#look i know solas seems like he's in pain here but i promise he's actually having the time of his life

[shift-shaping]

the rats

solas follows lady volant on her tour of wycome with duke antoine. something is very, very wrong.

rating: t

pairing: solavellan

warnings: blood, canon-typical racism

previous fics | 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

map of wycome below the cut, with districts explained here

Solas met the Duke of Wycome in humble servant clothes, hands held behind his back, comfortable in his role as an invisible aid to the Inquisition’s ambassador, Lady Guinevere Volant. He didn’t quite have the look of an elven servant, what with his height and broad build, but Enaste’s friend had been right: no one paid much attention to elves regardless of their size. 

The Duke of Wycome looked for all intents and purposes like the Duke of revelry that he claimed to be. He was older, and short, with a rotund body and much more hair in his beard than on his head. His clothing was expensive, extravagant and tailored, the colors rich in the mid-morning sun. He had a booming voice and an even louder laugh, like the master of ceremonies at a grand carnival. He had an odd way of walking, something between a limp and a shuffle, perhaps the result of some prior injury. 

He introduced himself to Lady Volant even though she had told Solas they met before, and his small eyes showed no hint of recognition. Looking at them carefully, his eyes showed little emotion whatsoever: they were unfocused and distant, possibly due to vision loss. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, as if he was used to holding something that was no longer there. It gave Solas the impression of a man pretending to be younger and sharper than he was, to the point of foregoing aids like glasses and a cane, presumably to seem more capable in front of his Inquisition allies.

Six armed guards accompanied him, a decidedly large retinue for a city tour, and like Lady Volant, an elven servant hovered behind him. The servant was a short young man, almost unnaturally thin, and wearing what was obviously a wig. The black locks were so long they covered the servant’s neck and shoulders, and the heaviness of the wig made Solas uncomfortably warm looking at it. The day before, with Enaste's clan, Blackwall had suggested Solas wear a wig as well, but Enaste’s very pregnant friend –Harea?– had vetoed the idea when they brought out the only wig the clan apparently had: a literally dirty blonde thing with an uneven cut that Enaste had been fairly sure was actually a dead marmot.

That the servant saw fit to obscure his appearance was extremely suspicious. Was he someone the Duke thought the Inquisition could recognize? Why bring him along at all if that was the case?

The guards seemed bored, even more so than guards usually were, and thoroughly distracted. They wandered, kicked at random rocks on the ground, and shot each other irritated looks whenever the Duke spoke. They paid no mind to Solas, and only barely registered Lady Volant. 

An odd smell danced in the air: metallic, damp, and sweet. Like blood, but brighter.

"It is so wonderful to finally show you the most lively city in Thedas!" The Duke said, gesturing towards the city. His arm fell to his side, harder than was natural. "We start here, in Castle Magnolia, which you've hopefully had the opportunity to observe over your time here, my Lady."

"Of course," the ambassador responded with an easy smile. "The apartment you've so graciously lent me has such a wonderful view of your estate." In fact, the estate was the only view the apartment had; from every window, from the balcony, from the front steps, the only sights were of the carefully maintained Castle Magnolia, the sprawling home of the ruler of Wycome. "I’m eager to learn more about what else the city has to offer. Do you spend much time in the other districts, my lord?"

"Oh, well, naturally I visit the Old Orchard from time to time. The Conservatory is always so lively."

Except it wasn't. Lady Volant had told Solas of the city's history and culture the night before, and he and Wisdom had explored it in the Fade. Just months earlier, the music of Old Orchard Lane would have been so loud it easily reached the apartment they stayed in. It ought to have been full of young people playing music and enjoying their youth late into the night. In fact, the location of their apartments meant it had historically been the guest residence of visiting musicians and dignitaries who could appreciate the late night noise.

"Will there be students there, at this time of day?" Lady Volant asked.

The Duke gave her an odd smile, like it was carved out of wax, and Solas felt a chill. "They should be in class. It's nearing finals, I believe."

"Oh!" Lady Volant put her hands together in front of her chest, as if in prayer. "How wonderful that you are aware of their schedule. It’s so rare to find a leader in touch with the youth nowadays."

"Mhm," the Duke replied, still wearing that wax smile. "We should get started, my lady. There is only so much time in the day, after all." The elf behind him twitched. For a moment Solas thought he and the servant made eye contact, but the thin man was looking past him. His eyes were cold and unfocused, narrowed slightly, staring into nothing.

Solas exhaled and closed his eyes, feeling first the salty sea air on his skin, then the warm sunlight, then the brush of the Veil as it shivered and shifted. He recalled how it first felt to wake beneath its weight, to breathe and see and move as his own vast web smothered him. Since then he had come to some miserable symbiosis with it, using its voids and densities to sense when another mage was willing substance through it. 

He felt it now. The Veil was pulled taut, stretched thin so that magic could slip past its fibers. 

The servant was a mage, and whatever spell he was using, it required more magic than he could provide on his own.

At the servant's hip was a noticeably large flask, ringing softly into the Fade. The metallic smell he’d caught earlier wasn’t blood: it was lyrium, and the servant had enough to scaffold something heavy. If Solas was quick enough he might be able to swipe the flask, but then what? The consequences of disturbing the spell now could be worse than letting it continue.

Instead, he watched, and he waited. 

From the Duke's residence they passed through the first of several gates Lady Volant had pointed out to him on her map. It lay at a junction of walls separating Castle Magnolia from the lower elevation fish market and the hills of Old Orchard Lane, where the Wycome Conservatory had taught musically-gifted sons and daughters of wealthy Marcher families for over a century. As he and Lady Volant had observed, the Conservatory and its accompanying grounds were noticeably quiet. It was a green campus, aptly named in reference to a number of very old pear trees. Wisdom had been smitten with them the night before, and taken the opportunity to tell Solas about the many varieties of pears grown in the Free Marches. According to the spirit, this district was home to one of the oldest continuous orchards in Thedas, even if now it was mostly for show. The heirloom variety from Wycome was the Violini Tan, and its visage graced the entryways of the Conservatory buildings.

It surprised him that the Duke relayed none of this information, as it was exactly the type of trivia one would expect from a tour like this. Instead they walked in awkward silence through the oppressively quiet campus. Lady Volant attempted small talk with the Duke, but he offered little for her to work with. She tried asking him more specific questions --about the buildings, the trees, the alumni she'd read about-- but he gave only friendly, polite responses of little substance.

Solas caught something in one of the windows: a face, gaunt and pale, staring out from a darkened room. Then it was gone.

They reached the end of the street. Before them was one of the city's tall stone walls, and a staircase up its side to the walkways above. To their left was a narrower street that circled an ornate well of carved stone and colored glass. "I would like to--" the Duke began, and then stopped suddenly, as if choking on his words. Lady Volant tensed, moving closer to him, but the servant intercepted gracefully. He put his hand on the Duke's sleeve and whispered something in his ear, then retreated, leaving a confused Lady Volant. The guards gave no reaction to the Duke's sudden outburst.

Lady Volant glanced at Solas, making eye contact for the first time since they'd left the apartment. She quickly redirected her attention to the Duke, but Solas understood the signal, and their host's behavior was not the only cause for concern. The well had a sickly aura to it: a corrupted, pulsing magic. Solas was tempted to go to it, to see what festered within, but he knew he couldn’t approach without the servant noticing.

"My-- my apologies," the Duke said, tired but jovial. Sweat gleamed on his face, and he dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief.  "How unbecoming of me." He smiled at Lady Volant. "Never let yourself get old, my lady."

“Are you certain you're alright? We could rest a moment, there are some lovely benches over there." She gestured towards the well and the stone benches it shared its clearing with. 

"No, no, I'm quite alright. Here," he waved his hands to the staircase in front of them. "Our city walls provide an excellent view of the Beacon Hills."

As they headed up the stairs, Solas caught the servant taking a drink from his flask. He hung back, waited until they were the last two to enter the staircase, then spoke in what he intended to be a friendly and unassuming voice. "It was smart of you to bring something to drink, lethallin--"

"I do not speak your tongue," the servant cut him off coldly, paying him no mind as he followed the rest of their group up the stairs. There was something strange about the elf's voice: his words were clipped with annoyance, yes, but also strangely controlled and stiff, and slow.

Hiding an accent?

From atop the walls they could see much of the city. Whatever the servant's spell did to the Duke, it loosened enough to let him point out the different districts. To the south and west lay the noble estates of Beacon Hills, and further west still was Fort Garahel, named for the hero of the Fourth Blight. The Duke, Solas noted, made no mention that Garahel had been an elf. By some half-forgotten accounts twisted in the Fade, he was not.

Due west of them was Parade Street, and then the city sloped into the lower districts: Dockside, the Alienage, and Gadus Market. Dockside was a large collection of wooden homes and warehouses leading to the titular docks where most of the city's human population made their homes. Adjacent to it was the small, densely-populated Alienage. Even from a distance it was unique from the other districts, with tall, crumbling walls and towering roughshod buildings packed tightly together. To its east was Gadus Market, the city's largest fish market and home to a handful of restaurants and permanent storefronts.

It was difficult to gauge the impact of the so-called plague from this vantage point, but the silence of the Orchard was telling. The lower-elevation, lower-class districts to the north had some activity, especially compared to the much quieter noble estates to the south. That could be a factor of population, but where were the servants? Where were the guards? In the Fade he'd seen a much livelier district, slower-paced than its neighbors but certainly not empty, not like this.

They continued their tour along the city's walls, tracing the border between Beacon Hills and Parade Street. The cool, salty sea air stirred the servant's wig, and he adjusted the hair around his neck. Solas felt the thinning of the Veil that surrounded the servant. Perhaps he didn't need to break the spell entirely to determine its effects; it should be enough just to make it harder to maintain.

They descended another flight of stairs, nearing Fort Garahel and the western edge of the noble district. Solas shed magic into the Veil, thickening it around the servant, reinforcing the barrier between worlds. Immediately the servant took another drink from his flask. In front of them, the Duke spoke stiffly of the city guard, his voice tight. Lady Volant went along politely, asking him questions that went essentially unanswered.

The pressure of the Veil increased, smothering now in its thickness. It was frustrating that this required so much effort, that Solas couldn't manage such a simple effect without sweat beading on the back of his neck. He kept his focus on the Veil around the servant and clenched his fist behind his back.

The servant paused and took another drink. Sunlight gleamed on his forehead. That wig had to feel hot now, just another pressure on the servant's body. Solas willed warmth into the suffocating magic weighing on the servant. In response, he reached up and lifted the hair from his neck.

In the bright sunlight, nearly-hidden even when the servant held up the wig for a heartbeat of relief, Solas saw a ring of bruised, pale skin around his neck. For one sickening moment he recalled the bruises on Enaste's neck, the pain in her eyes, the shame in her voice. It still stung, still stirred a nauseous mixture of guilt and rage and impotence in him. 

He couldn't let it distract him. He had seen the imprint of fingers on her skin, each one distinct and dark, the blood close to the surface and already turning purple. These markings looked different; an even ring, like a collar worn far too tight for far too long. 

Like a slave collar.

The servant's eyes met his. Why are you here? Who are you? He recalled the servant's strange manner of speaking earlier, the accent he was trying to hide.

Solas wrenched the Veil tight around the servant's body. All at once his spell came undone. The servant doubled over in shock, choking, sputtering.

"I..." The Duke mumbled. They stood at the bottom of the stairs. The guards looked concerned, glanced at the servant, but Solas kept the pressure on. His own magic shivered with the effort and a tight pain burst behind his eyes.

"You should... you should see," the Duke managed. He was still smiling, and his eyes were unnaturally wide. Lady Volant stayed calm and kindly asked him what he meant. "There." He pointed down the road. "In the well. My advisor, he... insisted it stay a secret." He cleared his throat. He wobbled on his feet. Lady Volant offered him her arm and he gripped it so tight she flinched. "But it's so good, Ambassador. The water is so much clearer now. With the --with the red crystal."

"Shall we go together, my lord?" Lady Volant asked, her voice strained. She tried to pry his fingers from her arm.

The guards looked to the servant, who was struggling with his flask. The stopper fell to the ground and the servant hissed: "kaffas!"

"Yes," the Duke nodded quickly, stiffly, and limped with Lady Volant to the well. Solas backed towards them, staying focused on the servant. He felt the same sick magic emanating from this well that he'd sensed at the previous one. The flask shook in the servant's hands. His will pushed violently against the Veil, struggling against the full force Solas buried on top of him.

Lady Volant gasped. Solas's back hit the well. For just a moment he turned, already knowing what awaited him.

Down, at the bottom of the well, creeping and reaching up the walls, was a mass of red lyrium crystals. They glowed sick and hot and bright, bathing the stone walls of the well in pulsing, twisting light. "Don't you see?" The Duke asked. His knuckles were white spikes around the ambassador’s sleeve.

"M-my lord, I am happy to help you but your grip is too strong," she replied, and her voice was so even and polite that Solas was impressed even through the spear of pain in his skull.

"Don't you see?" The Duke asked again. He pointed down the well. "It --it purifies the water. It makes them stronger. We don't give it to the elves, of course, just the people, they can... they can be so much stronger." He shook her arm. "It makes them stronger, my lady."

The Veil snapped. Solas inhaled sharply, leaned against the well, and forced his own magic not to release the full force of its pressure all at once. He grasped at it, pushed it back, squeezed his eyes shut with the effort of forcing the Veil carefully into place.

But it wouldn't return to its former shape. Something had sliced along its surface, like a knife gliding over skin. Solas looked at the servant, breathing hard, pain firing behind his eyes. 

The servant panted, sweat coating his forehead. Blood dripped from his clenched fist.

"Wh-what were we..." The Duke let go of Lady Volant's arm and shook his head suddenly. "A-as I was saying, um..."

Lady Volant stepped back from him, straightened her dress, and cleared her throat. "You were telling me about the new water purification methods you installed in the wells." She rubbed her arm and winced.

"Of course, I was... yes." He nodded slowly.

"If I may ask, my lord, there have been rumors about some sort of sickness in Wycome..."

"Oh, that's just-- that's all rumors!" He said quickly, redundantly. Solas watched the blood from the servant's hand fall to the ground. "Very overblown, it's hardly a cold."

Lady Volant smiled. She ran her hand over her hair, easing a few stray strands back into place. "I figured as much. But surely, if there were a disease of some sort, these new installations would be most beneficial."

"I --well --perhaps." The Duke sputtered. The servant's shoulders rose and fell rapidly. Even the guards noticed the blood now, and made no move to apprehend what was obviously a blood mage. "But the water in our city is very, very clean. It has always been so clean. Especially now though, now it's especially clean." He nodded quickly, unevenly. "If anything is causing a problem in my city, it's --it's the rats."

"Really?" Lady Volant replied, a bit nervously. "I daresay I've not seen a single rat since my arrival."

"You have," the Duke said, steadier now, eyes boring into hers. She took a half step back. His voice dropped. "You've seen plenty. And we'll be rid of them soon, my lady."

"Oh... well, I must not be very observant then," she tried.

"You've seen them. They're everywhere. You have seen them. We'll be rid of them soon. We'll be rid of them all soon." He kept nodding. "My advisor swears it, Lady Volant." His words fell, so low Solas could barely hear over the ringing in his ears. "You should meet him, you know."

"That sounds lovely!" Lady Volant glanced past the Duke, and for only the second time that day her eyes met Solas's. "Who might this be, your new advisor?"

"A man from Minrathous." The Duke smiled that hideous wax smile. "He has so many wonderful tales to tell. I think you would get along just grand."

Solas stared at the servant. His blood dripped into a puddle on the cobblestones. 

Lady Volant's voice was tight, and Solas felt her eyes on him. "Yes, I imagine we would."

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[dreadfutures]

Happy Friday Blue! How abouuuut Ixchel & Dorian - “the worst of it all, it’s that if you ask now, i will forgive you.” from the Betrayal prompts??

WOOF for @dadrunkwriting

have a doozy

tldr; Dorian knows the broad strokes of how Ixchel died and was resurrected against her will. Now he knows why--and he knows that Solas, Fen'Harel, was that reason. Will Dorian ever be able to look Ixchel in the eye again?

Words: 2000

-:-:-

"You still haven't spoken to Dorian?"

Ixchel winced, but Solas tugged on her hand until she stopped walking. Magic whispered in front of them as Vir Dirthara's stairs assembled themselves in the air, and Ixchel gave them a wistful look before turning to face Solas's concerned stare.

"He hasn't spoken to me," she hedged.

Solas's frown deepened. "That makes it doubly concerning that you haven't spoken to him, then. Ixchel—"

"I'm not his keeper," Ixchel said, but she could not meet his eye as she did. "It's… I think he's pieced it together."

The gentle touch on her cheek drove her guilt deeper, rather than lessening it. When she did not look back up at him, Solas cupped her jaw in his palm and brushed his thumb across the ridge of her vallaslin. "Of course he has," he said softly. "He is one of the most brilliant minds in Thedas, and he cares about you deeply."

She reached for his hand and wrapped her fingers around his own, pressed to her cheek, and leaned in to his touch with a sigh. "He saw everything," she whispered. "In the red future. Before he even really knew me, he saw how much…pain… I carried. He was there in the Emprise. He was there in the Fade…"

"He has remained a steadfast and loyal friend through it all," Solas said. "Why would this be any different?"

Ixchel looked up at him through her lashes morosely. "I died because of the Dread Wolf, and here I am partnered with him in all things," she said. "It might seem like I'm courting disaster, or seeking pain, or—"

Solas raised his other hand to cup her face, and he leaned down to press his forehead to hers. "He is your friend. Our friend. He has traveled through time, and knows it is possible to thwart death. There must inevitably be a part of his mind that is open to learning your rationale, 'ma'lath, and he holds you in high esteem. Surely he will listen."

"After shouting at me for being a fool, I'm sure," Ixchel grumbled. "His nickname for me is mula! It's not going to go well."

"But it will not be an end," Solas said firmly.

"How do you know?" Ixchel closed her eyes as they began to burn, and she grimaced against the tightness in her throat. "What if he cannot bear to look at me?"

"How do you know?" Solas asked.

A dark laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. She would not give him the satisfaction of ceding to his point, but she knew she had no better argument for him.

Solas's breath washed across her face as he pressed a parting kiss to her forehead. "Will you speak to him when we return?"

She nodded. "I can't promise he will not try and kill you, so consider yourself warned."

-:-:-

Dorian was actually incredibly hard to find upon their return to Skyhold, and a part of Ixchel feared that he was plotting Fen'Harel's death in secret. It seemed that he had last been seen retreating to his rooms with a bottle of wine, but that was days ago, and when Ixchel knocked—then banged—on his door, she received no response.

It was Cole who finally came to her aid. He announced his appearance behind her by saying, "He's ready to see you now. He's with the wine, but not in it."

After she had caught her startled breath again, Ixchel put her hand over her racing heart and turned to face him. The look in his eye drew her up short.

"You definitely know better than to scare people like that by now," she accused. She couldn't help her smile when she saw his little smirk, just before he vanished into thin air.

"I'm glad to see you too, Cole," she said, then set off for the wine cellar once more.

She was sure she had checked there more than once, but perhaps she had justed missed Dorian each time. Or perhaps he had been hiding.

Her heart had not stopped racing by the time she got downstairs and reached the small hall lined with paintings and paragons. She saw that the door to the wine cellar had been left open, and soft candlelight danced on the opposite wall; she had indeed found Dorian at last, it seemed.

Her fears had been eased somewhat when she had articulated them to Solas, but they returned in force now as she approached the little storage room. She paused in the doorway to drink in the scene that awaited her, but mostly she was just paralyzed, incapable of making the first move in what she was certain would be a battle with Dorian's wit and pride and protective indignation.

She was glad at least that he looked well. His once-gaunt face had filled out some while she was in Serault, though the circles beneath his eyes had grown more stark and bruised in her absence. He had still been a little rumpled when last she saw him—but not so now.

He made a show of perusing the selection of bottles on the wall, his back to her, but she could see enough. He had worn some of his finest robes, fit for the floor of the Magisterium, and his hair was perfectly arranged and oiled. She could even smell the spice of his exquisite, most treasured soap.

"I have promised myself, and I'm promising you, that we are going to have a very nice bottle of wine when we are done here," he said, and at least one of Ixchel's concerns was immediately put to rest.

"Okay," she said softly, and she closed the door behind her. "Are you going to look at me?"

"I honestly don't know if I can."

But with a steadying breath that was far too large to be genuine, he pulled a bottle off the shelf and turned to face her.

There was no humor in his face, and beneath his mustache, his lips were pressed in a thin, flat line.

"Was it him?" he asked, and he did a very good job of keeping his tone even and nonjudgmental.

But his eyes were sharp and cold as flint as they bored into hers, and she knew that no matter what she would answer, she had already sealed her fate.

"Was it… Fen'Harel, who drove you to despair in your first life?" he pressed.

