of course.”

“Do you know someone named Traitor?”

Villain’s hand stopped, halfway through bringing a piece of food to their mouth. They put it back down.

They nodded.

“They didn’t call them that.”

“What did they call them?”

“Trainer.”

“And they called you Cadet.”

Villain’s teeth snapped together, gritting hard enough that they seemed about to crack.

“Yes. I didn’t... I didn’t think you knew.”

“I...” There was no reason to lie. “I didn’t. Not until just a minute ago.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Villain shook their head. “It’s okay.”

“Is it okay if I... Is it okay if I ask you about it?”

Villain frowned for a moment-- looking as though they were actually considering the question. Even as much as Counselor wanted to hear a yes, even the fact that they were thinking it through made them swell with hope.

“Yes. Yes, it’s okay.”

“Okay.” They weren’t sure when their voice had grown so quiet, so placating. As though they were whispering in a far larger room. “They called you an Asset. What is that?”

“Um... We were weapons, I think.”

“There were multiple?”

“Mhm.” They nodded, ever so slightly, like their head was locked in place. “Not many made it... They kept us prisoner, for a long time. Before the collapse. Before your rebellion. Said we were useful only as lab rats. Then... Something changed. They decided we were useful. Started training.”

“Training?”

“We didn’t want to fight for them. So we weren’t given a choice.”

“You were... You were there, all that time?”

“When you rebelled, I guess- You didn’t know about us, did you?”

“No.”

“No one did.”

“And then they wanted your help.”

“They didn’t give a choice. I guess there was a choice. You could obey, or...”

“Or?”

“Or kill your handler.”

“What did they-”

“They shot the ones that acted up like that. Said it wasn’t worth losing soldiers over.”

“But you...”

“I-” Their voice hiccuped, catching in their throat. “I didn’t want to. Not at first.”

“They hurt you?”

“Some. I guess. Trainer had a whip. But that wasn’t their style. They needed us intact. They had other ways.”

“Oh.”

Villain turned the conversation about.

“How did you find out?”

“A video.”

“A video?”

More cautiously, this time, Villain ate another piece of sandwich.

“Some kind of training video. We found it on a computer. We took it, from Organization.”

“Oh.”

“You...”

“The one I was in.”

“Yeah.”

Villain’s lips pursed into a thin line. They picked up their plate, putting it back on the nightstand, before throwing aside their blanket.

Their hospital gown was thin and wispy-- they moved aside the fabric covering their lower leg.

A hole. That was the only word that would be in any way appropriate to describe the wound-- a hole, dug out of flesh. Healed and faded, so much so that the scar tissue had turned white, but it was still there. Still horrid enough to make Counselor’s stomach twist with nausea.

“What is...”

“A gunshot.”

“A gun did that?”

“Yeah. Really close up.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

“You were hurt, in the video.”

“Yeah.”

“It was...”

“It was this. I got hurt. Got shot. I couldn’t walk for a long time, couldn’t fight for a lot longer than that. Was stuck in the med bay. But I could walk, so they figured I could do the videos.”

Counselor nodded their understanding, as best as they could manage. Villain recovered the wound.

“Villain?”

“Yeah?”

“You left. Did you leave? On your own?”

“Um... It was more complicated than that.”

“You were rescued?”

They seemed to consider for a moment, before nodding.

“Leader.”

For a split second, Counselor thought they had imagined the word.

“Leader?”

“They saved me. By, um, by shooting me.”

“They...”

“They shot me in the leg.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I don’t know if you can.” Villain diverted their gaze quickly. “Sorry, that was mean. It’s just, I mean, things were different back then. You have a choice. You left because you wanted to. Because you didn’t believe in what you were doing.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know what I was doing. I guess I had some idea, but, not really. I just did what Train- Traitor said.” Their head lurched upward. “They’re okay, right?”

“What?”

“Trainer. They’re okay, right?”

“I- I guess I don’t know. We haven’t done anything to harm them.”

“Okay. Okay.”

“You... You liked them?”

“I miss them.” They drew their legs to their chest, hugging them. “A lot.”

“You miss them?”

“Mhm.” There was somehow a terribly sorrowful tone to the humming. “I left them. But I miss them.”

“Did you... Did you escape? On your own?”

“I guess.” They straightened their legs back out. “The longer I was in the med bay, the less security there was. After a while, I think they forgot I was there. They just left me there, in that bed. Leader... Did they ever tell you?”

“About what?”

“About what they told me.”

“No. They didn’t even tell us they shot you.”

“They said it, right before they shot me. It was, um, it was an address. They said if I went there, I could get help. Then they shot me.”

“An address?”

“In Oregon. It was the first anyone had spoken to me in, I guess in years, at that point. They spoke around me, but never in English?”

“They didn’t speak English? They did when I was there.”

“Yeah, before they went all evil. Decided they wanted to speak Latin. I didn’t even know that that’s what it was, at the time. I never understood a word of it, still don’t. Then Leader came along, and spoke to me. In a language I knew. And it made me think, think like I hadn’t in such a long time.”

“In the video, in the video they were speaking English.”

“Mhm.” Villain nodded. “That was the second time I’d heard a language I understood. It’s like I woke up, like I’d been sleeping for forever. Like I remembered I was human. And, when the ship got close enough to the West coast...”

“You jumped ship.”

“I almost drowned doing it, too. But I didn’t. And I made it to the address.”

“And that was six months ago.”

“A year ago. I collapsed on a stranger’s doorstep, and they took me in. And... that’s it.”

“That’s it.”

“Mhm.”

They again took the platter, beginning to again pick at their food. Counselor let them eat in silence.

In the end, it was Villain who spoke up.

“Counselor?”

“Yeah?”

“I know Leader wanted to do good. I know they wanted to help. But... if I had the choice. If i could do it all again, I never would have left.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“Of course they wouldn’t have. They’re an Asset.”

Medic spoke the words before the door was even fully open, yet Counselor heard them loud and clear, looking up and spinning around.

“Cadet, sedeo.”

The Asset fell without resistance. Medic could not help but clench their fists as they closed the door behind them, approaching their patient’s bed.

The smell of food permeated the room. Real food. Unregulated and unweighted and breaking the rules, breaking the pattern.

“What the actual hell do you think you’re doing?” They spat, turning to Counselor, sitting at Villain’s bedside like some kind of grieving idiot.

“They were hungry.” The response was firm, their adversary’s eyes narrowed. “So I fed them.”

“Did I not tell you that they have very specific feeding requirements?”

“You did.”

“And you don’t care?”

“Not really, no.”

Medic gritted their teeth.

No matter what this idiot excuse for a therapist thought, they weren’t stupid. Allowing them to see Medic’s patient had been a gesture of good will.

They should never have allowed it. They should have known this would happen.

Their plan had been going so goddamn well. Their patient responding to stimuli, to altered variables, as had been expected. As had been planned. As had been rigorously calculated.

And this piece of shit had ruined it. They had thrown off the experiment, the results, all of it!

The symptoms were showing as expected. Every single one of them. They were so damn close to starting the final phase, and now...

“What are you trying to do, Counselor...”

“They were hungry, so I fed them.”

“No, not that. I know you did that. But... all of this. Trying to help them. Trying to fight me. Why?”

“Because you’re hurting them.”

“We already went over this.”

“Well, at the very least, you aren’t helping them.”

“I’m treating them.”

“You’re keeping them alive. That’s it.”

“And what are you trying to do, pray tell?’

“What?”

“Counselor, what the hell is your end goal, here?”

There was no way this excuse for a social worker would see the right side of things, see the same way Medic did. But, at the very least, they could try to make them open their eyes, for once in their goddamn life.

“My end goal is making them better.”

“And then what?”

“What?”

“Say Villain gets better. One hundred percent healed. Then what?”

“Whatever they want.” Counselor drew back their upper lip. “You called them an Asset.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You knew.”

“And I see you do now, as well.”

“You should have told me.”

“You never asked.”

“You still should have told me! How could you have known and not done anything about it?”

Medic clenched their hands into fists.

“Because I was part of Organization. So were you. And Hero, and Leader, and everyone. Remember that were a rebellion. A splinter group.”

“I was part of Organization, and I didn’t know.”

“Well, I did.”

“And you didn’t do anything.”

“Is that what you’re going to bemoan me for, now? Because I didn’t leave as quickly as you? Because I was a department head? Because I didn’t have a chance? Because-”

“Shut up.”

“If this is what you’re going to get on my case about, now?”

“Maybe I am.”

“What about Leader, then? What about-”

“This isn’t about them!”

“They were married to Supervillain!”

“We all got over that a long time ago. If you want a fight, let’s at least do it over something that matters. When Villain is better, and I mean when, I will let them choose what they want to do.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.”

“You said it yourself, they’re a villain. When they were free, on their own, they were hurting people.”

“We can talk about it. Find out why. Help them.”

“And if they don’t want to stop? Are you really planning on just letting them go back out there? Because, what, it makes you feel better about yourself?”

“N- No. I wouldn’t.”

“Then you’d keep them prisoner.”

“Maybe.”

“And they’d stay sick.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because they’re an Asset. How often do you use your powers?”

“I- I don’t know. Once or twice a week?”

“Exactly. They spent months of their life going on daily missions, using their powers. Now they aren’t using them. Now they’re sick.”

“You’re saying...”

“What we’re doing, it’s like trying to keep a Border Collie as a lap dog. They need to use their powers, because they were an Asset. It’s what their brain has gotten used to. We can’t change that. We can’t change the past.”

“They aren’t going to be an Asset again. We aren’t like that. We aren’t Organization.”

Of course, the soft one would say that.

“That’s not what I’m saying. But it’s the only theory that makes sense to me, at this point. And if they have to use their powers anyways, they may as well be helping us.”

“Shut up.”

“I haven’t-”

“Just shut up, okay? You’re talking about them like they’re not even there.”

“They can’t hear us.”

“Wake them up.”

“I will in a moment.” Medic sighed. “Look. I can’t see the future. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I do know that their training starts tomorrow.”

Counselor gritted their teeth.

“So.” Medic slumped their shoulders. “From tomorrow onwards, you may feed them as you wish.”

It was a sacrifice. Another gesture of good will, of trying to gain trust. They were giving up one variable in their experiment, turning it from a control to something wild, something they couldn’t control.

But, maybe, that was a good thing.

Handing over the experiment to another scientist-- as much as Counselor could be considered a scientist. Passing on the blame. Turning the causation into correlation.

Counselor nodded.

“Okay.”

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

On Brody being shoved in a cage, what if a motel they stopped at had a Pet policy you could have them but they have to stay in a cage while indoors. Just spouting ideas here, but I can imagine Charlie hating it, so Dylan had to do it, and Brody being terrified cause it is Dylan but then Dylan can give him his keyring and the (can't rember what animal) toy from the claw machine, so Brody just curls up for the night.

[hi hello yes i LOVE THIS. 

I did not proof read this I’m sorry lol. I’ll fix it later.] 

CW: Dehumanization, pet whump, brief mention of disordered eating, past conditioning, being angry at front desk workers, cages

[Brody Masterlist]

“It said online that this was a pet friendly hotel,” Charlie spat. He was gripping the counter, staring the poor desk agent straight in the eyes. She sighed with a well hid eye roll.

“We are Sir, but pets aren’t allowed in the rooms. However, we understand wanting to travel with your companion, so we have a boarding kennel to your right. It’s perfectly safe and –“

Charlie is about to boil over. He’s about to start screaming and cursing that fucking nerve of some hotel. The nerve of the whole goddamn world, that they just decided that some people aren’t people. No matter what he’d been taught to believe, Brody wasn’t a dog, and Charlie wasn’t going to let anyone treat him as such.

Even Brody.

“Than I want my money back. We’re going somewhere else.”

Another well hidden eye roll [does no one read what they sign?]

“As stated online, we don’t have a return policy. I can give you a voucher for the same value of your stay at one of our other locations if-“

Charlie stormed away from the counter, Dylan stepping away with him. He slammed the door open and took a deep breath of the night air. Not her fault, he told himself, but goddamn it if she isn’t the only one around.

“This is fucking insane,” Charlie said, pacing. “Treating him like some kind of animal. The nerve, the nerve! How the hell do you look at another person and go “hm nah, nope. Not human. Not worthy of respect or care.”

Dylan leaned against a pillar to the side, letting his younger brother get his frustration and anger out. He waiting a moment.

“It’s just for one night.”

Charlie stopped pacing, slowly turning to face Dylan with a look of utter astonishment on his face.

“I’m sorry, what.”

Dylan looked him dead in the eyes. “It’s one night. He’s had worse, and we already paid.” The other didn’t respond, so Dylan continued.

“He’ll be fine Charlie. How well do you think he sleeps in the rooms anyway? Curled up in the bathtub because he’s too terrified for even a couch?” Charlie looked away, arms crossed defensively.

“He’s used to it, it’s okay.”

“But it’s not,” Charlie whined. “It’s not okay because we told him that he was safe here, that we were going to take care of him, and now we aren’t.”

Dylan took a deep breath. Charlie wasn’t going to like this. “Do you think he’s got the ability to understand that right now?” Charlie opened his mouth to respond but Dylan never gave him the chance.

“Seriously, really. Like, would he really be able to feel betrayed? He’s so fucked up in the head, after - after what Sam did to him. He doesn’t understand why we want to help, he just follows along with whatever we say. He doesn’t eat, he doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t touch anything or do anything he thinks will get him in trouble. And we don’t have the time and shit to make him better on the road. He’ll be scared, but he’s already so scared what’s just a little more? The kennels will be safe. No one’s going to be able to get to him but us.”

Charlie’s resolve was crumbling, Dylan could tell.

“One night. Just a couple of hours, really. Then we’ll blast off early tomorrow morning.”

Charlie reached up to rub his eyes tiredly with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I, I can’t, I can’t do that to him, I just-“

“You don’t have to. Just go upstairs and go to sleep.”

Charlie’s eyes were round and filled with guilt. Guilt that he was tired, and he just wanted to go to sleep. Wanted to have a moment where there wasn’t someone walking on eggshells around him, thinking that one wrong move or one wrong word would get him sent back.

“He’ll be so scared,”

“And he’ll be fine. He always is.”

~

Brody took another step forward, hugging himself tightly. He didn’t understand; what had he done wrong? He must have done something awful. Something terrible and wrong, and bad. Charlie was gone, and Dylan was leading him up to a line of kennels. They stopped in front of one. It was large, larger than what Brody was used to, but still not big enough for him to stand or sit all the way up.

“Fucking animals,” Dylan cursed under his breath and he swiped the room key, opening the door. Brody curled in to himself farther. Animals, he knew. That’s all he was, an animal. A pet. A pet that obeys or gets hurt for it.

The door swung open and Brody crawled in without having to be told. He could still be good, prove that he was still trained. He hadn’t forgotten, he hadn’t. They tested him all the time, but he passed every one; he thought. Didn’t act like a person, didn’t eat their food, didn’t forget for a moment what he was.

An animal. A pet.

Dylan’s hand reached in before the door closed and Brody leaned towards it a little. Just to be good. To be sweet and sorry and look punished. Sorry for whatever he had done.

It dropped down the little keychain. The tiny little tiger Charlie had let him buy. Brody stared at it for a moment before looking up to Dylan. The man’s face was blank and stone like, emotions closed off and unreadable.

With trembling fingers, Brody reached forwards and took it gently. It wasn’t torn away, wasn’t hit out of his hands or mocked, so he guessed he could keep it.

“I’m sorry kid. Just a couple hours, and then we’ll get going again.”

Brody nodded, holding the keychain tight and laying his head down on the padding of the cage. The door closed and he heard the light click of the electronic light.

He could be better at the next stop, he just knew it.

~

(whoops! Forgot to tag!) 

@sola-whumping​ @haro-whumps​ @deluxewhump​ @whumpzone​ @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​ @simplygrimly​ @whumptywhumpdump​ @crystalrainwing​ @welcome-to-the-whumpfest​ @pineapple-heartache​ @whumpiestofthemall​ @whumpasaurus101​ @whump-it​ @narugay-uzumaki​ @much-ado-about-whumping​ @whumpsorbetism​ @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @liliability​ @newbornwhumperfly​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight​ @lave-e​ @thatsthewhump @kiretto-laorentze @panic-and-chaos @sodapigeon @susiequaz12 @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpeesblog @green-eyed-whumpster @shapeshiftersandfire @daughtr-of-rome @girlwithacoolcat @whatwhumpcomments @itaina-anta @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpasarurus101 @tears-and-lilies @string-of-broken-hearts @rosesareviolentlyread @just-a-racoon-in-a-party-hat

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Have I got a treat for every one this fine Wednesday! X3

Thank you @noire-pandora for the tag! <3

Cue the boys finally having a moment of blissful happiness! *wails*

---

Solas let his thumb ghost along an infant cheekbone, feeling the faintest grit of scales under it. “He reminds me of you.”, he said without really thinking, nostalgia and the tightening of fondness gripping his mind and heart as ivory plate shivered from his touch, but not one of pain.

I am not hurting him, tainting his scales black.

Fane chuckled from beside him. “Does he? I think I see the resemblance. The scales, I’m guessing?”, his dragon teased, uncommonly, but understandably in good spirits.

Solas hummed. “Mm,” He readjusted the cloak, smiling without reservation as the tiny dragon burrowed into it more, a sleepy whimper loosing from a sharp maw. “Not precisely. It is more his spirit--bright even in slumber, strong even when faced with adversity.”, he explained and couldn’t help but let out a quiet coo when another whimper escaped a slender form. “Shh, da’isenatha. You are safe.”

“Here,” Fane reached over, readjusting Solas’ hold a bit and fluffing up a bit of the fur lining to which the tiny dragon immediately sought it out. “..he wants warmth.”

Solas tilted his head, glancing up at Fane and smirking gently. “He is a snow dragon, is he not? Would heat not make him uncomfortable?”, he asked. He only asked due to how the other man practically whined when the fire in their quarters was just a tad too high.

Fane shook his head, eyes soft as they gazed upon his kin. “Not yet.”, he said, slowly taking his hands away when the ‘nest’ was deemed good. “Infant dragons seek warmth from their mothers for the first several weeks, but I think he’ll have to need a source of heat for much longer. His body can’t regulate properly. He’d die in the conditions our breed is supposed to thrive in.”

Solas felt his gaze go hooded when Fane gently ran a thumb along the crown of the dragonling’s head and his whole body felt like mush when a tiny purr rattled through the cloak and up his arms. It was followed by a soft squeak of satisfaction, almost looking as if the line of the infant’s mouth was smiling. It was such a beautiful, mortal sight that Solas didn’t know how much more he could take, but despite that, he pulled the dragon closer, offering him warmth as he desired.

He would grant any desire, any request if it brought a smile forward--on either dragon that he was blessed to know and to love.

Solas hummed, thinking. “Hm,” He shifted a bit, moving closer to Fane absently before settling and looked up into softened emerald and gold with a tentative smile. “Would a warming spell be unwise?”

When Fane only stared at him with a raised eyebrow and curious look, Solas felt the need to justify or rather, explain his request. He wasn’t trying to push magic as the only option, knowing the precarious thoughts on it, but if warmth was sought, warmth could be easily obtained.

Solas cleared his throat gently. “Most of the magic will be contained to my body, of course. The heat is the result of a delicate balance of core temperatures and the residual essence will be projected outwards.”, he explained, suddenly finding himself blushing as Fane’s gaze softened like butter and more or less saying, ‘Relax’. “Ah, in shorter terms, it is akin to a rune warming a basin of water.”

Fane chuckled. “I know what a warming spell is, my sky. You’ve done it for me countless times.”

Solas blinked, blushing more. “Ah, of course.”, he muttered, turning his face away and absently pulling the tiny bundle in his arms closer. What was going on with him? It was as if all thought processes had flown out the cave’s entrance, and had been carried away with the wind, lost to him.

“Solas,”, Fane called out to him, another chuckle lacing his baritone. When Solas didn’t answer the call with his eyes or voice, opting to pluck at a loose emerald thread, one of his dragon’s hands appeared upon his face, beseeching. “--look at me, my sky. Let me see what you’re feeling right now.”

Solas felt his lips draw tight, refusing to look up, but leaning into the blazing hearth that was Fane’s palm. He honestly couldn’t understand what was coming over him. Could it be the atmosphere--cool and soothing, ice and snow smelling fresh, smelling clean? Could it be the blend of emotions that permeated the air--stress ebbing away, gentle joy edging inwards? Could it be how Fane’s thumb began to stroke under one of his eyes--quietly praising, openly relaxing? He had no definitive answer, and for once, he did not care as a willowy body shimmied and huffed out a cool to the touch sigh, finding the perfect spot to resume their plunge into pleasant dreams. Did dragons dream, he wondered? Maybe he should ask, but not now. Now was the time to relish in silence, not soil it with noise beyond whispers and whimpers.

He wanted to cherish this sensation--this sensation of being alive, of being able to hope and imagine a brighter future than what the path depicted before him every day, every night, every hour. Pointed ears twitched as Solas heard Fane let out an airy laugh; the sound was exquisite and it made his body warm without the use of magic.

“I’ve never seen you act this way.”, Fane murmured, but his voice wasn’t displeased. It was more...in awe? Solas wasn’t sure, but he didn’t mind it as he gingerly began to stroke the tiny dragonling with the back of his hand--easily pulling bits of the Fade through to warm the leather. He knew he was acting...odd, but he couldn’t reign it in, couldn’t control the swath of gentle love and tranquility coursing through him.

Solas chuckled, fondness encasing him more as a serpentine head nuzzled against his warmed hand. “I have never felt this way.”, he said, breaking his vow of silence and his vow of not gazing up at his dragon.

The look on Fane’s face had the essence of love blooming into full blown adoration as Solas took it in. Emerald and gold were no longer two, but one--mimicking the most intense waters of the Fade since they appeared to gently glow. Their depths screamed, ‘I love you. I love you. Let me see. Let me see.’, and Solas felt his lungs tighten and his mouth go dry. He, too, wished to see, to see his dragon bask in life, and though it was subtle, Solas knew that that was what Fane was doing every time he caught jewelled orbs flicking downwards to check on their slumbering hope. A tenderly stroking hand was still prevalent upon Solas’ face and he couldn’t help but turn his head a bit to lay a light kiss against it, drawing an all encompassing gaze back his way and also pulling a voice just as sweet as the one in ebbing orbs.

