#just ignore my husband glaring from the second story he is mostly harmless

[fashionablyenigmatic]

"I was messing around with some old hat-making equipment, thinking I still had the knack for it. But then, one of the steam hat forms burned my finger. I panicked, flailed around, and ended up hitting a light bulb, which shattered all over me. Got a few cuts from the glass. I just finished patching myself up from the first-aid closet when you dropped by."

He led him over to the first-aid closet, pulled open a box, and took out an arm sling. "Here, this should help with your arm. By the way, do you prefer tea or coffee? Or maybe, given our injuries, we need something stronger—how about wine or whiskey?"

@sweetandsoursaws

The Monroe Manor wasn’t a sentient building, but for certain people, it might as well have been. It had an eerie way of seeming to welcome those it favored. As Lark approached, the wrought-iron gate opened with supernatural ease, and the garden greeted him with the earthy scent of damp soil and the crisp sweetness of dying leaves. The late afternoon air carried a subtle message: fall is near, and it will be wonderful.

Lark’s boots crunched softly against the gravel path as he made his way to the grand front door, which swung open just as he reached it. Alphonse stood there, his sharp features softened by the golden light. The first thing Lark noticed was the white bandage wrapped around Al’s hand, slightly stained at the edges.

“Hat-making disaster,” Al said with a rueful grin, raising his injured hand for emphasis. “What about you? What catastrophe’s got you today?”

@sweetandsoursaws

[bladedweaponsandswishycoats]

Wei Wuxian felt the breach of Cloud Recesses' wards first. He laid his brush down and set the stack of half-graded night hunt reports aside before rising to go look for the guest. As he stepped outside, he noted the lack of any special response among the Lan disciples passing by. Ah, so it's you. This particular visitor had figured out how to avoid triggering the general protections, but not the special additions Wei Wuxian had added, which meant it could only be one person (in the general sense—Wei Wuxian knew this guest wasn't human).

Wei Wuxian's method of searching was a simple yet effective one. He merely asked himself where would I go, if I wanted to cause the maximum amount of (mostly harmless) chaos from simply appearing? It was summer, so the obvious answer was, of course, the Lanshi.

He stepped into the hall to find the entire class of visiting disciples with swords drawn, poised to attack the figure in green at the center of the room. Lan Qiren's glare was fixed firmly on the figure too, though at Wei Wuxian's entrance he said, sharply, "Wei Wuxian."

There was a certain amount of whispering and a few worried glances in his direction from some of the disciples, but Wei Wuxian ignored them, surveying the room. "Ah, right. Okay everyone, I'm sorry about the interruption." He strode forward, nudging a few of the disciples to lower their swords. For all the hostile looks and drawn weapons, the guest stood casually, looking remarkably relaxed, considering. Of course he did.

Turning to Wei Wuxian, the guest grinned and and said, "Ah, there you are!" Looking back at Lan Qiren, he gestured, "See? I told you."

"Wei Wuxian, this individual has claimed to be your guest and to have arrived here by means of an experimental talisman you're testing. Is this true?"

Wei Wuxian saluted Lan Qiren and replied, "I have been working on transport talismans, but there are still a few problems with them. My apologies for this disruption. We'll just…be going now." Wei Wuxian dragged the guest out before Lan Qiren could pick up on his entirely truthful deception.  

"Ah, their faces! It was fantastic." The guest was still laughing as he caught up to walk alongside Wei Wuxian.

"I'm sure. You could have just come to the Jingshi; you know where it is."

"Ah, but this was more fun!"

"You just like causing problems." Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes.

The guest was untroubled by this, replying easily, "What, like you don't? Besides, someone needs to keep you on your toes."

***

Pouring tea, Wei Wuxian glanced up. "What?" he asked, catching the guest's expression.

"I can't believe you didn't even introduce me!"

"I didn't introduce you because I know for a fact you would have introduced yourself—probably dramatically, along with your entrance—already. That's the first reason."

"And the second?"

"Well, I have no idea who you're here as today, do I? Or what you want, besides making extra work for me."

The guest stood up and bowed elaborately.  "Ah well, we can't have that. I, Loki, God of Asgard, King of Jotunheim, Goddess of Story, am here to request the help of the great Yiling Laozu, of course." He straightened up. "How do you feel about helping out some demonic cultivators in other universes? There are Narratives that need fucking with."