She could have been pedantic and argued that it was being Inquisitor at sixteen that had done her in from the start, or that it was the Inquisition's dissolution. But she did not want to argue with Dorian. She had already resolved to take whatever verbal beating he had prepared for her, if it would preserve their friendship.

So she swallowed anything and everything she thought to say, and she nodded once.

Dorian uttered what might have been a curse beneath his breath, but he hardly blinked, as though he could dissect her with the force of his gaze alone.

"So Solas is a greater threat to the world than Corypheus?" Dorian asked.

"No," Ixchel said, but perhaps it was too fast, too reflexive, because Dorian's mustache twitched dangerously. Before he could retort, she hopped up on top of a barrel to be closer to level with him, and she gripped the edge of it as she leaned forward, frowning at the ground. "There is a greater threat than him, but the means he would use to thwart it were…extreme." Her next breath shuddered within her and left her hunched, shoulders curled forward to protect herself from Dorian's skeptical stare. "I had vowed to stop him. He counted on it. As much as he deemed his path necessary, he—he's not a monster. He called it his din'an'shiral: a journey that leads to death."

"And he would have made you his deliverance," Dorian guessed.

"Or, if I failed, use my death as fuel for his self-hatred and penance for ages to come," she confirmed. "I realized it and… And I was tired. I was tired of being worth only what I could oppose. I was tired of only being part of something when I was at war. I had no one after the Inquisition, and it felt like the only way I could have anyone again was if I kept up the fight—and I was tired."

Ixchel cleared her throat roughly and stole a glance up at Dorian, which was a mistake. His face had grown pale with fury, and his fingers were clenched tightly around his forearms, crossed over his chest.

She bit her lip and waited for the inevitable question. Perhaps he would clarify how she had ended up here, alive again. Perhaps he would ask about the greater threat she had mentioned. But eventually there was only one question that mattered to either of them:

How could she still love Solas, after all that?

But he did not.

As he continued to stare at her, his eyes began to glisten. His lips grew even thinner as he struggled to hold—something—back.

 Finally, a gasp burst out of him, and he hung his head. "Fasta vass, mula. You're saying that Solas would have done something so vile or cruel or wanton that you might be driven to slay him, and now he is in your bed?" He touched his temples briefly, then threw his hands down. "This cannot be a—a ploy! Please tell me you are not trying to literally seduce him to some moral standard—"

"No, I'm not," Ixchel said firmly.

"Oh, good, I am overjoyed to hear that your perverted sense of self worth has not led you to stoop quite so low as prostituting yourself to the greatest enemy of the Elven pantheon," Dorian replied with a roll of his eyes. When he looked back at her, frustration written into every line around his mouth and on his brow, she rather felt like she was arguing with Bull again. It seemed they had rubbed off on one another, after all. "So, what? I'm supposed to believe you love him, and that's enough?"

Before she could respond, he continued.

"Of course I am. That's so very you, isn't it? Of course Ixchel Lavellan could see a hero in the Dread Wolf. Even after he has literally driven her to—"

"Dorian," Ixchel said quietly, and he immediately shut his mouth, though he left his teeth bared in displeasure. "There are, at this point, years of nuance to my relationship that you have not been privy to. It would actually be a relief to share that with you, but you need to understand something first."

She took a deep breath and straightened up, mostly to give herself confidence as she faced him. It only sort of worked. "Solas has always been the kind of man who wanted to be stopped. He has never wanted to be the villain history made him out to be. And no matter who we are to each other, no matter what our history might be, I will always help someone find a better path if there is one. The love we have, the love we have," she gestured between herself and Dorian, "is what drives that."

Dorian's jaw worked fruitlessly for a moment. "But how could you?" he asked at last, nearly pleading. "Does he know? How could he?"

Ixchel gave him a mirthless smile. "Maybe he would say it took practice," she offered. "I had to wear him down. And get very good at spotting when he falls in to the same place of blame that you're coming from." Her empty smile faded instantly. "It wasn't him. It wasn't this Solas who chose those things. He has proved, at this point, to himself at the very least that he can choose better. And so have I."

"Kafas," Dorian said, covering his face abruptly in both hands. He pressed his fingertips into his eyes and released a ragged sigh. "Ixchel, first I learn that I was there when you gave up, and then you tell me I am the one who undid that decision—and now I learn the man you allow to love you is the very one who saddled you with the pain that ultimately killed you? Are you simply missing some self-preserving part of your brain, mula?"

"No one else could possibly understand but you," she said thickly. "What it means to every day face a precipice and step away from it. Maybe this world isn't beautiful, but that is."

Dorian still covered his eyes with his hands, but he huffed a disbelieving laugh.

"And I love you too, Dorian," Ixchel said softly. "Have you accepted that, yet?"

The slew of Tevene curses that left him told her no, he had not. A heavy weight settled upon her at that realization, and she leaned back against the wall behind her, watching the pain play out across his features through her own weary eyes.

"The worst of it all," he said, voice broken with rough tears, "is that if you ask now, I will forgive you entirely."

"I'm pretty sure that's a lie," she said. "But I'll take it."

She opened her arms, and Dorian begrudgingly slotted himself into them, allowing her to hug him as tight as she could muster.

"Would you forgive me for forgiving you?" she asked. "For forgiving Solas?"

"I suppose," he said with an overdone reluctance that did nothing to hide the tremble in his voice. "I just wish I understood why."

Ixchel smiled into his shirt.

"If I didn't, how could I ever forgive myself?"

Dorian did not respond for a long time, but in his silence she heard all the confirmation she needed.

Maybe one day he would learn the same lesson.

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 16

in which everyone has a bad time. except kasia. he's having fun

Masterpost

taglist: @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 @justbreakonme @downrivergirl914 @cdragontogacotar @whumps-up @vaguelyhumanvoid @kim-poce @kween-pinescales

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, force feeding, stress positions, references to mouth whump and burns

-

Rowe took to repeating the affirmations every day, whispering them past the newly empty gaps in his gums. When he did them, he could forget for a little while that he was going to die in his cell. At least he could die as something. He wouldn’t let Kasia turn him into an empty husk.

I have worth.

I don’t deserve pain.

I’m a person.

He was careful, of course, to lock them away when Kasia visited. He tried not to associate them with pain; he said them every day when he woke up, not when he was freshly hurting. He didn’t want to ever, ever, say them in front of Kasia.

He knew if he did it would just get him another beating, but they were his. They were precious. They were a relic of Master that Kasia couldn’t corrupt.

He just had to keep his stupid mouth shut when it mattered.

For the first time since his arrival here, Rowe spent a whole day alone. The hours ticked by as he started to see shapes in the floor, and wondered if Kasia would ever return. Was this it? Had he got bored already? Would Rowe be left to die and rot after less than a week, his capture so recent he could still feel Master’s hands in his?

In reality it only meant that when Kasia did come back the next day, Rowe despised himself for the brief flash of relief. The man he was at the mercy of had returned to torture him another day.

Kasia had brought more chains, and restraints, always in his duffle bag, and Rowe had quickly learnt to shrink away at the mere sight of it. Rowe stayed curled up on the floor as he entered, eyeing him like a kicked dog.

“Did you miss me, pup?”

“Please,” he replied hoarsely. “Please give me f-food. Please.”

Rowe would never have dared beg with his first Master. But he had always known that he would be fed, eventually, once he had learnt his lesson. And of course, he’d never needed to beg Master Tomas. But here, there weren’t any rules. Nothing was guaranteed. So fuck it, he might as well try to prolong his life.

“Today’s your lucky day. I actually brought something. You’ll have to earn it, though. No getting on my fucking nerves, yeah?”

You’re the one who chooses to come here, Rowe thought despairingly.

“Okay, okay, just please-“

“Didn’t you just hear me?” Kasia kicked him in the stomach and Rowe moaned. He nodded, wincing as the burns on his neck pressed together.

“Arms up, come on.”

. . .

Tomas had made it from the shower to the downstairs sofa, and he was content with that. Not proud, no, proud would imply he was happy with himself in some way, but at least he wasn’t completely catatonic today. Luca had texted saying to answer the door if it rang, and a part of Tomas still wanted to impress him, despite it all. So he had showered and brushed the last of the blood from his hair. God, how many days had it been?

A small movement on the floor caught his eye. A spider, out of reach, too far to feasibly get him. He felt acutely aware of his own apathy then, as instead of shrieking or running away, he just stared.

The chance of the spider hurting him was practically zero. And yet he was still afraid. Afraid of it crawling over his skin, afraid that it might come near him in the night when he was asleep and vulnerable, and although he knew deep down that it wouldn’t, there was always the possibility of it deciding to run up his leg at any given moment. Even being near it made him afraid.

He thought of Rowe. He felt like he understood something. He sighed.

Luca arrived not half an hour later, banging on the door and shouting for Tomas as if nothing was wrong.

“Hey! It’s me- don’t leave me outside on this cold night. I’m only an orphan boy.”

Tomas pulled the door open. He couldn’t smile, but seeing Luca felt like the weight in his stomach was lifted slightly.

“It’s not cold. And you’re not an orphan.”

“I am happy to see you, though,” Luca said calmly. He was holding a basket, its contents hidden under a teatowel. “I brought you a pull-yourself-together hamper. Some ready meals, dry shampoo, fruit, and stuff. And the teatowel. ‘Cause why not.”

Already Tomas could feel Luca’s warmth seeping into him. He put a hand over his mouth and nodded. “Than- thanks, thank you, you know you don’t owe me anything-“

“I know, handsome lad. But the thought of Rowe being kidnapped is- god, it’s awful. Don’t worry, I’m here of my own free will. Sometimes you just need someone else in the house.”

Tomas let him inside, feeling guilty about the mess, then feeling guilty because he was the one who allowed it to accumulate.

“Let’s open a window,” Luca suggested, and Tomas sloped over. “Want me to get that spider?”

He shook his head, trying uselessly to hide his face. “It’s fine, it’s fine, you can let it stay, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m-“

His own voice cracking cut him off but he pressed on.

“I’m fine, I really am.”

“You’re not. It’s okay.”

“Just- how- how the fuck did I let this happen. How did I not, I mean, I trusted him this whole- whole time and now it’s all gone wrong and-“

He sat heavily on the floor, leaning his face into the side of the sofa, not blinking, not seeing. He breathed out and time seemed to slow.

Luca’s hand rested on his shoulder, a gentle pressure to his fingers.

“What’s done is done. You can’t help Rowe by falling apart, and you definitely can’t help yourself like that either. It’s, ah, it’s hard. It’s really hard. But you can collapse and cry and disintegrate when Rowe is back, I promise. Do you know where Kasia lives?”

Tomas nodded. “I haven’t even thought about that. I can’t believe myself.”

“Hey, no falling apart okay?” Luca’s tone was firm, and it made Tomas pull his head up, to look at him. His hair, braided in two chunky plaits, hung asymmetrically, one past his collarbone and one down his back. His eyeliner was winged like the letter V, drawn out in a point that came sharply back over his eyelid. Pretty. “That’s good to know, though. You could catch him on his way in or out, try to strike up a deal, I don’t know. I’ve not exactly had any experience with kidnappings either.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking stupid isn’t it. This whole situation is stupid. Fuck.”

Luca just looked at him, a sad smile ghosting over his face.

“I just can’t stop thinking about all the things that might be happening,” Tomas confessed. “He’s unhinged, he really is. He’s sick. And he’s got Rowe and the police don’t care, no one cares.”

“I care. You care.”

Tomas didn’t reply and the words hung over them. Two people caring wasn’t much. But, he supposed, it was better than nothing.

. . .

Rowe’s arms would dislocate, they would they absolutely would, Kasia was setting him up to dislocate both his god damn shoulders or arms or whatever. Rowe could hardly tell where the pain was located, it felt like it was everywhere, burning through his like a fire burns a taut string.

The food- dog food, but still edible, still something- sat before him, emptied on the floor, and from where Rowe knelt he should’ve been able to lean and eat easily. But Kasia had his arms bound and tied to the bars of the cage door, pulling them back and turning any movement into agony. Not only was he bent out of shape, but the burns along his shoulders were irritated awfully. He was sure his skin would burst open any second.

It had been twenty minutes at most, and already he was exhausted. Sweat rolled down him, dripping off his nose. He could hardly breathe.

Kasia’s heavy boot pressed down on the crown of his head, and his moan quickly became a scream of pain.

“No, no please!”

“I thought you were hungry. I’m helping.”

The pressure doubled, forcing Rowe’s face closer to the dog food, until he was close enough to open his mouth and take a bite. Disgust flooded him, and it only increased when he chewed. He swallowed past the collar, his throat pressing uncomfortably against it, and oh god, it felt so good, it was food in his belly, he was thankful for it despite everything. Kasia seemed satisfied and released his boot, sending Rowe’s head springing back to relieve the pressure on his shoulders. The skin near his burns had ripped and were bleeding, but nothing was dislocated.

“You’re definitely still hungry. How about another bite?”

Before Rowe could speak, Kasia had grabbed a fistful of hair, shoving him down, the sudden pull on his arms a thousand times worse than before, worse than anything, the pain was clouding his mind and he couldn’t think of anything but the barest, most built-in responses.

He screamed.

Spit flew from his mouth. Kasia kept pressing, his fingers curling tighter together, and the burning on Rowe’s scalp joined the rest of his body. His fingers were surely purple with how hard Kasia had tied them. Rowe had lost all feeling beyond his wrists.

“Please!”

Kasia ignored him.

“Please, st-stop, please M-M-Master Tomas help me-“

“He’s not fucking coming you stupid dog,” Kasia growled and pulled Rowe’s face all the way down, cracking his chin against the concrete, a deep shooting pain through his face and remaining teeth. He moaned. More skin tore along his shoulders. “No one’s coming to save you.”

A kick sent him lurching to the side, twisting his body until he was sprawled with his back to the floor, staring up at his bound hands, which were a mixture of blue and purple and were not moving at all.

He turned his head to see Kasia grabbing a fistful of the dog food from the floor and stepping over him.

“Mouth open.” Rowe complied and Kasia smiled mockingly. “Good boy.”

The dog food was shoved in, packing against the walls of his mouth, Kasia’s fingers prodding his gums, and it took everything not to vomit. His stomach heaved but nothing came. All he could do was be a good boy, and eat.

“Tomas isn’t your Master. He’s not coming.”

Present tense, thought Rowe as his eyes watered from the taste. He’s not dead.

. . .

Tomas couldn’t stop his legs from shaking as he stood on Kasia’s street, his hands tucked under his armpits for warmth. Yeah, the shaking was definitely just from the cold. Sure.

By the time Kasia appeared, it was night. He stalked down the street, stumbling slightly, and Tomas realised he was drunk. If he hadn’t had a reason to be there, he would have walked away right now, and fast.

When Kasia got close enough, Tomas stepped out of the shadows, forcing Kasia to stop and fix him with a glare.

“Give him back.”

“Or what?” he asked flatly, as if this meeting was no surprise. “Hah, you look like shit Tomas.”

“Give him fucking back, what do you want for him, money? You’re torturing a human being you sick fuck.”

“I’m having some fun with a Pet,” Kasia smiled. “And if you start whining like this I will just kill him.”

Tomas stiffened. “You wouldn’t.”

“You so sure about that?”

“Let him go.”

“No,” Kasia pushed him once and Tomas stumbled back, hitting a wall. He blinked and Kasia’s face was pressed up in front of his. He stank of booze and cigarettes. “Fuck off or I’ll kill him. I’ll hurt him worse to make up for this, too.”

“No, fuck no just leave him fucking alone-“

Kasia swung once, but mercifully something made him miss. Carelessness, the alcohol, perhaps just the assumption that Tomas was too pathetic to move out of the way. His fist cracked against the wall and as he shouted in pain Tomas considered kicking him between the legs, spitting on him, whatever. But Rowe’s life was at stake so, like the coward he was, he ran into the night, Kasia shouting taunts behind him.

Luca looked up when he pushed through the door, panting. He’d run the entire way. Luca stayed silent; the look on Tomas’s face was telling enough.

“I’m a fucking failure,” he whispered, and started to cry.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

OC Interview: Fane Lavellan

Thank you for the tag @dungeons-and-dragon-age! I’ve been eyeing up this meme for a while actually, so this was perfect timing! X3

This takes place Post-Trespasser, about a month or two after, in fact. Solas brought the idea forward, and of course, Fane refused. But after some coaxing, some explanation as to why, and the promise of a whole cake, Fane agreed to humor the request. 

*THERE BE BIG THINGS REGARDING FANE HERE* 

I got carried awaaaaaay! XD

Introduction

Can you introduce yourself?

“I can, but it’s a lengthy list,” He sighs, “...Those who are close to me, who see as but an elf, call me Fane. Those who wish to meet cobble, call me Lavellan or Herald. Those who are blinded by reverence call me ‘He Who Flew Above’. Denizens of the Fade refer to me as, ‘Devotion’ or ‘Tenacity’. However, my true name is..” He sighs again, “...Aterian. I rarely go by it, but the truth won’t be ignored. It never can be.”

What is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

“Male. Elvhen. Dragon.” He huffs through his nose, shifting his gaze off to the side, “That’s all I’ll say on that. As for orientation, I’m...emotionally driven. If you asked me to look at another and tell you what’s attractive about them I would say, ‘Nothing.’ I don’t know them, so I feel nothing for them.“ He shrugs, turning his gaze back, but brandishes a glare, “There’s only one person who defies that response, and that’s because he knows me, without and within. More than that, is none of your business.”

Where and when were you born?

He lifts a hand, massaging a temple, “The ‘where’ is simple; Elvhenan. Specifics are lost to me, however, so you’ll have to be content with that response.” He shifts his gaze downwards, slowly crossing his arms, “As to when?” He sighs heavily, “...I have no answer for that other than: I’m roughly the same age, if not older, as Solas. Does it matter, honestly? Numbers fall through the cracks after a specific threshold is crossed.” What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

He unravels a crossed arm and guides his hand downwards, tapping the pommel of a sword he has fastened to his waist, “Sword. I use either long swords, short swords, or great swords.” He raises an eyebrow as a question is forwarded, “Shields?” He sneers a bit. “I don’t use shields. They get in the way, and anyways,” He raises his hand once more, the expanse steadily beginning to glow blue and silver before a spectral coating of scales cover the entirety, “this is better than any shield. I prefer the front lines, the place I can make sure no one breaches, and the lingering memory of what I once was makes sure I can do just that.” He dispels the scales and shakes out his hand before returning it to his crossed counterpart, “It takes energy to maintain, but I’m getting better at holding it for longer.”  Lastly, are you happy?

He blinks before his entire expression softens, two toned eyes shining with primary gold as they shift downwards, “...If you had asked that of me over twelve years ago I would have spat in your face and said, ‘Happiness doesn’t exist in this world’. But now..” He trails off, casting a sidelong glance towards one of the fortress’s entryways; a familiar voice sounding, firm, but soft, as if reprimanding a child, “...I understand what happiness is, and it’s in every corner if you allow yourself to see it.” His eyes shift back, holding a far away look and voice coming forward in a murmur, “I only wish we all could be happy; together.”

Family and Friends

What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

His face holds a conflicted look, as if the memory is painful before speaking, “Complicated,” he says before beginning to tap a finger against his bicep, “I had a mother. She died when I was fifteen from a wasting disease, but she was the picture of serenity. Calm, guiding, measured. Hair like moonlight. Eyes like a clear autumn day. She was--” Unbranded features twist with a look of grief, eyes going dark as his voice drops, “...I’d rather not speak of her. It still hurts to. It hurts to speak of any of them,” His eyes narrow, grief stricken expression turning somewhat bitter, “...Especially those who throw all you did for them back into your face because they refused to listen when you needed them to most. Even so, I still wish for her happiness. Cullen better be treating her right,” That bitter turns outright malicious, dark eyes going darker as another question is meekly asked, “Father? I have no father. I only had a monster that haunted my childhood, tore my token of devotion apart, and then stalked me in my dreams. So, no. I have nothing to say about that concept.”

Have you ever ran away from home?

He chuckles, “Many, many times,” He throws most of his weight into one side, tilting his head back as if thinking, counting, “I can’t even remember the amount of times I fled into the forests, to be honest. All I know is that it happened weekly, maybe even daily,” He brings his head back, snowy hair moving with the action to brush the tops of his cheekbones, “Why do you look so surprised?” he asks, snorting a bit at the meek response of, ‘Why so often?’, “Because I refused to endure being treated like a beast every hour of the day merely because I believed differently, or rather, not at all.” He sighs within the next moment, “...I wasn’t any better than the Dalish, though. I lashed out, I spat in their face, dragged their heritage through the dirt, inflicted harm from the smallest of things...” He squeezes his arms, eyes narrowing into a glare, but seeming to see through everything, “...The past repeats. An infernal spiral that will never slow.” Would you consider marriage or having children?