“You’re happy.”, Fane whispered, a soft smile upon his features to match his glittering eyes. “I adore seeing you this way. It’s beautiful--you’re beautiful.”

Solas sucked in a quiet, but shuddering breath before letting it out slowly. “That is--” He clamped his mouth shut as Fane’s face appeared but mere inches from his own, earnestness all over it, as well as the desire to make him see.

“You are beautiful, my sky.”, Fane reasserted, stabilizing arms coming around to carefully embrace him, but mindful of who was between them. “If only you could see yourself right now, through my eyes, and soon, through his,” Solas followed the flicker of gold as it indicated downwards, his heart melting anew as the tiny dragon fidgeted as if it were dreaming. “..you’d understand completely.

Solas leaned into the arms encasing him, eyes going hooded as Fane began to nudge and nuzzle at his cheek and jaw. He felt so warm, so calm, so solid. The tiny dragonling was in his arms, heart perceptible as it beat against his arms, breaths calm and deep as slumber stretched on. His dragon was around him, shielding, holding, and drawing him closer to his form to where Solas could feel a strong, strong heart thumping in time with his own. It reminded him of when he and Fane used to sit along the forest floors just outside of Arlathan, blissfully at ease despite the loom of shadows. His dragon had welcomed him into a ‘hoard’ of one back then, and he was being welcomed again in a hoard of two.

He was being accepted by a being who never should have accepted him due to what and who he was, but actually came to love him, to take a form that had once been reviled and thought of as no better than an insect’s just to...be with him. Just as the little one in his arms, oddly warm despite an opposite affinity, seemed to accept him as well, allowing Solas to hold him, to..to care for him. How is it that he felt more kinship with the two proud creatures before him, one small, one dual in form, than he did with any elves or mages? He cared for his people, almost to a fault, but now, it felt as if his...heart was growing, reaching for more, thinking beyond to a world where...coexistence could truly happen this time.

How is it that he felt so alive when even things such as touching a page of a book or holding a brush felt numb?

“You are beautiful, ma’isenatha.”, Solas whispered, unable to keep the tremble from his voice as emotion began to overwhelm him and the sensation of Fane inching closer and closer as if to bridge the miniscule gap between had his heart yearning. “I am merely--”

Fane blinked once slowly, stilling the words that wished to flow. “A person.”, he whispered, a hand coming up to cup his cheek once more and a forehead coming to greet Solas’ own. “A person that’s made mistakes, made errors, but a person that’s loved, that’s cried, that’s cared.” A light kiss fluttered against his cheek, heat rising as surely as a whimper did from his chest.

“Cared so much as to warp the intention. I know what I have done, my dragon, and no matter the justifications, I committed an act unforgivable. To my people and to yours. If I am a person, I am but a shadow of one.”, Solas argued, gently turning his head down to witness pure white with only a splash of obsidian, but even that was pure to his eyes at this moment. He took a bit of the cloak in hand, swiping the edge under a closed eye gingerly and nearly wept when a pleased hum left the beautiful creature nestled in his arms. A question unearthed from that display of wonderful expression. “Would it...be wrong to name one of your kin?”

A pregnant pause, one that had Solas nearly backtracking, mentally smacking himself for being so foolish, but all the dread, all the self-loathing vanished like a barrier as Fane’s lips appeared against his own, warm, tender, and ever depicting of the man the other truly was; devoted. He froze up a bit, gingerly giving the tiny dragonling a squeeze, but no fuss was made, no whimper of discomfort sounded. Solas slowly began to relax, warmth filling him, eyes falling shut, and tilting his head slightly to slot his lips more flush with Fane’s own. The kiss was slow and sadly, fleeting, Fane letting out a quiet hum before pulling away with a hooded gaze and a truly bedazzling smile that made the lower lids of his eyes pull upwards.

Solas blinked, stunned and face warm despite the chill. “...Ma’isenatha.”, he whispered with a tone akin to reverence before unabashedly leaning into the wall before him and nudging against a beautiful jawline. He rested his head against Fane’s shoulder soon after, relishing its stabilizing demeanor, basking in how a hearty heart thumped and thumped and thumped with the drums of life against his side, linking with his own, while a tiny one fluttered against one of his forearms.

What had he done? What had he done to deserve this..?

Fane wasted no time in embracing him, bringing his arms up and giving him a tentative squeeze. Solas chuckled at that obvious display of carefulness, gaze going hooded as he stared up at a being who had defied so much as the little one in his arms did. Tenacity was indeed indicative to dragons.

“Did I break you?”, Fane asked, voice as soft as an echo of thunder, distant, but oh-so near.

Solas scoffed softly, smirking a bit. “Mm, perhaps a bit.”, he said, shifting his head back and forth against the leather of his dragon’s coat. Such a thing would make him bristle with discomfort any other time, but right now everything felt soft and truly perfect. It felt real. “Though, I know it was but your answer to my question.”

Fane chuckled. “Indeed it was.”, he said, glittering orbs of two tones rolling downwards to the slumbering dragonling. “I had a name in mind after I was sure he wouldn’t...die.”

Solas blinked before smiling a bit. “Is that so?”, he asked, smiling more when Fane nodded and his ivory visage flushed a light pink. “Then, the honor is yours, vhenan. Let the world know another dragon yet lives.”

Beauty was everywhere as those words fell from Solas’ lips. In the sharp lines of a devotion borne jaw, in the contours of cheeks and their related bones, in the curves of a smiling, a full blown smiling mouth, in bottom eyelids as they pulled upwards and the top shaded a heavily hue. In this moment, Fane appeared every bit of the beautiful person that he was--dual, but wholly one. Just as the curled up dragonling in his arms was. What had Solas done to deserve not one, but two, wonderful beacons; one, Devotion; one, Hope? He truly, truly did not know, but he wished for those two lights, those two lives, to shine forevermore.

They would endure, even if he did not. But perhaps, Solas would endeavor to push onward right beside, as a new set of sparkling tones--emerald and gold--gazed up at him sleepily, double lids flickering as the tiny dragon blinked away dreams and haze, and another set gazed down, wide-eyed and loudly joyful as those pools finally allowed themselves to fill with tears.

“Yune.”, Fane voiced the name with a shuddering, airy, but deeply joyful laugh. Tears began to roll down his pale cheeks, the delicate drip, drip, drip resounding off the stone ground, but Solas felt no guilt from them, no pain. For they were of happy make, of hope. “His name is Yune.”

Solas nodded, smile of happiness stretching his face to impossible heights, but he didn’t mind it. To bask in life was to share in its tender joy. And this time, he would allow it to permeate his mind and soul without shame, without guilt. For there was hope where there was otherwise not. A tiny questioning ‘chrp’ had Solas blinking gently, newborn orbs staring up at him curiously instead of looking down like the ones brimming with tears.

Those eyes, Solas offered a singular finger to the tiny dragon and felt tears prick at his own eyes as emerald and gold blazed with excitement and already, love. We will keep them colored, little one. Da’isenatha. A term that will be more commonplace. I promise.

“Welcome to the world, Yune.”, Solas whispered, feeling Fane come down to rest his forehead against the side of his eyes. The man was sniffling and quietly sobbing, and it had Solas letting out a shuddering sigh, leaning into the gesture eagerly as Yune--such a beautiful name--let out a squeak of acknowledgement and acceptance.  

Hope. What a beautiful light in the shadows--in this world he had wrought.

----

A bit lengthy, but I COULDN’T DECIDE! *screeches and curls up on the ground like the very dragon I created* 

Tagging (bask in the HOPE): @oxygenforthewicked @varric-tethras-editor @little-lightning-lavellan @dreadfutures @the-dreadful-canine @aymayzing @dungeons-and-dragon-age @drag-on-age @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @hoochieblues @whataboutbugs and anyone else who’d like to BASK with their own creations! (no pressure, as always! <3)

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan smut: Caught

Chapter 19 of The Love That Grows From Violence (post-Trespasser Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is posted!

In which... well, the title says it. But also, a Dorian cameo!

~7000 words. Read on AO3 instead.

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Tamaris plopped down on her bed and started setting up to write her letters. She was still dearly hoping that Felassan would join her sooner than later, but she had to find some way to occupy her mind until he was finished with his task, or she’d drive herself crazy. 

She placed a piece of parchment on the large tome she’d brought upstairs to use as a writing surface. She’d written to Cassandra already a few days ago, so Cassandra didn’t need another update yet. She’d write to Thom instead and leave it to Varric’s ravens to figure out where he might be now, and then she’d write to Bull and to Istimaethoriel and the clan. 

She opened her bottle of ink and dipped a quill in it, but before she could start writing, she remembered that she’d meant to call Dorian to apologize for storming off to the roof the last time he’d called. 

Fuck, she thought. She put the ink and quill on the bedside table, then went over to the dresser and grabbed the sending crystal.

She rubbed her thumb over the surface, and the crystal pulsed with a gentle purple light as she waited for him to answer. A few seconds later, Dorian’s voice floated up from the crystal’s face.

“Well well, if it isn’t Tamaris of Clan Lavellan,” he drawled. “Thedas’s most unmannerly ex-Inquisitor—”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, do you want me to apologize or not?”

“Oh, excellent,” he said brightly. “Let me just fetch a glass of wine.”

She tsked. “I’m sorry, all right? I…” She sighed. “Things kind of hit a sore point, but I shouldn’t have just left you hanging. I’m sorry.”

“Hm,” Dorian said.

She sighed again. “And I should’ve called sooner to apologize for leaving you hanging. Okay? Are you finished pouting now?”

Dorian chuckled. “I suppose it’ll do. Your apologies are always so charmingly rude.”

She scoffed at this. “You sound like Felassan.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” Dorian said. “How is he?”

“Why?” Tamaris said pointedly. “Eager to hear from your new best friend, are you?”

Dorian laughed. “That must mean the sending crystals arrived. I hope they’re of use to him. And no, Tamaris, giving sending crystals to Felassan does not mean I love you any less.”

She grunted, then relented. “Seriously though, thank you for sending those to him. He’s really pleased about it. He… I think he might have found a use for them.”

“Oh?” Dorian said curiously.

Tamaris got up from her bed and went to close the door before replying. “I just told him yesterday that Solas took the eluvians from Briala,” she admitted. “I think he’s got an idea to help her relating to your crystals being precursors to eluvians, but I don’t really know.”

“You didn’t ask?” Dorian said.

“He’s busy with something else right now,” she said.

“Well, tell him I’d like to know what he comes up with,” Dorian said. “It would be nice to hear about a project that’s magical in nature instead of political.”

“I bet,” she said sympathetically. Then she realized she hadn’t asked him about the political situation in Tevinter the last time they’d talked. “Fuck, I should’ve asked. How are you and Maevaris doing there? The Lucerni are shaping up?”

“Oh, they’re doing very well,” Dorian said airily. “Learning their manners, using their knives and forks in the correct hands and all. I’m far more interested in hearing more from you.”

“About what?”

“About Felassan,” Dorian said, in a tone that clearly translated to ‘obviously’. “Now that we’re chatting on our own, I’d appreciate some more details.”

“I thought I never gave any interesting details,” she said snidely.

“It’s not too late to start.”

She scoffed and didn’t speak, but in truth, she wasn’t sure where she’d even begin to explain to Dorian about Felassan. Would it even make sense to him to describe how much Felassan mattered to her when she’d only known him for a few weeks?

Dorian spoke again, and his tone was softer. “I quite like him, you know. That was a rather telling conversation to be a part of.”

“How so?” she asked.

“He has many sides,” Dorian said. “That issue with the Dalish clan…” He paused for a moment, and his voice carried no levity when he spoke again. “That was undeniably chilling. I understand why you were angry.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. 

“And yet…” Dorian paused again, and Tamaris could easily picture him stroking his mustache in thought. “You’ve been in the house together for how long now?”

“Just about a month,” she said.

“Hm,” Dorian said pensively.

She lifted an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?” 

“It’s… interesting,” Dorian said slowly. “Such a short time�� but I think he knows you better than Solas did. Possibly better than I do.”

Her gut jolted at this. “What do you mean?”

“When you got angry and left our conversation, Varric and I counselled Felassan to let you have some time alone,” Dorian said. “We told him you prefer to work through it on your own when something bothers you. He refused. He said he wasn’t going to let you sit alone with this because… venhedis, what were the words he used? Something like the brightest flames deserving a gentle hand to stoke them so they don’t burn themselves out. Something like that.”

She stared at the crystal with a ringing of disbelief in her head. Felassan had said that to Dorian and Varric? The brightest flames deserving a gentle hand… He’d said that about her? It certainly sounded like something he’d say. But to say something that tender about her to her friends — to Dorian, whom he didn’t even know… 

She swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat. Then Dorian spoke again, and his voice was a little bit tentative. “It… made me think, actually. That perhaps we were… remiss by not pushing you harder to talk to us after everything happened.”

She cleared her throat. “No, it’s… it’s not your fault,” she said gruffly. “I was…” Gods, she’d been so angry for so long, and she’d become inaccessible in so many ways. It was only now with Felassan’s gentle hands building her up that she could see how much she’d shut herself away. 

“I was fucked up, Dorian,” she said. “I wasn’t letting anyone in. It’s not your fault.”

“No,” Dorian said, and Tamaris raised her eyebrows at the vehemence in his tone. “I stopped trying,” he said. “I… I think perhaps we were… scared of your intensity. You can be quite terrifying, you know.”

She huffed despite the lump in her throat. “Thanks, I guess.”

He chuckled, but his tone was somber when he spoke again. “We gave up trying to… to bring you out of your shell. And for that, I am truly sorry. And I am very glad that Felassan seems to have found a way through your shell.” His voice warmed with humour once more. “He’s quite something, isn’t he? I might have a bit of a crush. That voice of his is like a golden trap.”

Tamaris barked out a laugh. “Yeah. He caught me pretty fucking thoroughly.”

The playful words left her mouth and hung in the air between herself and Dorian, like a spritz of perfume that neither of them had expected. 

“And she shares details after all,” Dorian said gently. “I knew you had it in you.”

She didn’t reply. She just sat frozen on her bed as her own words rolled through her mind: he caught me thoroughly. All of a sudden, it was like something inside of her had crumbled, breaking apart in her chest and showing what she’d been so reluctant to see all this time. 

She could see it now though, in complete crystal clarity, almost like looking through an eluvian’s activated depths: how special Felassan was, how important he was, the possessiveness she felt for him. The desire that continued to ripen between them every day, and the laughter they shared over the stupidest jokes and teases. 

Felassan was everything she’d been terrified of letting in for the past few years, and without quite meaning to, she’d summarized her feelings for him in just a few unfiltered words to Dorian: he caught me thoroughly. She’d tried to hide from him and she’d tried to run, and she’d tried to keep him away from her most damaged parts like she’d done to everyone else. And still he’d caught her — not because he was a trap like Dorian’s joke suggested, but because he was wide open.

Felassan was a warm and open smile and wide-open arms. Tamaris had stumbled clumsily toward those wide-open arms, and Felassan had caught her. 

Dorian’s voice jolted her from her jittery reverie. “Are you still there?” 

“Yeah,” she said huskily. “I’m… I’m still here.”

“Do you have to go?” he said.

His voice was warm and understanding, and she could easily picture the curl of his smile beneath his mustache. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll, um… I’ll call you in a couple days.”

“There’s no rush,” Dorian said. “I’m very busy and important, so I might not have time for you for a while.” 

She huffed in amusement, and Dorian chuckled. “Goodnight, Tamaris.”

“Goodnight,” she said. “And… thanks, lethallin.”

“You’re welcome, my friend,” he said. Then the sending crystal went dim.

Tamaris set it gently on the bedside table. She picked up the quill and ink, then just sat there on her bed holding them and not doing anything. 

He caught me, she thought. It still stunned her how aptly the words described her feelings for Felassan. When they’d first met, she’d been stuck in a sort of freefall of bitterness and self-isolation, barely veiled by the alcohol she’d taken to drinking every night. But Felassan tolerated her moods and her snappishness, and he’d made her laugh and helped her quit the booze. And more quickly than she’d ever imagined possible, she’d slipped into a different sort of freefall altogether – one that was more tempting and terrifying than any bottle of liquor could ever be. 

She’d started falling for Felassan. And no matter how much she resisted it, no matter how much she tried to keep him at bay and to shield her unhealed wounds from him, he’d stood there patiently with his cheeky jokes and his warm amethyst eyes and his wide-open arms. 

Tamaris had fallen for Felassan, and with his infinite patience and care, he had caught her. 

She didn’t know how long she sat there on the bed holding her ink and quill and thinking about him. But when he finally knocked on her bedroom door, she hadn’t written a single word.

As always, he stepped into her room without waiting for a response. His face was wreathed in a cheeky smile, and her blood thrilled at the sight of him, but she forced herself to give him the annoyed look that she knew he expected.

“Why do you bother knocking when you’re just going to walk right in anyway?” she asked.

“Because I have excellent manners,” he said. “Knocking is polite.”

“Walking right in is rude,” she pointed out.

“My manners are selective,” he said airily. “Sometimes a little rudeness is exactly what’s called for.” He sauntered over to the bed and gestured at it. “May I?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Since when do you ask for permission to lie on my bed?”

“Since the bed is already occupied,” he said. He eyed the blank parchment that was scattered on the bed. “You got far with your letter-writing, I see.”

His smile was teasing, and Tamaris desperately would have liked to make a clever retort, but the conversation with Dorian was still too fresh and thrilling in her mind. “I was talking to Dorian,” she said, and she started clearing her belongings from the bed to make space for him.

“Ah,” Felassan said. “How is my new best friend?” He lay down beside her and tucked his arms behind his head.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “The two of you are ridiculous. Fucking thick as thieves after one single conversation.”

He smirked. “What can I say? It was a good conversation.”

“So I heard,” Tamaris said.

He looked at her. “Did you, now?”

She tucked a curl of hair behind her ear. “Um, yeah.”

“What did you hear?” he said.

His tone was light and casual, but his face was warm and expectant and open, and… gods, Tamaris had fallen hard for him, and she couldn’t believe she’d resisted for so long.

She gazed at him in silence for a moment. Then, carefully, she shifted closer to him and straddled his hips.

His lips curled in a tiny smile, but his soft and expectant eyes never left her face. Tamaris swallowed hard, and without looking away from his precious handsome face, she peeled her sleeveless tunic over her head. 

She cast her tunic to the floor, then dropped her gaze to her hands as she unbuttoned the front clasps of her bra. She dropped her bra on the floor, then deftly unstrapped her left arm and placed it on the floor as well. And only then, when she was bared to Felassan’s gaze from the waist up, did she met his eye again. 

He was watching her intensely. His eyes were wide and hungry as they tracked over her breasts and the planes of her bare belly, and she could feel the hardening of his cock beneath her as his greedy gaze took her in. But his arms were still folded behind his head, and he was making no move to touch her. 

When his eyes finally returned to her face, her heart thumped. His eyes were glowing faintly, lit warmly from within by magic and desire. But what really stole her breath was the tenderness in his face.

A pang of nerves shot through her belly. It was a good pang, though — a pang that reminded her in no uncertain terms that she was not alone in this. She was not alone in the roiling storm of desire between them, desire that was thickened and deepened by the obvious emotion that they both shared. 

But Felassan lay quiet and still with his arms tucked behind his head. As the seconds ticked by and her heart thudded in her ears, she realized what he was waiting for — what he’d been waiting for this morning, and what he’d been waiting for all along, ever since the morning after their first time. 

He was waiting for her. He was waiting for her to act, to speak – to tell him in no uncertain terms that this was what she wanted. 

Tamaris took a deep breath. And finally, after weeks of keeping the words trapped at the back of her tongue, she let them loose.

“I want you,” she said. 

A beautiful smile lit his face, but his words were serious. “Are you sure?”

Tamaris rested her right hand on his abs and tilted her hips forward. She rubbed herself slowly against the bulge between his legs, and his smile slipped into a look of want. 

“I’m sure,” she said firmly. “I want you, Felassan. I’m ready.”

He exhaled slowly and smiled once more. “Good,” he said softly. Then, finally, he reached for her with one hand.

Her breath hitched as his fingers approached her. He placed his palm flat on her body, his fingers brushing her sternum as his thumb traced the underside of her breast, and Tamaris stopped breathing. 

Slowly and delicately, he trailed his fingers down her sternum toward her navel, and a bloom of heated anticipation burst to life between her legs at the nearness of his fingers to her groin. But his hand was slowly moving back up, his palm breezing very gently over her skin, and then he was trailing his fingertips beneath her breasts, stroking the curves of her body as though he was storing their shape in his fingertips for later.

Tamaris arched helplessly toward his teasing hand. He continued his slow and careful perusal of her skin, skimming his knuckles over the taut planes of her belly and brushing his fingers over her collarbones, and all the while he was avoiding her nipples, brushing his thumb and his knuckles around them but never over their hardened little peaks.

Within the space of a minute, Tamaris was panting and rocking her hips, and the buzzing of unfulfilled desire in her nipples was almost more than she could bear. When Felassan lowered his hand from her chest, she arched her spine and moaned.

“Please,” she begged. “Felassan, touch me!”

A smile lit his face. He carefully sat up on his elbows, then pushed himself upright without shifting her off of his lap, and Tamaris grabbed his shoulder for balance; they were face-to-face now, and his one arm was encircling her waist. He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers, and her excitement ratcheted up as she anticipated his kiss–

“Lean back,” he murmured against her lips. “Let me touch you.”

She immediately leaned back, keeping her one hand on his shoulder for support. Then Felassan dipped his head low and licked her nipple. 

A bolt of lust shot through her body straight down to her groin. She gasped and arched toward his mouth, but he kept his touch teasing and light, running his tongue over her nipple with smooth long strokes before pulling very lightly at the peak with his lips. 

Tamaris twisted desperately on his lap, but his arm was too tight around her waist, and Felassan didn’t relent; he continued to torture her nipple with little flicks of the tongue and tugs of his lips, and when he moved on to treat her other nipple with the same glorious and terrible attention, she actually sobbed. 

“You fucking tease,” she whined.

He lifted his mouth and grinned. “I’m not teasing. I’m simply savouring. The memory of your nipples in my mouth has been keeping me up at night for weeks.” 

“So suck on them already!” she burst out.

He laughed wickedly. “Why would I do that when I could have you squirming on my lap like this?” He dropped his head once more and brushed his cheek over the peak of her breast, and she let out a strained little moan.