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. He was going to say yes, of course (because of the fun, but also after what Loki had done for this universe... it was the least he could do), but the request was still curious.

"What do you need me for? You're the Storyteller, can't you just—" he waved a hand to indicate Loki's powers in general.

"Eh, technically. But it's easier to shift people between universes and work within them using preexisting powers than it is to manipulate the universes from the outside by sheer force of will. Not to mention, the raw re-writing really only works perfectly if there's a version of me in the universe already. And for these universes, there isn't. Or not a strong enough one for me to link up with. Besides…" He paused, looking a touch uncertain for the first time.

"What?"

"One of the universes has a situation I think would benefit from certain skills your brother possesses."

Wei Wuxian blinked. "You want Jiang Cheng to come universe hopping with us, to help out some demonic cultivators?" he asked, to check.

"Well, it's really Zidian I need, but I assumed that means asking him." He thought for a moment, "Actually, the more, the merrier. Would your husband come?"

Wei Wuxian leaned back. "You'd better tell me more about it."

Loki smiled. Setting down his teacup, he began. "So, the first situation is in a place called Sunnydale…"

Notes:

This includes Loki as he appears in Marvel comics, where he has 4th wall-breaking powers of rewriting his own story, so to some degree these are canon powers.

This takes place in a canon divergent post-canon AU where Loki came and helped meddle with the CQL narrative in ways that resulted in a number of canon deaths not occurring. (I will eventually write that part out too...)

[rhetoricalrogue]

Family Ties 3/4

Part 1 | Part 2

This one was difficult to write, mostly because Rolfe refused to cooperate and deal with issues that have been years in the making.

tagging @thesecondsealwrites.

The second Philip entered the Herald’s Rest, he felt at home. There had always been something about taverns and public houses that had appealed to him, which was why he usually insisted on meeting with his constituents in such places. A warm plate of food and a pint of ale did wonders to bring people together to work on common goals.  He tried to ignore the stares he could feel from all sides, figuring that people were looking because they recognized him as their Inquisitor’s father.

That bit of news had taken some getting used to. After not hearing word from their son in the aftermath of the Conclave disaster, he and Marta had feared the worst, especially when the Chantry didn’t have the answers they so desperately sought. They’d grieved for their boy, yet were overjoyed to discover that not only had he lived, but Vincent had risen out of the chaos as the Herald of Andraste. After receiving his initial letter explaining events, Philip had put all the political weight he carried into helping the fledgling Inquisition as well as calling upon other prominent individuals in the area to do the same.

Even if some of the stares he felt were from people recognizing him as Vincent’s father, Philip couldn’t help but feel as if certain patrons knew he had another reason for being in their tavern that didn’t have much to do with Vincent. The feeling was cemented by a quick series of events that happened as he moved through the busy early evening crowd. As if practiced, the man who had been sitting alone in a chair close to the door stood up on the seat and the yell of Oi, Boss! carried over the noise of the busy tavern room. From the very back of the main room, a huge, intimidating looking Qunari playing a game of cards with several men and women slapped his cards down and shouted back, his deep voice bellowing all the way up the staircase Philip was climbing.

“Hey Krem, are you in for this game or are you out? Southerland, get your ass down here and join the next round!”

Philip reached the top of the stairs and bumped into a trio of people. “Terribly sorry, sir! Beggin’ your pardon, sir!” one of them babbled as they tried to jostle out of Philip’s way.

“Quite all right,” he said, pressing his back against the railing and stopping long enough for them to go down the stairs. Around that time, a shrill whistle sounded behind him. When he turned to look, he caught a glimpse of a blonde elf in plaidweave making frantic hand motions to the floor above them. As soon as she realized he was looking, she glared at him and hopped off the crate she had been sitting on before moving to go into a small alcove, slamming the door behind her so loud that Philip was certain that everyone in the tavern could hear.

He let out a sigh when two more people blocked his way up to the third floor staircase. “Look,” he started, addressing the woman. She was around his age or possibly a few years older and dressed simply, but had an understated elegance about her that told Philip she was as comfortable here as she would be in any palace. “I know that he’s up there. I promise, I mean him no harm. I only wish to talk.”