“Marriage? Children?” He blinks, pale visage suddenly going flush before he snarls, “Why do I need to answer those questions?!” The blush deepens and he responds despite his displeased expression, muttering and biting the inside of his cheek, “...Damned keen eyed elves. They know, don’t they? I swear if Abelas fucking ran that mouth of his, I’ll--” He sighs heavily, letting his head fall limp a bit in defeat, “...Yes. To both. The latter is already taken care of, as everyone situated in the Crossroads knows, but...” Pointed ears are now a deep shade of red, “...marriage is...on hold. War time isn’t an ideal summer wedding.” His voice drops, eyes shimmering as if he was before the person his heart yearned for, “...The sky deserves a venue better than a garden of death and deceit.” Do you secretly hate one of your friends?

“There were those in the Inquisition who I didn’t exactly see eye to eye with,” he started before shaking his head, “but I didn’t hate anyone. Everyone is entitled to their own views and what they find important.” He scowls a bit, tapping his bicep once again with a finger, “...Even if they didn’t extend the same kindness to me in the beginning. ‘Do you believe in the Maker?’ ‘Do you believe you’re chosen?’ ‘You need to use the people’s faith. It gives them hope.’” He mocks before snorting harshly, “No. No, I don’t. Oh, that suddenly makes me trash? Ohhh. How terrible.” He scoffs. “Disgusting.” Which friend knows everything about you?

“Solas,” He says within a heart beat before clearing his throat, shifting his gaze away sheepishly, “He knows me without and within.” Emerald and gold blaze as the orbs go wide, the blush of roses coming back in full force, “Wait, wait, wait! I didn’t mean--! Fuck! You better wipe that shit eating grin off your face, elf, or I swear I’ll do it for you!” He growls in frustation, throwing his hands in the air, “Why did I agree to this? What fucking dragon entertains an interview!? This is worst than the courts in Arlathan used to be! And that’s saying something!”

Asked by Fans

Are you literate? Have you been to school?

”I am literate. Sometimes to a fault, in fact,” He smiles a bit, “Poetry is my niche; a lingering memory of my mother. So, I speak cryptically at times,” He snorts, amused, “Although, I guess that isn’t much of a surprise since the Elvhen language is riddled in verse rather than practical application. Still, even some of the ancients left have a hard time deciphering my words,” He shrugs, smile turning into a smirk, “They never expected a dragon to be able to talk, I guess. Well, ta-dah.”  The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

A somber expression flits across his visage and eyes, “...That, eventually, I would hurt the one person I never wanted to.” The corner of his mouth twitches, holding both bitterness and grief; a painful duo, “...And retribution came just as swiftly, but it--” He sighs, shaking his head in defeat before muttering under his breath, “Observe and accept. Observe that what came to pass was uncontrollable, and accept that it had to happen for your path to continue, for your soul to be complete.” What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

His face blanks, mouth going into a hard line before a sigh exits through his nose slowly, “...That I don’t have tail.” He snarls, blank expression twisting in warning, “Laugh, elf. Do it.” He nods in the next second when no sounds of amusement come forth, expression going stoic once more, “That’s what I thought. You try living centuries in one form and then transitioning. See what happens.” Do you have mental health or physical issues?

He nods, sighing tiredly. “Like my names, I have a lot.” A hand motions to his body lazily, “My entire body is littered in scars, inflicted through crude experiments by an abomination that sought power like so many others,” He expression sours, jaw working back a forth, “They’ve calmed over the years, but the memories are not so kind.” He sighs, trying to calm himself and lifts his left hand; the Anchor glowing faintly and his eyes watch it, “I have an illness, or rather, sensitivity to any Fade born essence. That, too, has calmed and I’m grateful for that. As for my mind..” He trails off, grimacing a bit as if suddenly in pain, “...Visualize the Void, and there’s your answer. Black walls with crimson torches, seats empty, but somehow wanting for memories to take their seats. However, those occupants never come, burnt to ash by fury’s flame. That’s my mind in a nutshell.” What is your current main goal?

He raises his eyebrows, pursing his lips, “Mm, as of right now, I’m busy helping Solas unlock the eluvians that he couldn’t while I was away,” He flexes his marked hand, watching it with a look of determination in his eyes, “That’ll take time, but after, my people, my kin will have their skies back. I won’t let this power be squandered, and I won’t let the key that I’ve been entrusted with fall into the wrong hands.” His face hardens further, “For if that key rusts, the locks break and the sky will blacken as surely as the earth will redden.”

Choices

Drink or food?

“Drinks.” He says with ease, shrugging, “Food is comforting, especially sweets, but a glass of rum or ale, or a cup of chamomile tea really pounds the word ‘relaxation’ into my head.” Cats or dogs?

He smiles, warmth caressing its edges, “You’ve seen Nislean wandering about the halls, laying on the window sills and curling up in front of the fire,” He hums suddenly, crossing his arms again, “Which reminds me, I need to go out of the Crossroads for milk. I’ll be getting more than five bottles this time.” Optimist or pessimist?

“Depends on who you ask,” He shrugs, seeming unbothered, “I’m neither from a personal standpoint. I try to see the bright spots, but shadows can be very persistent.”   Sassy or sarcastic?

He snorts, “Ask Fen’harel,” his voice is light upon the title, playfully mocking in its deepness, “He knows all about that side. Although, he would label it, ‘insufferable’. I would call myself dryly sarcastic, though.”

Have You Ever

Been caught sneaking out?

He purses his lips, “Hmm. Not that I can recall,” he says slowly before his brows jumped and his eyes lit up with memory, “Oh! Wait. There was that one time where I was with Solas and Mythal in a...courtyard, I think?” He shrugs before shrugging, “Doesn’t matter. But, I tried to slip away, tail and all, and I...may have shattered one or two or three eluvians trying to get to the balcony.” He somewhat wistfully, smirking, “Elgar’nan got fucking stuck in a far off settlement for a week, though. Completely worth getting my horn chewed off by a wolf.” Broken a bone?

“Surprisingly, no.” He huffs in amusement, “Wonder of wonders, truthfully.” Received flowers?

“I have,” He scowls, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust, “but I always throw them into the fire. Most are from suitors, those who don’t know what the fuck ‘taken’ means.” Ghosted someone?

His face tightens, completely deadpan, “...No?”, he says, voice raising in question a bit, “At least I don’t believe so. But, then again...oh.” He blanks further, “...Oh. I understand the term now. You mortals are forever twisting the languages, aren’t you? I can’t keep up, but the answer is still no.” Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

“Maybe once or twice, but I don’t ‘laugh’ per say.” He huffs through his nose deliberately, “I do that; a puff of air. Some habits are never truly able to be broken. No matter the form.”

Tagging: @oxygenforthewicked @blueheaded @little-lightning-lavellan @noire-pandora @the-dreadful-canine and anyone else that’d like to play! (no pressure, of course!)

[gh0stlyink]

𝔗𝔦𝔱𝔩𝔢 - ᴴᵘˢʰ, ᴺᵒʷ

𝔉𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪 - ᴰʳᵃᵍᵒⁿ ᴬᵍᵉ: ᴵⁿqᵘⁱˢⁱᵗⁱᵒⁿ | 𝔖𝔥𝔦𝔭 - ˢᵒˡᵃˢ ˣ ᵃᶠᵃᵇ!ⁿᵒⁿᵇⁱⁿᵃʳʸ ᴸᵃᵛᵉˡˡᵃⁿ ᵒᶜ

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 - ¹,⁹⁷⁹

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 - ¹⁸⁺, ᵐⁱˡᵈ ʷᵒᵘⁿᵈ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 - ᴱᵐᵉʳʸ ᶜᵒᵐᵉˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵃ ʳᵃᵗʰᵉʳ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵐⁱˢˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ⁱˢ ᵗᵃᵏᵉⁿ ᶜᵃʳᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵇʸ ᵃ ᵐᵃᵍⁱᶜ ᵉᵍᵍ

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

"It isn't like you couldn't also take a break."

The words of Solas were swimming around in Emery's mind as they trudged through the gates to Skyhold. Even welcomes thrown at them from left and right weren't enough to slate his echoing voice.

I suppose I could have…

They had convinced Solas to stay at Skyhold for this last mission. Emery felt like he had been running himself thin weeks prior, so they wanted him to just take a break, but he decided to use the same argument on them.

Somehow, they had gotten him to stay, saying something to the effect of: "Well, I'm the Inquisitor. I can't just not do my job." Begrudgingly, Solas had relented, but he told them that he hoped they would be back in at most a week. Emery said they would try, and they did indeed.

However, it took them two weeks to complete instead of one. Emery had a feeling Solas was not going to be happy.

Regardless, they were excited to be able to see him again. To be able to listen to his stories of his travels in the Fade. To be able to trail their fingers across his shoulders.

To feel his lips brushing against their neck...

Emery quickly brushed those thoughts away. There were too many people around, and they didn't want to raise any suspicion. They still had some work to do before they turned in for the night, anyway.

That didn't mean Emery couldn't speak around before they headed to Josephine. They spoke to Varric for a while, and he told them about a possible scene in the book he was planning. They spoke to Dorian, who was possibly too curious about Solas, because he asked about whether or not Emery had seen him yet. They said no.

The conversation led them to search for Solas. It didn't matter if Dorian had figured out about their secret relationship. They had already thought about confiding in him, anyhow. He was becoming a dear friend.

When Emery entered the bottom of the library they looked around, only to see that no one was there. They searched around other places in the hold that he would frequent, but he was nowhere to be found.

Finally, they went to Josephine. She generally knew where everyone was.

"Hey, have you seen Solas around? I have a few questions for him?" They asked, trying to be as casual as possible.

"I haven't seen him since this morning," she replied without looking up. "Said something about gathering herbs."

"I see," they were just about to turn around and search even more for him, but Josephine cut stopped them short in their tracks.

"We have a lot of things we need to go over with you, Inquisitor."

And with that, Emery was practically dragged into the War Room. Their advisers knew how hard it would be to get them up in the morning if they had been let go so easily. Of course, Cassandra was the one who had gotten them all to agree to get Emery into the War Room as fast as possible. Only after going over several documents, sending out many orders, and going over resources, they were finally let free.

"It isn't like you couldn't also take a break."

His words were burning, now. They couldn't search for him now; it was impossible. Hopefully, he was waiting for them.

Emery could barely pick up a loaf of bread from the dining room before they escaped through the door to their quarters. The stairs were worse. Every lift of their knee made them want to fall backwards to simply crumple at the base, but the soft promise of their bed kept them going.

Final door. So close... So close... They pushed through, now, and practically fell-

No. They did fall, but they were caught. Caught? Caught by what?

Then the familiar scent filled their nose. The scent of elfroot and that sweet musk they could never describe. Strong arms tightened around them, holding them up from falling further.

They didn't have to look up to know it was Solas who had caught her.

"You seem you have gotten clumsier since our last meeting," his voice soothed, a hand slowly turning circle patterns across their back. The other one had secured the loaf of bread before it had fallen to the floor.

"I'm not clumsy," Emery said stubbornly, as they looked up through their ebony hair.

Solas chuckled and led them to sit in a nearby chair carefully. He placed the loaf of bread on the chair side table cloth, then he crouched down in front of them, taking the side of their face in the palm of his hand. "You look absolutely exhausted," he said more seriously, brushing locks of their hair behind a pointed ear.

"I'm fine. Perfectly fine," they tried to smile widely at him and sit up straight, but a spasm in their back caused them to shrink in pain. "Perhaps...not."

Solas sighed, but smiled warmly. "Lucky for you, I supposed this would be the case." He got up and walked over to a table he had apparently set up with a bowl of water and neatly folded cloths.

"Yes, lucky for me," Emery murmured wistfully. They sounded like they would be able to fall asleep at any moment.

Solas wasn't about to let that happen yet. He was wringing out a cloth from the bowl of water, then brought it over to Emery. "Your day is almost done, Vhenan. Let's freshen you up a bit."

Emery would have moaned from the contact of the warm cloth upon their cheek if they weren't so tired. They couldn't help put lean into the feeling, their eyes closing easily.

Solas put his fingers below their chin and straightened their face. "Do you enjoy making my job harder?" He brought the cloth down their neck, earning an actual escape of breath from Emery's throat. He couldn't help but smile.

"Of course not," came their slow reply, eyes opening lazily to gaze at him.

He brought the cloth up the other side of their neck and along their jaw.

They shivered.

Solas gave them a loving smile, his eyes nearly closing from bliss. "I'm only teasing you," he was brushing lightly over their eyelids now. "You should only worry about resting now. I've got you."

Emery lifted their hand to grab his free one. They ran circles over his knuckles with their thumb. "Sorry I wasn't back in a week."

Solas laughed softly as he stood to put the cloth away. He then made his way behind the chair Emery was sitting in and started undoing the intricate braids that were holding up their hair. "Em, I'm just glad you're here and safe."

Emery sighed happily when his fingers ran through their loose hair, the tips of them working back and forth over their scalp. "Still, I thought we would-"

"Hush now, Vhenan."

His breath was at their ear now, hands moving down their neck and working into the tense muscles. Their shoulders relaxed, head tilting slightly forward.

The only words that were said now were soft spoken elvish. Emery couldn't understand them all, but they were soothing and sent gooseflesh across their skin. They were sure it was loving by the way he was speaking.

Solas was undoing the ties of their clothes now, starting with the pads on their shoulders. He was being so careful. It was as if they were a fragile sheet of glass. He eased the leather down their arms slowly, letting them fall unceremoniously on the floor.

He moved around the chair, fingers trailing along the back of their neck, and began with the ties to their shirt. Soon it had been slipped over Emery's head, added to the pile forming on the floor. He would get to that later, but he was too busy taking in the form in front of him. How they so easily melted into his touch.

He knelt down again in front of them to go for their belt. He wanted them to be able to sit for as long as they could, but it was getting near the time they would need to stand.

Once the belt was undone, he led his palms down their thighs, squeezing them gently as he did so. Emery was beginning to believe he was trying to work them up, but he was only making his way to work on the laces of their boots.

He untied them quickly, sliding them off, then got up and held out his hand. "Come now, I'll take you to the bed."

He didn't have to ask them twice, and they took his hand so he could help them up. He couldn't help himself from pulling them in his arms briefly to brush his lips down their neck.

This earned him a sharp moan, and they almost collapsed forward into his embrace, but he took their hand instead to lead them to the bed. Before he let them sit down, he worked their pants down to their ankles.

Emery sat back and helped him out by lifting their legs so he could pull them completely off. Their foot wrappings we're next, and quick to go. They were only wearing their underclothes now, which was a sheer top and undershorts.

That's when he caught sight of the wound on the back of their calf. "Blackwall told me about the pack of wolves."

Emery leaned forward to cup the side of his face. "That was nearly a week ago. It's basically healed now."

Solas shook his head. "Basically won't do," and with that he got up to get a fresh wet cloth, then came back to wipe at the bite.

Emery winced. Maybe the flesh was angrier than they thought.

"See? If I hadn't caught it fast enough you might have had to amputate your leg," he mused.

"It may be sore, but I know I took care of it enough so that it won't come down to that," Emery laughed, but they couldn't help but to scrunch up their face in pain. It didn't hurt so much to walk with, but touching it out right made it flare up.

"No, truly," Solas lifted their leg a bit higher. "I believe it was at the brink of falling off completely before I came to your rescue.

Emery let out a soft laugh. "You know what, for the sake of my energy levels, I will agree with you," they said, then placed the back of their wrist on their forehead. "Oh, Solas. Whatever would I have done. Without your magical touch I never would have-"

Solas was kissing up from their knee and up their thigh now, which had caught them off guard.

"O-oh-" they could barely get it out before Solas had pressed his lips to theirs; fierce, but soft. It sent a warming sensation through their chest, especially since he was between their legs. The hand that wasn't securely holding onto the back of Emery's neck was holding the back of their knee high up on his waist.

The moment was over quickly, but it had left Emery out of breath and wanting. He had abruptly walked away from them and towards the table with the loaf of bread.

"Wh-where did that come from!?" Emery finally let out, looking at the one before them with bewildered amusement.

"I simply could not help myself, Vhenan," he admitted, and brought the bread over to hand to Emery.

They took it gratefully and ripped a chunk off to stuff in their mouth. “You really are a tease.” they said through chewing.

“There’s more where that came from, I assure you,” he promised, nuzzling their ear affectionately. “Now eat while I bathe the rest of you and get you patched up, my love.”

✧○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○ꊞ○✧

[Authors Notes]

this is a repost of a drabble i posted on my main, and honestly, it was so filled with errors, that i am going to delete it.

also, i want all of my stuff in one place

wattpad | ao3 | fanfiction | main blog | witch blog | consider supporting me<3

[bbykpoper]

Chapter 2 // Masterlist

GENRE: mafia au, fluff, a bit of smut, a smudge of angst if you squint your eyes hard enough, possible fantasy????

SYNOPSIS: A centuries old feud which kept itself silent suddenly ignites once again as two warring gangs face each other for the first time. A family of established immortals who came together after the war, a band of humans who began remembering their past lives and officials breathing down their neck threaten the world once again as fantasy and reality clash in the form of a young man hell bent on being in the lead and a young woman hell bent on ending this meaningless feud. A story will unfold before you now, questioning your morals as well as grinding your nerves to the edge.

“A princess turned assassin?”

“A coward turned prince?”

Who will survive the last wave of this war?

°˖✧

Loud music blasted into the night as people stood around parked cars of different neon colours. Men boasted their engines, while women walked around with drinks in hand going to their respective groups of friends. Two men sighed by a neon orange car which had a few girls around it, glaring at the driver who was more than enjoying the attention.

“Jun, get a hold of yourself.” The man got a loud smack to his head. “We’re not  here to entertain but to observe.”

“Whatever Song, they’re still not here.” The man named Jun answered, scratching his head and looking to the other young man for help.

“Don’t get me involved in this.” He laughed. “I’ve been told to expect them around 1 a.m. We have a few more minutes until then.” He turned.

“What else did you manage to find out Bobby?” Song looked over to him.

“NCT was invited especially for this race.” The chill in his voice summoned the night breeze. “It doesn’t sound good. It could be a deal or something more. But by the faces of some of Bangtan’s boys, it’s dangerous.” 

“We can’t exactly interfere, nor can we arrest them.” Song sighed. “This is such a pain in the ass.”

“But hey, we’re the best at this job.” Jun smirked, looking on at the incoming cars. “Uh-oh, that doesn’t look good.”

The trio noticed a car stop not far from the black sleek 2006 Mazda RX-8. Three men got out and their eyes widened when they noticed NCT’s right-hand man Johnny, followed by their sharp shooter Bulls Eye and their bomb expert as well as head of operations Brain. They followed them walking with their eyes and almost sat down on their asses when they noticed four of Bangtan’s highest waiting for them.

“We need to report this to Han.” 

“Don’t. Not yet.” Bobby grabbed a hold of the man before he could leave. “Everybody here is being observed right now. You don’t want to allert them to us, do you?”

Song kept still, glancing nervously at the scene unfolding before them.

°˖✧

Johnny buttoned his blazer as he came closer to the four individuals casually standing around a car with extremely prominent pink neon lights underneath it. The black 2006 Nissan 350Z stood out not only because of the pink details on the black body, but because of the young woman sitting on the hood of the car, her gaze fixed on the group of young teens in the distance by the starting line of the track. Her booted feet were dangling off the edge as her baggy pants covered her long legs, three to four sleek belts firmly tied around her thigh. A simple crop top covered her upper body, a small purple heart hidden on the hem. Her face sported the usual black mask, something which became a trademark for her. Johnny couldn’t take his eyes off of the girl, his breath stopping in his throat as he became starstruck by the white haired beauty before him. 

“Close your mouth pretty boy, she’ll notice the drool coming from your mouth.” The sudden whisper had Johnny backing up, his gaze turning to the smirking man beside him. “I would have never taken you to be a scaredy cat Johnny boy.”

“I never took you to be a trickster Mastema.” Johnny cleared his throat as all the attention turned to him.

“How come?” The black haired man looked at him, his mouth forming a smirk. “Didn’t little Jaemin tell you what I’m like?”

“You’ve met him?” Brain now stepped forward but was short in his path, the tip of a large blade eerily pressed agains his neck. “What the-”

“Place the blade down baby, we don’t want to scare our guests.” 

“He wanted to hit you.” Her voice was so soft and soothing, it took all three NCT boys by surprise. “He represents danger to you and I don’t like it.”

“Ah, you’re so cute.” The black haired man known as Mastema spoke out, coming up to hug her and lower her arm which held the weapon. “He won’t attack me, because I have you.” 

The girl backed up, placing the sword before her, both hands placed on the decorative grip as she stood back and glared at the men. Johnny noticed only then the lotus flower around her exposed belly button and his mind started wandering. 

“Eyes here Johnny.” His view was blocked by the one man that never left the girl’s side. 