“Felassan…” She tried to tilt her hips down to press against the bulge of his cock. Maybe if she riled him up, she could goad him into touching her more firmly. But as she twisted in the muscular grip of his arm, she realized something: he was holding her in such a way that she couldn’t rub herself against him.

“Why are you torturing me like this?” she demanded.

“Because I know you like it,” he replied.

She let out a breathy laugh. “You are such a smug asshole.”

“And you burn much more brightly when I stoke you in just the right way,” he murmured.

She darted a look at him, and her heart squeezed. Despite the salacious undertone of his words, his eyes were tender and warm.

In this moment, she realized that he knew what she and Dorian had been talking about. Felassan knew that Dorian had told her what he’d said after she’d walked away. 

But he didn’t know all of it. He didn’t know what she had told to Dorian in turn: that she had fallen hard for Felassan, and that she was so incredibly grateful to be caught.

She clasped his neck in her hand and kissed him. His lips parted for her, and she nipped his lips and stroked his tongue with hers as passionately as she could in the desperate hope that her kiss would tell him what she wanted him to know, but still wasn’t quite brave enough to say.

She gently suckled his lower lip, and he let out the most beautiful growly groan. Then his hand was curving along the side of her neck, his fingers sliding into her hair, and when he pulled her head back to kiss her throat, she mewled and twisted her hips again, to no avail. 

“Felassan, please,” she whined. He was leaving a trail of tiny open-mouthed kisses along the taut line of her neck and down, and the closer his lips got to her breast, the more she became convinced that she was going to explode before he even really touched her. 

He hummed against her collarbone, then suddenly took her nipple in his mouth and suckled hard, and she cried out in surprise and clasped his neck to hold him close. He pulled her nipple deeply into his mouth like he was trying to draw all of the pleasure in her body toward the perfect hard pressure of his lips, and just when Tamaris was starting to feel some relief, he released her. 

She dug her nails into his neck. “Felassan, just – fuck me!” she blurted.

He burst out a little laugh, then suddenly rolled her over. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled on her back beneath him. 

He placed a tiny teasing kiss on her breast. “You’re so impatient. But I’m not sure you’re ready.”

She laughed giddily and lifted her hips toward him. “This again? You’re so fucking mean.”

He tutted and rolled her nipple between his fingers. “Don’t slander me. I’m not mean; I’m extremely nice. In fact, I am so nice that I shall check to make sure you’re ready for me.” He sat back on his knees and started unlacing her breeches, and she panted and twisted her hips restlessly until her breeches were undone. By the time his deft fingers were finally pulling her breeches and smallclothes down, her smalls were so wet that they clung to her for a moment before finally peeling away.

Felassan let out a slow and breathy groan, then reached down and ran his palm over his bulging groin. Satisfied by his reaction, Tamaris lifted her hips and spread her legs. “Does that mean I’m ready?” she asked cheekily. 

He lifted his eyes to her face, and another bolt of excitement coursed through her blood: his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were aglow. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I think I need a closer look. Maybe a taste.”

She burst out a breathy laugh. “You’re so full of– oh gods!” His head was between her legs, and she arched and clenched her fingers in the sheets: Felassan was devouring her, his mouth moving between her legs in a ravenous rhythm of open-mouthed kisses and long hungry laps of his tongue, and for a moment she just lay there gasping for breath, stunned by the torrid heat of his lips and tongue as he drank in the evidence of desire that he’d fostered between her legs. He clasped her thighs and held her wide as he kissed her sex, and it really felt like he was tasting her, like he was taking the time to feast on every fold of her flesh and every drop of slippery nectar that heralded her desperate want. 

Then his attention honed onto her clit. His ravenous mouth became gentle and slow – oh fuck, so gentle and slow: he was doing nothing more now than brushing his lower lip over her swollen clit, and it felt so fucking good and so fucking torturous that she lifted her head to stare pleadingly at him.

A pulse of excitement made her lightheaded: he was looking at her, too. His beautiful amethyst eyes were glowing and his cheeks and ears were flushed, and he was looking directly at her face while he caressed her clit with his lower lip.

A hint of a smile curled the corner of his mouth. Without breaking her gaze, Felassan ran his tongue over her clit, and she gasped and stared breathlessly into his eyes, stunned by desire and by the sheer intimacy of this act. Having him watching her while he feasted on her, knowing that she was watching him… There was something so intimate about it, almost more intimate than the act itself, and as he licked her and kissed her and brought her toward her peak while gazing into her eyes, she knew that the pounding of her heart was more than just sheer lust. 

She stared at him, lightheaded with pleasure and want and the fervency of her own affection. He gazed steadily at her in turn, his eyes glittering with magic and with carnal intent, and only when her climax suddenly burst did she break from his hypnotic gaze.

She slammed her head back into the pillows and let out a visceral cry. Felassan was still licking her clit, lavishing the sensitive bud with gentle little laps while his palms smoothed along the insides of her thighs, and when Tamaris’s scintillating climax ebbed away, he finally lifted his mouth from between her legs. 

He wiped his mouth on her belly, then shifted up higher on the bed to lounge beside her, but his hand was still drifting over her inner thigh. “Did you enjoy that, avise?” he murmured. 

She nodded, feeling too good and too spent to talk, and Felassan smirked. “Yes? You liked watching me while I slid my tongue over that tight little nub between your legs?”

A fresh shiver of lust pulsed between legs. “Yes,” she breathed.

He nodded thoughtfully. Then he curved his fingers against the sensitive folds of her sex. “Did you enjoy staring at me while I made you come all over my tongue?” he asked.

His tone was innocent, but his voice was so fucking smooth, and his fingers lying still against her body were sheer torture. She gasped and bucked her hips toward his hand. “Fuck’s sake, Felassan, yes!”

He angled his wrist and slid two fingers inside of her, and she cried out and arched her back. Then Felassan pressed his lips to her ear. “Ar em hartha al emathast’sulahn mar asreun’en bellanaris,” he purred. 

Oh fuck, she thought deliriously. This was what he’d been threatening for weeks, the words in his own native tongue–

He curled his fingers inside of her. She mewled and grabbed his shirt, and he spoke into her ear again. “Ir silras ahnsul al palash’odhe mar blardhea.” 

“Felassan,” she whined. She didn’t know what he was saying, but — but fuck it, he was right: there was something about the rhythm of his words, the tone and liquid lilt of his accent shaped around the ancient Elvhen words, and it was doing something wonderful to her, even though she couldn’t discern his meaning. 

He slid his fingers inside of her in a slow and careful thrust. “Ir’emah diana’ma sule ma tela odhea i’tel em,” he murmured, and Tamaris sobbed and twisted helplessly beneath him. His fingers were swirling inside of her, and as Felassan continued to whisper in her ear, it felt like his words were swirling inside of her as well. His fluid Elvhen words were finding something hidden in her blood and bringing it to life, making her feel more alive and in tune with the feeling of his fingers curling inside of her and striking the perfect place of pleasure inside of her body–

She came suddenly, to her own surprise, and she was so taken aback by the suddenness of her climax that she couldn’t even cry out. She couldn’t breathe or say a word; all she could do was lie arching and splayed on her bed as the pleasure of his fingers and his words spanned and pulsed through her entire body from her scalp all the way to the tips of her toes. 

When she could finally breathe again, all she could manage was the faintest moan. Felassan chuckled, then lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

For some reason, his voice was curled with humour. She took a deep breath, then spoke on a moan. “Does what hurt?” 

“Your chest,” he said. 

My chest? she thought in confusion. She opened her eyes and looked down at her chest, and her eyebrows leapt up.

There were long red marks across her chest – scoremarks from her own nails. She’d scratched herself in the throes of her rapture, and she hadn’t even noticed. 

“Oh shit,” she said. She burst out a breathy laugh, then groaned and stretched languidly on the bed. “I didn’t even feel that.”

“Too busy feeling other things?” Felassan said slyly.

She admired his gorgeous cheeky grin, then rolled toward him and pushed him onto his back. “Get naked,” she said. 

He tsked. “There you go, commanding me again.” He sat up and pulled his shirt over his head, then started unlacing his breeches, and Tamaris watched avidly the laces came undone. 

He lifted his hips and started pushing down his breeches, and she was amused to note once again that he was wearing no underwear. “All right,” he said playfully. “Are you satisfi–”

She surged toward him and kissed him, cutting off his playful words, and then she was straddling him and clutching his shoulder for support while she rubbed her slick cleft along the length of his cock.

He moaned loudly into her mouth and grabbed her shoulder blades, and Tamaris greedily swallowed the sound of his pleasure as she curled her hips toward him. He was so gorgeously hard and smooth, and his fingers were sliding firmly from her shoulder blades down her back as though he was savouring her skin beneath his fingers. She rocked against him, spreading her slickness along the length of his cock, and he broke from their kiss with a gasp.

“Tamaris,” he moaned. He grabbed her hips and tried to lift her, but she tensed her thighs and went still.

Felassan’s eyes darted to her face. “Is something wrong?” he panted. 

She twisted her lips wryly. “I just don’t think you’re ready.”

He stared at her for a second. Then a wicked smile burst across his face. “Oh, avise,” he said, and he laughed. “You can’t withhold from me.”

“I’m not withholding,” she said innocently. “I really don’t think you’re ready. I’d better take a closer look.” She slid off of his lap and shuffled down between his legs, then braced her weight on her shortened left arm and brushed her lips over the head of his cock.

He grunted with pleasure and lifted his hips, and Tamaris purposely lifted her head to look at him. “I want to know what you said to me in Elvhen,” she said.

“I said a lot of things to you in Elvhen,” he replied. His smile was cheeky but the light in his eyes was an urgent glow, and Tamaris admired the obvious lust in his face before lowering her head toward his cock.

Felassan jerked his hips, and she lifted her head once more without touching him with her mouth. “Tell me some of the things you said,” she demanded.

He exhaled shakily and smiled. “Whatever happened to enjoying a little mystery?”

She took his cock in her mouth and all way down her throat, and the sound he made… gods, it was guttural and animalistic and full of desire, and it was almost enough to make her give up the teasing act and fuck him. 

With an immense effort of will, she resisted. She slowly released his cock, then sat back on her heels. “Tell me, Felassan,” she said, and she placed her hand on his thigh, teasingly close to his cock. 

His eyes glittered with heat as they focused on her hand. “So cruelly insistent. One thing I said was this: ‘I could listen to the symphony of your orgasms forever.’”

A ripple of want burned down her throat toward her belly. She took his cock in her fist and pumped him once, and he leaned his head back with another gorgeous groan.

“Tamaris…” he breathed.

She stroked his length once more, then released him. “What else did you say?”

He lifted his head to look at her with his luminous eyes. “I also said this: ‘I am drunk on the perfume of your pussy.’”

Oh fuck, she thought feverishly. She crawled back up his body to straddle his hips and rubbed her slick heat against the length of his cock. “What else did you say?” she panted.

He moaned and squeezed her hip. “Tamaris, I need you…”

“Is that something you said?”

“It is something I’m saying now,” he said sharply.

She smiled at his snappish tone, then leaned in and brushed her lips over the tip of his ear. “Tell me something else you said,” she whispered.

He suddenly wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled her head to the side, and she cried out with pleasure at the sudden pull. He lifted his hips to rub against her pussy and dragged his tongue along the side of her neck, and by the time his lips were at her ear, she was practically sobbing with want.

“‘I’m going to fill you up until you can’t breathe without me’,” he growled. “That is something else I said. Can I do as I promised now, or have you not had enough of provoking me?”

“Yes!” she gasped.

He nipped her neck. “Yes to what?” he demanded.

“Yes, I want you to fill me up!” she cried.

He smiled against her ear. “That’s all you had to say,” he purred. He released her hair and lifted her hips, then started slowly lowering her onto his cock.

She mewled and dug her nails into Felassan’s shoulder, and he burst out a guttural breath. “Ar iselana mana per ma...” he moaned. 

She panted for breath and didn’t reply, and he continued to fill her up inch by blissful inch. When she was fully seated on his cock, they exhaled together in a groan at the completeness of their melding bodies. 

He slid his palms from her thighs up to her hips, and Tamaris wrapped her arm around his neck. In tandem, they began moving together in a languid rolling rhythm. 

Tamaris slowly curled her hips to meet him and pressed her forehead to his. “What did you just say?” she breathed. 

He let out a breathy groan and stroked her back. “I said… I said that I have waited so long for you.”

She went still for a moment, and Felassan cradled her neck. “And I would have continued to wait,” he murmured. “I told you before, avise. Some things are worth waiting for.”

She stared wordlessly into his steady violet eyes. A bloom of emotion burst in her chest and spread through her rib cage, rising up through her throat and pressing at the back of her eyes, and when Felassan’s expression grew tender, she knew that he could see it too. 

She kissed him and flexed her hips to take him deep. He slid his arms around her, and then he was hugging her tightly as he filled her with his cock, and as Tamaris suckled his tongue and breathed against his lips, she wished she had two whole arms if only to hold him just as tightly as he was holding her. 

She hugged him with her right arm and rested her stunted left arm on his shoulder. Without breaking the rolling grind of their hips or breaking from her kiss, Felassan reached up and stroked her shortened arm, smoothing his hand firmly from her shoulder down to the stump and back, and the bloom of affection in her chest only seemed to swell more hotly than before. 

She kissed him hard, then broke from his lips to breathe against his cheek. “Move me how you want me,” she whispered. He’d pleased her so much already, with his mouth and his hands and his filthy Elvhen words, and the slow thrust of his cock was pleasing her all the more, and all she wanted was to make him feel just as good. 

He squeezed her shortened left arm, then slid his arms around her once more. “This is how I want you,” he told her. “A slow-burning flame for this slow arrow.” 

She smiled against his cheek. “That’s a lot of words to say – ah — that you like what I’m doing already.” 

His pleasured groan drifted across her ear, followed by his husky voice. “I know how much you like my words. And I am very good with them. Did you know that I was once a very good spy–”

“Shut up,” she laughed breathily, and she took his lips in another kiss. She cradled his neck and rolled against his lap in a slow and steady grind, and Felassan licked her tongue and stroked her back and lifted his hips to meet her, and despite the distracting bliss of his body meeting with hers, Tamaris was careful to note when his hips became more jerky and his kisses more firm.

He broke from her lips with a breathy grunt, and Tamaris’s excitement flared anew; his eyes were glowing once more, glittering with the kind of hot luminance that meant his control was starting to slip. She lifted her hips and came down more firmly on his cock, and he jolted and grabbed her hip. 

“Ah,” he gasped. “That — Tamaris–”

He didn’t need to say anything more; without any further cueing, Tamaris began to fuck him in a hard and rapid rise-and-fall. 

She clasped his neck and gazed into his eyes. He was staring at her too, his eyes glazed and feverish with need, and as Tamaris continued to lift and lower herself on the slick length of his cock, his face began to twist with the most beautiful expression of longing.

“Tamaris,” he begged. 

“I know,” she breathed. She kissed him once more, then turned his head to the side and nipped his neck. 

He gasped out the most beautiful pleasured sound, and she felt his cock jerking inside of her. She kissed and licked his neck, then started sucking on his skin with just enough pressure to hurt. His breathing grew erratic beside her ear and his cock became even harder, striking even deeper inside of her body, and Tamaris whimpered and bit his neck.

He dug his nails into her shoulder blade and cried out in climax, and Tamaris hugged him with her right arm as he groaned and panted and shuddered ecstatically beneath her. She continued to roll against him, taking his thickness into her body and savouring his length as he filled her up, and when his shuddering stilled and his fingers went lax against her back, she finally went still on his lap.

She brushed her lips over his temple, then down to his jaw. He sighed languidly and leaned his head to the side, and Tamaris happily took advantage of the angle to nuzzle the side of his neck.

She kissed and licked his neck, and he let out another lazy sigh and ran his hand over her curly hair. “Are you hungry? I can make you something. You don’t need to feed on the salt from my skin.”  

She lifted her lips. “I thought you liked it when I suck on your neck.”

“I love it when you suck on my neck,” he said.

She stroked his cheek, then brushed her lips over his ear. “Then stop complaining,” she whispered.

He laughed – that perfect, lilting roll of a laugh — then lifted her off of his lap and settled her on the bed so they were lying face-to-face. “Abrasive and tender in a single breath,” he said. “What a quixotic marvel you are.”

His palm was moving in a slow and lazy stroke along the side of her hip. She smiled goofily at him, but she couldn’t help but compare their current pose to the way they’d fallen asleep last night. They’d been lying face-to-face like this last night, and Felassan had been gazing at her in this soft and tender way. But this moment now was so much better than last night. Now, his face wasn’t tinted with sadness and ravaged with tears. Now, their skin was completely bare and dappled with the shared dampness of each other’s sweat and sex. 

Now, Tamaris could finally admit to herself that she had fallen in love with Felassan. 

“What’s on your mind?” he murmured.

I love you, she thought. But she still couldn’t tell him yet. The admission was still too fresh in her mind, too new and too tender to release into the air, and despite the unmitigated depth of her feelings, she wasn’t quite ready to tell him yet. 

 “I think I am hungry after all,” she said. “Can you bring me a snack?”

He smiled slowly at her, then pulled her against his body. “I take back that offer,” he grumbled. “You’re getting far too pampered.” 

“Spoilsport,” she said. Then she squealed when his fingers crept teasingly over her ribs.

“Don’t tickle!” she gasped, but he didn’t give in, and soon she was helpless with laughter beneath him. 

She grabbed his hand to stop him. “Okay,” she wheezed. “Okay, okay, I don’t need a snack.” 

He lifted his hand to cradle her neck. “That’s a relief,” he said. “Because I’m not willing to leave this bed anytime soon.” 

She gazed happily into his perfect violet eyes, then tilted her chin up for a kiss. I’ll tell him soon, she thought. Soon, she would find the courage to tell him that she loved him. 

But for now, she would linger in the heat of his sweat-laced skin, and she would enjoy the precious feeling of being caught.

[btsskinnylegends]

Masquerade | The First Sighting

Pairing: Reader x ?  |  Reader x BTS  | Solar & Reader

Word Count: 2687

Genre: Uni life, a tiny bit of suspense & supernatural, Comedy and a tiny sprinkle of fluff. 

Warnings: Just some Cursing. 

| Prologue |

A/N: WOOW!! Thank you everyone for the likes and as well for the follows. Wasnt that active so I didnt notice, and wasnt able to welcome everyone that followed me!! But welcome everyone! :D

Here is the first chapter, I hope you guys will enjoy it!! English isn't my first language rather my third so if you find any inconsistencies with the grammar or something else. Do tell me so that I can improve for future chapters. I hope you will enjoy it!! See ya till next time! And if you have any questions send them my way!! 

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The first day of the new semester was truly a beautiful day.  The birds were chirping their songs that somehow sounded even more melodious than usual, the grass was greener and you couldn’t even spot a single cloud on the brilliant blue sky. Everybody seemed to enjoy the perfect weather, all but one. You. 

There you were trudging along the campus path cursing the sun for existing. Miserable was the word to describe you. With a large coffee in hand that was bought in the campus coffee shop and that cost you your lunch for the day. Your wallet may weep, but the cost is small if you want to stay alive and survive the day. You weren’t even sure if you were going the right way or the person that you were walking with was a friend or a stranger. In conclusion, you are whole ass mess.  

One glance at you and even your 88-year-old grandma would have known that you drank yourself piss-drunk. All of the classic signs were there, the big black sunglasses the almost covered your upper face and made you look like a fly. The matted too much hair-sprayed hair that was put in a bun, but looked like something that the cat threw up. At least you had put on the nice outfit that you had prepared the day before. 

Going back to the thought of who you were walking with because at is point it was too awkward to even ask who they were. You decided to lift your head from the hunching that protected your tiny little head from the cruel, cruel world. 

You decided to inspect them to see if anything jogged your memory. You took a long good gaze at them, and it was a good thing that you wore your big sunglasses or you would look like a Furby on crack with your eyes. Okay, so it, was a she. Good start, you thought to yourself. Also, she is very pretty another detail added. Her name, what was her name? You pondered to yourself.  

“KIM YONG-SUN “. Almost like someone whispered the name to you. Whispers that you sometimes heard and stopped to faze you along time ago. But they were a bitch to hear when you were having a hangover.  

“Yong-sun, tell me again why did I drink that much.”, you asked your companion. You really hoped that she was someone you knew and not a serial killer or something worse. Because of your current state you were very easy prey. 

“You forgot my name again didn’t you?” she said to you with a pointed tone. The stare she gave you was one of great disappointment, mixed in with fondness or at least you hoped it was. You looked away in shame. She huffed. 

“First of all do not call me Yong-Sun, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Solar”, she told you. She doesn’t seem to be a stranger by the way she scolds me, you thought to yourself. But couldn’t she be a bit quieter? Btw Solar what kind of nickname is that? Was sunshine taken or som… Your thoughts decided to drift away. 

At this point, Solar again looked at you and was completely done with your bullshit, and decided to take action. To you, though it would be an act of betrayal which you would not forget.   

She snapped her fingers in front of your ears. 

Alas, you were to slow to defend yourself and truly suffered the most grievous of wounds. A headache that was on level 8 but now skyrocketed to level 50. That your head was still stuck to your neck and had not decided to explode and scatter all over the campus ground was truly a miracle.

“Oi, Sunflower what was that for.”, you said to your friend with your tone beyond irritated and sending a glare down her way. Let’s just say you remembered who she was, and it did nothing to soothe your headache opposite actually it upped it, again. Then you also remembered that you had on your big sunglasses, so the glare you sent her was meaningless.  This whole morning is starting to feel pointless. Why were you up again? 

“Well, looks who is remembering her friend. Btw how did you forget that literally we said hey to each other 30 minutes ago, we even rode the bus together and you are telling that you even didn’t know who I was but decided to follow me for the last 10 minutes or so.” her tone was exasperated and defeated. It was too early for this bullshit she must have finally decided. 

“How many times do we have to go through the same idiotic situation.”. So this is an occurring situation. Well, that’s not reassuring at all, you thought and grimaced. Now you were even more confused than before, and it did not help that your companion scolded you at every opportunity she had. Enough is enough.  

“Listen sunflower, - 

“Its Sola - 

“Whatever sunflower, listen now is not that I love your voice I actually do it gives me the good tingles, but for everything that is holy can you quiet down a tone. That’s all I am asking for.” and she answered back with a fine. 