The man who accompanied her was tall, built like a massive wall of muscle, and aside from an impressive looking beard and bushy eyebrows, had no hair on his head. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and sized Philip up. “We know,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft and quiet, an odd counterpoint to his physical stature. “We’re not going to stop you.”

Philip gestured to the staircase he had just climbed. “And this whole elaborate warning system? What was it about?”

“It’s more for his benefit than anything,” the woman explained. “He says that he’s ready to meet you, but whether he admits it or not, we can tell that he still needs a moment to gather his nerve.”

“He’s done as much for all of us over the years,” the man added. “The least we can do is return the favor. I’m Bruno.”

“Penelope.”

Philip nodded. “Philip, though I’m guessing you already knew that. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” He took a breath and put his hand on the railing leading up to the third floor. “But if you would excuse me, I have someone else I would like to meet.”

Bruno stepped to the side, but put his hand up. “Be patient with him. He makes light of how he feels, but Rolfe hasn’t had the best upbringing. It ain’t our place to explain, but…”

“He rarely speaks of his family aside from the two cousins who are also here in Skyhold,” Penelope continued. “And if he does, he claims that he doesn’t have a need for a family not of his choosing, especially when he’s made one for himself out of friends he’s gathered over the years.”

“I’ve known him for close to fifteen years, Ser,” Bruno added, shifting his weight and glancing up at the floor above them.  “Mention his folks back in Ostwick and he closes up faster than anything, but seeing him with his brother...it’s been good for him.  Your boy’s managed to leech some of the bitterness out of the Boss like none of us ever could, and we’re grateful to him.”

Philip swallowed around a lump that had grown in his throat. What had this man gone through over the years that so many would be this protective of him? “I can’t make promises for whatever the outcome of our meeting will be, but I hope you know that I’m willing to try.”

“We know, and thank you for that.” Penelope lifted her chin. “I’ve loved Rolfe since the moment I first met him. He’s a good man with a good heart, but he trusts very few people and you’ve caught him on a bad day. I’m wishing the both of you the best, but he’s like the son I never had.  If you cause him unnecessary grief, I will personally see to it that you’re sorry you ever met me.”

Philip looked at her, and she suddenly didn’t seem like the sweet, harmless silver-haired woman he had originally thought her to be. “He must be a good man indeed,” he said, measuring his words. “For him to have such loyal friends.” With that, he began to ascend the staircase.

He made it as far as the landing before his heart started to beat faster. He’d been a father five years longer than he’d thought and he’d never even  known it. What did Rolfe think of him? What sort of things had he imagined? Maker, he must imagine the worst, he thought, hesitating one last time.

“I know you’re coming up, Philip,” a tired sounding voice said in the darkness. “I won’t bite, at least not without ample warning first.”

The third floor of the tavern was simply furnished and somewhat dimly lit, seeing as most of the candles set in wall sconces were snuffed save for a few closer to the back of the room that was also lit by a large candelabra set into the rafters overhead. Rolfe sat at the table directly underneath, a bottle of something at his elbow and an unlit smoking pipe in his hands, one of which that was recently bandaged.

Philip felt the knot tighten in his throat again. He hadn’t gotten a good look at him the first time he had met him outside in the courtyard that morning, but there was no denying that this man was his own blood. To Philip, it seemed as if he were staring at a reflection of himself at a younger age.

“Apologies for the lighting,” Rolfe said, gesturing to the unlit sconces. “You’ve caught me at the tail end of an attempt to sober up and things were a bit too bright otherwise.”

He knew. Marta had filled him in on the state of his son when she had visited with him. “May I?” He finally managed to ask, gesturing to the chair opposite Rolfe.

Rolfe nodded, his thumbs running over the wood bowl of the pipe. The shadows under the table hid his legs somewhat, but Philip could see the barest hint of his leg bouncing up and down, almost as if he were just as nervous to meet him as he was.

“I’ll have you know,” Rolfe started slowly. “That you’ve accomplished something that not very many people can claim to have done.”

“What would that be?”

He stared at him, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I’ve waited for over thirty years to meet you, and when I finally do, I can’t think of a damned thing to say.”

Philip pressed his palms against the table’s surface. “Ask me anything. I’ll try to answer your questions to the best of my ability.”

“Did you know that my mother was married before you slept with her?” He tilted his head. “Sorry, but I figured I’d get the biggest question out in the open first.”