“Now look what you’ve done.” Mastema sighed. “You’ve angered poor Solas.” 

“Where is Jaemin?!” Brain yelled out, catching the attention of the three.

“Tell you what, if any of you manage to beat my top driver I’ll tell you where he is.” Mastema smiled, his eyes sharp as ever. “But if you lose, you’ll have to tell me why you sent one of your own into our ranks.”

“We don’t have a driver.” The third person, Bulls Eye, finally spoke up. 

“I don’t see the issue with that. Why doesn’t Johnny boy drive? He did start out as one.” Mastema smirked. “You’ve taken an incredible ammount of cash from these races Johnny. I’m pretty sure you are qualified to drive.”

His jaw clenched and he looked over at the two men that came with him. Now he actually understood why Boss mentioned to take one of the cars. He really didn’t want to race, bad memories crawled into his mind before he even turned towards the car, but his eyes still went over to the girl. She was observing him too, her white hair falling around her masked face purely to taunt him. Those brown eyes stared right at him, lifeless and cold. 

But he knew better. 

“Yeonjun!” Mastema called out and young boy, with extremely pink hair walked over to him, a sudden blush creeping up on his cheeks. “Be sure to win this race.” The man’s eyes were sharp and held the promise of murder in them, the young boy nodding.

“Good luck Yeonjun.” Fae spoke up to him as he walked past her to the black Nissan.

“Thank you Lady Fae.” He squeaked out as his blush deepend.

This made Johnny furious and he was in the car in a blink of an eye. He started his engine and pulled up to the starting line as both Solas and Fae walked over to Mastema. 

“How did you know he would agree to this Yoongi?” The girl asked, as she sheathed her sword. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Yoongi laughed as he looked over to the the cars speeding off. “He is sickeningly obsessed with you.”

Johnny had so many thoughts running through his head as he raced down the street, trying to catch up with the black nissan. Those brown eyes haunted him as he rapidly accelerated. On the other side, Brain and Bulls Eye glared at the three, the first of the two stepping out and demanding answers. Yoongi only put his finger on his own mouth, the smile never leaving his face. 

“You need to be patient. You should already know that seeing as you build bombs for a living.” He laughed, when he heard a group cheering as Yeonjun passed the final check point before the finish line, his ass in front of Johnny. “Oh no, it seems Johnny boy has lost his flavour.”

The cars came into view, inches moving between the fronts as they neared the finish line. The girl observed closely, surprised and impressed at the skill NCT’s right hand man was showing. The cars passed the line, Yeonjun winning by a literal inch. Yoongi clapped in amusement as Johnny angrily slammed the door of the mazda. 

“Well done Yeonjun, you never disappoint.” Yoongi spoke up as he walked over to Johnny and leaned on his mazda.

“Congradulations kid.” The girl patted the pink haired boy on the shoulder as he went to join up with his friends, a bright smile on his face.

“I’m waiting.” The three men looked at each other, none making a move to speak. “A deal’s a deal. You don’t want to go back on your word, right?”

“We just wanted some information.” Johnny sighed out.

“About?” Solas was becoming irritated by this whole thing and all three men noticed.

“The weapon deal you’re doing with the Chinese. We wanted to fuck that shit up so that we could take over the market there. But here we are.” Bulls Eye spoke up, rolling his eyes at the same time. 

“Yuta Nakamoto.” Mastema spoke up. “I’d believe that story if it came from Johnny’s mouth, but seeing as it came from yours I’m having a hard time with it.”

“He’s not lying.” The girl suddenly spoke up, her eyes fixed on Yuta. “He is telling the truth but there is more behind it.”

“Perceptive.” Brain spoke up, his anger evident.

“He mentioned the Chinese. Beelzebub has had some issues with the shipments the past few months. I believe they are working with the Chinese but not to take over our market there.” She looked over at Johnny, their gazes trained on each other. “They most likely threatened you to take us out. They have something on you which you can’t refuse.”

“Oh my, it seems you were spot on Fae.” Yoongi laughed at the troubled look on the men’s faces. “So, what do they got over you?”

“How did you figure that one out?” Johnny asked. “Did Jaemin tell you?”

“No. She’s just really good at reading people.” Solas said with a shrug of his shoulders. 

“They have our Chinese branch under control. They broke in and took over, placing our men into a full on hostage situation.” Johnny began explaining. “They contacted us about a month ago, demanding we take out the round table of Bangtan. They want your position in Asia.”

“Jesus, so you predicted this right it seems Fae.” Mastema sighed looking over at the girl. “Let’s go, we need to tell this to Forcas.”

“Wait, what about Jaemin?!” Brain yelled after the three and Mastema turned with a smile.

“You didn’t win the race.” He shrugged his shoulders and walked away. 

The girl turned around and looked at the men, taking pitty on them and their devastated faces. She stopped in her tracks, Solas also stopping to wait for her. She looked over at Johnny who was already staring at her and her lifeless eyes turned darker as she spoke up.

“Na Jaemin is dead. I killed him.”

[whumping-out-of-timee]

Falling Short

Cw: Losing Consciousness, Permanent injury, Amputation, Knife Injury, Blood, Panic/Shock, Loss of Self, Mild Swearing

Kinda nervous about actually posting my work now, but here goes nothing. Special thanks to @sola-whumping for all the questions they've answered!

Let me know any content warnings I missed!

Red Masterlist here

*****

Nikora was on edge, he had failed another simple task. Now he could barely look the archangel in the eyes. He was afraid of their worsening and often unpredictable mood swings. He glued his eyes to the ground in an attempt to not enrage them any further.

Felix's twitching hand drew his attention, light blotchy nails flexing into his palm. He tried to remember a time when his master was in good health, but it had long passed. Felix stopped pacing angrily, beautiful feathers disappearing behind him as he turned. Breaking his monologue to address Nikora.

"Are you even listening right now?"

Those abrasive words brought him to attention. Nikora's startled eyes skipped up to meet the archangel's gaze.

Entrancing puddles of neon red peeked through his colorless hair. Nikora quickly found himself drowning in them.

"Niko.. I swear.." Felix's cracking voice was the only warning before his tired words trailed off. His eyes narrowing and flooding an angry hot pink color.

Shit, Niko thought.

An apology stuttering out of him "I'm- I’m sorry, I'm listening, I promise!"

"I don't care! I'm so tired of you, you never listen. All you do is mess up!” Felix half-screamed in response, voice breaking from it's practiced range.

He covered his face as his hand came back from an expressive gesture and his brows pulled together in a stressed expression. A deep sigh, as his neon eyes clenched shut under his unnaturally pale fingers.

Maybe he'll get a hold of himself

Felix broke his silence after a few seconds with a renewed rage "you know what.. just kneel. I've had enough."

Nikora was afraid, but he knew better than to protest, or even open his mouth at all. Taking an unsteady knee on the stone patio, he bowed his head down. He didn't dare move from his position, even as the sound of Felix's footsteps trailed off into the distance.

What did I do to make him so mad?

Echoing footsteps returned, coming to a steady stop behind him. There was a long second of hesitation before a hand gasped at him, grabbing a handful of hair with hostility.

Felix's voice was soft, but overflowing with spite.

"Now, I'm going to make this real easy, if you make it hard, I'll kill you. Understand Niko?"

What-??

Fear spilled over him as those cold words soaked into him. He felt his heartbeat panic in his chest.

Nikora turned his chin to the side as much as he could, straining to look back at Felix.

He caught a glimpse of a knife in Felix's left hand, held loosely at his side. A ceremonial blade made from carved bone. Then the realization hit him: he was going to loose his wings.

No this can't be happening- he can't..

"N-no, please I-" was all he could get out before Felix shushed him.

"What did I say, Niko?"

Felix’s raspy voice faded out slightly, as he gripped Nikora's hair to push his face further towards the ground. Seemly finding his voice again, he spoke softly, leaning close to the poor angel's ear "Are you going to make this hard?"

Nikora didn't respond as he tried to fight against the force pulling him down toward the cold stone. Tears where starting to pour down his face.

He cant do this to me! I don't want to be a demon! I can't!

"Please! I'll do better-" he pleaded helplessly, words silenced as the shaky grip in his hair tightened, still he strained to resist. Causing a stinging pain to start in his neck.

This can't be happening! Who will I be then?! I can't die here!

He tried to get up, pushing himself with the leg which had his foot planted to the ground. But, even weakened, Felix was many times stronger than him.

"Stop it. Or I'm going to stop being so gentle with you, don't make me do that." Felix mumbled, the threat little more than an exhausted sigh in his ear.

Nikora froze in fear, listening to the loud distressed rhythm of the archangel's breathing. It seemed like an eternity passed before he let out a plea, "please! I-"

A hard knee in his spine knocked the wind from his sentiment before it was uttered. He was forced to the ground with his knees to his chest. His cheek finally meeting the cold smoothness beneath.

No please!

Gasping for air, the stinging in his neck was now close to unbearable. He couldn't fight against Felix as his left wing was taken in the archangel's hand. Fingers dug into it for a better grip into the joint where an elbow would be.

"See, it's not that hard. It'll all be over soon" Felix said, his tone sweet again as the blade touched the lesser angel's skin.

He was crazy! He couldn't do this!

"No- dont!-" Nikora cried out as he felt the blade cutting through the muscle surrounding his wing. He struggled desperately against the knee pushing to the ground. But, it only sent sharp pain through his protesting ribs. Tears dripped from his clenched eyes, wetting the stone beneath. He wasn’t able to turn his head enough to see anything. Every breath he took added to the growing fire on his back.

It can't be happening. Not like this. Any way but this

"Shh I'm almost done, just stay still a little longer, ok?" Felix purred, gentle words washing over him, the poison in them disguised by melody.

But, he didn't hear them, instead he saw his discarded wing hit the ground in the edge of his vision. Beautiful tan feathers catching the light with a peachy tint. White fluff floating thru the air to settle on the cold stone, kicked up by his labored breathing.

No.. it cant be..

Shock set in, spinning unbalanced with one wing. It can't be. Burning pain around his right wing now, his wingtip faded into numbness. Blood in dark pools on the uneven grey under him. A voice faded further and further away.

What am I now, if not me?

The muffled sound of a second wing on cold rock. A warm burning spreading inside of him, a fire consuming him.

I am the nothingness in between

His consciousness fell into nothingness. Darkness.

I’m no one at all

*****

Next: Awakening

[fenharel-babe]

Me: trying to sleep at 2 am in the morning.

My brain: imagine Solas seeing the inquisitor in the fade, but he found her because she’s singing. And she’s singing “The Promise”. The song that is Serahs theme from FF13-2 (I love Serah. Precious babe🥺).

Hmm,,

Solas would walk around the fade, maybe in a ruin or anywhere his mind takes him. He’s wandering and it’s silent. However, in his mind, it’s loud. Thoughts are running through his mind. Plans for what to do, how it could go wrong, and doubt. “Do I really want to do this?” He would ask himself sometimes, and he would convince himself that he has to do it. And yeah he’s walking around, maybe in some more casual clothes, and it’s chaos in his mind. He can’t hear anything and he’s blindly walking around. However, he stops walking when he hears a voice.

A woman’s voice humming.

It’s humming a tune he was unfamiliar with, but it was beautiful to his ears. He didn’t know exactly where it was coming from, so he walked around the ruin, trying to find it. He didn’t know why he was chasing after it, but he was. When he finally found it, the air left his lungs. He saw Bloom, sitting on the floor in a room of the ruin, wearing a blue nightgown, and humming a tune. He thought she would see him, but her eyes were closed. He was standing a littles away on her right and he was a little happy she didn’t see him but also a little sad. He wanted to see her look at him and talk to him, but didn’t want to at the same time. So, he just watched her hum.

As he listened he thought about Bloom and him before this mess. It’s as if it was an instinct. He thought of how when they fought, they would look at each other and walk their moves, watching to see if they get hurt. If one of them did, they always healed them as best as the other could. And when they were alone, he would hold her in his arms. Hold her and tell her stories about his trips. All of them were true and he loved seeing the excitement on her face. It made him feel like he was a good guy...when he knew he wasn’t. As he was thinking of her, he suddenly heard her clearing her throat. He opened his eyes, not realizing he closed them, and saw her still sitting there. Her eyes were closed and she took in a breath and exhaled it.

“Make my wish come true. Let darkness fade to light.”

She sang those words and her voice was high, higher than normal. Her voice echoed out into the ruin, bouncing off the walls, and it matched the tune she was humming earlier. He never has heard her sing, so he felt a little blessed to be able to hear it. And he got to see her hair down. He almost never saw that either. She paused for a second, voice stopping for a moment. He almost started to panic, he thought she has noticed him and would stop, but he realized her eyes weren’t open at all. Instead of opening them and looking towards him or talking to him at all, he heard a sniffle, a shaky breath in following after. He saw tear drops fall onto the ground and it made his heart ache.

“Show me there’s still hope. Show me its not over,” her voice sang, but this time it was softer. Weaker. He believed she was singing from the heart. Whether it was a song she made or a song she knew, but he believed it was from her heart. And that made it a little more painful for him, but he knew this was more painful for her. How could it not be? But he knew she was lost. It’s what the lyrics meant. She needs hope. She needs to know everything isn’t over. That the world isn’t crumbling beneath her fingers. Another sniffle came from her.

“Battles we can win, our struggle lies within,” she sang, but her voice was louder and steadier this time. Her emotions were now under control again, as if she needed them to. Did she know he was here? He wondered, but continued none the less. If she noticed him, then he would deal with her, but if she didn’t, then he’d stand here and listen to her beautiful voice. He eventually did sit down and leaned back on a broken pillar.

“Will we live to greet the dawn?”

Were those her thoughts now? Or when they were battling Corypheus? When she defeated Corypheus, when she accomplished her mission, he felt proud for her and was so happy she lived. And even when he saw the destruction of the orb, there was still a piece of him that was happy for her and even more in love with her...but he pushed it away. But now he doesn’t know if that’s her thoughts for the future. She still risks her life by just existing. But maybe that’s her worries for stopping him. And maybe the ‘we’ was him and her. Or was it the inquisition? He doesn’t know. He just listens.

“Love will not leave you. Hate will not heal you,” her voice rang out, her voice trembling and her body was now shaking. He remembers her spreading love, even to the people who didn’t deserve it. She was hard to understand. He didn’t understand why she showed sympathy on terrible people, why she chose to save terrible people. He didn’t see their worth, but she did. And it was something he loved about her. And she also believed hate wouldn’t heal anything. She hated people and it’s something she always tried to stop, but he couldn’t. He basically hated everyone until he met her.

“Promise me one day that peace shall reign.” She stopped at ‘promise’ and let out a little sob, but continued with the same tune. She held the last word longer than the others, and when she was done, she took in a deep, shaky breath. She stared out into the ruin, not looking anywhere in particular. He knew her mind was also in chaos. It was all silent until he heard her whisper, “Solas...”. His name was followed by a sob as she held her head in her hands, hiding her beautiful face. Like her singing voice, her cries echoed in the ruin, spreading more sadness into the ruin, adding to what was already here.

“Why, Solas? Why, why!” She slammed her fists against the ground, her voice trembling with a mix of emotions. Anger, sadness, betrayal, and many more. It was once again silent except for her fast breathing and sniffles. “Why did you have to leave me? Why...”. His heart ached as he heard those words. They were soft and so low he could barely hear them, but he heard them, and it hurt him. Honestly, he sometimes forgot why he was doing this. He didn’t know how he could forget, but he would for a split second. He would remember the sadness on Blooms face and wonder, “How could I do that?” And then he remembers why.

This world will end at his hands. She will end. He will restore his people. He will right his wrongs. But he wonders if he will be able to live with the wrongs he will make along the way. Will it be worth it? Will she stop him? Will he regret it? Chaos was once back in his mind, but it stopped when he heard her speak again.

“Solas, if you can somehow hear me. I don’t know how this works, Solas, but maybe, just maybe you can hear me,” she spoke out, her voice still trembling. She was weak here. If anyone else saw her, they wouldn’t believe it was her, but it was. It was the real Bloom under the inquisitor title. She inhaled and exhaled. “I love you, Vhenan. But I will find you. I don’t care what you do to stop me or interfere with me, I will find you. I won’t let you forget my stubbornness.” She laughed at her own words and he wanted to laugh to. He just put on a smile. She was stubborn and he could never forget it. It was annoying to him at first, but then he fell in love with that stubbornness.

“I will stop you and save you. You know I will. Deep down, you know I can. The man I love is still there. I will find him. I will you beat you up first, but I’ll heal you. It’ll be fine, right?” She seemed not confident while still being confident. And hearing her say “the man I love,” made him feel a feeling. It was his heart racing. She loved him. She loved him. Ever after all of this. He can’t recall how long it’s been. The days are bleeding into each other, he can’t even remember when he actually did see her.

“And if I can’t change your mind, then...”. Her voice trailed off and he was concerned. “Then I’ll save you. Even if I have to lose myself.”

“No.” He froze as the word escaped his mouth. He doesn’t know if she hears him, so he stills himself. He casts a spell to make himself invisible. It’s not for long, but maybe just enough for her to look away so he can escape. She looks over in his direction and she gets up in a rush. “Solas?!” She runs over to his direction, desperate to see him again, but she stops in front of him. He thinks she sees him, but her eyes are unfocused and searching everywhere else but where he is. However, he can now see her up close and her eyes are red and her cheeks are red as well.

This isn’t the first time she’s cried about him. Crying just once won’t make your eyes that red. He wonders how many times has she stayed up late at night in her quarters, alone, and crying her heart out, while trying to be quiet. She wouldn’t dare show weakness in front of others. Only him. But he wasn’t there for her anymore, so her tears would flow ongoing until she ran out. “Ah, silly girl. Now you’re hearing things,” she said as she looked down at the ground. She turned around and walked back to where she was and sat down. She looked defeated and he wanted to go and hold her. Tell her he was sorry and let her hit him, let her yell at him, and maybe let her convince him. But when she looks down at the ground, he tears his gaze away from her and begins to walk away. He can’t even get 5 steps away before she starts talking again.

“You will forget me, Solas. You live forever. I don’t. Maybe you will succeed and I will die, but I know you will forget me. But I’ll never forget you.” Her voice trembled once again, but he then heard her take in a deep breath and begin singing again. Those words haunt him and he considers turning back to listen and enjoy her voice, but he can’t. Not now. Not ever again. But he wishes he could say, “No, Vhenan. I will never forget you,” because he won’t. Her voice and memories of them together would follow him. He can’t even go into the fade without thinking of her.

And as he exits the fade, waking up in his bed, and begins doing his plans again, he begins to hum the song she was singing. He doesn’t realize it till one of his agents point it out. “That song sounds familiar,” they would say. He would stop and dismiss them. He would inhale and exhale. He has to move on. She needs to as well. They need to do their own thing, and he will do this. He will. It’s what he repeats in his head until the memory of her in the fade is gone until he sleeps once again.

Hmm,,,so I’m emotional guys...it’s almost 2 am again and I’m really sad but rlly loved this. Please like this bc I like attention and feed back. And sorry if there’s typos/mistakes,,I’m tired dbwbd. And yes let me write a kinda more affectionate Solas and scared Solas aLRIGHT!!

[princesscaliban]

Caliban x Cheerleader | 2

Notes: A little adult-y at the end but that’s about it. Yes, part 3 is already started. That’s if you like part 2. I tried not to rush it but some parts aren’t as detailed as I wanted. There’s pictures included because I love visuals. x

Part 1

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

Zelda brushed her hands on her skirt, cleaning them of any sweat that may have gathered during their quick meeting, “Stamattina, prima dell'alba, cancella i ricordi delle ultime notti, dalla mente di tutti.” Her hands pointed forwards towards Greendale and a gush of air hit the three witches to signal it had worked.

Ambrose had gathered Addy’s mother’s body and Caliban had volunteered to banish her father to Hell. All that Greendale would know is that Addy’s father never moved to Greendale and her mother passed of heart issues. She was buried in a local cemetery with a beautiful ceremony, Addy helping Sabrina lead her mother to Heaven with a few final words.

Then it came time. Time to tell Addy of her family lineage and test her blood to see what she was. 

“It’s a simple cut, fill the vile, Sabrina will heal you and we will know once Hilda mixes the potion.” Zelda slid the knife across the table to Addy, who grabbed it with shaky hands. 

Sabrina sat next to her, “It will only hurt for a second, once it’s full you’ll be healed, I promise.”

“Why do I have to do it myself? Can’t someone else do it while I’m not looking?”

“The subject does it themselves so there’s not chance of enchantment on the blood spilling into the vile.” Zelda explained, “We haven’t much time dear, we need to find out so we know what to do.”

Caliban stood behind Addy, his hands on her shoulders, “Brina is right here to fix it, you can do it Addyson.” 