“Now, do you have any explanation to why I am an amnesiac that can’t even remember her own name, and where the fuck am I going?”.  

“Well let me see?”, she pondered sarcastically. “Could it have something to with Seok-Jin´s bet about who is going to do most shots in one minute or Seok-Jin´s other bet who could drink a bottle of wine the fastest and then recite Yakko’s Nations of the world perfect! Wait there is more! Guess who decided upon all of that to smoke some blunts, which again she was dared by Seok-Jin.”.

“This Seok-Jin person sounds like a bad person.”. 

Solars expression said it all, no words were needed. 

You stopped walking and stood still. The memories from last night hit you like a truck and that headache that was level 80, let’s just say the scale is broken. Causing you to drop to your knees and crouch. 

“How am I alive?”, you asked Solar. 

“Trust me it is a question that I have started asking myself almost every day now.”, Solar answered.

 “You are lucky, now hope that luck will help us be on time for the first class.”, she said while pulling you up.

                                                         OOO

You had somehow survived the day but unfortunately, you still had one more class. To describe how you were feeling at that point would be miserable and gutted. Looks nothing had changed from this morning. With only one class left, you somehow found the energy to seem alive. As for your appearance, you wouldn’t be surprised if people thought that the zombie apocalypse had finally come. 

Instead of sitting on that bench that was strangely beckoning you to lay on it. You decided to head right over the room where your lecture would take place. Fortunately for you, the lecture was just cross from the building that you were exiting from.       

Looks like you arrived a bit early, which worked in your favour for picking seats. The backseat will perfect for you “to concentrate on the lecture”  and not do something else like sleep. No, you would never, perish such a dark thought. 

You put down your computer and made yourself comfortable. Although not too comfortable of course, you had to stay awake. You had some time kill before the lecture started so you decided to scroll through your phone and it looks like infamous enabler had finally decided to wake up.

                                                          OOO

                                                         OOO 

After that thrilling conversation with your roomie, you still had time to kill before class. How early did you arrive at the lecture? Deciding not to look a horse gift in the mouth, a little nap would not hurt. Just for a couple of minutes, you thought. It’s not like you will sleep, you just going to close your eyes and rest your head a little (which still had that horrible headache but not bad as before). So you just did that.

Something that was supposed to be a little shut-eye turned into a nap, a deep nap. Slipping deeper and deeper into the world of dreams. Unfortunately for you, the lecture had finally started. Unaware and sleeping on the desk with your arms folded in front of you, and at that sitting furthest back in the room you safe from your professor’s eyes.  You would also have gotten no attendance from this lecture, had it not been for your nice bench mate who answered for you instead. 

“.... hey… up…”, you heard someone whisper. Ignoring it to be apart of your dream. You continued your slumber.

“...wake up… lecture… started”, now the voice was poking you. What an oddly annoying whisper. 

Okay, now you were being shaken. Alright enough is enough, you were going to ask the persistent whisper what it wanted.

“... what do you want.,”, you said quietly hoping it would shut up the voice once and for all. 

“The lecture has started, and you probably don’t want to be asleep for the introduction.”, the voice answered you back. Now that you think about it the voice wasn’t all that bad, it was actually a very soothing voice. Very charming. 

“Hey, don’t go back to sleep!”, the voice said annoyed. Which seemed a common theme for people interacting with you today. 

“NO, wanna sleep”, you even whined. The voice didn’t respond and went quiet for a bit. You thought he had finally left you alone, so you went back to sleep or so you tried. For you could not stop thinking of that voice. He was so persistent a second ago. Why did he stop? 

Starting to feel curious, you wanted to see the face of the voice annoying you. So slightly turning your head around, you opened your eyes. 

The sight that you saw left you speechless. A quiet wow left your lips, as you couldn’t tear your gaze away. 

You weren’t exactly subtle with your gaze, so it wasn't a surprise that the boy caught you staring. Your eyes locked and it felt like an electric current went through both of you. Or maybe it was that pesky headache again deciding to show its head (hah!). The thought of sleeping was long gone. The only thing that mattered was this thing between you and his captivating eyes.  

His pretty brown eyes with a speck of black and gold in them. That somehow held hundreds of tiny universes in it. Sparkling, everlasting and mysterious. Even if you tried to tear your eyes away it was like you were hypnotised by them. If you looked somewhere else an invisible force would pull them back to him. Did you know this man? Because he felt so familiar. He felt like a lost piece to a puzzle finally put in place. Like you had known him your entire life and you felt comfortable to a level that Solar hadn’t reached yet. 

To say he didn’t look confused either would be an understatement. His face read total confusion yet some kinda warmth. 

Deciding to put an end to this “moment” or what you could call it. You asked him a question. 

“Have we meet before?”, you whispered to him.

“No, I don’t believe so.”, he whispered back to you.  

“You sure because it would be hard to forget such a pretty face.”, both of you said in unison. Both of you cringed and couldn’t help to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Then both of you remembered that you were sitting in class, so you tried to keep it quiet and not disturb the lecture. Also start to pay attention to the introduction. 

Did you pay attention to what your professor was saying? No. Did you spend your time sneaking glances at the boy that was sitting next to you? Yes. Were you ashamed, yes and no? You felt shame for acting like a little schoolgirl with her first crush. The unbothered though said enjoy the ride cuz you only live once sister. It was the part that you listened to the most.

Now, what was his name for you couldn’t call him boy any longer in your head.  

“JEON JUNGKOOK”, the whispers said. Well hello there Mr Jeon, nice to meet you thought. 

The lecture finally ended, did you know anything that was going to play in the future course plan. Of course not, you didn’t even remember which course this was. 

Just as you finished your thoughts, the man that had plagued for the last hour or so decided to turn around. 

“So are we finally introducing each other,” you said to him. 

“I guess we are.”, he answered back while sending you a small smile. That little smile drove your heart into overdrive. Stupid heart, shush he can probably hear your hard banking because soon enough you will jump outta my cheat, you thought. 

He reached out his hand to shake yours. Your hand easily dwarfing his, but it felt nice. Although his hand was very cold, must have bad blood circulation. 

“My name is … JK”

“................... Jeon Jungkook. I know.” you said proudly. 

“Wait how did you know my name?” he asked and actually seemed frightened by your knowledge of his name. 

“Well … it’s a little party trick that I have. I can just look at a person and know their name.” 

His frightful expression only deepened with something darker mixed in. You sense the danger decided to lie to save the situation. 

“I’m just kidding I saw it on the attendance list, and it must have stuck on me. And if you look at the cover of your notebook, your initials are written there so it wasn’t that hard to figure it out.”, you said while your manner screamed easygoing. When in a hard spot deploy your charm, is what your mother always said to you and it also seemed to work this time. Maybe Sunflower was right, you did have lady luck on your side. For after you had said it, Jungkook or as he liked to call himself JK, relaxed immediately and a bigger smile was shown. 

If you had only known that his name was never on the attendance list…

“Want to guess my name now?”, you joked to further ease the situation. 

“Let me guess?”, JK said while pretending to pond. 

“Could it be …” as he said your name. Now you understand how the person feels when you guess their name. It is a creepy feeling. 

“Deciding to steal my party trick now, huh. And it was going so good for us also.”. you let out dramatically, all the while falling over dramatically.  

“You know you are reminding me of someone.”

“That can’t be possible there is one person iconic as me and that is me.”, you proudly stated. 

You asked him for serious this time, how he had known your name. What if he had your little “gift”. Turns out the dude had just read your name on your notebook. And out flew that magic you sarcastically thought.  On a positive note, you exchanged social media accounts and numbers. 

“What did you put my name on as.” jk asked. 

“Jan”

“Wait, what??”

“Well you don’t seem to like your full name, and I don’t like your nickname it is too simple. Trust me don’t take it personally I do it to everyone. So yes, Jan.”

“You’re a strange one.”

“Not really just today it seems. I think all of my common sense has left me.”, you smiled at him. Jungkook froze still. 

“Well gotta go, it is finally time for me to enjoy the greatest pleasure of life. Sleep. Bye, Jan.”, you shouted at him after finally leaving the auditorium. As you left you heard a small wow, and goodbye. 

You still had it you thought to yourself, feeling proud. 

Now, what did the roommate of yours make?

[novamm66]

From Earth to Sky - Chapter 2

Arriving in Haven & Working to Close the Breach

--

The sun had just dropped below the horizon when they rode into the village of Haven. Cullen and his soldiers dismounted and immediately began setting up their tents outside the village walls. As Cassandra dismounted, the gates opened, and Sister Nightingale descended the steps to greet them.

“Welcome back, Cassandra,” Leliana said, “I hope your trip was successful.”

The two women clasped arms in greeting before Cassandra replied. “I couldn’t find Hawke, but I did find us a Commander, and hopefully, Divine Justinia can get answers where I failed.” Cassandra glared over her shoulder at Varric, who was watching the camp set up with interest. “Also, we were delayed by an ambush by soldiers from Tevinter,” she continued.

“On Ferelden roads? That’s unexpected.” Leliana’s eyes narrowed.

“I agree. The timing is too close to the Conclave not to be suspicious.” Cassandra shook her head. “How did the first day go?”

Leliana sighed. “Everyone is posturing like peacocks, trying not to show too much of their hand. You would have hated it.”

Cassandra snorted. “I guess I should be grateful then.” Her fingers traced the barely healed scar on her face.

Leliana laughed then gestured towards the path leading to the temple. “The Divine is waiting to speak with you and the Commander. Shall we…”

Cassandra gripped Leliana’s arm as every hair on her body stood on end. She recognized the feeling of magic being drawn together, but she had never felt anything on this scale before.

“What...?” Cassandra’s question was interrupted when the magic was released. A column of energy arched from earth to sky, followed by a cloud of fire. Then the shockwave hit. Glass shattered, horses and people screamed, and everyone was knocked to the ground. The sound that followed, of the very mountains moving, drowned out all the rest.

Cassandra clawed her way to her knees, a ringing silence in her head. Her eyes were blurry, unable to focus. When they cleared, she was barely able to process the world around her. As she climbed to her feet, her hearing returned. People were shouting, calling for help, but all Cassandra could see was the vortex of fade magic that had swallowed the sky.

The temple. The Divine.

Without another thought, she broke into a dead run up the valley.

—

Varric wasn’t even pretending to clean Bianca anymore. His crossbow sat armed and ready on his knee as he watched the restless crowd outside the Chantry. All they needed was a spark, and an angry mob would be born.

Things had gotten worse in the days since the Breach opened. Everyone who could stand and hold a weapon fought the tide of demons that kept appearing from the fade rifts. But the number of able-bodied fighters was dwindling, while there was no end of demons.

Fear permeated everything.

Varric’s presence was largely ignored. He spent his time fighting alongside whoever was going up the valley or helping with whatever he could in the village. The Seeker, Curly, and Nightingale were simply trying to keep peace in the town and to stem the tide of demons that threatened to wipe them out. If something didn’t change soon, they would fail.

The Chantry door opened, and Cassandra stepped out into the sun. Varric watched the crowd break up as her eyes swept the square. No one wanted to risk the wrath of the Seeker. Varric relaxed his hold on his crossbow when she crossed to the fire, where he sat and collapsed next to him. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head in them with a groan.

Varric stood and filled his empty bowl from the pot over the fire, cleaned his spoon off in the snow and then sat back down next to her. “Here. You should eat something.” He said, holding the bowl out to her.

Cassandra raised her head and stared at the bowl a moment, her eyes hazy, before finally accepting it. Varric sat, watching the people milling about in the square as she ate. Neither spoke as she finished and handed the bowl and spoon back to Varric, who cleaned and stowed them away.

“Why are you still here?” Cassandra asked. Her eyes were unfocused as she stared into the fire, and while the question was blunt, her voice was soft, almost sad.

“Are you sick of me already?” Varric chuckled, retaking his seat.

“I am sorry, that wasn’t…” She sighed, her cheeks turning slightly pink. “I simply mean that you are free to go if you wish.” her eyes drifted up to the hole in the sky. “It would be wiser to be as far from here as possible.”

Varric chuckled, “Wiser, yes, but I’ve never been known for my wisdom. And anyway, if I left now, someone else would get to tell this story, and I couldn’t live with that.”

His reply startled a laugh out of her, and Cassandra’s voice was light. “Yes, that would be tragic.”

Varric’s heart gave a sideways thump. He would have to be dead not to admire the strength and beauty of the woman next to him, and sarcasm was something he always found attractive. Before he could pursue that line of thought, the Chantry doors opened with a bang, attracting Cassandra’s attention. A messenger paused on the steps until his eyes found the Seeker, and he hurried across to where they sat.

The messenger saluted, then spoke. “Seeker Pentaghast, the prisoner is awake. Sister Nightingale is waiting for your return before speaking to her.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra rose quickly to her feet. “Master Tethras, would you inform Solas and accompany him to the first rift? I will bring the prisoner to meet you.”

The moment Varric nodded his response, Cassandra was turning away, but she paused and turned back. “Andraste, protect you, Varric.” She said. There was something in her eyes that Varric could not pin down, and it disappeared before he could get a handle on it.

Then she was gone.

—

Varric’s reputation as a storyteller made him immensely popular in the village of Redcliffe. The mages were preparing to move to Skyhold, but until then, Redcliffe was busting at the seams. Their party’s’ fireside was always filled with people hoping to hear news and stories from Varric himself, and they were rarely disappointed.

But tonight was different. Varric had disappeared after Kiaya had woken up. Kiaya was finally past the worst of the poison from the knife wound she had sustained. Once awake, she told them more details of the future she and Dorian had been thrown into against their will.

Cassandra had noticed that when they spoke of the spread of red lyrium, Varric had gotten quiet. Every time they came across the stuff, Varric would withdraw, and it was always a while before he would join in the fireside banter again. But tonight, he had simply disappeared. Now it was getting dark, and Cassandra was growing concerned.

Her feet carried her towards higher ground and eventually up towards the abandoned windmill that overlooked the village. As she got closer, she started to hear the thump and crack of someone chopping wood. Rounding the last bend, she saw exactly that.

Varric was wielding an axe expertly as he split logs. His shirt and coat were tossed over a stump, the sheen of sweat on Varric’s skin gleaming in the light. It was the expression on his face that gave Cassandra pause. Varric was furious, a deep scowl etched into his features. He swung the axe with more force than was necessary, burying it deep into the block with each stroke.

She didn’t interrupt him. Instead, she sat down. The tension in Varric’s back eased a little, but he didn’t say anything and continued his work as the light faded. When it was fully dark, Varric buried the axe head into the block with a loud curse. “I should have dropped that shit down a deep hole when we found it. For that matter, I should have spit in Bartrand’s eye when he told me the plan for the expedition. He might still be alive if I had.” Varric angrily snatched up his shirt and dried off while pacing across the clearing.

“All the pain and suffering that that shit caused in Kirkwall, I could have prevented it. It was just too easy to let things lie after Meredith got her hands on it. I thought that it ended with her. I was a fucking fool.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “However long it may take, I’m going to fix the damage I have done.”

Cassandra had never been good at offering comfort. She couldn’t disagree with anything he said, but her heart ached at the defeat in his voice. Cassandra missed the joy of life that he always seemed to have, and for the first time, Cass wondered what it cost him. Right now, she simply wanted to make him smile again.

Varric sighed and spoke, the rare uncertainty in his voice wringing at her heart. “You never did tell me why you dragged me to Haven, Seeker. I mean, what could I have told the Divine that you couldn't say yourself?”

“I thought she needed to see your chest hair for herself.”

Varric’s jaw dropped, and he gaped at her. Cassandra was starting to regret opening her mouth until his face split into a wide grin. He burst into laughter until tears formed in his eyes, and he was gasping for breath. “Maker. Think she would have been impressed?”

Cassandra answered his grin with one of her own, although it felt rusty. “Certainly. I also knew she would ask you to help us.”

“Me? Help the Inquisition?” Varric said, wiping his eyes.

“A crazy thought, I know, yet here you are. The Inquisition has done great things, and you have been a large part of them. Don’t forget that.”

Varric’s grin melted into something softer, warmer, and Cassandra got lost in the hazel of his eyes. Whatever was happening, Cassandra wasn’t ready, so she looked away, swallowing, her throat suddenly very dry.

“It is getting late. We should return to camp.” She said, her voice only shaking a little.

Varric’s usual expression had returned by the time she looked back at him, but something had changed, and Cassandra needed time to think.

“You’re right, Seeker. I am suddenly starving,” Varric said as he put on his jacket and picked up Bianca.

“You may regret saying that. Dorian is cooking, and he raided the Alexius’s foodstuffs. I expect it to be interesting.” Cassandra said as she stood and stretched.

“Oh, I hope it’s spicy.” Varric laughed. “It’s been ages since I’ve burned out my stomach lining.”

--

Chapter 1

Thanks!

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (11/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : Graphic descriptions of violence, Viewer discretion is advised (short paragraph)

Fandom : Bram Stoker’s Dracula, BBC’s Dracula, various Dracula and vampire lore.

Part 11/? (2247 words)

Author’s notes : The end of the second act draws nigh ! (also, I see some new followers, if you wanna be added to the taglist, feel free to ask !)

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

“Eris, anyone home ?”

Leah's soft voice dragged me out of the void I'd been staring into for the past... Well, Gods know how long. I raised my head to meet her slightly worried gaze.

“Yeah, sorry. You wouldn't believe how many of those can't make the difference between a century and a millennium, it's appalling.”

She didn't seem that amused at my sorry excuse for a justification.

“Have you seen the bags under your eyes ?”, she reprimanded me in a hushed voice. “How long since you had a decent night of sleep ? You're so pale, you look like a damn vampire.”

I had a dry laugh. She wasn't wrong, to be fair. For the past four days, I barely got any sleep, any noise waking me up in a cold sweat, when I just didn't lay frozen in bed, unable to close my eyes, for hours on end, until the sun got up. Mostly, I only stayed up because of a carefully thought-out blend of coffee and anxiety.

“I'm fine, Leah. I just didn't put on any makeup this morning. That is my face”, I told her, trying to sound offended.

“Don't bullshit me. Go. Home.”

Her tone didn't invite arguing about it. She reached across the table, and took my hand in hers, smiling. She proposed calling me an Uber, but I figured walking would clear my head. I put away my stuff, leaving her to her books.

The library was almost entirely empty at this hour, and the normally automatic lights didn't even turn on as I passed through the halls. I slapped my badge on the door to get it open, and was welcomed by a gush of freezing air from the outside. The sun had only just set, and the orange lamp posts had everything seem grey, except the deep red of the sky, near the horizon. Everything was quiet, save from the intermittent cawing of a crow, or the rustling of leaves, in the light, but biting breeze that had set in with the night.

I started walking. The sound of my boots echoed in the empty campus' streets. At this time, there was about a tram every twenty minutes. If I walked fast, I'd catch the next one. As I started walking faster, I couldn't help but feel followed. That feeling, once it crossed your mind, could only set, seeping into every pore of your being, until you... I turned back. Nothing. Not even a shadow at the corner of a building, a suspiciously flickering light. Nothing. Even so, my chest felt too tight to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.

I kept on going toward the tram stop. Focus on that, the tram stop. Breathe in. I stopped, pushing my back against a post. Breathe out. I turned my head, trying to relax my tense muscles. In the corner of my eye, a shadow. I screamed, jumped back.

“I dream of a day where your first reaction to seeing me won't be that of a deer in headlights.”

He stepped in the light, as elegant as always, in his long, dark coat. He looked exceptionally well, about as much as I had to look dreadful. He took a step forward, and I instinctively took one back. He stopped, a look of disbelief painted on his features. He looked almost hurt by me pulling back.

“Is something wrong, Eris ?”, he asked, concerned, but equally demanding.

I tried to find an answer. Yes. Yes, something's wrong. Everything is goddamn fucking wrong.

“I'm gonna miss my tram”, I muttered.

I turned back to the way I was going, and in a second, I felt his hand on my arm stop me. My heart sank to my stomach, and I broke free of his grasp. My heart beat so fast I was almost gasping for air.

“Did something happen while I was gone ?”

“It's just- I don't- Nothing hap-”

My words came stuck in my throat. I didn't even know what to say. Where to start. He placed both his hands on my shoulders, calmly asking me to look up at him.

“You... You are shaking, what on earth... Am I causing this ? Do I scare you ?”

I raised my head to meet his gaze, jaws clenched not to have my teeth chatter. He looked so genuinely confused, I was finally able to take a deep breath.

“Can I trust you ?”, I managed to whisper.

He didn't answer a moment, seeming less ton consider his answer, than what prompted the question.

“Without question.” He was looking straight into my eyes, the intensity of his gaze leaving no place for a lie. Fuck, I wanted to believe him. The weight of his hands on my shoulders made me feel safe. How could it make me feel safe ? Wasn't that just another trick ? Another way to make me trust him, just to make the job easier ?

Tears I didn't notice building up burned my cheeks as they rolled down. He moved a hand to my face, and erased them with his thumb, softly.

“What happened ?”, he asked again.

If we are to stop this creature, we need your full support. For some reason, he trusts you more than most. You cannot tell him about your knowledge of this place.

I gently pulled myself from his grasp, and stepped back, forcing a smile.

“Nothing happened. I'm just tired”, I told him. “I really have to catch my tram, Vlad.”

“Nonsense, I'm bringing you home”, he insisted. “You are very obviously distressed, and lying to me. Get in the car.”

The authoritative tone had me shiver. I knew I didn't have any choice, in the end, and nodded. He opened the door for me, as always. I sat down, buckled up. Focused on the line of led lights, moving in a slow, red wave.

“If you refuse to talk to me”, Vlad began as he started the car, “I can only assume this has something to do with me. Now, understand that I could take a minute and find out, but I meant what I said, when I told you you could trust me.”

He kept focused on the road. I could tell him everything. That would be a risk. If he really was who MINA said he was, if he did... If he did what they said he did... That would most likely be my death warrant. If he started being too suspicious, he could just read my mind, and given how deeply those images were engraved into my brain, it wouldn't be too hard. I had no idea how to go about this.

“I found out the reason why Stephan was putting me off.”

“And that is ?”

“We looked into his family tree, and his mother is a Mary Van Helsing, from the Murray Institute for the Neutralization of Abnormalities.”

I said that on a single breath, and awaited his reaction. His face didn't betray any emotion, but his silence was speaking volumes.