Philip shook his head. “No, I had no idea. I met Flora at a family gathering where she introduced herself as a friend to the family. I never questioned it and I never saw her with her husband the entire weekend.”

Rolfe’s eyes narrowed. “So, what was she to you then? Merely a dalliance?”

“No. I was infatuated by her.  I wanted to court her, I even told her so myself, but she said that a relationship would be impossible as she was sailing home to Antiva after the party.”

Rolfe scoffed. “At least that part of the story I’ve been told over the years checks out. Mother was supposed to flee from her marriage after finding out about yet another one of her husband’s affairs, but she discovered that she was pregnant with me and her aging parents refused to take her back in. My birth has always been a point of resentment for keeping her in a place she’s been so miserable in.”

Philip stared at Rolfe, noticing the tense way he held his jaw. “You didn’t have the best childhood, did you?”

Rolfe shrugged. “I had as good of one as any token bastard and family embarrassment could expect to have, I imagine.” He pulled out a small drawstring bag from a pocket and absently began to pack tobacco into the pipe. “I can’t go back in time to change it, so I’ve made my peace with it, of a sort. They didn’t beat me, if that’s what you’re asking.” He frowned, still not looking up from his task. “Well, my older half-brother William did, but he’s another kettle of fish. He took great pleasure in using me as his punching bag until I grew old enough to fight back, but my mother and Edward never struck me.”

He reached for a small tin of matches, but then changed his mind, setting the pipe aside, his gaze stuck on the tabletop as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. “Sometimes I wished that they had. Anything would have been better than being outright ignored.” His voice was quiet, his brows pinched together. Then he shook his head and sneered. “Or being so starved for affection that I jumped through whatever hoops Mother put in front of me for even the smallest scraps of attention. There was always some condition, some catch, to earn the smallest of gestures in private, yet there was such a grand show in public that we were a loving family so no one would suspect otherwise.”

Philip’s heart ached for Rolfe. “Had I known…”

“You’d what?” Rolfe turned his gaze to him and Philip could see years of pent up emotion simmering just under the surface. “Scoop me up and claim me as your own, politics and optics be damned?”

The chair Rolfe had been sitting in scraped along the floorboards as he stood. Without giving Philip a chance to answer, Rolfe continued. “I spent so many years hating you,” he confessed, his voice rough. “I was five when I learned what the term bastard meant. I had it drilled into my head repeatedly that I was something no one wanted, a burden and unworthy of the family name. Edward always said that he knew who my father was and he took great pleasure in telling me that you knew I existed but didn’t want me either.”

Philip’s blood boiled even as his heart broke for the boy Rolfe had been. “That was a lie,” he spat.

“I know that now.” Rolfe leaned against the wall and let his head rest on the stone. “It took only a few moments alone with Vincent to know that the man I had spent so long loathing could have never raised a son like him. He was taken from you and you still fought for him, from the moment the Templars first arrived all the way up until the Conclave, and you continue to support him even now. He’s never had any cause to doubt your love for him.”

Philip clasped his hands together, wanting nothing more than to stand and go to Rolfe, but he saw the man’s body language was closed off and defensive and figured the gesture would be unwelcome. He was, after all, a stranger.

“I met my wife two years after the party where I had met Flora. We were married a year later, and we tried to have children as soon as possible. The both of us came from small families: I was the last Trevelyan on my branch of the family tree and Marta’s an only child herself. We both dreamed of having a home filled with sons and daughters, but it wasn’t meant to be. After some complications conceiving, we were beyond blessed to have even had Vincent; it didn’t matter to us when his magic manifested. He was still the same little boy we had loved the day before he accidentally set a rug on fire and he’s still the same man we love today.” Philip stood and walked over to Rolfe. “I know that you have no reason to believe me, but yes, had I known about your birth and how you had been treated in your own home by the very people who were supposed to care for you the most, I would have demanded to take you from them and I would have proudly raised you alongside your brother.”

Rolfe took a shuddering breath and crossed his arms in front of his chest, silently putting some distance between them. “I was so jealous of Vincent at first. He spoke of you and Marta often, probably as his way of explaining to me who you were since I never got the nerve to ask him myself. Even with his circumstances and living in the Circle, he had everything I had ever wanted.”

“You said that you were jealous at first. What made you stop?”