The knife was millimeters from her hand and she froze, breaking down in tears, “I can’t get myself to do it. I want to, but I can’t.”

“I’ll do it with you.” Caliban offered, grabbing a knife off of the countertop behind him, “I’ll cut my hand and fill a vile, she can heal you and then me.”

“Yeah, you can do it together on the count of three.” Sabrina suggested, “Do you want me to count?” Addy took a deep breath and nodded, gripping the knife tighter, “On three… one..”

She looked over at Caliban, who held a knife to his hand as well, “Two….”

She looked up at Zelda and Hilda who stood with two empty viles, ready to catch their blood.

“Three..”

Without thinking Addy sliced her hand open, shrieking at the pain, clenching her eyes closed as Zelda guided her hand over the vile until it was full. She heard Sabrina talking, “Guarisci questa ferita, elimina la cicatrice, rendilo com'era prima.”

She went from pain to her hand feeling tight and with no thought she pulled it into a fist. It was completely healed.

Sabrina held her hands over Caliban and his cut seemed to mend itself back together as Addy watched. 

“In a few hours we will check the color of the brew, it will let us know.” Hilda smiled, walking towards the kitchen.

Hours later and Hilda was on the hunt for Sabrina, astral projecting herself to Dorian’s where Sabrina sat with Nick at the bar. “I need you back at the house immediately, this is not going as we thought.”

“Is Addy ok—

“Ms. Addy is fine, but Caliban is.. just… just come back.” She disappeared, leaving Sabrina and Nick confused.

“Do you want to come back for the reveal?” She joked, laughing with Nick, “It’s  like a mortal gender reveal, boy or girl? Witch or mortal?”

They appeared in Sabrina’s room and made their way downstairs, checking on the guest bedroom that had become Addy’s to see if she was still asleep. And there she was, tucked in front of Caliban, his arms wrapped around her, “Is it done?” he asked, eyes wide open, not even the slightest thought of sleeping.

“Not sure. I’ll come get you when it is.” She smiled, quietly closing the door. “So Caliban cut himself with Addy so she wasn’t afraid, Hilda must have went ahead and tested his blood..” She whispered to Nick as they walked down the stairs.

Hilda sat at the table with two viles in front of her, her eyes were glossed over as she kept looking at them back and forth. “Sabrina go get your Aunt Zelda.”

“I’m right here, Hilda, what’s the matter?”

“This is Ms. Addyson’s…” She pointed to the left, “This is Caliban’s.”

None of the others understood the layers of colors that sat in the viles. Addy’s was a vibrant green at the bottom half and a dark blue at the top, Caliban’s was the same green at the bottom but a light orange on the top quarter of it.

“Orange is demon, blue is mortal, green is witch or warlock.” 

They all went silent looking at Caliban’s green and orange vile, “So Caliban is..”

Hilda glanced up the stairs to check the door was still closed and leaned closer to the group, “He’s part warlock.”

Ambrose ran to his room, digging for books he then scattered on the table downstairs. After a few minutes holding onto Caliban’s vile of blood he was led to a certain page of a certain book, pointing to a name.

“Sycorax, the ‘blue-eyed hag’, a witch from the 16th century, she was impregnated with a baby by their coven’s worst enemy, who was a demon and she was being banished from her Algeria coven because she would get rid of it.” Ambrose trailed off, muttering words to himself, “She ran for a while before being found. They took her back to the coven and killed her for keeping the demon-child. Before they got to her she made a deal with another demon to watch over Caliban until he was older.”

“That is preposterous.” Zelda snapped, “A witch having a demon’s baby?”

“That’s good though, we can welcome Caliban into the coven, have him on our side, with our rule, he’d be the same as us.” Sabrina got excited at the possibilities, “And Addy can have a Dark Baptism to join our coven under Hecate and go to The Academy—

“Even if Caliban does join the coven, he’s still part demon, we can never rid of him of those powers.” Zelda explained, “I don’t know how I feel about a part-demon being inside of our coven.”

“He practically already is.”

“But what is his intention?”

“He wanted to take over the throne in Hell until he met the girl, now he is one hundred percent focused on her.” Nick chimed in, “I didn’t know the guy had actual emotions but I think he laughed with her the other day.”

“He’s smart, we can make him a teacher at The Academy.” Sabrina said, “Who else could teach Demonology better than an actual demon?”

Nick slowly put his hand in the air and Ambrose agreed, “I’m with Nicholas on this one, he shouldn’t be teaching Demonology, he could hide secrets that hurt our coven in the future.”

Their arguing, agreeing and whispering downstairs was interrupted by a scream from upstairs. 

“Addy! Addy! Are you okay?” Sabrina was first up the stairs, followed by everyone else. “Caliban, what’s going on?”

“Lasciarla sola, non in questa casa!” Caliban yelled, directly into Addy’s eyes. “Lasciarla sola, non in questa casa!” He repeated, holding her hands away from hitting him, “Tarak ‘ahlamuha wahdaha, la talus Biealzubul aleizam!” 

Addy’s body collapsed and he caught her, trying to catch his own breath at the same time. Sabrina ran and laid Addy back on the bed, “Caliban, what happened? What did you just say?”

“She was asleep.” He pushed his hair back, looking down at the now peaceful, girl. “She began having a nightmare, she was moving and talking and I… dream walked in her dream and she was being attacked by Beelzebub, he was trying to take over her body.”

“Beelzebub?!” They all exclaimed, “He kept telling me he wanted to help me dethrone Sabrina, he wanted to take over Addyson’s body in secret but… I-I…”

“You used a demon spell against a demon, banishing him from her dreams.” Zelda said. “You didn’t even realize you could do it.”

“No.. I.. I don’t even know what I said.” He shook his head.

“If my translating is correct, it’s a little rusty, but I think it was something of leaving her dreams alone and stop touching her.” Ambrose guessed, “Arabic.”

“I speak Arabic?” Caliban asked, “I.. I don’t even—

“Come down stairs, Caliban. We’ve got a lot to tell you.” Zelda left the room, the others following behind. 

“I’m going to put an enchantment on her, she will be completely safe.” Sabrina helped Caliban up and put her hands over Addy, “Dormire in pace, null put svegliarsi, null put superare.”

Now that Caliban was sat around the table Ambrose began to explain to him his history. His mother, her coven, her secrets, “It’s why you don’t remember your past, she didn’t want you to remember the fighting of her coven and the banishment and her death.” 

“But she did it all for you.” Hilda grabbed his hands, “She left her coven, went on her own, so she could have you.”

Caliban sat in silence, looking at the scribblings in Ambrose’s book. “It’s why you’re fine in Hell or any other realm. It’s why you randomly spoke Arabic when you needed to. You have a lot to learn, probably more powers from a warlock stand point, a lot of decisions to make.”

“But Addyson…”

“She’s another Sabrina, part witch, part mortal.”

“How… how do I tell her… how do I tell her I’m.. a demon? Part demon?” He looked up at Hilda, desperate for answers. “What if she—

“Don’t think ahead, let’s just see what happens.” Ambrose pat his back, “If Addy is anything like I think she is, she’ll be accepting. But this is all new to her, so it’ll be a shock.”

Sabrina excused herself and went to get Addy, taking her a glass of water, chatting with her and quickly braiding her hair before taking her downstairs.

Caliban stood up and pulled his chair out for her. Without a word she sat next to Hilda and Sabrina took the chair next to her. 

“Well, Ms. Addyson, we’ve got some news for you.” Hilda smiled, “Your father’s family is still in your DNA, you’re half witch, half mortal. Just like Sabrina.”

“So I… I’m a witch?”

“Yep, welcome!” Hilda giggled, “You’ve got a lot of decisions to make soon but for now, we’re going to leave it at that. Half and half.”

“Ask all questions you want, I’m an open book.” Sabrina said, “We’re the only two like us.”

She forgot about Caliban behind her and jumped as he put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Caliban’s also a… mixed… breed..” Hilda cringed at her own wording and excused herself from the room.

“You’re not a witch.. warlock?”

He took Hilda’s chair and turned Addy to face him. He rest his hands on her knees, “When I cut my hand with you, Hilda went ahead and mixed my own vile and I found out.. I found out my mother was a witch.”

Addy smiled at him, pushing his hair from his face, “So you’re a warlock.”

“And a demon.” 

Addy’s smile fell, her hand froze mid-air, “A..a.. what does—“

“He’s half witch and half demon.” Sabrina said, “He’s just found out, we’ve all just found out.”

Addy sat up in her chair, looking back at Caliban, he could see the fear in her eyes, “Aren’t demons bad?”

“Most are, yes, but Addyson there is no way I could ever hurt you. Please trust me.” He grabbed her hands, “You are.. I would never even consider it.”

“And as the current Queen of Hell…” Sabrina muttered behind her, “If he does, he has to deal with me.”

“Queen of Hell?” Addy asked, turning her head around, “You’re… Queen of Hell?”

“It’s a long story, I promise I’ll tell you about it. My dad is Lucifer and my mom was a mortal, I was raised by my Aunties and since the throne is passed down in families I was next in line.”

“She’s fine, she’s good. Sabrina’s a good Queen, nothing bad will happen to you.” Caliban assured her, “I will never let anything happen to you.” He kissed the top of her hands.

“I’m going to go help my Aunt Zelda with a few things, I’m going to leave you here.” Sabrina pushed her chair in and smiled at them both. 

Holding hands Caliban and Addy walked around the Spellman’s backyard, barely talking. She saw their cemetery in the distance, reminding her of her family, “I can’t believe my parents are gone. I haven’t even cried or anything.”

“Zelda did an emotion control spell on you so you wouldn’t. They wanted you to focus on what’s happening now and your future. You have to find a familiar, think about a Dark Baptism, join the coven, think about The Academy, learn spells—

“Stop.”

“You have the best teachers and coven, they have done.. a lot. They’re powerful.” He spun her to face him, resting his hands on her cheeks, “You’re going to be fine. Everything will be okay.”

“What about you?”

“I have a lot to learn as well. But I’m happy..” He smiled, “Demon and witch relationships are extremely frowned upon in this realm.”

“Relationships?” Addy giggled, “But warlock and witch relationships are fine?”

“Nick and Sabrina, Prudence and Ambrose, need I say more?”

“But what’s the rule on half witch, half mortal and half demon, half witch?”

“It’s a first.” He bit onto his lip, watching her face blush and her eyes look into his, “We can make them up as we go.”

“Thank you, Caliban.” She whispered, “For everything.”

“No thanking me.”

“You saved my life… multiple times.” Her hands fell onto his sides, gripping onto the shirt he wore, “I think that justifies a thank you.”

“Just kiss me, Addyson.” He gently led her face closer to his, watching her eyes close before their lips met. 

It was pure euphoria. Every cell in her body tingled as she pulled herself closer to him. She pulled back out of breath and he kissed her forehead before pulling her close to him, her face dug into his chest. “You’re welcome.”

And for the first time, she felt safe. She had no clue how to work her own powers but she fully knew Caliban would do anything to protect her.

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

“Agatha, stop following me.” Caliban demanded, for the fourth time that day. “I’m not going to see her, I’m not astral projecting to see her, I’m keeping away.”

“Prudence told me to watch you all day, so that’s what I’ll do.”

“I just want to be alone before we go to the woods.” Agatha shook her head no, pacing back and forth in front of the doorway to Ambrose’s room that Caliban had been stuck in all morning. 

“Have you ever been to a Dark Baptism?” He shook his head, “It’s beautiful. A little gory when it comes to the sacrifice, but beautiful. Addy is about to become a full witch, part of our coven, it’s such an important time in a young witches life. I remember every detail of mine, the dress—

“I don’t care, Agatha.” 

“I mean it’s your Dark Baptism too. Your welcome to the world of witches and warlocks. You both will—

“Agatha, please stop talking.”

“Fine. Blackwood would never have let a half-breed like you have a Baptism anyway.”

“Well then it’s a good thing that I run the coven now, isn’t it?” Zelda stepped in the room and Agatha’s face blushed in embarrassment. “Agatha, go help your sisters and Sabrina get Addyson ready.”

“But Prudence said—

“Agatha.” She pointed to the door and Agatha left. “Nicholas and Ambrose have gathered a black suit for you to wear, they’re on their way back now.”

“If you would have asked, I could have told you I have a black suit.” He whisked is hand from the floor to his face and a black suit appeared on him. It was perfectly Caliban with a few studded and belted features. “Can I see Addyson now?”

“The girls will bring her downstairs when we are ready to leave. You can… wait down there with Hilda.”

As much as he wanted to sneak a peek into Sabrina’s room as he walked by, he didn’t. He sat in silence while Hilda read a book, trying to be patient.

Addy had soaked in the bath with the traditional mix: milk, egg, rosemary, agrimony, vanilla, John the Conquerer root, tans and other herbs. She dried herself off with a decorative towel and Prudence did her makeup while she sat in a gold robe.

Dorcas did her makeup, the ingredients filled with herbs and potions from Hilda’s garden. “There’s something relaxing about a makeover.”

“It’s the transformation before the transformation.” Sabrina said, painting a dark red color on Addy’s nails, “It does feel like a wedding day though. Keeping you both separate, getting you in a fancy dress and all fixed up.”

“All while Caliban simply changes his clothes and is ready.” Prudence laughed, “I can’t wait to see his reaction to you in your dress and all done up.”

“Addyson, you look beautiful.” Sabrina tried to mock his accent, making them all laugh. “Ravishing, fabulous, perfect.”

“Thanks guys. For all of this. For everything.” Addy smiled, “I would have been so confused doing this on my own.”

“That’s what a coven is for. We’re a family.” Sabrina assured her. 

Minutes that seemed like hours later and The Weird Sisters came down the stairs, Sabrina following and Addy after her. The whole house stood and looked at her.

Her blonde hair in a loose halo braid, her eyes smoked out, her lips colored the darkest shade of burgundy and the dress fit her perfectly. The flowing material followed her down the stair case as each witch she passed put a necklace on her, covering up the skin showing at the cleavage. 

Addy looked down at the six necklaces, all with different charms for different meanings. She looked up and saw Caliban at the end of the line, his hand stuck out towards her, “You look gorgeous, love.”

The feeling of chills going up her spine took over her body just as it had done the first time she met him. Without a thought she pulled herself up by his shoulder to kiss him. “You’re welcome.” He smiled, leading her out the front door.

As they entered the woods Addy’s familiar that had chosen her, a black owl, hovered on a tree near her. Below the owl was a small fox, the familiar that had found Caliban in the woods the day before.

Candles seemed to take over the woods as witches and warlocks gathered in a circle around them.

Zelda held a book and stood before them, “We are gathered here together, in these woods, in the presence of our coven, all of the souls living and dead. The most unholy order of Hecate which teaches us there is no law beyond. Do what thou, wilt.”

In unison the crowd spoke and Addy squeezed Caliban’s hand, “Covina noster novus hospitio.”

“With our coven to witness, we hail Addyson Faye Camelli, descendant of the Camelli family and Caliban, son of the strong and honest witch, Sycorax to the Order of Hecate.”

The coven spoke again, raising candles into the air, “Hecate, vigila semper nostri seculi finem. Tum observabimus animarum interitum.”

Sabrina approached with a bowl of blood and Zelda’s them dipped into it. Caliban and Addy knelt before her as she drew crosses on their foreheads, mumbling lines to herself. 

Animal sacrifices, herb spreading, candle lighting, more incantations, the sacred signing of the book and a time for each witch, if they wanted, to say something to the new members of their coven.

Sabrina stepped forward at the end, placing her hands on Addy’s head and moving her lips as she secretly spoke an incantation to her. 

Addy’s body felt like a shock went through it and she held onto Sabrina to stay up, “What.. what did you do?”

“I’ll tell you later.” She smiled and winked. 

“And with that, we conclude this Dark Baptism of Addyson Faye Camille and Caliban. They are welcome to our coven with open arms, open souls and watching eyes.”

And a gust of wind went by, blowing every candle out in the woods. Leaving them all in the dark to wander home or wherever they wanted.

Addy and Caliban were last to leave, slowly walking hand in hand towards the Spellman house. “I don’t feel any different.” She complained, looking at her hands and body, “I thought I would feel different.”

“You don’t know any incantations or spells, that’s the key.” He laughed and flicked his hand at his clothes, changing into jeans and a t-shirt right in front of her. 

“Rimuovere.” She pointed at his shirt and spit out a word she didn’t even know she could pronounce and Caliban’s shirt was off and on the ground at their feet. A smile grew on her face as she looked up at him and pointed, “I can do a lot—

“Addy! Calib— oh, sorry if I’m… interrupting.” Sabrina cringed, “I forgot to tell you I did a knowledge transference spell on you. Everything I know, you now know. Just think and use the spell that comes to mind.”

“Now you’ve made her dangerous, Brina.” Caliban laughed, pointing at his shirt on the ground. 

“I’ll let you deal with that.” She waved, disappearing from where she stood.

“There are so many spells going through my mind right now.”

“Portaci in profondita. Dove dormo.” Caliban grabbed her hand and they appeared in a dark room, lit only by a few candles on the walls. “Since you’re a witch now, welcome to Hell.”

“This is… a bedroom.”

“Oh, she’s a smart witch.” He laughed, grabbing her waist, “Have I told you that you look beautiful today?”

She wrapped her hands around his neck, “About a hundred times. But I’m not tired of it.”

“I expected you to look good in your Dark Baptism dress. But you came down the stairs and.. you.. you looked.. hot.” She hid her face in his chest, “The see through part on the bottom? The cut-out sleeves?” He trailed his finger down her chest, over the stack of necklaces, “This part…” 

Addy giggled, grabbing his hand, “Did you want me to be bothered all day?”

“It wasn’t my first thought, but it did cross my mind while trying dresses on.” She bit on her lip, “Prudence even asked me what you’d think. I said you’d like it. She said you’d have it on the floor in seconds.”

“Prudence knows me well somehow.” He shrugged, searching his hands around her back to find the zipper. 

Addy winced in pain, grabbing her hand and looking. It felt like a constant scratch as letters appeared:

~Spellman house by midnight. -S~

She read it and watched it disappear, “What is that?”

“Enchanted pen. Sabrina writes on her hand it shows up on yours.” He pushed her hands down, “Midnight means we’ve still got a few hours here.”

“You never actually explained where we are.”

“My living quarters.” He pushed her dress down and it fell to the floor, “In Hell.”

She stood before him in a matching set of lingerie, all black, all lace. Her backside showing just the perfect amount as he took her finger and spun her around. “What do ya think?”

“I can’t think.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her closer, pushing her hair back and holding onto her chin.

Before he could even get his lips on her there was a knock at his door. One wave of his hand and it opened, Beelzebub was standing there alone.

At just the sight of him, Addy tensed up and grabbed onto Caliban. “What do you want?”

“To meet the Misses.” He bowed.

“As if you haven’t known who she is.” Caliban held onto Addy, who was standing in just her undergarments. Not just any undergarments but the ones Prudence made her put on ‘just in case’. “You leave her alone. Never touch her.”

Without taking a step Beelzebub appeared right next to them, his finger trailing down Addy’s bare arm. Her fingers dug into Caliban’s sides, definitely leaving marks. “How do you expect me to ignore such a…. specimen.” His eyes scanned her whole body which was now shaking. “Our Prince of Hell brings a witch back and we don’t even get a chance?”

He appeared on the other side of them, “I just need a few minutes with the beaut and you can have—

Caliban grabbed his hand that was about to touch Addy again, “You know my power. And I’m not afraid to use it on you.” He pushed Addy behind him and stood chest to chest with Beelzebub. “If you do so much as enter her dream or even have a thought about her, I’ll know and I’ll banish you from Hell myself.”

A quick move of his hand and Caliban had pushed Beelzebub from his room and into the hallway. He tried to run back in but the door slammed and locked.

Caliban was filled with rage, his fists were tightly locked as he took a deep breath. “Addyson I’m sorry about him.” He immediately relaxed when her hands touched his skin, sliding around his sides and to the front of him. “He will never get to you.” She kissed his back and his hands grabbed onto hers, “He’s useless.”

“Prince of Hell?” She questioned, whispering into his neck, “That’s a sexy title.” 

Caliban turned around to see her smiling, “Protecting me from him..” She grabbed his hand and slowly walked towards the huge bed at the back of the room. Black sheets, black pillows, black candles; she pushed him to sit down, “That was … so hot…”

He shook his head at her antics, “Rimuovere.” She repeated again and laughed, pointing at his pants that fell to the floor.

He pulled on the string of her bottoms until she moved forward and straddled his lap, “If you use that one more time, I’ll have to start using it on you.” 

“No need to use it if I’m willing.” 

“You’ve become quite confident since you’ve known you’re a witch.” He groaned and flipped her over so he was on top of her, “But it’s easier to tease you.. when you have them on..” His hair tickled her neck as he left a row of bites down her collar bone, “More surprises.” He kissed the middle of her chest, “For me.” He left a sloppy kiss on her stomach before kissing the top of her underwear, pulling them back with his teeth.