“They found us out pretty fast”, I continued, figuring I was on too deep already. “We were taken to their headquarters, or whatever that bunker was. They were suspicious that I was acquainted with a vampire, posing as the respectable professor Vlad Balaur.”

“And what did you tell them ?”

His tone was frighteningly neutral. “For some reason I still can't explain, nothing”, I replied. “I had them believe I had no idea such things existed, less so that you were one.”

He had a short hum, but remained silent.

“They told me you were posing as a vampire they killed in 1896, Count Dracula, who apparently is quite the messiah in the Vampire World”, I jabbed at him. “That you probably manipulated my memories, my emotions, just so I'd end up like the others !”

Tears were streaming down my face, and despite my best efforts, my voice was shaking in anger. I couldn't help but think he could pull over and snap my neck at any moment. Might as well make the best of my last moments.

“Would you please clarify what you mean by 'the others' ?”

He sounded so calm, so composed. I tried not to think on the implications.

“They showed me the pictures, Vlad.” My chest hurt so bad. I barely was able to keep taking. “In retrospect, you were pretty clean with the horse. I guess he deserved better than human beings do, right ?”

“Eris, I don't understand-”

“Don't fucking lie to me !” My voice broke. I had no way to remain calm, the taste of bile going up my throat. “I saw it, I fucking saw the- the-” I slapped my hand over my mouth, desperately trying to catch my breath.

Vlad had the turning signal on, and pulled over. I couldn't stop crying, my face buried into my hands, unable to form any coherent sentence. The car stopped. He didn't say anything. At any moment, I thought I'd feel his hands around my neck, or his teeth. Instead, he only called out my name, softly, barely audible through my sobbing.

“Eris, please.”

I dried up my face as best I could with my scarf.

“You promised. You promised you wouldn't hurt anybody”, I managed to stammer between hiccups.

“I have not-”

“I saw the pictures !”, I repeated. “They showed me- So much blood-”

I turned my head to his. He slowly raised a hand to my face, hesitantly, waiting for a rebuffal. I did nothing, and he pushed strands of hair off my forehead, and cupped my cheek. His touch was so soothing. Not a bad feeling to die on.

“And you believed them ?”

“I- I- Of course, they just- Who else ?”

“I have no idea”, he admitted, his voice soft, and calm. “Eris, I have not, not a single time, done anything contrary to our agreement. I have not taken a life since our second meeting.”

I wanted to believe him, so bad. I wanted to believe he wasn't the monster responsible for the contents of Mary Van Helsing's case-file.

“How can I believe you ? How can I be certain you're not lying to me ?”, I breathed out, still resting my head onto his hand.

“You can't. You can only trust me.” He leaned in, placing a light kiss on my forehead, as was his habit. He pulled away, keeping close. “Do you trust me ?”

“Yes”, I replied, without thinking about it.

I did. As stupid, dangerously stupid as it was, I did. What else could I do ? What was the better option ? Were the MINA guys that much more trustworthy ? Well, if you took into account the fact that they didn't try to kill me yet, probably.

“As for the fact that I would be my own usurper, I don't know how to argue for it, to be honest. I have rarely been faced with the task of proving my identity.”

He sat back behind the wheel, and started the car.

“You would do well to remember that MINA was founded by people who were so terrified of me, they left without assuring themselves of the success of their mission, which led to accounts of my death being greatly exaggerated.”

I couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

“There, I like that better.”

The rest of the ride was mostly silent, which was still arguably better than crying. Vlad finally pulled over in front of my building. I got out of the car, took a few steps, but didn't go further than that. Behind me, I head his door open.

“Should I wait for you on your balcony ?”

I took a deep breath. “No.” I turned on my heels to face him. “You're taking the stairs, for once.”

“I... Beg your pardon ?”

“Just follow me, will you ?”

He shut his door, and I went to open my building's door. I buzzed us in, holding the door for him. Guess he didn't need an invitation for the whole building, huh. What the hell was I doing ? There's a difference between not thinking someone does gruesome murders in his spare time, and inviting them over for a cup of tea ! Especially if their drink of choice isn't your damn Russian Earl Grey !

Well, too late to turn back now. I tried to keep a sense of dignity as we climbed the stairs. It didn't seem to put any strain on him, all the while I'd been living here for years, and was still dying inside. Catching my breath as gracefully as I could, I unlocked my door. Zardoz came running at me, agressively rubbing himself agaisnt my boots, screaming bloody murder, or, in that case, famine.

“You have a... cat”, Vlad stated.

I had a short laugh as I picked up the protesting beast. “What, are you allergic ?”

“They... Don't like me.”

He looked at the animal with some sort of defiance.

“Well, this one hates everyone, don't feel like it's personal.”

He stood at the door, nearly taking up all the space of the frame. Holding the cat in my arms gave me courage, as I felt his low purr against my hands. I took a few steps back, and had a curteous bow.

“Voivode Vlad Dracula Tepes, me and this cat welcome you into our home.”

He smiled, and stepped in.

~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~ - ~

Taglist : @carydorse @angelicdestieldemon @bloodhon3yx @thewondernanazombie @battocar @moony691 @mjlock @thebeautyofdisorder @festering-queen @paracosmfantasy

[kestrellavellan]

Time Past - Chapter 58

Word Count: 1,382

Warnings: The End

Find this fic in its entirety at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11423880/chapters/53360149

The journey back was a leisurely one.  They had a whole caravan of Kestrel’s mounts from Skyhold to take back to Tevinter, afterall.  After a tearful goodbye from Dennett, at least the harts and horses, and a light pat to the drascolisks and giant nug, they set off with Dalish and Taeven joining them.  Neither knew how to access the eluvian that had brought them to Skyhold, and Dorian promised a concerned Dalish he’d help him with the studies he was missing.

The journey back was an uneventful one.  Kestrel practice attuning himself to the quirks of his new arm with Taeven’s aid while Dorian and Dalish worked on his magic studies.  Kestrel often found himself staring at the two of them, admiring their growing bond during the trip.

The journey back was an emotional one.

“You know, there is a path to adoption,” Taeven whispered one time when Kestrel found himself staring again with a fond smile.

Immediately, his attention was on Taeven.  “There is?”

“Sure.  If you have a magister sponsor the adoption, no one will even look twice.  He’d take the Pavus name and become an official heir.”

“That’s wonderful news!  I have to check with Dorian, but I’m sure he would agree.”

“Would I?”

Kestrel jumped and turned his attention to Dorian.  Both him and Dalish were watching him with similar expressions full of love and amusement, although Dalish’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears.  That could only mean one thing.  “You already went through with the adoption, didn’t you?” Kestrel said, prodding Dorian in the chest with the accusation, struggling to keep his own tears in check.

“Before we left for Skyhold, I had the papers drawn up.  I was going to surprise you with them once we returned home.  Everyone was to keep quiet until then, but then I guess some of us are better at keeping secrets than others,” Dorian answered, looking pointedly at Taeven.  “Dalish kept the secret better than you, you old man!”

Taeven grinned and shrugged.  “My memory must’ve failed me.”

They all started laughing and didn’t stop until they were wiping tears from their eyes and embracing.  

Kestrel had gained so much in the last month, it overshadowed everything that had been taken from him.  He’d gained a husband, a son, friends, both new and old, and they all made up his family.  That found family was his true happiness.

EPILOGUE:

Dorian sliced a carrot in the kitchen, preparing the vegetables for a stew while Kestrel had the less appealing task of skinning and gutting the rabbit he’d shot earlier.  Summer had come and gone, and fall shed the leaves from the trees and made the ground crunch underfoot as the herald for winter.  Dalish would be returning home from the circle for Satinalia in the next few weeks, and Kestrel was a restless ball of energy, waiting for his return.

They’d fallen into a healthy cycle of rest and relaxation over the past months after the house was finished and set-up as Kestrel preferred on the outside and how Dorian preferred on the inside.  Sure, there were trips made into Minrathous when the Magisterium was in session, or trips around Tevinter for other Lucerni work, but their life was relatively quiet.  Dorian could tell it was wearing on Kestrel who spent his days hunting to get out of the house.  Their larder was full of enough meat to last them well through spring.

A knock on the door drew Dorian’s attention from his thoughts and the mangled carrot in front of him.  He still wasn’t great at chopping vegetables and doubted he ever would be.  Not a horrible loss in the grand scheme of things.

“Kes, if you have your hands full of more dead animals, I swear--”  Dorian opened the door to find Cullen there dressed in his leather traveling armor, red cloak slung around his shoulders, but missing that distinctive fur mantle.

“Ah, Dorian,” Cullen greeted in his typical, endearing, awkward manner.

“Wonderful to see you too, Cullen.  Please, come in,” Dorian said with a smirk, turning sideways to allow him past.

“You have a beautiful house here.  Very peaceful,” he said, hands twisting together as he looked around the entryway.

The nervous action wasn’t missed by Dorian.  “Yes, and we prefer to keep it that way.  What can I do for you, Commander?”

Cullen glanced around, refusing to meet Dorian’s gaze.  Straightening his shoulders, he asked, “Is the Inquisit--Kestrel around?”

“I thought you’d retired to help other retired templars, Cullen.  What are you doing here?”

“We have word on his location through Leliana’s network.  He never stays in one place long, so we must act.”

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest.  “You can’t ask this of Kes!” he said sharply.

Cullen finally met his angry gaze.  “Solas helped him when he was enslaved and let him and his kid use the eluvian network.  Kestrel is the only one who might be able to get close enough to him to…”

“Cullen!” Kestrel said, coming from the kitchen.  His nose and cheeks rosy with the outdoor cold, but it did nothing to dampen the bright smile offered to their visitor.

Kestrel had come so far in the last several months.  It’d been at least a month since his last nightmare and longer still since his last relapse into the depths of his trauma.  Dorian and Dalish had nurtured him along with their unconditional love, bringing the light and life back into those beautiful sea-blue eyes of his.  He was not about to let Cullen or the shadow of their former organization he still represented take that away from Kestrel again.

Cullen smiled in response to Kestrel’s warm welcome before it faded into a concerned frown.

Dorian could only hope Cullen saw the change in Kestrel too and would think better of his request.

Kestrel linked arms with Cullen and led him deeper into the house.  “Come, you must stay for dinner.  So long as you don’t mind your vegetables butchered.  Dorian’s the smartest man I know, yet he can’t chop a carrot to save his life.”

Laughing, the two disappeared in the back.

“Kaffas,” Dorian cursed under his breath, and it wasn’t about the insult to his culinary skills either.

He hurried after them.  He cleared the doorway into the kitchen as Kestrel dropped the diced rabbit meat into the pot, along with Dorian’s poorly cut vegetables.  Kestrel poured a mug of ale for Cullen from a small cask on the counter and handed it over, before pouring himself one.  Leaning against the counter, he watched Cullen over his cup as the man chugged the entire contents before setting it down on the table.

Dorian joined Kestrel at his side as Kestrel said, “Now, Cullen, as much as your visit is welcomed, you’re not the type to drop in unexpectedly without something important to say.  Out with it, so you can enjoy your meal without it hanging over you.”

Cullen pinkened and swallowed heavily.  “I...well, we’ve tracked Solas down, but we can’t get to him.  We think you might be able to.”

“Where is he?”

“In Tevinter.  About a day’s ride away.”

Kestrel grabbed Dorian’s hand.

Dorian squeezed is reassurance, already knowing what words were going to come out of his mouth.  He also knew there’d be no point in arguing.

“We have to be back in time for Satinalia.  Our son is coming home for the holiday.”

Cullen nodded his head.  “If all goes well, that should happen.  We’ve planned a week.”

Dorian snorted.  Since when did their plans go well?

Kestrel turned to him and said, “You can stay, ma vhenan.  I know you have a big meeting with the Lucerni coming up.”

Dorian waved his comment away.  “Mae can handle it.  I’m never leaving your side again, amatus.  If you believe this course of action is best, then I’m with you.  Better together.”

Kestrel cupped Dorian’s cheek with his hand, the metal of his gold ring cool against Dorian’s skin compared to Kestrel’s palm.  “Better together.”

Whatever Fen’Harel had in store for them, whatever other obstacles Thedas conjured to throw in their path, Dorian knew they’d be okay if they stayed together.  He’d never let the world or his own stupidity tear them apart again.

[sinsbymanka]

Update: Girl with the Arrow Tattoo Chapter 35!

Maria Cadash finds both a home and a title. She’s not a fan of the latter. Varric deals with his actions and their consequences.

Full story at AO3!

Maria stared, breathless, across the stone bridge her hand conjured out of nowhere. The fortress bled into existence, made of nothing but snow and clouds. Glittering magic pulled walls from both mountain and thin air. The stone rearranged itself with a laughing song nobody else but her seemed able to hear. 

Well, Nanna always said the stone sang to the dwarves if they listened. Maria never believed her, but now… 

As she watched, the great gate at the other side of the bridge rose, iron chains clanking and echoing as it lifted slowly. It seemed like a warm, gentle invitation to come inside. To stay. To  rest. She could almost feel curled fingers reaching out to her. 

“Great.” Varric muttered under his breath. “Haunted castle in the middle of nowhere. We’re going in there, aren’t we? Fantastic.” 

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Varric?” She asked, daring a smile at him. It felt like the first time she’d smiled in days. A weight lifted from her chest, leaving her lightheaded and almost giddy. She took one trembling, hopeful step onto the bridge, swirling her still bare fingers over the stone walls. She had to be imagining it, but it seemed to greet her with the same joyful anticipation she felt, vibrating under her fingers like a cat who  finally  found someone to feed it. 

“In Kirkwall. With my common sense and good winter coat.” Varric surely meant to sound more grumpy, but he barely contained his own smile in return. It warmed her from the inside out like a cup of coffee. Made her think of his arms holding her, his voice conjuring stories out of thin air. 

She tucked that smile away inside her and tried to ignore the greedy clamoring inside her for more.

“There is magic here.” Cassandra’s lanky form melded to Maria’s side, staring up at the glimmering towers in the sun. “More magic than I have ever felt in one place. A building such as this…” 

“It reminds me of the Vyrantium Enchanter’s University.” Dorian, at least, seemed just as eager as she was to explore. “The place had seen so much magic, sometimes it did rather odd things. I knew a Magister who swore up and down she once got lost in the cellar for six months because the hallways kept changing.” 

“Preposterous.” Vivienne sniffed from beside him. “We would never let our circles become so unruly here.” 

“She wants to meet you.” Cole’s slender, bare fingers traced the stone near Maria’s with a tentative, small smile. “She missed the sun. It’s been so long.” 

“She?” Maria questioned, flipping her eyes up to Cole’s. His were nearly hidden under his jagged blonde hair, but warmth danced within them and he smiled sweetly. 

“Skyhold.” He answered. “She was lost, like you.” 

The wind kicked up and stole bits of her hair from the bun she’d knotted it in. She swore she heard something like a giggle hidden within it, vanishing quickly across the bridge, shaking the leaves from the trees outside the walls. 

That left nothing to do but follow the invisible yearning she’d been using as a compass since Solas told her to strike out north. She let her fingers trace the stones, holding her breath as she strode forward. 

Hello, she thought silently.  Hello, I’m here. I’m listening. 

She felt silly for a moment and silently hoped the blush on her face could be taken for nothing but the cold. Then the wind kissed her cheeks again, a touch as simple and uncomplicated as Bea’s lips on her skin. 

She reminded herself, more sternly, it was her imagination run amok. It had to be. But the stone seemed to tremble under her fingers with the same joyful greeting. Maria thought she could almost hear it.

Hello. Welcome home. 

They stepped under the ancient gate and Maria’s eyes landed on the first tree rising just inside it, leaves still unfurling, ripples of magic lacing the air as flowers became fruit, reddened before her very eyes, growing full and heavy in the branches. 

Apples, just like the ones Nanna and Bea cut up to make into pies and dumplings. A quick, hard pang of hunger laced her, mouth watering. Protein bars were fine, she guessed, if the other option was starving, but these… 

They were her favorite. She had no idea how Vivienne could waltz right underneath them without even looking up. 

One of them fell with a gentle plop, rolling on the cobblestones directly to her feet like an offering. Maria crouched, cautiously picking it up and turning the bright red flesh in her hands. She could smell it, the bruised flesh releasing a sweet, tart smell. 

“Do not eat that.” Cassandra directed immediately. Maria frowned and waved the enticing fruit under the human’s nose as she straightened. 

“Seeker, it’s an apple. It smells  wonderful.” 

“There’s a fairy story that starts this way.” Dorian remarked idyly. “Enchanted fruit. Endless sleep. Who, pray tell, will play our prince charming if you poison yourself?” 

“Do I get to choose?” Maria asked, only half paying attention, examining the apple more closely. It certainly  looked fine. It looked like a normal apple she’d buy from the store. 

“She made it for you because you like them.” Cole insisted quietly. “It’s good.” 

“Oh, and who would you choose?” Dorian asked, the words loaded with hidden meaning. Maria very pointedly didn’t look away from the apple in her hands, the skin so shiny she could almost see herself reflected in it. 

“You, of course.” She answered with feigned nonchalance. Dorian huffed, pleased in spite of himself. It wasn’t the truth, though, and she feared the witch knew it. If Maria got to choose who’d be kissing her… well, the man who slept chastely beside her to warm her frozen, battered body  certainly  deserved a reward. Varric Tethras, for all his complaining, had been a solid rock since they’d started moving north. Never far from her side, always easily located in a crowd. They were two moons spinning around each other, caught in their own gravity. 

What was it he said? I’m sick of near misses? Maybe he’d gotten it right. Maybe she… maybe she’d been incorrect. If he wanted her, if he really wanted… 

“Well, I am the obvious… fasta vass!” As he spoke, Maria brought the fruit to her lips and bit into it thoughtfully. Flavor exploded on her tongue, enough to make her moan in sweet, satisfaction. It was by far the best damn apple she’d ever had, made all the sweeter by her diet of cardboard-like rations for the last three days. Juice dribbled down her chin and she hurried to wipe it away, meeting Dorian and Cassandra’s horrified expressions with a wicked, mischievous grin while she chewed and swallowed. She held the bitten fruit up to them. “Just an apple.” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes skyward with a blatant noise of disapproval. 

“If you die, it is completely your fault and I want you to know I will undoubtedly be here saying I told you so.” Dorian crossed his arms and glared down at her, but she could see his lips twitching under his mustache. “Survives time travel, a dragon, an avalanche, dies because she ate a blighted apple.” 

“Would you like one?” She asked sweetly, fluttering her lashes. 

“If you are not dead in thirty minutes, perhaps.” Dorian shook his head and strode off after Vivienne, peering around with a scholar’s delighted gaze. 

She laughed and brought the apple back to her lips, tearing off another chunk of the sweet, white flesh and closing her eyes. It tasted like summer, like innocence, warmth, and safety. It tasted like Nanna’s kitchen and  home. 

She opened them again and found that Cassandra too had moved past her into the massive courtyard. Instead of witch or Seeker at her elbow, she was looking into the darkened amber eyes of an author fixed on her lips like he was taking notes. 

She chewed the apple slowly and held the fruit out to Varric instead with an arched eyebrow. He cleared his throat and shook his head, pulled a smirk back to his face. “Sparkler’s right. If you’re still alive in an hour, I’ll give it a shot.” 

“Kind of you all to let me be the test case.” Maria chirped, content enough with the situation. If she died now, at least, it would be with  real food in her stomach. 

“Hey, you’re the one who couldn’t wait.” Varric pointed out, letting his eyes roam the walls around them. He didn’t leave her side, even as Cassandra, Dorian, and Vivienne vanished further into the great space, examining what looked to be some sort of stable house. 

Varric ripped his eyes from the walls and back to her, his smile broadening as he caught her examining him. “See something you like, Princess?” He teased smoothly. 

He wanted her body, that much was obvious, but if that was it… if that was all, why did he stay here beside her? Why didn’t he stay back with the others where he wouldn’t have to plunge through snow up to both their asses? 

He wants more, a younger, softer part of her supplied. He  cares  about you. 

No he doesn’t, a harsher voice scolded. He  pities  you. He’s just here for a story. 

“Trying to decide if I can outrun you when the haunted castle decides it doesn’t like us poking it.” Maria reasoned lightly. “I like my odds, frankly.” 

Solas chuckled from behind them, but it was Cole that broke in, concerned. “No! She’s happy we’re here.” 

Varric frowned. “You know, for a haunted castle in the middle of nowhere, this kind of reminds me of that first Swords and Shields book. The stable right there could be a dead ringer for the one I described in the city keep.”  

He was right. She blinked, taken aback, squinting at it more closely while she chewed another bite of apple. 

“If Miss Cadash read your book, perhaps the magic in this place is rearranging itself to show her what she wishes.” Solas placed his own palm on the apple tree, looking up into its branches sadly. “This is an old place. It has missed the footsteps of people, their laughter as they lived their lives.” 

“I’m sorry.” Maria nearly choked on the mouthful of apple she was chewing. “You’re saying  I  made this.” 

“No. She did. For you.” Cole stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“This place has a mind of its own, Miss Cadash. You are the one who awakened it, it is  you it wishes to please. Whether it is pulling Varric’s… literature as an inspiration to do so, however, I cannot say for sure.” Solas wrinkled his nose when he said the word literature. It was a testament, she thought, to how shocked both her and Varric were that neither of them objected. 

“How?” Maria asked incredulously.

“For Andraste’s sake,  why?” Varric asked instead, abjectly horrified. 

“The mark.” Solas said gently, pointing to the stone high up above them. Maria twirled to follow his pointing finger, eyes landing on the emblazoned sigil of the sun high above their heads, carved into the walls. It matched her hand exactly. “It recognizes your magic.” 

“Oh.” Cole breathed softly, looking up, smiling widely. “Yes. You need to see.” 

“See what?” Maria asked. She barely got the last word out before Cole wrenched her forward, eager as a puppy, grin broad. 

“It’s perfect.” Cole beamed. “A place to keep the darkness out. The nightmares can’t catch you here.” 

Maria sputtered in protest, but Cole didn’t listen. He dragged her up the nearest stone stairs, the apple falling uselessly from Maria’s hand while he tugged her into the body of the castle. She paused, momentarily awestruck, to take in the soaring ceilings, the sun etched within the stained glass. Cole let her gawk for only a second before pulling her further in. She caught sight of both Varric and Solas following them. 