Rolfe dropped his arms from their defensive posture and put his hands in his pockets. “He’s always introduced me as his brother. He's had opportunities to give just my first name, to distance himself from me, but he’s never taken them. He could tell people that I’m his half-brother, but it’s always been this is my brother Rolfe with him.  How could I be jealous of someone who accepts me as I am and doesn’t demand anything in return?” He gave a weak smile. “I’ve only known him for not even a year, but in that short frame of time, he’s shown me more acceptance than either of my older half-siblings have shown me my entire life. I love him; I’d do anything for him.”

Philip reached out then, breathing in relief when Rolfe didn’t flinch away from the hand on his arm. “I’m glad the two of you have the other. He’s written to me and he speaks highly of you.”

Rolfe looked down. “I know. I’ve intercepted and read each of your letters before re-sealing and sending them on their way.” He looked back up and Philip couldn’t read his expression. “I’m a spy, first and foremost, and a damn good one at that.”

“And if you’ve read our letters, then you should know that I already knew your profession.”

“Vincent told you that I was a bodyguard for the Chantry upper echelon. He never said a word about the secrets the higher-ups had me ferret out for them for the past twenty years, or the things they ordered me to do in the Chantry’s name.”

Philip shook his head. “And you don’t think that I can’t read between the lines? Over the years of working with both the Chantry and the Circle, I’ve come to realize that neither entity is as innocent as they would like to present themselves. They need people to get hands dirty where they cannot.”

“And you would still claim me? Philip, I’ve killed people I never knew, all because their ideologies ran afoul of my superiors’. I’ve protected people and saved them from deaths that could have possibly helped ease burdens on hundreds had they been taken out of this world. How can you stand here and say that you’d still like to know me when I have so much blood on my hands?”

“Because you are my son.”

“What does that even mean?” Rolfe demanded, shoving himself off the wall to pace the floor. “The work I did for the Chantry has ensured that I do not exist: outside of their employ I have no income, no connections, not even a roof over my head that I could say I worked to own. I can only be a liability to you and to Vincent, especially now that he insisted that I was presented as family in the Orlesian court, which I’m sure is causing Edward and Mother a bit of scandal to have their old laundry finally aired out. I’m certain that once the news reaches Wycome that it will spell trouble for your political career as well.” He clenched his hands into fists at his side. “I am nothing, and I can offer you nothing in return.”

“I think most of the people downstairs would argue with you being nothing, as would I. Bruno and Penelope wouldn’t insist that you’re a good man or be as loyal to you as they are if they didn’t believe it for themselves. Marta wouldn’t have thought the same after only spending five minutes with you, and my wife is the keenest judge of character than anyone I know.”

“She’s...different than what I was expecting.” Rolfe looked sheepish. “And I owe her an apology. I wasn’t at my best when we met. She probably thinks I’m a bumbling drunkard.”

Philip grinned. “Trust me, spend more time with her and you’ll realize that Marta is a fierce, loyal woman. I wouldn’t worry about what she thinks of you; she didn’t go into detail on what exactly the two of you spoke of, but she came up to our room afterwards ready to fight your mother with her bare hands.”

Rolfe snorted. “I like her already.” He sighed and pinched his brows together in worry. “Are you certain you want to take me on? I mean, look where I live. I drink and I smoke and at times my carousing and ill behavior causes Mother Giselle to beseech Andraste to spare my soul during services.”

Philip laughed. “Remind me to tell you the story about how I earned a few of my scars. Believe it or not, I was wild in my youth as well, and I still have my moments here and there.” Sobering, Philip put his hands on Rolfe’s shoulders again. “If you would allow me, I would very much like to get to know you, Rolfe. You don’t have to decide anything now, but my home and my heart will always be open for you, should you choose to let me in.”

Rolfe reached up to his shoulder and put his hand on top of his. For a brief moment, Philip thought that he would push him away, but all Rolfe did was squeeze his hand. He watched as his son’s lip quivered slightly and his jaw clenched before he let out another shaky breath and nodded.

“Well, Father,” Rolfe started, clearing his throat and blinking his eyes rapidly. “There’s thirty-seven years of catching up to do.” He gestured to the table he had been at and the bottle still sitting there. “Would you care for a drink while we talk?”

Philip had to clear his own throat and blink back a few tears of his own before answering. “I would love one, Son.”