Her hands grabbed his hair and she tried to move around but he held her still, “Oh you’re going to be like that, are you?” He moved back up and kissed her lips, beginning a careless makeout that distracted her as he undid the clasp to her top.

Her legs tried to squeeze around him but he wouldn’t allow it, laughing at her whining as he slowly pulled her top off. “Perfect.” He glanced up at her, slowly leaning down towards her chest, “And all..” He kissed her neck once more, “mine.”

[a-world-in-grey]

Take My Breath au - Altissia II

Added some of the thoughts I had about Altissia after playing through that part of the game, that I shared with @secret-engima.

.

-Sola shakes her tails easily, joining up with Axis and Prompto and making it back to the Maahgo uncontested. Ignis, Gladio, and Noctis are waiting for them at the bar. They relocate to the Leville, where Noctis tells them how the conversation with Camelia went. 

-Not terribly, all things considered. Actually, it went very well, Ignis' sharp eyes and Gladio's intuitive sense of people picking up that Noctis somehow managed to win the woman over. Camelia has agreed to allow the rite to proceed. In exchange, Noctis will lend some of his people to help evacuate and protect civilians during the rite. 

-Sola eyes Noctis and asks if he really promised that. Because four or five people won't be much good for more than a symbolic showing. Gladio dryly states that Sola says that like she can't personally hold off a dozen airships on her own. Noctis snorts. Sola counters that is not the point. Nor is it something Camelia knows or even needs to know.

-Ignis states that Noctis did promise aid to evacuate civilians. A necessary concession to secure the Secretary's aid, but nonetheless it will make it difficult to aid Noctis during the rite… he trails off when he sees how Sola is eyeing Noctis. Not with anger, but dawning suspicion, because Sola can feel the smug curl to Noctis' magic - suspiciously similar to Abyssus whenever her glutton of a cat manages to con more food out of the cooks. Sola asks what Noctis did.

-Noctis smirks and says that he promised to lend Camelia some of his people. He never said who those people are, or that they're in the city currently. So he called Cor, and then talked to Cid and Weskham. Two full squads of glaives will arrive in Altissia the night before the rite. He told Cor that he'd have Sola call Pelna to sort out the assignments, so Sola should probably get on that.

-Everyone stares at Noctis. Then Axis starts quietly laughing and Sola groans, calling her brother a sneaky little shit. But she does get up and call Pelna.

-Weskham calls in a favor and asks them to take care of a series of hunts that have popped up in the last few days. He's the only tipster in the area, mostly because prior to a week before there was no need for a tipster. Altissia simply isn't plagued by beasts and daemons the same way most of rural Lucis is, eliminating the need for hunters.

-Except it seems there are several daemons who haven't got the memo, because they've been appearing within the city limits. Weskham heard about it, recognized it from his own road trip with Regis three decades back, then talked to Camelia and set up a hunt system. Only, since there is no Hunter Organization outside of Lucis, and Camelia is trying to keep the surge in daemons discreet to avoid panic, Weskham hasn't been able to find anyone to take care of the daemons. At least, not until Noctis and his retinue showed up.

-They take on the hunts. Sola and Axis take on the single daemons while Noctis and the others go after the groups, because Altissia's streets are tiny. Fitting six people into an area is hard enough without adding hostiles and weapons.

-(Except for the cursed painting. They all go on that one, because Prompto wants a picture of it for that magazine reporter back in Lestallum and everyone else is curious. To be fair, a daemon painting is a new one.)

-Sola is concerned. Altissia isn't Insomnia, but it's brightly lit. Daemons shouldn't be manifesting inside the city limits. But they are, and with Camelia trying to keep a lid on things there aren't any orders for people to stay inside once it gets dark. Sola and Noctis and everyone won't be in Altissia forever. What does Camelia plan to do once they leave? Does the First Secretary know anything about daemons?

-Probably not.

-Sola borrows Ignis and goes to talk to Weskham and Cid. Weskham because he'll be able to both talk to Camelia and have her listen, as well as be the one most likely to recreate the Hunter and tipster system here in Altissia. Cid because Sola might have to reveal some painful truths and her uncle has been her emotional support for such things ever since her hanahaki.

-It takes hours, but Sola tells Weskham the truth behind the Starscourge - that it turns those infected into daemons and the only known cure is the Oracle's healing - and that Niflheim has been using daemons to fight Lucis for years now. They've studied the Scourge. The High Chancellor knew Sola was Scourge-infected at a glance and is enough of an expert to be able to guess what sort of daemon she'll turn into if she isn't cured.

-Then Ignis, Sola, and Cid write up dossiers on all of the daemons they can think of off the top of their heads. Sola provides quick sketches while Ignis provides what analysis he remembers of the daemons' strengths and weaknesses, as well as their general ranking. Cid's knowledge is more general than anything specific, but he has thirty years of knowledge from listening to Takka and hunters passing through Hammerhead.

-They give the information to Weskham, to do with it what he will.

-Then, the day before the rite, Sola finally works up the courage to wander by the shop displaying her wedding dress.

-She knows it's on display. She and Axis overheard gossip about it the day they arrived in Altissia. And it's not like Sola doesn't know what it looks like - she helped design it. She was there for the fitting.

-She's always been too curious for her own good.

-In her raincoat and with a small umbrella, Sola blends in with those few surrounding the shop. Just another person out to see the sights.

-It is a beautiful dress. Floor length, wide skirts made of white silk and embroidered with a net-like pattern of gold. Sleeveless, straps sitting wide on the shoulders and letting the collar dip low on the fitted bodice. No gloves, but a gold and diamond diadem and sheer white veil embroidered with more gold. Made exactly how she imagined it.

-Sola hates it.

-And as she stands there, listening to those around her chatter, Sola finds she hates them too. These, these Outsiders who understand nothing. Who see the white and the gold and don't think of what it means. Or who do think, who know that Lucian brides wear black but think this a show of support for the marriage.

-She hates that they look at the dress and are happy.

-"Is it not to your liking?"

-Sola doesn't look away from her wedding dress. Doesn't look to where Ravus stands at her right, no umbrella and blatantly in uniform, drawing the attention of the few people present.

-Some people have no concept of discretion. At least Ravus has the sense to keep his voice down.

-"No." Sola says. Silence falls, thick and uncomfortable and Sola has no inclination to break it. She can't stab Ravus, not yet, so she'll settle for making him as uncomfortable as possible.

-Ravus shifts slightly, but doesn't leave. Why is he here? After their last encounter Sola thought Ravus would prefer to have nothing to do with her. "I was led to believe you designed it yourself."

-"I did."

-"…I don't understand."

-Sola smirks bitterly. "Of course not."

-"Sola." He says her name so quietly she barely hears it over the rain, but there's no mistaking the weight Ravus puts into it. "Please."

-For a minute, Sola debates not answering out of spite. Then she sighs, lowering her umbrella to better obscure her face. "I had a life, Ravus. A future. I gave all that up. For a promise you never intended to keep."

-Ravus says nothing. 

-"You are Luna's elder brother," Sola says softly, "so you get one warning: cross me tomorrow and I will kill you."

-She leaves him with that.

[askdragonagecompanions]

How would the companions react to a teenaged Inquisitor after defeating corypheus dies from their wounds?

[This ask does contain topics of death, fatal injuries, and sensitive content, please take care of yourself

Dorian: When Corypheus was defeated he had a moment of relief and joy, they’d done it. They’d actually won! But then the Inquisitor fell. He ran to their side quickly and when he saw the state of their injuries he couldn’t keep his tears at bay. He knew there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t fair. They were so young… They had saved Thedas didn’t they deserve their happy ending? Not this… He could see the fear in their eyes as they too began to realize they weren’t going to make it. Maker it broke his heart. He held the Inquisitor close. He didn’t care about the blood. He just wanted them to feel comforted. He tried to keep his voice steady but it was so hard, “Y-you saved the day. Even though it seemed i-impossible you did it.” And he would wipe their tears away with shaky hands. “You did wonderfully little one. You can relax now okay? I-I’ve got you…” And he keeps comforting them and easing their pain with the limited healing magic he knows. When they do pass on Dorian cannot stop himself from sobbing and holding their body closer. He had gotten so close to the Inquisitor. He thought of them like family. He swore that he was going to protect them, to make sure they saw this thing through the end so that they could relax and get the chance to be a normal teenager. He failed them… They didn’t deserve for things to end like this. It takes him a while to calm down enough to carry their body to the others. He can’t say anything without breaking down again. He ends up drinking more than he normally does but he’s even more determined to change Tevinter. He wants to start making the world better, somewhere where wars aren’t raging on, where children don’t have to fear being dragged into the fights, somewhere without slaves… the world he would have loved for the Inquisitor to see. 

Solas: It was never supposed to be this way. He gave Corypheus his orb in hopes that the ancient magister would perish and its powers would be unlocked. He never intended for it to anchor itself onto someone else, let alone a child. Solas swore that he was going to ensure the Inquisitor’s survival. He could keep the Anchor at bay. He could save them… or so he thought. The final battle with Corypheus was intense and so sudden. None of them had time to prepare and the Inquisitor acted so fast. When he found the Inquisitor he tried to heal their wounds, but… no amount of magic can heal a hole in ones chest that size. His eyes began to water and when the Inquisitor began to cough and cry, apologizing about the orb, how it just broke Solas gently quieted them down. “Lethallen there is nothing you should apologize for. The orb is of no importance. You saved us, all of us.” He tries to smile for the Inquisitor to help them calm down. All he can do is ease their pain with his spells and help make their passing gentle. “You are the bravest person I have ever met. I am only sorry I couldn’t have done more for you…” When the Inquisitor does pass Solas feels tears slip down his cheeks. He knows this is his fault. They would not have met this fate had it not been for his plan, and now not only are they gone but his orb is broken. He lays their body down somewhere where the others will find them, he makes sure their eyes are close. Perhaps, in the long run, this is the more merciful way for the Inquisitor to go. They died not having to see what Solas would become in order to succeed…

Vivienne: She truly felt for the Inquisitor, they were so young to be put in such an important and stressful position. When she joined she made it her job to coach them on how to act and deal with nobles. She was going to help them learn the etiquette and proper manners because she knew that even when the war with Corypheus was over there would still be plenty of clamoring nobles that would want an audience with the Inquisitor. It was just going to have to be a part of the Inquisitor’s life, but it didn’t mean they had to go through it alone. In battle she would protect the Inquisitor as best she can, but nothing was enough to prepare them for the final battle with Corypheus. They were all exhausted, and when she could not see the Inquisitor she quickly began to search for them. She found them in the rubble with their armor covered in blood. Vivienne did not cry, not in front of them. She gently wiped their tears away and began to ease their pain with a spell, “You did an absolutely wonderful job darling.” Her voice was gentle and calming as she tried to help the Inquisitor relax. “You’re a true hero Inquisitor. We all owe you our lives, but you can rest now my dear. It’s going to be alright. You’re going to be alright.” Her throat felt tight as she said this. When the Inquisitor passed she finally let herself break down. A controlled moment of weakness before she made herself stop. She wiped her tears and carefully lifted the Inquisitor’s body and closed their eyes. They deserved a hero’s burial surrounded by friends, not to be left here in this… mess. She did not wish for this to be the outcome, but in war there are always sacrifices…

Cassandra: Her first meeting with the Inquisitor was not… the best. Yes they were a teen, but she needed someone, anyone to blame for the Divine’s death and they were the only one they had found. When she realized she had been wrong she felt quite guilty. They were just a child after all, and they were undoubtedly terrified. Cassandra tried to make up for this by training them in combat and just generally try to be nicer. She would share with them the more… tame of her romance novels and the closer they grew the more she considered the Inquisitor to be family. They were like a younger sibling. Maker she wanted nothing more than to be able to protect them from all of this fighting. She wished that they were not the one that had to face all of this, but what she could do was assure them they weren’t alone. After Corypheus was defeated it was chaos. Cassandra herself was injured but she needed to find the Inquisitor. She couldn’t lose someone so close to her again, but the world was never fair. When she found them they looked so scared, they were in so much pain. Her heart broke when their eyes lit up upon seeing her. She forced a smile for them but she could barely choke out any words. She held them close and rubbed their back. “You… You saved us all, even though… it wasn’t easy. I… You will not be forgotten my friend. I swear to you…” Damn it all she was crying now. It felt like losing Antony all over again. An old wound torn open. She held the Inquisitor close, even long after they had passed. She kept them in her arms as she carried them back to Skyhold. Yes the battle had been won, the world was safe for now… but there was a great cost. She just wish she could have taken it for the Inquisitor. 

Blackwall: The Inquisitor was always so kind, maybe it was just because they were too young to know better. Either way it didn’t matter. What did matter were their actions. The Inquisitor proved themself time and time again to be a true leader and a true hero. They kept going despite everything being thrown at them. Blackwall truly felt sorrow for them because they were so young to be thrown into the mix of all of this. He knew how he could help lighten their load though, he would often talk with the Inquisitor and offer his support. They would talk for hours some time and he made sure the Inquisitor had tea. He had even made them a worry token to keep in their pocket and help when they started to get overwhelmed when dealing with nobles and things like that. When they were in battle he always tried to shield the Inquisitor and take blows for them. He knew they were a capable fighter, but they were also just a kid. So, when he found them after the fight with Corypheus, bleeding out and terrified his heart broke. Blackwall had seen sights like this before but it never got any easier. He quickly fell to his knees and began to apply pressure to the wound to try and stem the bleeding, though he knew the Inquisitor wouldn’t make it. They had lost so much blood already. He felt ashamed that he started crying in front of them but… they meant so much to him. He had planned to offer to keep traveling with them once all of this was done, that they could be a sort of family. He wouldn’t call himself their dad, but its what he felt like. He only stopped his efforts when he felt their hand on their arm. The weakly pushed their worry token into his hands and Blackwall could not stop the small sob that escaped him. He gently wiped stray strands of hair from their face. “You are the bravest fighter I have ever met, and it was an honor to be your friend. I promise you I”m going to keep being a better man. I-I’m going to keep fighting for what’s right okay? Don’t you worry about us. I’ll keep everyone safe?” And they smiled, it was weak but it was there… They passed soon after, the smile still on their face. Blackwall shakily closed their eyes and picked them up. He blamed himself. He had failed them. They were just a child… but deep down he knew that this was just another part of war. People died all the time even if it wasn’t fair. 

Iron Bull: He felt bad for the kid honestly, to be shoved into such a powerful position and have to face hoards of demons and monsters and red templars. He couldn’t imagine what was going through the Inquisitor’s mind. Everyone else was teaching them how to be proper, how to fight, but Bull wanted to make sure they still got the chance to be a kid during all of this. He and the Chargers often encouraged the Inquisitor to join them in card games or tell stories of their travels, and on days where he could tell it was all getting to the Inquisitor he would just listen to them, give them a shoulder to lean on. He knew war wasn’t fair, that they were all going to lose people they cared about. He just… Damn he wished it hadn’t been the Inquisitor. Bull had lost plenty of good men, so he knew when he saw those injuries that the Inquisitor wasn’t going to make it. They looked so young and scared. He did what he could and sat down next to them, gently petting their hair to help them calm down. “You did great out there Imekari. You kicked ass and you saved the fucking world. You saved my ass.” And he gives them a big grin because he wants them to know that they are a hero, a kick ass hero that deserved so much more. Losing someone close is never easy. A part of him wonders if he should go back to the Qun, but… it just doesn’t feel right. He’s Vashoth now for better or for worse. All he can do is keep fighting the good fight. He just wished the Inquisitor had made it. He was going to offer them a spot in the Chargers after all of this. 

Sera: She really felt for the Inquisitor. It had to suck to be so young and have to deal with shitty nobles and demons all day while everyone else their age got to just… well be a kid. She hates seeing them all serious and stuff, so she makes it her mission to make the Inquisitor laugh and be a kid at least once a day. They prank together and tell scary stories until they get too scary and then they go prank some more to calm down. She never expected to get so close to them. To want to protect them so much. Sera really considered them a great friend, maybe family even. She was already making the plans, they could be a part of the Red Jennies with her. It would be great! They could keep pranking and sticking it to the nobles and… and… that’s how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to make it and be heroes not this. When she found the Inquisitor after the battle she staggered back. There armor was just ruined and the wounds were too big. “No no no no no…” She quickly rushed forward and tried to apply pressure. “W-we just got to wait for Solas o-or Vivi and they’ll heal you right up okay? You just have t-to stay awake okay? You’re gonna be fine and we won so once they patch you up we can have the biggest party and throw pies and eat all those tiny cakes…” Her voice is cracking and her hands are shaking. Her tears are streaming down her face and she can’t stop them. She knows she’s going to lose the Inquisitor and it’s just not fair. It’s not fair! A small broken voice breaks through her thoughts, “Did I do good?” It makes her heart shatter and she tries to muster a smile, “You did friggin great kiddo. Y-you’re gonna be the biggest hero, all the minstrils’ll be singing about you okay?” She cups their cheek and tries to keep them relaxed. When they pass it’s like whatever was allowing her to sort of keep her emotions under control was shattered. She holds their body close and she’s sobbing. It just isn’t fair… She empties all of her arrows into stupid Corypheshits stupid dumb corpse and then she carries the Inquisitor out of that place. They’re a friggin hero… why do all the heroes have to die…

Cole: Cole liked they Inquisitor. They were nice and curious and their heart was always full of good intentions. They wanted to help They wanted to save everyone even though they were terrified inside. What made him even happier was that they liked him, even if he was odd at times they didn’t mind. Cole would listen to the Inquisitor’s worries. When they were overwhelmed he would take them somewhere quiet and help them calm down. He never wanted them to be in pain. So when he found them after the battle with Corypheus he knew what he had to do. Terrified, hurt, I’m scared, I don’t want to be alone. It hurts… it hurts! I’m going to die… He followed those thoughts until he found the broken and battered body of his friend. “You are not alone my friend. You saved them all, and now you deserve your rest. Close your eyes and relax.” His voice was gently and he slowly began to ease their mind of fear. They would not survive their wounds. Even if they were brought back to Skyhold all that could be done would be to prolong their suffering. Cole made sure their mind was relaxed and they felt no pain. He made it quick, painless, and yet he was confused as to why it hurt him so much to do it. He had done this plenty of times, he knew it was merciful, but now his eyes were getting misty and his throat felt tight. He brought the body of the Inquisitor back. Cole would truly miss them. They were a wonderful friend, but now they are at peace. 

Varric: Varric had kind of meant it when he told the kid to run while they had a chance. He hoped he was wrong. He hoped that the kid’s story would have a happy ending, that once Corypheus was gone they could catch a break and get to live a normal life. Well as normal as one’s life could be after all this crazy shit. He encouraged them to take time for themself, to be a kid and have fun. Reports and nobles could wait a little longer. They reminded him of Hawke a little. He hated that a kid had been thrown into all of this. He wished there was someone else that could take their place, but he knew well enough that life wasn’t fair. Varric hated when he was right. The final battle against Corypheus was terrifying and intense, and that any of them had survived was a miracle. When he couldn’t see the kid though he started to get worried. Varric kept looking until he found them. Shit shit shit… Maybe if he’d found them sooner, it wasn’t supposed to end this way… “Varric?” A small voice choking on blood. “I-I’m here kid its okay.” He knelt beside them and held their hand. “You did it. You saved everyone, took down an ancient darkspawn magister. You’re a hero!” His eyes were getting misty. The Inquisitor looked so small and scared lying in the rubble. “I-I’m scared Varric. I-I don’t want to die…” Shit… Varric swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. “Now who said anything about that?” And he carefully moved to hold them a little. “How about I tell you the story of the time Hawke thought it would be a good idea to steal and try and hatch a dragon egg?” And so he told the story, gently running his hand through the kid’s hair to try and help them relax and calm down to make it easier on them. He could almost believe they were asleep if their eyes were closed. The Inquisitor died in his arms and it felt like the world was crashing down on him. Varric cried silently, just tears slipping down his face as he closed the Inquisitor’s eyes and stood up. He couldn’t take losing anyone else. Maker why did it have to be them…

[lord-woolsley]

Stumbling Steps

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition (Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford) Chapters: 1/1 (3105 words) Rating: Teen And Up Summary: Surrounded by at least 12 nobles Cullen had felt quite uncomfortable since they had arrived at the Winter Palace but with the evening progressing and the alcohol flowing his “suitors“ had become bolder. Cullen is in distress, Dorian saves the day. Rant: If you like it, please leave some love on ao3. ♡ Ao3: Link

Stumbling Steps

“Smile, Commander, you’re so handsome when you smile.“ “He’s just as handsome when he doesn’t.“

Cullen asked himself if the Maker intended to punish him for something. Maybe for leaving the Order, standing against the Chantry‘s will by supporting the Inquisition or more likely for the disaster that had happened in Kirkwall. That must have been it. The Maker probably blamed him for not seeing through Meredith’s grand scheme earlier or maybe he had done something wrong during his time at the Circle Tower in Ferelden and couldn’t remember anymore. Most of it was a blur anyway.