“There’s an awful lot of stairs here.” Varric huffed as Cole threw open the next door, revealing a plain, shadowy staircase spiraling upwards. 

“Yes.” Cole nodded as they piled into the shadowy stairwell. “The stone touches the sky like she does. Like they both do.”

“The stone is quite fine with being on the ground, thank you very…” Varric barely got his foot onto the step behind them before the door slammed shut like an exclamation point. They all turned to stare at it, shocked and in Varric’s case, more than a little dismayed. 

“Great.” He said immediately. “We’re all gonna die here.” 

“I believe that is unlikely.” Solas didn’t quite laugh again, but his lips carried a hint of amusement. “Perhaps the castle does not take kindly to criticism.” 

“She didn’t make it for you.” Cole blurted, shaking his head at Varric pointedly. “It’s for Maria.” 

“What’s for Maria?” She asked, redirecting Cole to whatever it was he wanted to show her. 

Cole beamed in the dim light, hauling her back up the steps with renewed vigor. When they got to the top he dropped her arm and turned to see her face, beaming at her. “This.” 

This. 

Tears came unbidden to her eyes and Maria swallowed them, blinking hard. The room was beautiful, carved of rough hewn stone, covered with sparkling wide windows looking out onto the mountains, stained glass casting bits of jewel-like color all over the floor. A crackling fireplace warmed the whole area, a plush red rug looked soft enough to sleep on. 

An armchair, overstuffed and slightly weathered, sat just beside the fireplace. It was almost  identical  to the one from Hercinia, the one she picked out in the thrift shop and helped Fynn carry down the street, laughing the whole time, dizzy with happiness and  so full of hope for their future. A quilt was slung over the arm of it, just like the one from Nanna’s house before it grew too old and careworn for use, the one Bea used to wrap herself up in as a child. 

The comforter on the low, dwarven bed was the same color blue as the one in her childhood bedroom. A desk in the corner had a neat stack of books with familiar covers, the Hard in Hightown series. Varric scoffed and made his way over to them, picking one up and examining it critically.

Maria couldn’t focus on him though, because to her left, next to the stairwell banister, a piano sat proudly. It looked like a piano that could sit in most schools, neglected by all but enthusiastic music instructors. It was in much better shape than the one she’d bought used in Hercinia, though, all gleaming mahogany and elegant lines. The bench was tucked neatly underneath it, the cover closed, hiding the keys. Maria exhaled a shaky breath when she approached it, half convinced she was dreaming. 

There was an arrow. An arrow inscribed on the cover, a match for the one on her wrist. It had her initials on the top and Fynn’s…

One hand grabbed the necklace under her shirt, but the other swept trembling fingers over the carving. From beneath the cover, she swore she heard one trembling note, a key pressed with uncertainty, a question hovering in the air. 

Is this okay? Do you like it? 

“Why?” She gasped, turning to Solas, wiping her hand across her eyes to hide the tears. She couldn’t conceal her bewilderment. “Why is it like this? Why…” 

“Because you have brought it back to life.” Solas smiled weakly. “I suspect it is grateful. Perhaps a bit exuberantly so.” 

“She saw you.” Cole answered simply. “And she knows what you are. What you can be.” 

 xx

They couldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Or in this case, a gift castle. 

Skyhold threw it’s gates open like it had been waiting for Maria Cadash all her life and it seemed determined to furnish nearly everything they could possibly need. The castle sprouted an infirmary for the sick with rudimentary medical supplies. Food appeared hidden deep beneath the quaint, medieval kitchen, haunches of smoked bacon, frozen beef and chicken, flour, eggs, even barrels of cider. Enough to feed a small army, although cooking it in the great fireplace initially proved an adventure. Cots and beds lined formerly empty rooms, complete with blankets and small plush animals for even smaller hands. Fires lit themselves. Banners featuring Andraste’s flaming eye appeared with no warning. They found clean clothes in armoires and chests, soap in closets. Anything they needed or wanted just… appeared. Like magic.  

But, perhaps the most fascinating thing, was that Skyhold  learned.

The first night was so dark, even with flickering torches studding the walls, that Varric spent most of the second day helping to set up the portable generator they carried out of Haven. It was enough to power some flood lights in the courtyard and prevent them all from falling down the damnable steps to their doom at night. Particularly with all the kids they had running around. Although, mysteriously, there hadn’t been so much as a scraped knee with any of the children. 

Varric  never  thought Skyhold would look at their flimsy generator, scoff, and decide it could do better. He nearly pissed himself when he woke up the next morning to find the whole castle wired from top to bottom, lights in every room. Cullen damn near lost his mind when that happened. Varric spent most of the third day following Curly through the bowels of the castle as the man swore up and down he’d find the castle’s power source. 

Curly would be sorely disappointed. Whatever secrets Skyhold kept, it wasn’t sharing. But the more they settled, the more alive it seemed to be. Varric swore new rooms popped up daily. The more complicated, nuanced, and scarce medical supplies they’d brought seemed to replace themselves. Flowers sprung up in the courtyard and the weather, although it couldn’t be called warm, never grew bitterly cold inside the walls. The kitchen managed to spring some nearly modern appliances, although they still looked more at home in a dated restaurant than a place that had to serve two hundred people, and plumbing showed up immediately after Maria wished for it longingly.

But it was Maria Cadash that blossomed more than anything else.

She danced through Skyhold in a blur of crimson and gold. She sparkled in the winter sun and their universe revolved around her. Everything glowed under her tender care, from the injured soldiers to the children stumbling through the courtyard, coming alive, reaching towards her sunlight. 

And when she smiled…  Andraste  when she smiled. 

He wondered how close he’d come to never seeing it again. He wanted nothing more than to spend some solid hours basking in it. See if Skyhold couldn’t conjure up a pack of cards, take her off to some shadowy corner, and reassure himself that she  really  was as okay as she looked. 

But that was just his flimsy excuse and he knew it. What he wanted, what he desired more than anything, wasn’t to lure her into a friendly game of cards. Fuck, it wasn’t even to sweet talk her into the nearest bed so he could finish what he’d started now that they weren’t currently in danger of dying in a dragon’s throat. 

He wanted something altogether more precious. He wanted her the way she’d been in the tent the night she stumbled back into his arms. He wanted her without all that armor she carried, soft and sweet in his arms. He wanted her lashes fluttering against her cheekbones as she failed miserably to stay awake listening to, frankly, one of his most shitty stories. He carried that memory of her sleep warmed, sharp edges smoothed by exhaustion, clutched it to his chest jealousy. 

He wanted to press his lips surreptitiously to her cheek one more time and whisper his apologies into her ear. He wanted to hear her ask him to stay again. Wanted that sharp lance of vulnerability, the one that broke right through all his defenses and left him more naked that he’d ever been. 

Stay.

Ancestors, if she’d ask  anything  in that tone of voice, he’d do it. He stayed even after she’d fallen back asleep. His palm over the small of his back, her body curled against his, her marked hand on his chest where she hadn’t even realized it had fallen. He counted the freckles on her nose, her cheeks. Memorized the sweep of her lashes and the gentle rise and fall of her breath. He stayed until Bea stirred and asked if she’d woken, but tearing himself away… shit, it’d been harder than it should have been. 

But it wasn’t real. She’d been broken, bleeding, battered. Confused and addled. Exhausted to her very bones from attempting to slay an  actual  dragon. She’d have asked anyone to stay. He wasn’t special. Not to her. How could he be? 

She was the sun, after all, and she shined on everyone equally. It hurt to admit it, but Varric could handle painful truths. Maker knew he had practice. When she didn’t seek him out, when she poured her energy into Skyhold, he fell back, easy and casual, and watched her. 

He still had a place here, after all. Once they knew the truth… well. He may have to live outside her orbit. But at least she was alive. At least he had that memory of her sleeping in his arms. That was enough. It  had to be. 

Of course, he was assuming he’d figured out  how  to get them connected back to the civilized world long enough to reveal his own secrets. Between Maria’s magic hand, a score of witches, and the damn castle itself the magical interference was mind boggling. He  needed to call Hawke, needed her help, but reaching her… it seemed impossible.  

“I think that concludes the distribution of sleeping quarters for the civilians and refugees.” Josephine clucked, pulling him from his daydreams. “Was there any other business?”

“One, yeah?” Sera yawned and glared at the other woman. “Why do we all gotta keep coming to these meetings?” 

Varric stifled his amused laugh into his palm. Sera did about as well as anticipated during these meetings. Meaning, of course, that she’d already drawn some rather colorful pornography all over Bull’s muscled arm after Maria stopped her from carving it into the stone rather emphatically. 

Their group sat in an airy room around a massive table that looked to be made of one solid piece of wood. This, Varric thought with no small degree of amusement, was the best of the Inquisition.They ranged from a Tevinter exile to a raving spirit turned boy. Grey Warden to exotic dancer. The Inquisition’s inner circle. A mad little bunch of religious and distinctly irreligious figures. Who’d have thought? If the late Divine could see them now, she’d probably lose her exuberant hat when her head exploded. 

In the window seat, Bea made a muted noise of agreement. Maria had her hands in her sister’s hair and smirked while she shook her head in playful exasperation. Bea’s curls looked sleek and shiny again, makeup perfectly applied. Skyhold must have been supplying that shit too. 

He couldn’t complain, though. He’d opened a cupboard their second day here and had a razor chucked at his face. Maria, of course, said he was exaggerating about the velocity. But he knew what happened and so did the damn castle. 

“There is… one other matter we need to address.” Cassandra straightened from where she bent over the table, sweeping her gaze across the room. “We do not have a leader.” 

“Wait.” Maria stopped and pierced Cassandra with her gaze, then looked past her to Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine. “I thought you four  were the leaders.”

“We need  a leader.” Leliana insisted smoothly. “One person who wields the ultimate authority in precarious situations. An Inquisitor for our Inquisition.” 

“How do you propose choosing this leader?” Blackwall asked gruffly. “Should we collect resumes? Interview the candidates?” 

“A vote.” Bull suggested, far too casually, flexing the arm Sera was drawing on. It made the mermaid she’d drawn look like her tits were bouncing. “Nice and democratic.” 

“From everyone?” Vivienne asked pointedly. “My dear, some of the refugees are so frightened they barely know their own names. Let alone ours.” 

“Pft, nobody is votin’ for you.” Sera grumbled. “Little people don’t like shite like you. They know the good names.” 

They knew one name, at least. All those refugees knew one name  very  well. 

“So we vote?” Maria asked skeptically, tearing him from his overwhelming feeling of dread. “For everyone?” 

“We’ll ask the people if they accept it.” Cullen fingered his gun thoughtfully, peering at Maria with a tight frown like his thoughts had gone the same way as Varric’s. “If they say no - we devise another plan.” 

“Alright then.” Maria sighed. Bea was beginning to look a bit nervous, shifting to eye her sister from the corner of her eye. 

“I don’t want to vote.” Bea said quickly, shying away. “I don’t actually do anything.” 

“That’s most untrue.” Josephine reproved, looking up and frowning. “You have been…” 

“I’m not voting.” Bea's tone brooked no argument. Josephine frowned, opened her mouth as if to insist, but Leliana cut in. 

“One abstention, then. It will go with the majority, if that is alright Beatrix?” 

“That’s fine.” Bea curled her knees up to her chest and frowned. 

In the heavy silence, Varric reached for the battered journal in his pocket. The Lovers stuck out like a bookmark and he flipped past it without thinking too hard, grabbing three sheets and ripping them out. He began to tear them into tiny slips. “Anyone got a pen?”

Sera ceased detailing the engorged male genitalia on Bull’s bicep and lifted her pen with a sharp grin. Cassandra plucked it from her hand and Varric passed around the papers. Everyone took only a second to dash a name on their slip, folding it in half and tossing it onto the great table. 

“What is with you?” Maria asked as Bea brought her manicured nails to her lips like she’d start chewing them at any second.

Maria, it seemed, was blissfully unaware of where this was going. Bea, of course, was not. Bea heard the way people talked about Maria, knew what they said. And Bea couldn’t vote  against  her sister, but she couldn’t vote  for  her either. 

The pen came to him and Varric scrawled one word on it before tossing it to Blackwall. Bea couldn’t force herself to do it, but Varric had to. 

Princess.

Maria may never forgive him, but it  had  to be her. She was  sane, she was  brave. More than all of that, however, she was so overwhelmingly  kind. If it wasn’t her, if it came to someone else… Maker forbid, the Seeker… 

Maria’s vote joined the others and they all stared, at a loss for what to do next. It was Cullen that reached forward and picked up the first one. He unfolded it and cleared his throat before reading it into the silence. “M Cadash.” 

Maria snorted in disbelief. Cullen picked up the second one and read it aloud as well. “Maria.” 

Maria’s amusement dropped like a ton of bricks by the time Cullen read the fourth. When Cullen stumbled on the word Princess, cheeks flushing, the lights above them flickered menacingly. Varric couldn’t meet her eyes, even though he felt them searing into him. 

In the end, every single vote said Maria except one, solitary piece of paper that had Leliana’s name dashed across it. The silence felt miserably heavy and in the window seat Bea finally sighed her sister’s name. “Ria…” 

“Fuck  all of you.” Maria snapped, folding her arms across her chest. A snarky part of him almost said that he’d heard worse plans. Almost. 

“Interesting diplomatic strategy.” Bull leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest to match her posture and waited. Maria’s sparking eyes turned to him. 

“Fuck  you  in particular.” Maria seethed with a rather ferocious glare. To his credit, Bull did not immediately burst into flames. Lesser men probably would have. Varric felt his chest hair curling and smoking just being in the general vicinity.  

“You’ve been calling the shots since you stepped out of the vortex and all these people know it, Boss.” Bull rumbled with an easy shrug. 

“I’m not qualified.” Maria spat out.

“Where does one get qualifications to fight pure evil and save the world?” Dorian asked, stroking his mustache. “I  certainly  never saw it listed as a major.” 

“Enough.” Cassandra glared at Dorian and turned her attention to Maria. “The Inquisition needs an Inquisitor. It is  your  choices that have gotten us to this point. There is no better person to take the mantle.” 

“We’re in a magic castle in the middle of nowhere and  nobody  knows we’re alive.” Maria hissed. “Is this really the track record you want?” 

“We’re alive.” Cullen stated in a rather matter-of-fact tone, but he wasn’t brave enough to meet Maria’s eyes. “And we should not be. That, in and of itself, is enough reason to trust you.” 

“I can’t do this.” Maria insisted. Varric watched her right hand trace her left wrist, finally recognizing the gesture for what it was, a way to soothe panic. The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. 

“You can.” Leliana said softly. “We will help.” 

“We need to ask  everyone  to vote.” Maria lifted her chin defiantly.

“That’s… going to go the same exact way.” Bea whispered from the window seat, staring despondently at the papers. Maria whirled on her sister and pointed at the table like Bea could offer more of an explanation. 

“What do you think of this?” Maria demanded. 

“Ria…” Bea sighed, rubbing her face with her hand briskly. 

“The glass throws rainbows over my skin. The walls. I giggle. Nanna’s fingers lift it high, stands on tiptoes to put it on the shelf. ‘This is where we put precious things, chi shugra. Up high so nobody breaks them.’  Safe. Safe where he can’t touch her ever again.” Cole mumbled. 

“Balls.” Bea groaned. 

Maria’s expression slammed shut beneath a veneer of ice worse than the flickering flames of her fury. She drew her shoulders back and glared at Bea before twisting away. She nearly shoved Cullen over to get past him to the door, but it swung open before she even reached it. The moment she passed through the threshold, the castle slammed it shut behind her back. 

“Balls.” Bea mumbled again, hiding her face in her hands. “For  fucks sake Cole.” 

“She wanted to know. You wouldn’t tell her.” Cole frowned down at his hands. 

“For a damn good reason!” Bea exploded. 

“She  needed  to know.” Cole insisted. “Or it would’ve been a knot.” 

Bea couldn’t pass up the opportunity to keep Maria safe. Bea couldn’t shove her sister’s name forward for a job that seemed impossible. Varric got it, he really did. 

He wished there was someone else to choose. Anyone else. But there wasn’t. Ancestors forgive them for doing this to her, because it would probably kill her. Like it nearly killed Hawke. 

“Does anyone want to take bets on whether the castle just locked us in here?” He asked wearily instead. It seemed easier than facing his own guilt. 

xx 

Soft, gentle fingers smoothed Maria’s hair back, a simple repetitive motion as a clear, bright voice sang beside her. The melody ached inside Maria’s chest as the fingers continued their patient stroking. “Down in the mines, the mines so low. Hang your head over, hear the song low. Hear the song low, dear, hear the song low…” 

“I can’t do this.” Maria whispered, tucking her chin in and looking over her shoulder at the woman peering down at her with such gentle, honest affection. Gray eyes and honey brown hair, a woman with Bea’s elegant features. 

“You’ve already come so far, my darling.” She smiled, resting her palm on Maria’s cheek. “It will be okay. I’m here now.” 

“You’re gone.” Maria barely remembered her, but this serene image of her pulled from old photographs looked right. “Mom’s gone.” 

“Yes.” The woman tapped her fingertips against Maria’s nose, bright and playful, eyes sparkling with mischievous humor. “But I am not. You are mine and I am yours, darling.” 

 Maria awoke to a gentle breeze on her face, invisible fingers playing in her hair. She lifted her head off the pillow and paused, momentarily disoriented, pleasantly dazed. It took a moment to remember where she was every time she awoke, usually at the crack of dawn.  Skyhold. 

Safe. She’d been plagued with nightmares after Haven, but here, they ceased. Here…

Well, nothing was easy. She still wore her fear like a collar around her neck. Sometimes, the scent of a fire in the hearth was enough to choke her with panic. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes at night, she pictured Redcliffe crawling with monsters, the behemoth crushing Bea beneath it or Varric bleeding at her feet. 

But it was nicer to live with when she woke in the beautiful room at the top of the tower wrapped in an old quilt that smelled like home, somehow. The terror felt more manageable here. 

She noted the sun wasn’t coming in the windows right for dawn, but rather the light faded with dusk. Drool and bits of hair stuck to her cheeks. Tears, she thought ruefully. She wondered how fucking awful she looked. A mess, she was sure. 

“Cadash?” Cassandra’s brisk voice called from the bottom of her stairs. “Cadash, are you up there?” 

“Where the fuck else would I be?” Maria called back down the steps, quickly scrubbing her eyes with the back of her fist. Flakes of eyeliner came off on the back of her palm and she swore, irritated. 

“May I come upstairs?” Cassandra yelled again, cautious and wary. Maria paused, discarding the quilt from over her shoulders and flying into the adjoining room. The taps had changed again, she noted distantly. This was the one part of her room that kept changing like Skyhold hadn’t quite determined what kind of bathroom she wanted. At first, it held one ornate washbasin. Then, thank the Stone, it implemented plumbing. The sink was granite today, a matching tub behind her. She turned the warm water on and scrubbed at her ruined makeup. 

“If you insist.” Maria grumbled, hopefully loud enough to be heard. She examined her reflection in the mirror with a tight, tense frown. 

Inquisitor. 

Not if she had anything to say about it. 

She brushed a towel across her face and stepped back out into her bedroom to find Cassandra standing, uncertain, by the stairwell. The Seeker’s eyes never stopped roaming, always looking for threats. Once she’d inspected every nook and cranny and found them free of danger, she turned to Maria. 

“We attempted to visit you earlier.” 

“Who’s we?” Maria asked nonchalantly, sitting on the edge of her bed and folding her arms under her chest, examining her booted feet. 

“All of us in turn. The door would not open.” Cassandra made a small noise of dismay. “Solas says there is a… spirit guardian of this place. It answers to you.” 

“No it doesn’t.” Maria scoffed and rolled her eyes. “If it did - you’d still be locked out.” 

“If it answers to you, even slightly, then that is all the more reason for you to bear the title of Inquisitor. We have the walls to put up a fight if we are attacked again, a place to grow our forces, and Cullen is adamant there would be no retreat. This… war with Corypheus is not the fight we anticipated.” 

“It’s not one I bleeding signed up for.” Maria reminded her pointedly. She hadn’t signed up for  any  of this. She was supposed to close the vortex and leave, free and clear, Bea and Cole in tow. 

Cassandra sighed and shook her head. “I know. You… you have asked for none of this. The power inside you… it allowed you to survive the destruction of the conclave. It is something this Corypheus wished to have, and whether or not it is divine providence that you have it now…” 

Maria scoffed again and Cassandra met her skeptical gaze. “It matters not to you, I know. The most important thing is that Haven  cannot  happen again. The most important thing is that we keep this power from him.” 

“He said he couldn’t take it. It’s useless to him, so I need to die.” Maria pointed out bluntly. “That’s it. My magic hand doesn’t qualify me to be in charge.” 

“Your mark has power.” Cassandra lowered her shoulders and eyed Maria with a certain mix of apprehension and… respect. “But it is not why you are still standing here.”

She was standing here because of a mine shaft and an unbelievable stroke of luck, but before she could say that, Cassandra plowed on. “Your decisions helped us heal the rift in the world. Your  determination  led us out of Haven. You are the only one to rival this demon because  you  are the only one who has faced him and shown the bravery and sacrifice needed to save us. To save us all.” 

“I didn’t…” Maria protested. 

“I was there.” Cassandra snapped before Maria could finish, running fingers through her short hair. “I know what I saw when I left you. I saw one woman wreathed in flames standing against the darkness and chaos. I saw  you.  We all did.” 

A dismayed bubble of laughter jumped to her throat. “Ancestors, Cassandra. That’s fucking good. Don’t repeat it around Varric, he’ll steal it for his next book.” 

Cassandra’s disgusted noise rang across the room, but she jerked her head to the balcony. “Word has leaked that you were asked to lead. I suspect Vivienne, although I have no proof. The people are outside, waiting to congratulate you.” 

“Tell them I said no.” Maria commanded weakly. “Tell them everything you said about me at the beginning. I’m a smuggler, I’m a criminal, I’m…” 

“Stop.” Cassandra pleaded. “I… I would not say those things about you.” 

“They’re true.” Maria argued. “You’ve said them before, just go out there…” 

“I should not have!” Cassandra exploded, curling her hands into fists. “If I had known, if I had trusted in the Maker that he would not… but I didn’t. And I was cruel. I will never be able to make amends for it.” 