He had been the Templar recruit who had fled from the Hero of Ferelden after all because she – he still blushed thinking about it - had flirted with him. This here is what happens to guys that run away instead of facing their problems, he thought to himself.

He sometimes should have shown more initiative, he was aware of that. Blindly following orders had been his weakness in the past, one he was happy he had overcome.

Cullen didn’t know for which of these shortcomings he was punished here exactly but he had obviously done something very very wrong to deserve this.

Surrounded by at least 12 nobles he had felt quite uncomfortable since they had arrived at the Winter Palace but with the evening progressing and the alcohol flowing his “suitors“ had become bolder. Cullen was pretty sure someone had squeezed his butt just now.

“Did you grab...my bottom?“, he asked, his face flushed red but his voice angry. “I couldn’t help myself.“, the lady exclaimed, she sounded like she thought she was entitled to do to him whatever she desired. Nobles. He wanted to retch.

The woman didn’t seem to notice it or she just didn’t care. Cullen frowned and feared it was the latter because she was already holding out a hand again, trying to touch the scar on his lip. Cullen used his Templar training and dodged. He was being attacked here after all, not with weapons but with something far worse.

“Are you married, Commander?“ “Not yet... but I‘m already taken.“ It was a blatant lie but he had hoped some of them would show at least some respect considering the prospect of him being in a relationship. "Still single, then.“ Or not.

Why would he even think these people cared about someone being taken, had they harassed him the whole evening without any consent from his side, the opposite even. He doubted even a ring on his finger could have stopped or avoided this.

Cullen wanted to escape the Ballroom, run away and leave Halamshiral for good, doing exactly what he had done to the Hero of Ferelden all those years ago. He wanted to be a coward again. Corypheus, the Breach and the assassination attempt on Celene’s life be damned.

“You must dance with me, Commander, you cannot stand about all evening.“ “I‘m afraid not, thank you.“

This was definitely the woman who had grabbed his butt a few second ago. He would rather dance with an archdemon in Haven’s ruins with Solas watching and commenting on his bad posture instead of staying here for one minute longer. But he had to be polite and couldn’t risk to snap, Josephine‘s disappointment would be unbearable if he endangered their plan just because some nobles couldn’t keep it in their pants. Their cause was greater than this and he was the Commander of the Inquisition after all, he wouldn’t bow to some royals behaving abysmal.

The worst disappointment of the evening so far had been that the Inquisitor had witnessed some of the harassing and didn’t do or say anything about it. She had seen mostly the flirting, Cullen supposed. He was pretty sure Herah would have stepped in if she had witnessed someone touching him without his consent. But she hadn’t seen the extent of their actions and probably thought he was the victim of some annoying courting and bickering. No harm in that.

She had given him an apologetic look - pitiful even - and suggested he should talk to Josephine about it or Leliana if he wanted one of them assassinated. Leliana‘s methods were unconventional at least but the thought of an arrow through that horrible woman’s face was lightening his mood. Or maybe Josie could spread a handful of filthy rumors and destroy some reputations.

If he only knew where Lady Montilyet or Leliana were lingering tonight or if these suitors would let him go to search for one of them.

They had zeroed in on him and he couldn’t find the smallest gap to slip through, he was literally glued to the spot. He was being held captive by - it was embarrassing - a flock of noble ladies and their petticoats and even some gentlemen who were at least a bit more discreet, probably because they didn’t want to ruin their reputations.

He was their prey, a piece of meat, and they were hungry wolves that hadn‘t been fed for months, so it seemed.

Cullen was gazing at Herah who would soon leave him here to die - he wished for the sweet release of death at this point - Sera now seemingly glued to her side, chuckling and grinning like an idiot. Nothing unusual about that.

Inquisitor Adaar was red-faced and he was pretty sure Sera had just said something really dirty to her. About an empty broom closet and peaches and breeches. It even rhymed awfully. That must have been Seras attempt at seduction if he wasn’t mistaken completely. Not that he, by any means, was better at creating romantic phrases or paying compliments if they weren’t about the weather. She was definitely more forward than he would ever be.

His thoughts must have jinxed it because in that exact moment Sera started to make loud smooching noises. Cullen wasn’t sure if she intended to mock him or if she wanted to encourage Inquisitor Adaar for whatever awaited her in that broom closet.

Both women left his side eventually, fleeing from strangers approaching them, mostly nobles that thought it would be advantageous to be seen with the Herald of Andraste. He could understand it to an extent. Herah had it hard enough already, most nobles at Halamshiral didn’t treat a Qunari kindly. She deserved to get away from all this for a while.

Cullen could only guess what Sera and Herah were up to after Sera’s remark. The thought made him blush. At least the Inquisitor was having fun while he was suffering. He would rather have all the side effects of his Lyrium withdrawal all at once instead of being touched by strangers without manners.

He longingly stared after them, seeing Sera’s blonde hair disappear in the crowd. He was on his own now.

Cullen wished he could pay an empty broom closet a visit as well until the event was over. Sweet solitude.

"Commander, that woman you‘re in a relationship with, does she really exist?“, another lady asked and he knew he would start to blush and stutter any second in search for an excuse or an inscrutable lie.

But for the first time this evening he was lucky. When he saw Dorian stumbling to the buffet, alone, unoccupied and an empty wine glass in hand he saw his chance.

“Dorian, sweetheart, I‘m here.“ He waved at the mage and really hoped Dorian was either drunk enough not to notice his weird behavior or quick enough to catch up on the situation Cullen was currently trapped in.

The Tevinter shot him a confused look but came closer nevertheless.

“Here he is, my date, the person I told you about, the man I’m in a relationship with.“, Cullen stuttered, pointing at Dorian who was clearly trying to make sense of the situation.

“Ah, my Commander, I thought I had lost you.“ Thank the Maker Dorian was playing along. He was undoubtedly a smart man.

“Cullen, you can’t be serious?“, one of the ladies screeched in his ear, a painful noise leaving it ringing for multiple seconds. Leliana‘s ravens could learn a lot from this woman‘s high-pitched exclamation.

“Isn’t this the evil Tevinter Magister everyone was gossiping about the whole night? I know he’s with the Inquisition but we were warned about him, everyone said he should be avoided at all costs. He‘s no suitable company for someone as handsome and heroic as you.“

Hearing the word Magister Dorian rolled his eyes but he didn’t comment on it. Cullen could feel him correcting the term to „Altus“ in his head, followed by "Southerners, can’t recognize the difference between a dog and a cat.“

“That is for me to decide.“, Cullen said. "I‘m glad, Commander, otherwise this relationship would be rather one-sided, wouldn’t it be?“ Dorian was offering Cullen his arm to desperately cling to which to his own shame Cullen did.

“Amatus, you promised me a dance. I couldn’t find you until now but I‘m here to take you up on it.“ “Of course, love.“ Cullen was clearing his throat and was trying to shoot Dorian what he thought was an affectionate gaze.

One of the ladies actually had the indecency to grasp after Dorian‘s arm and was trying to shove him away from Cullen.

“I really wouldn’t do this if I were you.“, the mage said, voice sharp. "There‘s a clear lack of blood magic tonight for my taste. You wouldn’t want to witness some, would you? A real taste of a Tevinter party. I could arrange that.“

Cullen was always surprised how eloquent Dorian was and how he always found a way out of the most horrible situations. Using his status as the evil Tevinter mage everyone was making him out to be was risky but it definitely seemed to work in this case.

The woman - and many others of his suitors - looked shocked and were hiding their disapproval with throwing their hands to their faces to cover their eyes. Like this childish gesture could make Dorian vanish and disappear from the spot if they pressed their eyes shut hard enough.

“Scandalous.“, two were whispering to each other. “What a waste. A man like the Commander..., I didn’t know he shared certain quirks with the empress.“ “I wouldn’t let her hear you.“, Dorian said. "Or should I tell her myself?“ "She wouldn’t believe you, you‘re from Tevinter." "You really wanna try me? I can be pretty persuasive.", Dorian asked, his words a warning.

The lady was silent for a moment before she bowed her head, slowly shaking it.

“Of course not, I apologize.“, the woman said, clearly not meaning it. She was faking a smile which distorted her face into an ugly grimace behind her mask.

“As if these quirks are the only problem here, the evil Magister has clearly enchanted him.“, one of the gentleman said.

“With my charms and wits maybe. Or my handsome face.“, Dorian said smugly. “All assets you people are visibly lacking. And now if you would be so kind to excuse us, the Commander owes me a dance.“ “That I do.“ Cullen would grant Dorian all the dances in the world for saving him.

With their arms locked they left the Ballroom in search of a quiet spot for Cullen to recover. They were in luck, one of the balconies was empty and even had some free benches to rest on.

“What just happened?“, Dorian asked. „Apart from the obvious, of course.“ “I apologize for using you as my escape plan, Dorian, I am deeply sorry.“ “No, no, it‘s fine. Their behavior, horrible that. Reminds me of home. I wouldn’t even wish this on my father or the Venatori. Maybe on Corypheus though. He wouldn’t be able to destroy the world. Those ladies would never let him go. They would tear him to pieces with their prying gazes. Oh, Corypheus, you owe me a dance." Dorian was spinning his empty wine glass in his hand while speaking.

"Oh, I didn’t even let you get a new drink.“, Cullen said, trying to apologize. Again. ”That was obviously why you came inside, wasn’t it? And now you left empty-handed." "I wouldn’t exactly call this empty-handed. I‘ve got quite a handful." Dorian gestured to their linked arms, an amused grin spreading on his lips.

"Well, I had enough to drink for the evening anyway. I’m feeling a bit tipsy already.“, Dorian started "But let’s not change the subject over something so unimportant as an empty glass of wine - as good as the Orlesian stuff might be. I‘m just gonna get the whole bottle later." Dorian placed his empty glass on one of the benches.

"So, Commander, do tell. Why me? Wasn’t there someone else the Commander of the Inquisition could have faked an romantic involvement with? I‘m pretty sure the Lady Seeker was around somewhere." "... Nevermind, when I think about it now, she would have probably chopped your head off for the idea alone. I was the safer bet, no head chopping here. Even though: you’re aware this is enough for a scandal? You won’t be able to save yourself from the rumors. The evil Tevinter Magister", Dorian mentioned the wrong title with his typical annoyance "... and a man on top of that. We will be the talk of the evening, not even an assassination attempt can change that. In my experience Orlesians are that close-minded."

Cullen hadn’t thought of that, clearly. He had just wanted to get away from these people as far and as quick as possible, not taking the consequences into consideration. He needed to make this right at some point but this wasn’t the time for it neither could he do something about it while being trapped in the Winter Palace. This was Josephine’s strength, not his.

Cullen felt guilty for making Dorian an even bigger victim of Orlesian gossip even though he himself didn’t care too much about their insults if they only kept their physical distance. But maybe Dorian felt different about this.

“I‘m not ashamed of being seen with you, Dorian.“ Cullen said after a long moment of silence. He actually meant it.

“Oh, Commander, you do surprise me.“, Dorian said, faint smile spreading on his face. “It‘s nice having some company after all. You could think I smell of cabbages with everyone trying to stay as far away from me as possible. I was already at my seventh glass of wine when you saw me heading inside. I needed to keep myself entertained somehow. I was feeling rather lonely and a bit drunk now as well to be fair.“ “I‘m still glad you‘re here, Dorian. Can I make it up to you somehow? As a little thank you for saving me. Maybe even with the dance I promised to you earlier. I have to warn you though I‘m a terrible dancer. But one who keeps his word.“ “Are you sure? Dancing with the evil Magister, in full view of every noble in Orlais. How shocking.“ “They‘ll live.“, Cullen said.

He was surprised by his own confidence regarding the gossip. But that was the point, wasn’t it? It was nothing like idle hearsay after all and it wouldn’t bear any real problem for any of them. Especially not if they would manage to save the empress at the end of night. Orlais would be in debt to the Inquisition and only positive word of their members would spread.

“You say that now. If you can find me ten silk scarves, I‘ve got a dance that will really shock them.“ “I-", Cullen started “don’t know what to say to that. I just hope you‘re a better dancer than I am. In dances that don’t involve silk scarves that is.“

A red color was spreading from his cheeks to his throat while he was trying to get that picture of Dorian doing some erotic Tevinter dance out of his head. Without much success, he had to admit. Who would even say a thing like that? Dorian Pavus obviously.

"Oh, I am indeed.“, Dorian said, he didn’t seem to notice how flustered the Commander was at his words. Which was great, Cullen thought. It left him with the last pieces of his dignity still intact.

"Picture me a boy of 15, being forced by his mother to dance with every suitable lady in the room. You learn some things even if you don’t want to. But you see, it‘s of use now. Mother certainly wouldn’t approve of it now, as you can imagine. But enough talk. Let‘s dance.“

Dorian was bowing and offering his hand to Cullen. Every lady would have been envious of the perfection and grace with which Dorian executed that gesture. If it wouldn’t have been the evil Tevinter asking for a dance of course and some noble gentleman instead.

Cullen was certainly blushing because of Dorian’s performance but he took the mages hand in his own anyway and was instantly pulled into Dorian‘s grip whose fingers were placed on Cullen’s waist immediately.

“Is this okay for you, Commander? If this is too much physical contact after what you‘ve just been through, I understand. We can postpone our little dance or leave it be if that‘s more to your liking.“ “I’m good. You decide, Dorian.“

The mage shook his head and made some “Tsk, tsk.“ noises but started with slow and practiced steps even Cullen could follow.

“Thank Godness one of us has a little initiative.“, Dorian chuckled.

Cullen didn’t know if the nobility was actually watching them from inside the Ballroom but he didn’t lie, he couldn’t care less about it. He owed Dorian that dance and it was most definitely more pleasant than being trapped by harassing strangers, noble or not. He actually quite enjoyed himself after the horror of the last hours. A moment of peace with someone he liked.

“After our beautiful dance I’m actually quite sad you‘re not interested in men at all. A shame, that.“ “Yes, a shame.“, Cullen agreed without even thinking about it.

•

Suddenly one of the bushes next to the railing of the balcony Dorian and Cullen were dancing on started to chuckle and when both men followed the noise with their gazes to uncover its origin, they looked straight into the amused faces of Sera and the Inquisitor. Both women were trying to hide behind its leafs while failing miserably. Sera‘s laughter wasn’t exactly subtle either.

“So much for an empty broom closet.“, Cullen stated. Sera was grinning at him. “No, this is so much better." The Inquisitor nodded. “And here I was thinking our dear Commander would be the knight in shining armor tonight. How wrong I was."

[pikapeppa]

Abelas/Lavellan angst: The Knife Again In My Soul

Thank you, @midnightprelude​ and @contreparry​. ❤️ For @dadrunkwriting​ Friday.

Read on AO3 instead. ~2000 words.

*****************************

He never said it when they were together.

It was not because Abelas didn’t have the chance. There were a multitude of moments when he could have told Athera that he loved her. Now that they are apart, with Abelas following faithfully at Fen’Harel’s side while Athera does her best to unravel their plans from afar, the memories of those many lost moments torture him during the times when there is nothing else to occupy his mind. 

He could have said it when they were eating those tiny Orlesian cakes in the kitchen at Tarasyl’an Te’las. Her smile was secretive when she removed the cover from the platter of cakes, and the way she popped each whole cake in her mouth was endearingly common. He loved Athera, with her mischievous smile and the way she teased Solas for having a sweet tooth when she herself harboured a fiendish fondness for sugar. 

But he didn’t tell her so.

He could have said it during one of the blissful and too-few times that they were making love. Abelas hadn’t been touched this way in over a thousand years, and Athera had all the eagerness and energy of youth, and the way they came together was… fenedhis, it was better than anything his vast and melancholy morass of memories could conjure. She arched into his fingers and his tongue in a way that made him feel so incredibly wanted, and she gave herself to him so completely, pouring a potent combination of emotion and desire into every kiss and every arching thrust as she brought herself down against his hips. He loved Athera, loved the heat of her tongue and the taste of the nectar between her legs and the sweet feeling of sinking inside of her. 

But he didn’t tell her so.

He could have said it the last time he saw her in a dream, after Fen’Harel had taken the mark from her ill-fated arm. He should have said it then; it was their last chance, and both of them knew it. He should have said it before she woke, before the Fade faded away from her and stole her from his grasp. He loved Athera, loved her conviction and her commitment to her duty and how gently she touched him despite the barrier of their opposing goals.

But he didn’t tell her so. And now it is too late. 

It has been a year since Abelas last saw Athera, and still he thinks of her late at night in those quiet and desolate moments when he lies on his pallet with nothing else to do. He thinks of her, running over the memories of their too-brief time together, and he thinks of how he loves her and how she never knew.

It is on one of these lonely nights that he visits Tarasyl’an Te’las in a dream. The Dread Wolf’s old stronghold is empty once again, abandoned shortly after Fen’Harel revealed himself to Athera. As per Fen’Harel’s extensive network of agents, the Inquisition now operates as a series of connected cells in disparate places across the continent, and Abelas knows that Fen’Harel both approves of the Inquisition’s decentralization and pities their attempts to keep up with him. 

Abelas can’t decide how he feels about this mixture of approval and pity. But he knows that Athera would be angry if she knew of her former best friend’s pity, and this is enough to make his heart ache.

He treads softly through the fortress in his dream, nodding graciously to the many spirits that hover here and skimming over the memories that are stored in the ancient stones. He soon finds himself in her bedroom — the bedroom that she shared with him during the precious handful of nights they spent together. It is his intention to sink into the memories here, to torture himself by gorging on the moments of their love that have sunk into this sacred space. 

But the room is already occupied by spirits, and they are gathered around the writing desk.

Curious, Abelas approaches the desk, then stops short in shock: there are three letters on the desk, and the letters are made of parchment. Mundane parchment from her world, which has somehow found its way into the Fade. 

Even more shocking is the fact that the letters are addressed to him – addressed in her large and loopy handwriting. 

His pulse is pounding in his ears. Numbly, carefully, he picks the first letter up. It is dated Drakonis 16: nine months ago. 

Abelas,

I wonder if this will get to you? I honestly have no idea. I burned this letter in a veilfire torch as an experiment. Solas Your precious friend Fen’Harel said veilfire straddles our world and the Fade, so I figured, what’s the harm? Worse comes to worst, I wrote and burned a letter. It’ll hardly be the craziest thing I’ve ever done. Actually, it’s probably better if this doesn’t get to you. I just hope it doesn’t pop into the Fade on some poor unsuspecting spirit’s head.

I wonder how you are. I’m doing great. I just realized I can’t tell you anything else about what I’m doing because you’ll just take it back to fucking Fen’Harel. I hate miss you.

Since I can’t tell you anything meaningful, here are some random thoughts instead.

Deep mushroom is terrible on cakes and in tea. Don’t trust Orlesian tastes.

Why are there so many words for the colour blue? Cerulean, navy, midnight, ocean, sky, indigo… are there this many words for colours in old Elvhen? I bet there are even more. Elvhen seems tricky that way.

What would happen if I cut my hair? Would the voices from the Vir’Abelasan stop making my hair dance around in my dreams? Probably not. Either way, I’m thinking about cutting my hair.

I’m reading ‘This Shit Is Weird’ again for nostalgia reasons and I love the way Varric portrayed Blackwall Thom. He’s such a romantic hero, and Varric got him pegged. I swear that even Cassandra swoons over it.

Crystal grace is my favourite flower. Did I ever tell you that? It’s so pretty.

That’s all I can think of for now. 

Love, Athera

There are splotches in the ink on the second half of the letter, like the echoes of teardrops on the parchment, and Abelas can’t breathe. It feels like there is a vice compressing his ribs.

He picks up the second letter. It is dated from five months ago.

Dear Abelas,

Some more random thoughts.

Who do you think was the first person who looked at a nug and thought, ‘you know what I should do? Breed this little creature to be huge so I can ride it into battle.’ Who did that? Who thought that was a good idea? I love nuggalopes, don’t get me wrong, but still. They’re sort of obscene.

The Grand Tourney is quite fun to watch. Thom and Varric brought me to see it. It’s basically this big sparring competition that happens in the Free Marches. I would never have gone before the Inquisition because, you know, Dalish. So I guess that’s something nice that’s come out of this.

Sometimes I lie awake in the middle of the night and wonder what it would feel like if I just stopped breathing. If I just held my breath and didn’t

I talked Dorian into reading sections of ‘Swords and Shields’ to me at night through the sending crystal when I can’t sleep. It’s so funny that I swear I can’t breathe from laughing by the time he finishes a page. Maevaris must think he’s gone mad.

Love, Athera

Abelas wipes his face and picks up the third and final letter. It is dated from two months ago.