The silence stretched between them. Maria stared at the woman, confused, a bit alarmed. “Cassandra, just tell them I don’t want it. Do that and we’re square, promise.” 

“I can.” Cassandra clenched her jaw tightly. “I will, if that is truly what you wish. But I have a better proposition.” 

“If this is about faith…” Maria began to roll her eyes skyward. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t listen to Cassandra preach about Andraste or the Maker. If she started, Maria swore...

“My faith.” Cassandra admitted. “Which is not yours. What is yours… What could be yours is a force that would change the world. People are hungry, homeless…” 

“You’re making a great case for the world being a piece of shit, Cass. Preaching to the choir.” Maria mumbled, dropping her eyes back to her boots. “Nobody is going to follow me. You’re all…” 

“Those people owe their lives to you. They would follow you to the gates of the black city.” Cassandra declared proudly. “If you do not believe me you need only go and peer out. They are  thrilled that you would be their Inquisitor.” 

“And you?” Maria challenged, glaring at Cassandra. “You  really  think this is a good idea?” 

“It terrifies me.” Cassandra admitted quietly, voice soft and startlingly vulnerable. “To hand over such power to one person. But I have faith in what I have seen you do. If it must be anyone, it  must  be you.” 

Maria pulled her eyes from Cassandra’s again and stared at her domed ceiling, blinking back tears. Cassandra let the silence weigh heavily between them before she sighed. “If I could not convince you with that, I was supposed to add in one more thing. On your sister’s behalf.” 

“Great.” Maria huffed. “Wonderful. What does Bea  possibly have to add?” 

Cassandra waited until Maria looked at her again, then held Maria’s gaze unflinchingly and said the words that shot a bullet right through Maria’s heart. “I was supposed to ask what Fynn Dunhark would have you do.” 

Fynn.  Fynn. Earnest and brilliant, his shirtsleeves rolled up, elbow on their kitchen table. Expounding on the flaws of capitalism, railing against injustice, pouring his father’s money into charities and whispering against her skin how someone like  her  should be the one taking the lead, that  she’d  get things done because  she  was terrifying and  adorable  when she was angry and  Ancestors he loved her…  

He loved her. He loved her and it got him killed. Maria nearly fell back, grief like a sucker punch in her stomach.  It should have been Fynn. He could have done this, he could have carried this  well. Her father could have. Anyone  except  her. 

“I’m going to fuck this up.” Maria admitted. “I’ve always fucked everything up, Cassandra.” 

Every single thing. From not taking her father’s downward spiral seriously, to her failure to save their grandmother, running away with Fynn. From losing Varric in Redcliffe to  nearly  losing everyone in Haven. Maria rubbed her face with her hands briskly again, the marked one prickling uncomfortably. 

“Well.” The Seeker chewed her words for a moment before she gave Maria a weary half smile. “If we truly do awfully, we will all be dead regardless. Cold comfort, perhaps, but at least we won’t have to live with it.” 

The humor surprised her and a broken laugh slipped past Maria’s lips. “Ancestors, that’s morbid.” 

“I will be with you.” Cassandra swore like some overzealous knight in a fairy tale. The Seeker thrust her hand forward, fiercely determined. “You will not do this alone.” 

Maria ran her thumb up and down her left wrist, tracing the arrow there. She promised. She  promised  Fynn when they left Ostwick together that she’d stay on the straight and narrow, that she’d do better. She’d be better. She’d be the woman he thought she could be. No more darkness, no more shadows, no more lying or stealing or… 

“I’m not the Herald of Andraste.” Maria blurted. “I’m  not  and we can’t  say  I am. If that’s why you want me to be the Inquisitor…” 

“Some people will say it, regardless.” Cassandra frowned. “But we do not have to do so here, if that is your caveat.” 

Maria nodded, stopped stroking her tattoo and looked down into her palm. The sun emblazoned there flickered gently. 

“The motto of the old Inquisition was ‘Into darkness, unafraid’, Cadash.” Cassandra supplied. “Perhaps you could keep it. Perhaps you could make your own.” 

No more darkness, not anymore. She held the sun in her hand, after all. Maria took a deep breath and stood, grasping Cassandra’s hand securely within her own. 

The taller woman relaxed immediately, sighing deeply. “They are waiting. Outside. If you can…” 

“Now?” She asked, running a hand through her frazzled hair. She looked like shit, although she supposed she had looked worse half dead and frozen. 

“Before you reconsider.” Cassandra stated firmly. “Persuading people to do difficult things is… not my strong suit.” 

Fair enough. Maria nodded and jerked her chin to the stairs. “After you then, Cass.” 

Cassandra nodded and marched down the stairs. Maria took one last deep breath and followed, trailing her hand across the piano’s cover as she passed it. Tears pricked her eyes and she stopped, choking them down. She splayed her palm over top Fynn’s initials and pressed until she felt her marked palm ache, until bits of light shimmered between the gaps of her fingers. 

“I’ll try.” She promised to the silence. For Fynn. For Nanna and her father, Bea and Bull. For Cole, Varric, Dorian, Cassandra… 

Underneath the cover, the keys trembled again, a half note like a whispered answer. 

That’s enough.

 xx

Varric's thoughts drifted, again, to Bianca. He’d give his weight in gold to have her staring down this problem. Somehow, he suspected, it would have been solved days ago. Instead, Varric kept banging his head against the issue, quickly losing patience.

Skyhold could give them anything they wanted, apparently, except the fucking internet or a phone signal. No matter how he tried, a connection to the outside world remained out of reach. He almost suspected the castle was doing it just because  he was the one asking for it. He even stooped to asking Cole to try and convey what they wanted because the kid seemed to be able to communicate with the damned place, but all it had done was confuse them both and give Varric a raging migraine. 

Bianca would have known what to do. She’d laugh, shake her head at his elementary attempts, and…

“Alright Varric, what’s the issue?” 

Cue the wave of guilt, although which woman was the wronged party, Varric couldn’t say. He’d as much as told Bianca it was over right before they marched into Redcliffe, before trying to jump Maria’s bones, so… 

Yes, he reminded himself acidly, because he’d never said goodbye to Bianca before. 

“Well, your Inquisitorialness.” He lapsed into smooth bravado, rocking back on his heels and studiously not meeting the gray eyes he could feel searing into the back of his skull. “Your castle doesn’t believe in wireless connections, wireless networks, or 5g no matter how much I try and talk it up. So, I guess maybe we should consider carrier pigeons.” 

“I never cared for birds much.” The wind whistling through the ancient battlement muffled her footsteps, so he was shocked when she dropped down beside him to examine the mess of salvaged guts he had spilled out in front of him. Bits of radios. A battered old laptop. “What do you need?”

“The modern world.” Varric grumbled, trying not to inhale her scent too greedily. He realized with a start they were  alone  on this far corner of Skyhold’s walls. It was the first time he’d been alone with her since… 

“Varric.” She chided softly. He sighed in irritation and tore his hand through his own hair, glaring down at the parts on the ground. 

“A receiving dish for the satellite.” Varric rubbed at his stubble and stood, turning his back on the mess behind him and offering his hand to Maria. She took it and pulled herself up, staring up into his face with a tiny frown. 

Her eyes were the same color as the sky above them, a soft gray right before snow fell. Her freckles stood out starkly over her cheeks, wisps of red hair tickling her jaw. She still slouched when she stood, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, eyes blazing forward. If the mantle she’d adopted at their insistence felt too heavy to bear, she didn’t show it. 

“A receiving dish?” She questioned. “Does it look like a satellite, but down here?” 

“You’ve got it, Princess.” He tipped his lips into a smile for her. “To catch the signal and amplify it.” 

“What are they made of?” She asked. “How big does it have to be?” 

He shot her a skeptical glance and shrugged ruefully. “Metal, usually something lightweight. I’d want it hooked up to the power grid here, if we could swing it. Boost our signal a bit more. As to how big… in this case, bigger is better. About the size of a pickup truck.” 

“You’re not asking for much.” Maria’s lips twitched. Varric fought the urge to touch the corner of them, trace their shape with his thumb. 

“What can I say?” Varric grinned, trying to maintain his tenuous control. “I’m a man of simple tastes. Now, of course, if I could get a phone call out, I’d order you the perfect one. Just right for someone of Inquisitorial standing. Have it delivered and installed free of charge.” 

Maria sighed and looked out over the mountains. Something in his chest squeezed uncomfortably. “Hey.” He soothed softly, dropping the playfulness for comfort immediately. “It’s gonna be alright. We’ll figure it out.”

When she didn’t look back at him, his arm acted on it’s own accord. He gently placed his palm over her shoulder and squeezed. Varric lowered his voice to a gentle whisper. “Now that we have a minute to breathe…” 

“Varric, listen…” She began, tensing under his palm. 

“How are you holding up?” He finished. Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. Her eyes flicked to his, stunned, before they quickly swivelled back out into the mountains. Not before Varric saw the shine of emotions in them, the fear, the panic. 

“Well.” She managed to sound breezy in spite of all of it. “I’m heading a human religious organization, retrofitting a fairy tale castle, trying to figure out how to kill a demon and his pet dragon  before  he kills us, and we all almost died this week. Twice.”  

She controlled the emotions in her eyes and turned a weak smile back up to him. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing.” 

Her admission, quiet and soft, felt precious. He hadn’t heard her complain since she’d waltzed out past them, a queen before her subjects, to receive their acclamation. The praise came easily. “Well, whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it really well. Nobody could manage it better.” 

She scoffed and looked down at her scuffed boots, shrugging his hand from her shoulder. “We haven’t been alone, Varric.  Really alone. Not since…” 

Not since she fell into his arms. Not since he carried her up the stairs, not since he undressed her and prepared to worship at the altar of her body. It hadn’t been that long ago. Less than a week, really, but it felt like a lifetime ago. 

He’d seen an enemy he unleashed rise again. Heard Maria’s agonized screams, watched the mountain bury her and tried to live in a world she no longer inhabited. He’d seen her rise from the ashes like a phoenix, inexplicable and miraculous. He felt… he felt like it had changed him. Somehow. He wasn’t sure if it was for the better. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this frightened before. Never faced anything so daunting. Corypheus. The Inquisition. Maria’s shining eyes and compassionate heart sacrificed for expediency’s sake. 

Things had been simpler, before. Maria watched his face closely, frowning at whatever she saw there. When she opened her mouth again, the words that fell from her lips stung bitterly. “It was just a couple kisses, we can forget about it... if that’s what you want.” 

No he couldn’t. Never. Not in a hundred years. He’d take the feel of her body under his to his grave, the last desperate meeting of lips in Haven to the stone itself. It wouldn’t matter if that’s what he  actually  wanted, because he’d never be able to do it. She was beneath his skin now, regardless, and what he wanted… 

Maria’s right hand traced the tattoo under her left sleeve and Varric nearly choked on a surge of blinding, unreasonable jealousy. Fynn Dunhark was  dead, Maria Cadash was  alive. And Varric…

Varric didn’t deserve her. Other people did. Better people. People who didn’t trade in secrets and lies. People whose friends didn’t destroy entire cities. People who didn’t let monsters out into the world to kill hundreds. People who didn’t put  her in danger. 

But…

“Hey.” Varric murmured, fought the urge to run his thumb over her cheek. He had to try. He  had  to, or he’d never forgive himself. “I’ll be whatever you need, Princess. Whatever gets you through this.” 

Whatever keeps you safe. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you need. Varric, of course,  wanted her to need him. Wanted it so desperately he could hardly breath around it. 

Maria looked away again, back to the mountains. He saw them shining, brilliant and white, in her eyes. He watched something slam shut inside them, watched her throw away a key. His heart sank to the bottom of his stomach. “You’ve been a good friend, Varric. I don’t want to lose that.” 

She wouldn’t be his, then. Another woman just beyond his reach, too good for him, too brilliant. Varric burned his fingers on the sun, again. But that wasn’t Maria’s fault. She, at least, wasn’t asking him to play second fiddle to someone else. She owed him nothing, anyway, and he… he owed her so much more. “You won’t. Promise.” 

He could grab her, crowd her against the castle wall, kiss her until she didn’t know up or down. He could chase all those thoughts out of her head. He could contrive… But it wouldn’t be real. It wouldn’t be what he wanted. 

The tension still simmered between them, but it would get better with time. It had to, anyway. He turned from the mountains, bracing himself to make some excuse about returning to work. The words shriveled and died on his tongue as he looked at what had appeared on the tower above them. 

A satellite receiver as large as a Maker-damned pickup truck made of the shiniest metal he’d ever seen, looking like it had been there for ages. It almost seemed like the castle’s middle finger aimed squarely in his direction. 

“Holy shit.” He muttered, half laughing in shock. “Look at that.” 

“Maybe she just needed you to be a little clearer about what you wanted.” Maria advised, voice cold, the tone completely unfamiliar to him. “Will this get our communications up and running?” 

Varric wondered if she’d already begun the process of becoming two different people. The same way he’d watched Hawke become the Champion when the world demanded it. Varric distinctly felt like the pale eyes watching him didn’t belong to  his  Princess any longer, but a woman isolated on top of a burning pyre. 

But then again, she wasn’t his. No part of her was. He wondered how many times he’d have to remind himself before it sunk in. 

“Yes.” The word felt like a nail in a coffin. Ending their precious moment of intimacy, extinguishing any chance to plead his case. “I promise. Can I borrow your phone, Inquisitor? It’ll go quicker, yours is the only other one with enough processing power…” 

She produced it with razor sharp efficiency, dropping it into his hand. “I’ve got to go check on the wounded. Let me know if you need anything else.” 

You, he thought wildly. The thought was barely formed before she was already halfway down the battlements, red hair vanishing down a set of steps. The wind blew sharper, colder without her and Varric shivered. 

He stared down at the phone in his hand and retrieved his own, placing them both in his pocket. He needed to climb up that damn tower to get a closer look at that dish, and he had a sneaky suspicion he was going to have to figure out some way to adjust it’s trajectory, but… it would work. It would work, and he could call Hawke and…

Fuck.  Fuck. 

He knew what he had to do. Knew what he needed to do. He couldn’t live with himself if anything happened to Maria, couldn’t stomach the guilt. They  needed Hawke. Hawke, who’d given so much already and gotten so little in return. Just like Maria would, someday. He could already see the writing on the wall. 

Anything they could do to protect her. Anything  he  could do. 

“Bianca.” Varric muttered. 

“I am already experiencing a weak link with the satellite, but more stable than we have experienced in days. My estimate is the receiving dish needs adjusted to approximately a ninety-five degree angle...” 

Excellent. He’d be climbing out a window trying not to fall to his death for sure. “Great. While I’m trying to manage that, I need you to airdrop a copy of your program onto Maria Cadash’s phone.” 

“Inadvisable.” Bianca argued immediately, joyful tone vanishing. “Every additional user is a security risk. Maria Cadash has an extensive criminal history and you have only been acquainted…” 

Varric laughed. “I know. I want you to do it anyway, baby.”

Varric could almost hear the muted rebellion in his earpiece. “Should I make a note to inform Bianca Davri of the additional user?” 

“Absolutely not.” The real Bianca never checked the AI’s permissions. Only used her, really, when she needed the extra processing power. Otherwise, they just got in each other’s way. “Give Cadash the same permissions Hawke has.” 

“Hawke has permissions just short of a system administrator…” 

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.” Varric shoved the door to the tower open and looked up at all the stairs, dismayed.

“File transfer started.” Bianca finally responded, voice clipped and tone short. “Is there anything else?” 

“Let me know the second I’ve got a strong enough signal to make a call.” Varric sighed. “There’s one I probably should have made a long time ago.” 

 xx

In the fade, Solas found that Skyhold hadn’t changed at all from the palace he remembered. Gone were the Inquisitor’s sturdy stone walls, replaced with graceful, smooth marble. The hallways framed courtyards overflowing with vines and flowers. Magic orbs lit the courtyards and gleaming precious stones shimmered in mosaics and portraits. 

In the fade, perhaps, he could still call Skyhold the name  he  had given it long ago. Tarasyl'an Te'las, the place where the sky was held back. He paused in the flowering courtyard and inhaled the blooms that faded so long ago. 

“On dhea'lam.” A soft voice called from behind him. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” 

“Longer than I wished.” Solas admitted, turning to face the spirit who’d sought him out. She wore another face, one he didn’t know, but one he recognized regardless. The woman shared the Inquisitor’s striking eyes, her sister’s brown hair. The crooked tip of her lips that both women wore so well. 

“Her mother?” He guessed softly. 

“Yes.” The spirit paused, tipped her head to the side as if listening to a whisper in the wind. “She left this world some time ago. This is how she is remembered.” 

“It is not the form you took for me when I was a young man.” He would not be jealous, however. Not when Maria Cadash had so few comforts on her hard journey. If the face of her mother was one… 

“When you were a young man, you left me to start a revolution.” The spirit chided. Solas shut his eyes and turned his face to the warm sun. 

“Did you find what you wished, da fenlin?” The spirit asked. “When my little wolf grew teeth and claws, did the whole world tremble?” 

“I am surprised you recognized me.” Solas didn’t wish to look into those stunning gray eyes, even if they were not framed by the Inquisitor’s red hair. He kept his own firmly closed. 

“I did not. Not at first. I only knew your magic, I only knew it was no longer a part of you. I could see nothing past her when she arrived.” The spirit smiled, gentle and proud. “Da’lath’in. What is it you call her again? I do not understand it.” 

“Inquisitor.” Solas explained. “It is what the shemlen call her, the title that gives her power.” 

“Da’lath’in suits her better.” The spirit protested. 

Da’lath’in. Little heart. Yes, Solas could see that. A woman who carried her heart on her sleeve, who showed compassion for the smallest and most helpless. 

“You have seen inside her soul, yes?” Solas asked. He feared the answer, but he had to know. “Was she… has the magic changed her?” 

“You wish to know her secrets when you will not give her yours?” The spirit asked, incredulous. 

“Yes.” He answered with conviction. “I must.” 

The spirit sighed, her breath rustling the blooms and trees. “Yes. And no. Your magic will give her strength and courage, but she has her ancestors’ spirit. She comes from warriors, she comes from the Earth. She has always been a soul that would bleed for others. It is in her nature. You know this.” 

He did. He felt the oft-broken bones under her skin and allowed his magic to probe the shattered, raw pieces of her soul. He watched her feed the hungry, clothe the poor. He saw her rise from the ashes. 

“If she is true, you are wrong.” The spirit murmured. 

“Perhaps.” He admitted. 

“Will you harm her? Or will you help her?” The spirit asked. 

Solas opened his eyes and looked down into the spirit’s open, grave face. 

“You would stop me.” He marveled. 

“She is mine and I am hers.” The spirit’s eyes crackled with bright energy. “As you know, Fen’Harel.” 

“I do not know if Fen’Harel exists any longer.” Solas sighed. “This is not his world.” 

The spirit softened. A small hand rested on his elbow, just as it had so often in times long past. Solas ached with the pain of it. His friend, his home, sleeping just as he had. Alone in the darkness, watching as time left them both behind. 

“Fen’Harel lit the world on fire.” The spirit said softly. “Perhaps it is Solas who must try to find beauty in the ashes.” 

“Is there any beauty left in the world of metal and machines?” Solas asked, unable to keep the bitter venom from rising to the surface. 

“How could you ask that?” The spirit tightened her grip on him, voice imploring. “Have you not seen them? Heard the laughter of their children? Listened to their prayers? How can you be so blind?” 

The silence over both of them was not as comfortable as it once had been, but it still felt more like home than it had a right to. 

“Will you tell her?” Solas finally asked. “My secrets, old friend. Will you confide them to the Inquisitor?” 

The spirit sighed once more. “No, da fenlin. I will not. She would not understand, and I know you wish to right this mistake of yours. But you  must not harm her.” 

“I will not.” Solas swore.

Not if he could help it.

[patricianandclerk]

Particular Arrangements

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

The Dalish don’t sleep alone. Cullen never really thought about that, until someone else mentioned it. 

(Platonic bedsharing with the Inquisitor and the party. Some very lightly implied Solavellan.)

Leliana had picked the tower. Josephine had decorated it.

It was… lovely, really. There were balconies on each side, and even with the fortress still in a state of relative disrepair, it was beautifully decorated. The bed was Orlesian-made, with shimmering blue silk sheets, and Lavellan didn’t think he’d ever seen a desk so grand in his life.

“It’s away from the rest of Skyhold,” Cullen said. “So that you can be alone, and it is easily defensible. No assassins will be able to reach you up here.”

“Yes,” Lavellan said. “Yes, I… I see.”

--

It was some weeks later that it came up in conversation.

They were settled around the biggest table in the cellar for a card game that Cullen couldn’t remember the name of, because it was a tongue-twister in Nevarran. It was rare, that so many people were here in fortress and actually willing to play. Josephine and Cassandra weren’t here, which was a shame, because Josephine was in Val Royeaux with Cassandra acting as her guard, and the Herald was out around the fortress with Krem and the Chargers, checking in with refugees. He liked to do that sort of thing personally, which Cullen could respect.

He looked around the table, sipping at his beer. Varric and Dorian were sitting at one end of the table; the Iron Bull was leaning back beside Vivienne, with Sera perching on the back of his chair with her hands braced on his horns to keep herself balanced; Rainier was turning to speak with Cole, explaining the cards to him as Cole looked over his shoulder at them. Solas was sitting beside Cullen, which was…

Well.

He had never actually said anything rude to Cullen. He was just odd.  

“Where is the Herald sleeping tonight?” Solas asked during a lull in the game, not looking up from the cards he was examining.

“Ain’t he sleeping with you?” Bull asked, turning his head.

“I don’t believe so,” Solas said. “I will be walking from the fortress some time after midnight, to take my sleep elsewhere. He oughtn’t sleep in the elements with me, not when you have the long ride to meet the Ambassador and the Seeker tomorrow morning.”

“Shit,” Bull muttered.

Cullen felt himself frown.

“Your bed, I presume, is unfit?”

“Well,” Bull said. “It’s…” He glanced to Dorian.

Dorian cleared his throat. “It is rather crowded, with three of us. Varric?”

“I’m, uh,” Varric said, scratching the back of his head. “Meeting a friend.”

“A friend?” Dorian asked, arching an eyebrow. “A friend like—”

“A friend, Sparkler,” Varric said, waving him off. “What about the Iron Lady?”

“I have a meeting to attend via sending crystal,” Vivienne said quietly. Cullen thought he actually saw regret in her face. “It is urgent, I fear, but I will need my bedroom for the night – the magic and the noise would keep him awake, anyway.”

“I’m getting laid,” Sera said. “Least twice. No room for another elf in my bed tonight. Well. Not him, anyway. And Blackwall won’t say, but he’s got this stable girl from—”

“Blackwall can say it himself, thanks!” growled Rainier.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen said, “but, um, what’s wrong with the Herald’s own bedroom?”

There was a long silence as everyone turned to look at him, and Cullen kept his place, pressing his lips together. Bull and Vivienne looked at one another. Dorian narrowed his eyes, looking thoughtful. Varric wiped a hand over his mouth.

Cole whispered, “The silence sticks to the skin, crawls inside and calcifies, so cold, so quiet, like a crypt, no one living in it, no one… He can’t do it, not like this, can’t sleep in the silent sorrow, and so he creeps down the stairs to where he will be safe. He’s safe, with someone else there. It’s where he can find peace.”

Cullen stared at him. It was the most, he thought, that Cole had ever said to him.

He didn’t really know what to make of it.

“The Inquisitor is Dalish, Commander,” Solas said finally. “He was raised in an active clan for the whole of his life. The Dalish are nomadic by nature, moving their aravels and sleeping in caravans, tents, or under the stars. It is rare for most Dalish to sleep alone. Until coming to Skyhold, Lavellan had never had his own tent before, let alone a secluded bedroom in a tower. Sleeping alone in an empty room is as strange and unnatural to him as you might find sleeping in a tree canopy, or curled against the side of a halla.”

“But…” Cullen started, his lips parting. “But I always— I mean, I always slept in dormitories, it’s a luxury to have your own room, isn’t it? It’s… nice.”

“I bet you dreamed of having your own bedroom since you were a young man,” Dorian said softly. “It’s a sign of independence, of authority, of richesse. Not so, for him. If someone sleeps alone with his people, it’s a sign that they’re in exile.”

“The married sleep together,” Vivienne murmured, “but even the Dalish elders sleep with the clan’s children curled beside them, in groups together beneath the stars. Perhaps a widow sleeps alone in her tent; perhaps the Keeper sleeps some nights alone, but never with walls between them. Never in a tower, away from anybody else.”

“You shoulda seen him, Curly, the first night he was in the tower,” Varric said. “He hadn’t slept the night before. Looked like nug shit warmed up. He sat down next to me at breakfast and just—” Varric snapped his fingers.

“So, everyone has just been… He just sleeps in your beds?” Cullen asked. “All of you?”

“Sure.”

“Indeed.”

“Yeah.”

“Duh.”

“Yes.”

Cullen was quiet for a second.

Rainier said, after a moment, “Couldn’t he just sleep in Cassandra’s bed, in the barracks?”

“Raises too many eyebrows,” Varric said, shaking his head. “At least when he sleeps with one of us, there’s deniability, you know. That it was a meeting or a discussion that overran. And there’s security in it, I guess. Is Lace Harding here?”

“She’s in Crestwood,” Dorian murmured.

“Why didn’t he just… say?” Cullen asked. “Why didn’t he just ask?”

“My dear Commander,” said Vivienne, “have you ever known Inquisitor Lavellan to ask for anything that wasn��t for somebody else?”

“I… No,” Cullen admitted. “I haven’t, actually.”

--

“Er,” Cullen said to Lavellan, who turned to look at him as he undid his gauntlets. They were ceremonial, really – according to Leliana, he wore them because they were thick enough to hide the glow of the Anchor underneath, whereas normally it showed through his leather gloves. He didn’t like people to stare at it. “Inquisitor.”

“Cullen,” Lavellan said.

“Problem?”

“Um,” Cullen said, “well. Everyone in Skyhold seems to be having a lot of, er, that is to say, you know…” Cullen lowered his voice. “Sex.”

Lavellan stared at him. “Right,” he said, finally. “Well, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do about that, Cullen.”

“What? No! No, I mean, I don’t want you to tell anybody to stop!”

“Good, I wasn’t planning to.”

“No! I just meant… Our… friends. Varric, and Bull, Dorian, Sera, Blackwall…”

“All together? That’s ambitious.”

“And,” Cullen said, trying to ignore the increasingly hot glow that was burning his cheeks, “Solas is doing one of his Fade things, and Vivienne has a meeting. So there’s no one who can… And Solas mentioned, well, everybody mentioned— You could sleep in my bed, if you wanted. I have work to do, so I can just, you could just sleep up in my…”

He trailed off.

“I don’t want to keep you from sleeping, Cullen,” Lavellan said quietly, with a small smile. He looked embarrassed, Cullen thought, but he did a good job of hiding it as he focused on taking off the gauntlets, and Cullen could see the green glint at his palm. Lavellan quickly turned it over, turning away. “It’s no bother. I’ll sleep in camp with the Chargers.”

“I’ve never shared a bed with another man,” Cullen blurted out.

“It’s very dangerous,” Lavellan said sagely. “As I’m sure you can imagine, if our feet even brush against one another, we’re obligated by law to have sex at least twice.”

Cullen swallowed. “What?”

“Joking,” Lavellan said, patting his shoulder.

“I would… It really wouldn’t bother me,” Cullen said. “If you wanted to sleep with me. I know you didn’t, you didn’t ask before, which means I’m probably not someone you want to… Not that it’s really a thing of wanting, but I—”

“I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to put you or Josephine in a strange position,” Lavellan said. “I know you didn’t prepare to have a Dalish elf with such odd habits as your Inquisitor. It’s bad enough that I don’t wear the expensive boots that Josephine keeps buying for me.”

“You can stay with me,” Cullen said, glancing down at Lavellan’s feet, the soles wrapped but the rest bare. Sera had painted his toenails green. “Really.”

Lavellan smiled at him. It was a very small smile, but it was genuine and warm. “Thank you, Cullen,” he murmured. “It’s very kind of you.”

--

Lavellan slept shirtless, in just leggings. He barely moved, in his sleep: he slept on one side, facing in toward the bed, and he actually untied his hair. There was a lot more of it than Cullen expected – it was very long, and thick, when it was allowed out from the bun, and fanned out on the pillow.

“You were joking,” Cullen had said when they were lying down. “About having sex.”

“Cullen,” Lavellan mumbled, eyes closed, “do you want to have sex with me?”

“No, thank you.”

“Are you even attracted to men?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then if you don’t mind,” Lavellan had said, yawning, “I’ll be taking sex off the table.”

Which was fine. It was fine.

Except…

When Cullen woke up, he was curled right up against Lavellan’s body, his face pressed into the elf’s hair. He didn’t know what shampoo he used, but it smelled wonderful, sweetly fragrant, and Lavellan himself was warm and lightly muscled.

“Oh, Maker,” Cullen said. What time was it? Still the middle of the night, still—

“It’s fine,” Lavellan said, voice thick with sleep.

“I’m so sorry, I was asleep, I didn’t mean to—”

Lavellan patted his shoulder. “Dorian uses my chest as a pillow. Sera always sleeps on top of me, usually with one of her feet shoved into my armpit. Blackwall holds me against his chest like some people hold a pillow. This is fine.”

It was… surprisingly nice, actually.

Feeling Lavellan’s body beside his, even when he extricated himself, it was… It was comforting, in a way. Warm. Lavellan smelled nice, and when Cullen leaned into him, he stroked Cullen’s back through his pyjamas, and it was…

Nice.

--

“Who’s your favourite person to share a bed with?” Cullen asked, one night.

“Solas,” Lavellan said, without missing a beat.

“What?” Varric demanded.

“Why?” Dorian asked, looking more fascinated than offended.

“He hums old songs, sometimes, in his sleep,” Lavellan said. “It’s comforting.”

Solas coughed, delicately.

“Do your feet ever touch?” Cullen asked.

Lavellan threw an apple at him, and Cullen laughed as he caught it. His ears went red, but it was fine – so did the Inquisitor’s.

[theharellan]

Soft Beginnings

repost of a thread written on @theshirallen‘s old blog, in ian and solas’s modern thedas verse. started as a random banter that escalated into their first kiss (in that verse anyway). completed.

“You have quite the photographer’s eye,” he comments as he turns the albums page. “Do you shoot these in your shop?”

“Sometimes. I…um…”

“I know all the best gardens in the city, too.”

“Oh? And where would those be?”

“The governor’s estate has some expansive gardens.”

“And…the groundskeepers are not particularly…um…quick footed.”

“Oh–” He had assumed they had been public, but the revelation makes him chuckle. “I see. And here I was about to ask if you could them to me.” Solas looks up from the album, fingers perched beneath his chin. “Not that the idea of bending a few rules would deter me.”

“I can take you by Hawke Manor. Sometimes I work there–the garden isn’t as large as some of the other properties around, but the staff all know me.”

“The governor’s estate isn’t impossible, either. Especially if–” He giggles, catching his laughter against his fingertips. “–if you don’t mind the running.”

“Perhaps,” he says, feigning contemplation. He does nothing to control the fond smile that curves his lips, brow arcing playfully. “If the incentive is sufficient.”

“It usually is. I m-mean, if you’re into gardens, at least.”

“Um. It’s not always worth spending an afternoon ducking animal control, but as long as I don’t lose my camera…”

“Of course.” He deflates, the coy quirk to his brow falling as his arrow misses its mark. “Gardens alone are worth the risk. Do any rare flowers grow in them, by chance?”

He’s said something wrong, he can tell, but he’s not certain what it was. His ears fall a little, a puzzle working at a furrowed brow.

“I–”

“Yes, actually. Um. They–they have a ghost orchid. I have no idea how they manage to keep it; they don’t use magic. It’s–it’s, um…it’s this one.” He reaches over, flipping through the album until he finds the page, tapping at the photo’s margin.

“Beautiful,” he sighs, looking first at the photo before he lifts his chin to study Ian. His disappointment, however brief, did not go unnoticed.

“I’ve found where there is no magic, the explanation is often money,” he says, slightly put-out that his set-up for a line does not pan out as he had hoped. Still, giving up has never been his forte. “That they turn you way suggests they cannot recognise beauty that isn’t bought.”

“Or that they–” he starts to say something about how few people are inclined to tolerate trespassers (particularly strange looking ‘dogs’) disturbing their meticulously groomed gardens, but the intention behind Solas’s comment catches him just as he opens his mouth.

“I–wh–”

Color floods his face, understanding tempered by genuine surprise. “Solas, y–did you mean t-to–” He can’t speak properly. Something about the burning in his cheeks is mudding up his brain, and whatever words he’s trying to form trip clumsily against his tongue.

Solas restrains a smile, fearful any hint of amusement may make it seem like he was mocking the other elf. The blush that blooms upon Ian’s cheeks is as endearing as it is curious, and he wonders if this happens every time someone flirts with him. He cannot imagine he is the first, nor the only, person whose eye Ian had caught.

“I’ve often been told I speak my mind,” he notes, then admits, “though it is not always a compliment.”

Ian’s questions are stumbling, but he hopes he caught the spirit of them. He breaks his gaze, looking down at his hands, adding, “I hope I am not overstepping any bounds.”

“What? N-no! I mean–”

“I mean, I did-I didn’t realize.” His ears lift and fall rapidly, and he can feel the heat that began in his face climbing until their tips burn. Ian’s chest feels tight and weightless, his heart fluttering in sudden rapid beats. “I–I just…I thought we were talking about gardens. I didn’t–have you been–oh.”

His fingers climb his cheeks until he’s covering his eyes, as though his palms might hide his flush and his embarrassment. “I’m–I’m sorry.”

“We were, I was merely using the opportunity to flirt with you, as well.” Now he laughs, at himself more than anything. “As I have been since the second time I walked into your store. I– have you really not noticed?”

Perhaps he ought to have been less subtle before now, but it is easy to forget long courtships were not the norm these days. Those who came before had pursued him pointedly, where Ian is more a wallflower.

“You have not done anything to be sorry for,” he’s quick to say. Despite himself, he feels his own cheeks redden. “I feared sometimes your reactions–” Or lack thereof, but he does not wish to make Ian feel like more of a fool than he already does, “– were those of indifference.” Solas watches as Ian’s hands inch further and further up his face, obscuring his eyes, as if he is ready to burst into tears. Guilt pangs in his stomach and he reaches forward, gently touching one of Ian’s elbows. “Was I wrong?”

“No! I–I–” His hands lower again, though his words are caught behind trembling fingers. “I just…it’s just that…I thought I was imagining it. Or…or exaggerating it, or…Why–”

Solas’s fingers brush his elbow, and his shaking stills at the sudden contact. Has he been standing so close this entire time? He has been–leaning to study the photo album open against Ian’s lap where he perches on the counter’s laminate.

“It’s just, you’re–” one hand gestures, taking in Solas as a whole. Attractive, educated, charming…so many things that Ian isn’t. “I didn’t…I’m not…”

Ian’s breath catches, and despite himself, a grin sneaks past his fingertips. Words have never been something he had a gift for, but…if Solas has been flirting in earnest since…it’s been months, since the first time he had come to visit the shop.

His gesturing hand closes–Solas is already so close, Ian hardly has to reach–and pulls Solas across the dwindling distance. Ian’s fingers leave his lips, joining his other hand where it tangles loosely in the collar of Solas’s suit, and their mouths meet. Ian isn’t certain what he’s doing–kissing isn’t something he’s really attempted before–and his heart pulses painfully against his ribs. He isn’t certain what he’s doing, and he’s terrified that it’s not the right thing, the right response, but words aren’t something he has a gift for–and maybe this will make his meaning understood.

“I would never, I–”

Solas hesitates to answer each of Ian’s half-questions, guessing what they end with. Each answer dies in his throat, most likely for the best. Better to wait for Ian to find his words, than assume them for him.

Still, warm hope blossoms in his chest when he hears no rebuke in Ian’s words. His heart beats quicker behind his ribs, and for an instant everything goes still. The seconds between Ian’s stuttered thoughts seem to last centuries, and he waits with bated breath for what might come next. “Ian,” he says at last, his fingers dropping from Ian’s elbow to rest on the counter. There are no eyes for him to meet, only fingers tipped with delicately painted nails. Still, he looks as if Ian is looking back. “You are.”

What Ian is he has no chance to elaborate upon. He isn’t sure what to think when one of Ian’s hands finally drops, and by the time Solas realises where those hands ended up the distance between them has closed. His eyes shoot open, then ease shut as he melts into the kiss. Ian’s lips are clumsy against his, but soft, and more than welcome.

He finds his other hand has dropped upon Ian’s knee, which has grown still in the quiet of the kiss. Solas leans in a little further, nose bumping with Ian’s as he shifts to lengthen the moment.

The urge to deepen the affection rises within him, but he ignores it, sensing the inexperience in how Ian fumbles with his collar.

When he pulls away he is grinning, breath warm on Ian’s lips. “I had planned to ask you to dinner before I even tried to kiss you,” he chuckles. “You are braver than I am.”

Kissing is….

Not like he had expected. It’s clumsy–that’s probably all his fault–and he’s off balance. He leans forward, but pulling Solas closer has him leaning back, and his seat on the counter is more precarious than he imagined. Solas’s hand drops to his knee, and the world rights itself, spinning in leisurely pace around the two of them–the two of them where their lips meet and their noses bump and Solas’s hand rests idly against his knee.

It’s not like he expected. It’s better.

When Solas pulls away, Ian is breathless. Warmth from the other’s words graces Ian’s face, and he feels the pace of his own heart against his ribs, against his cheeks.

“N-no. I’m not. I–I didn’t have any plans at all.” That’s not brave, that’s reckless.

“W-we could. Um. We could go to dinner. If you–if you still wanted to.”

He should probably release Solas’s collar, but…well. He’s a little worried, is all. In this moment, it feels like Solas is the only thing holding him upright, and if he lets go he might actually lose his seat entirely. If Solas does still want to go to dinner, Ian falling off the counter might change his mind.

Solas has scarcely given himself time to breath before he realises he already misses the feeling of kissing Ian. It has been years since he has kissed anyone. Decades, even. The last is but a hazy memory of a woman who had never called him back after a heated debate got out of hand. This is different, more special, despite Ian’s fumbling. He cannot tell Ian how many times he imagined his very scene, kissing him while he sits atop his counter, flowers blooming in the background–

(In his head, he notes that might make a good subject for a painting.)

– maybe one day he will tell Ian, but not today.

“Then feel proud that your spur-of-the-moment decisions are better than my best laid plans,” he jokes. His eyes flit up, studying Ian’s face beneath the mane of curls. Solas is all too aware of how close they remain, his shirt creased from the hands that still grasp it. It’s all too tempting to lean in and steal another kiss, but he holds himself back.

“Dinner, or if you would still like to show me that garden,” he suggests, then adds with a sly smile, “I could think of worse ways to end a date than a night in jail with you, so long as we might talk through the bars.”

Solas still wants to go to dinner. His impulsivity hasn’t ruined anything, and he hasn’t fallen from the counter. Breathing comes a little easier, though he feels light and and perhaps even a little delirious from the rapid rush of emotion. This was hardly how he had expected today to go.  Ian’s chuckle is as breathless as he is, weak but delighted.

“I’m glad.” He pitches forward along with his laughter, forehead brushing Solas’s chest. At the contact, Ian freezes, rapidly releasing his hold on Solas’s shirt as he scoots back on the laminate, catching his photo album as it slides off his leggings. “S-sorry.”

He regains his balance, crossing his legs where he perches, careful as to where he leans…Solas is still so close, and he can feel the persistent burn of his cheeks as if the blush will never ease.

“I-I dunno. Jail sounds more like a third date activity, to me.”

Ian’s laughter sets butterflies afloat in Solas’s stomach, and he looks at his fellow elf with undisguised affection. The hand that lingers on Ian’s knee prevents the photo album from landing upon the floor, or worse, his toes. Yet he releases Ian, one arm falling to the side as the other hand still rests beside Ian on the counter.

It is his turn to laugh, a soft chuckle that comes from the chest, distracting him from the rapid pace of his heart. “Then we shall do our best to not be caught. And perhaps afterwards find someplace to eat.”

“I suppose now the question must be asksed” And still he pauses before he asks it, as his blushing begins to burn the tips of his ears. Unlike Ian, his freckles do little to mask it, and as for hair– well. “When are you free?”

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Prompt idea: Dylan tricking Brody into thinking Sam wants to send him back/get rid of him, maybe even dragging him outside or telling him to get in a cage. Making pet whumpees think they’re being thrown out is one of my favorite tropes & I think it’s fitting for Brody. (No pressure to write this if you don’t want to, I just wanted to share my thoughts)

CW: Pet whump, manipulation, implied human trafficking, implied abuse

[Masterlist]

“Aw man, it’s a client,” Samuel said as he paused the TV and picked up his phone. “Hi, hello Mr. Peterson. Yes, yes I got the paperwork that you sent in. Yes, we discussed- oh, no I know about the deadline.”

He gave Brody’s head a few taps to get it off his lap, and the pet shrunk back obediently. Samuel stood, still talking on the phone. Brody moved like he was going to follow, but Samuel mouthed stay and pointed to the couch. Brody whined as he looked on, resting on his elbows. The office door clicked closed and he sat up, back facing the armchair. Refusing to look at it. Refusing to look at the only other person in the room.

Dylan.

Dylan smirked. Poor pet was petrified of being in the same room as him; had been ever since their very first meeting. Even more so after last month. But the puppy was all patched up and ready to go again.

And Dylan already knew exactly what to do.

“So, Brody,” the started casually, reveling in the way the boy flinched and hunched his shoulders. “Any plans for your last night?”

Brody didn’t turn, but his head cocked to the side ever so slightly, and the sight of it made Dylan’s eyes light up.

“Yeah, Sam’s gonna take you back to the store. He said this Thursday, so I was wondering if you had any plans for Wednesday night. I mean, if you’re free, I would love to come and say goodbye. Maybe give you something to remember me by.” He watched the boy flinch again and snickered silently.

Dylan gasped overdramatically.

“Oh wait? Did he not tell you? Shit, sorry to ruin the surprise.”

Brody shook his head. No, no Dylan was lying. Dylan was always lying.

“No he’s not,” he whispered, still refusing to turn and face the other man.

Dylan leaned back in the armchair, smelling blood in the water.

“Oh, he’s not, is he? Well, pet, answer this. Hasn’t he been looking at you a lot the last couple days? Making little comments under his breath? Pulling at your hair more like he’s gonna miss it?”

Brody’s eyes widened, threatening to pop right out of his head. How, how did he know that? He could feel his pulse skyrocket and his breathing change. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to ignore all the little signs.

“He’s been out of the house longer, avoiding you, right?” pestered Dylan, knowing full well he was the one that was bar hopping with Samuel on weeknights.

“I, I didn’t d-do anything,” Brody whispered, eyes watering as he curled in on his knees. “I’ve been good.”

Dylan just laughed. “Oh yeah. So ‘good.’ Really puppy, you’ve already been through his once, you should have noticed the signs.”

Brody buried his head into his knees, trying to curl up as small as possible. It was just like last time. One second he thought he was being good, then the next he was put in the car and returned. He, he really didn’t want to go back to the store. He didn’t want to get punished for being returned again. Would it be worse this time? What if they did something more permanent than just bruises? Would they even bother selling him or would they just put him down?

Dylan heard a hitched breath and knew his work was done.

“Well, if he didn’t tell you than I guess he wants it to be a surprise. You better not ruin it, right?” It was like he was talking to a wall, the pet didn’t even respond.

“Right?” he asked more forcefully. Brody nodded and Dylan heard a little whimper.

He kicked the footrest up. Samuel was gonna have such a fun time trying to get Brody in the car to go to the groomers on Thursday.

~

I guess I am tagging the Brody crew? IDK man

@poisonedbymagic​ @sola-whumping​ @haro-whumps​ @deluxewhump​ @whumpzone​ @castielamigos-whump-side-blog​ @simplygrimly​ @whumpsy-daisies​ @whumptywhumpdump​ @crystals-whump-sideblog​ @welcome-to-the-whumpfest​ @pineapple-heartache​ @whumpiestofthemall​ @whumpasaurus101​ @whump-it​ @leavemeinpeaceplz​ @much-ado-about-whumping​ @throughthedoomdays​ @ohmywhump​ @liliability​ @newbornwhumperfly​ @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight​ @lave-e​ @thatsthewhump