Abelas,

Some random thoughts:

Here are some of the many words for red: carmine, scarlet, blood, ruby, pomegranate, tomato, cherry – no, now I’m just listing foods. I must be hungry.

Isn’t it strange how some grass feels nice and soft under your feet, and some grass is pokey and it just tickles you? Grass is strange. All plants are strange, really. (I am not high, I promise.)

I managed to land a hit on Thom the other day when he was training me with a sword and the shield for my missing arm. Considering that I’m all unbalanced, I’d say that’s pretty damn good.

I love you. I hate that I love you. I hate that I still fucking miss you. I thought about asking Cole to make me forget you before he went back to the Fade, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I should have. I wonder if he would have done it.

Love, Athera

He stares numbly at the letters. He should take them to Fen’Harel. There may be clues in these letters, hints about the Inquisition’s activity that Solas will be able to pick out due to familiarity with its people. Besides, it is important for Fen’Harel to know that burning an item in veilfire sends it to the Fade. Perhaps he is already aware, but it is something that Abelas didn’t know; there is still much he doesn’t fully understand about the way the deadened world interacts with the potency of the Fade. 

He sinks to his knees and stares at the letters. She was writing to him all this time. Writing to him without knowing that he would ever see these letters. Writing to him because she missed him and wished that they could speak. 

Athera was writing to him because she loves him. And Abelas never told her so. 

The pain is like a howling pit in his chest. The spirits are crowding around him and crooning with his reflected sorrow, and he doesn’t have the heart to tell them that their company only hurts him more. 

He remains in her bedroom for time uncounted. He reads the letters again and again, hearing her sunny laugh in his head and imagining her clear grey eyes filling with tears as they did so many times – too many times – during their short time together. He reads the letters again and again, his gaze lingering on the love that marks the end of each one.

He should show the letters to Fen’Harel. He knows the price of betraying the Dread Wolf, the price paid by the slow arrow, and it is a price that Abelas can ill afford, not while he still has a duty to fulfill to his people and to Mythal. 

He wonders if Athera will write more letters. There was no final farewell on the most recent one.

He wonders if he wants her to. 

By the time he rises to his feet to leave Tarasyl’an Te’las, his heart is so heavy that it’s a wonder he can stand. He lingers for a moment, his gaze on the bed they shared — the bed they lay in together and moved in together and talked in until the deepest hours of the night. 

He never told Athera he loved her, because he didn’t want to make this harder for her. The love Abelas harbours is selfish, an empty offering that has given her nothing but pain and a binding more cruel than the kind that those Tevinter mages place on the spirits they seek to control. He never told her he loved her, hoping that if the words remained unsaid, the consequences would be less painful for them both.

He stares at her letters. In these words of devotion written in her hand, his naïveté and his denial are laid bare, and Abelas wishes with his entire broken heart that he had told her while he had the chance.

He wipes his tear-stained face. She is no longer here in the place where they talked and laughed and moved together in a torrid tempest of desperation, and he doesn’t know if she will ever come back. 

He takes a deep breath. Then, far too late, he tells her.

“I love you, Athera,” he whispers. “You deserved better than a tired old warrior like me.” 

His words rise into the air to join the spirits still clamouring around him, and in their nebulous and never-ending memories, he knows his love will stay here forever. 

He folds the letters carefully and places them in the pouch at his belt. Then, with one last lingering look at her bed, Abelas steps out of the Fade. 

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe Interval: Fight or Flight

this is a combination of this little post and another idea I had banging around my skull. just finished an essay so wrote this as a little cooldown, and I’m so glad I did. enjoy!

CW for dehumanisation and a mild non-con reference (imagined, not actual)

-

He didn’t- what the fuck do you think you’re doing?- he didn’t even know what had taken over him. The fear was blinding, like it always was, but for the first time in Rowe’s life it had an edge to it. He didn’t want to get hurt, and everything was screaming inside him that he was about to be. He had- god, he could barely even remember, he had reacted so instantly. He had been bad. He must have, since Master had said the word nails.

Memories had flashed before Rowe’s eyes with such intensity that he almost cried out. He had only had the punishment once, the circular scars that ran down his thighs never letting him forget. His inner thighs, and in that moment Rowe could remember the way he had squirmed and pleaded, his old master so furious with him that he wouldn’t even speak to him, wouldn’t tell him what was to come, so when his legs were forced apart and locked in place the fear had overwhelmed him before the pain had even begun.

Even though he was in Master Tomas’s kitchen, and he knew deep down that he was, he could still feel himself straining against the shackles, sobbing for his owner to please, please don’t, please not that anything but that-

He had learnt since then. Not to ever refuse a punishment like that. Rowe could beg for mercy, and promise to be good, and sob that he didn’t mean to, but he was never to beg for a punishment to stop. As if he had the right to argue against his Master.

At least, he thought he had learned.

Back in the present, it didn’t matter if he was in Master’s kitchen, he was about to be punished, have his soft flesh pierced and twisted and he just- he didn’t want it. Fight or flight was only something humans experienced, he always thought, but he had grabbed the rolling pin anyway before he had a chance to think. And now it was too late to back down.

. . .

Usually Tomas could get some idea of what had scared Rowe, but this time he was utterly lost. And even worse, Rowe hadn’t switched to his usual panicking and crying at Tomas’s feet. This time he was holding a rolling pin and staring at him with wild, frightened eyes, like even he couldn’t quite believe what he was doing.

"Rowe, I-" he started, but Rowe interrupted.

"I d-d-d-don’t want it, M-M-Master," he stammered, his eyes not leaving Tomas’s for an instant. His whole body was tight and stiff, his shoulders locked high beside his chin.

"That’s okay, you don’t have to… have it. I didn’t mean to scare you, I promise."

Tomas took a slow step towards him but Rowe bristled and clutched the weapon even tighter, hoisting it up threateningly.

"St-stop it!" he cried, his voice cracking. Tomas could see the light bouncing off the tears in Rowe’s waterline. But he couldn’t let his poor boy swing that thing around like that. It wasn’t safe for either of them. He took another small step.

"It’s okay," he soothed, raising his palms submissively. He half-noted his fingertips; he had just been talking about remembering to trim his nails soon. "I won’t do anything."

Rowe looked like he wanted to take a step back, but was rooted to the spot in fear and desperation. "Stop," he begged, his voice becoming shakier every time he spoke. "Please."

It broke Tomas’s heart, hearing him speak as if he were speaking to someone else- his old master, or the version of Tomas in Rowe’s head that was always one wrong move away from inflicting harm. Where are you right now, Rowe?

"It’s okay," he tried again. "I’m not angry."

He was close, now, not quite arm’s length but close enough to lunge forward and force Rowe to the ground, and it was painfully clear that both of them knew that.

"Please," Rowe sobbed, tears slowly rolling down his face. "You’re gonna hurt me."

Rowe didn’t often say it out loud, even though it was clear when he was thinking it. But to hear it made so clear- something in Tomas felt like it was welling up as well. His hands, still raised, trembled ever so slightly with the emotion.

"I’m not, I’m not. It’s okay. I would never. I wouldn’t do that to you, Rowe."

"Y-y-you will."

Tomas stepped closer, now in reaching-distance, and lowered his hands ever so slightly. Rowe held onto the rolling pin, staring at him.

"It’s okay," he whispered. "I won’t tackle you. I won’t grab you. If holding that makes you feel safe you can keep it, and I’m right here now. You can hit me if you want. Please don’t, but I won’t stop you. I won’t stop you."

Tomas closed his eyes and hoped this was gonna pay off.

. . .

Rowe was threatening his Master. He was threatening him, and Master should be angry, he should be furious with him, with his Pet’s sheer audacity, but he didn’t look angry. He was right there, he could grab Rowe if he wanted, but he hadn’t. In fact, he was stood there with his eyes screwed up, waiting for Rowe to decide whether to hit him or not.

He thought about it (he was actually thinking about hurting Master!) and the thought made him feel awful. Awful in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. There was the nausea about the punishment he would receive, and how bad he would be, but there was also something else. Like Master didn’t deserve it.

(Like Master had only ever been kind to him?)

His fear and desperation over the nails was fading. This wasn’t his old master, and Rowe couldn’t think of anything he’d done to deserve that punishment. As the adrenaline wore off the tremors in his hands returned.

The rolling pin clattered to the floor and Master opened his eyes.

. . .

Rowe’s arms lowered and then he was sobbing, full on sobbing, and Tomas still didn’t know what had set Rowe off. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as he looked at the way Rowe was crying; his whole body heaving and trembling with every breath.

"I don’t know why I did that," whimpered Rowe, and something about his voice, the rawness of his statement, or the fact he hadn’t called him Master, sent a few tears running down Tomas’s cheeks as well.

"You were scared," he breathed, ever so gently taking Rowe’s hand. "You were scared, it’s okay. I’m not angry."

Rowe let him step closer, and then- Tomas’s breath caught- rested his head on Tomas’s chest. He didn’t lean in for a hug, or reach for him with quivering hands. He just nestled his cheek into him, his free arm hanging lose, and the other held up by Tomas’s hand.

"I thought you were going to-" he began, but the words didn’t seem to come to him after that. Instead, he just wept some more, while Tomas rubbed little circles over Rowe’s knuckles.

"It’s okay, pal. You’re safe. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I promise."

Rowe let out a shuddering breath, and cried until he had no energy left at all, and all the while Tomas just let him.

-

@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 @ghostcomit @cupcakes-and-pain @frankieswhump @ihaventwritteninsolong @mybrokenlittletoy @kiretto-laorentze @morelikepainsley @lave-e @tears-and-lilies @whump-me-all-night-long @newbornwhumperfly @itaina-anta

[crqstalite]

after adamant.

ugly little fic that i wrote in the middle of the night a while ago and shared with a friend. post-adamant about my inquisitor trying to rationalize their losses at the fortress and in the fade. nothing’s capitalized, so if that annoys you, this isn’t the little fic for you.

chose not to use warnings? im not quite sure what to use here, so tread lightly.

dragon age inquisition. 

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she stays strong, after adamant it’s all everyone needs. she sees to the few wardens that had been at the keep, had offered inquisition aid.  they thank her thousands of times over, as uneasy as they are.

their senior warden, alistair, won’t meet her eyes. deep brown orbs looking anywhere but at her, even with a smile on his face. he thanks her, quietly. bandages wrapped around his side, muttering that he’d need to get a letter out to the hero of ferelden — tabris.

she leaves him, offering to let leliana find her. to let leliana send the message and get it back to him as soon as possible. he agrees, numbly is when she swings a leg over the elk in the morning, sun peaking over the rise in the distance.

she knows that look that settles in his dark brown eyes, that look that cries it should’ve been me. but she’s sure he knows what he must do now, to lead the wardens properly against corypheus. she thanks him.

he doesn’t say it, but he does respond that hawke’s sacrifice would not be vain. that shatters a part of her, seals her lips all the way back to skyhold. thankfully, marzeyna is lucky enough no one else is in a talkative mood. but they will be, with questions, with reactions, maybe with thinly veiled anger.

she’s not sure if she’s lucky or simply being lied to when varric seems more despondent than furious with her. he simply responds there are letters to write, to bethany, to other friends she’d made in kirkwall. they’d been close. she bites her lip hard enough to draw iron laced blood to keep from crying.

he hugs her.

though he’s not mentioned, marzeyna doesn’t make the request to send a letter to the mage anders. though he will be left in the dark, surely varric would know how close they’d been. the way hawke spoke of him, with a wistful tone laced with uneasiness, she doesn’t want to look into his eyes and tell him she was the reason reyna hawke would not be coming home.

she makes her rounds. to cassandra, to blackwall, to dorian. then to the others who learning of it secondhand, to leliana, who’d been hurt over justinia. to sera, to bull, to vivienne, to solas, who was fascinated about her journey into the fade.

she doesn’t indulge him. any other day, she might’ve, but not today.

marzeyna has to put on a brave face when she’s nearly hit with what she assumes to be a lyrium kit when she visits cullen. to think she’d thought she’d get any miniscule amount of comfort from anyone after her return, she would’ve thought, just maybe, that it would be him. but no, her nerves are shot and she’s terrified and can’t think straight. she hasn’t slept since before adamant, doesn’t even want to think about dreaming in the fade. and yet, she’s able to give cullen the strength he needs to go on. 

she wavers. her tiny form struggles to make it back to the war room after the moon has long risen in the sky. working, bent over the war table. they’d head out for the exalted plains in the morning. switch out her ground forces, get to work.

get her mind off the blonde woman that haunted her thoughts these days. piercing storm cloud eyes with dexterity over daggers that she’d never seen before. a determination to save mages from the templars that burned white hot within her, flames licking everyone she met.

her voice never wavering when she’d accepted her fate. a strong nod when she drew her daggers for the last time.

she shoves the knife meant for josephine’s diplomatic mission into the table deeper than she’d intended, grinding it into the table with a groan. her fire red hair falls into her face, her once tight ponytail loosening into a lump of curls at the base of her neck.

magic crackles at her fingertips, papers flying off the desk and fluttering to the floor. lelianna’s secrets, cassandra and solas’ requests, josephine’s agreements, cullen’s reports.

yanking off her gloves in front of the fire in her quarters, she grits her teeth when she can’t yank a swollen finger out of it’s respective sleeve. eyebrows knitting together in frustration, fire climbing her thoughts.

why hadn’t she been quicker? why hadn’t she forced them ahead with magic? she could’ve done something, done anything different. could’ve fade stepped them past the bastard. but no, she hadn’t done any of those things. she’d knowingly sent hawke to her death, not fought alongside her and alistair, but sent her away so she and alistair could get away.

the glove comes off, pain reverberating through her hand in waves. she kicks off her boots, the pair thumping away somewhere in the darkness.

she should be the one in the fade. running for her life, terrified in the darkness of the spiders she saw racing towards her. reliving nightmare after nightmare.

marzeyna was a mage. she could’ve handled it longer before she went mad. reyna was not, she was a young woman from kirkwall. a rogue no less. so stupid, marzeyna should’ve been the one to stay behind. from what little she understood of the tensions between varric and cassandra, hawke could’ve been the inquisitor. hell she probably was supposed to be. or alistair’s love, tabris.

both were older, wiser than she was. with only twenty five years on her, she wonders if some God with a sick sense of humor had decided it should be her. things had only gone wrong when she appeared in haven, half alive and delirious. justinia had died, the mage/templar conflict in the hinterlands that she couldn’t solve, alexius.

then they lost haven. and so many people. the smell of wood burning around her and screams of people being cut down by red templars. her advisors asking for orders, her mind spiraling in a thousand different directions.

she wonders if cullen saw the terrified look in her eyes when he’d spoken to her. saw her fumbling for answers, saw the little girl that had been given too much power, much too soon. had second thoughts about her being the so called herald of andraste. had wondered why he put his faith in her.

marzeyna lavellan. she was a mage. and a dalish elf. two of the most marginalized statuses you could have in thedas, and so many people still looked up to her. asked her what to do, trusted her not to lead them astray. 

hawke had trusted her. marzeyna had promised her she’d get her out alive, had promised she’d get her back to bethany. to anders. that they could do this.

she yanks a box, some sort of box, maybe empty off the desk and throws it, chucks it into the wall just off the windows. it crashes, shattering into splinters of oak. then something else holding an ink quill, lighter, easier to throw. that too shatters, ceramic maybe. it’s satisfying almost, anger and regret and everything in between flooding her emotions like a tidal wave. they drown her, choking her when she screams like a caged animal, chucking another small box into the wall. raw magic dances at her fingertips and lights her ablaze, body glowing a gentle white as hot tears slide down her face in rivers.

justinia. maybe. she’s needed her and there was nothing she could do. she failed her.

every single person in haven believed in her. they needed her when corphyeus arrived with his forces.

hawke had believed in her. smiled at her. told her jokes. at first skeptical, as any non andrastian would be. but quickly had become her friend. her first real one that wasn’t asking her what was next all the time. someone she could go to when her advisors were too much that day.

her hands clench into fists in her hair, sobs heavy and heaving as she slides to the floor in a heap against one of the walls. now hawke was gone, and it was all her fault. just like it’d been before. another person who’d gotten killed because of her.

she’d tried to justify her decision. the wardens would need someone to lead them through this possible blight. tabris would need him when she got back with her research into the fake calling. 

nothing answers when she thinks about hawke. she can’t justify her death. she was a good person, supported mages to a fault. didn’t seem the type to kick puppies. was friendly to everyone, had a sister, had a friend in varric.

then, why isn’t marzeyna dead?

she has nothing. clan lavellan maybe, but they’d surely replaced her by now, it wasn’t as if she was coming back now. it wasn’t like they were clambering to see her again. she’s a mage, she’s already being persecuted anyway. and it wasn’t as if what she’d started with cullen couldn’t be forgiven. it wasn’t anything serious, he could meet someone else.

sure, she was young. younger than most in the inquisition. but others still had most of their lives ahead of them. she had nothing. no future beyond what lie inside of skyhold.

hugging her knees, the pants legs begin to wet with the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. the anchor was the only thing that made her important, that kept people from actually wanting to get her killed. people put their lives on the line for her. and she couldn’t even return the favor.

her nails dig into her biceps, curling in on her herself as a draft whips into the room. a shiver after the fire chases it away. 

then why is she still here? she’s nothing, no one. 

and right now, she doesn’t want to be anyone. she doesn’t go to bed that night, reading reports until she can’t. staving off sleep to keep from drifting into the fade against her will. eyes blurring and burning when she dresses herself in the morning, she avoids varric’s gaze following her down the corridor to the war room. josephine follows, rattling off things she doesn’t understand. nobles. treaties. alliances.

lelianna and cullen join them a few minutes later. if they notice her hands shaking, they don’t say anything. a glimmer of concern in cullen’s eyes, josephine outright with the words on her lips, gently biting them back.

she should be dead, she chants when they arrive in the plains, i don’t even have a right to be alive. she should be here, and yet i handed the situation to her like the scared child i am.

it’s the beginning of many restless nights.

[darksunrising]

Sola Gratia (6/?)

Masterlist

Rating / Warnings : General audiences, no particular warnings.

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

Part 6/? (3370 words)

Author’s notes : After a small break, here is part 6 of Sola Gratia ! It’s technically the first chapter of the second part, but I’ll number them continuously to not be confusing !

Hope you all enjoy !

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“Thank you for your compelling conclusion to this seminar, professor Rieder. I would like, once again, to thank all whose interventions have made these few days a most instructive and enlightening event. Now, for the part all of us have been waiting for since this morning, I will see you at the buffet next room over.”

Scattered laughter and clapping closed my statement. A growing buzz filled the room, and I contained a sigh of relief. Turning off my headset, I laid it on the table next to me, giving a few awkward smiles to the eminent researchers still at my side. I focused my attention on the familiar face sitting front row, shoving her scattered notes in her bag. One smile of hers would have stopped a cyclone, and thus I melted inside when she hurried to meet me, pulling me in a bear hug. She was so tiny she couldn’t raise me past tiptoes. I closed my eyes, hugging her back. Her hair smelled like coconut oil, and lavender. She pushed back, still holding my shoulders.

“That was great, see, told you you’d kill it !”, she exclaimed, eyes glimmering with joy.

“Leaaaaah, stop it, you’ll make me believe it”, I replied, letting my head fall back. “I still have to hear from Laurent.”

“Heh, speak of the Devil !”, she taunted, her eyes set somewhere over my shoulder.

Laurent, my thesis coordinator for the past two years, was not a cheerful type person. He was six feet tall, salt more than pepper hair, neatly trimmed, the mustache always curled at the tip, and small, golden rimmed glasses. On anyone else, he might have looked like a nice grandpa. However, his strict demeanor and constantly furrowed eyebrows denoted an uncompromising attitude, which had proven a challenge in my research and field work. I was all the more taken aback by the huge grin plastered on his face as he came over to firmly shake my hands in his.

“Excellent work, Eris. I couldn’t be more satisfied !”, he bellowed. “You will have to come take a drink with us now, I won’t have you escape this time !”

If you weren’t used to his manners, he might seem a bit blunt, even abrasive, but his comment made me smile. I nodded, and he left me after a friendly pat on the shoulder, still having me stumble. Leah was almost vibrating with excitation, as per usual. Where she found her energy, I’d never know. She took hold of my arm, and practically dragged me to the reception room. The committee spared no expense, as the whole seminar had been financed by an anonymous donator, who had been more than generous with his funding. As we got in, we were greeted by a groom, holding a plate of champagne glasses. A bit over the top, if you asked me. Still, I was  on par with the standing of the venue, the National Museum of Natural History. It was huge, old, and honestly, so stuffy in the scientific department I had to think twice before I accepted to coordinate the seminar.

I had taken a million years finding an outfit that wouldn’t clash with the tone, and wouldn’t have me looking like a talking toad in a bowtie. Leah looked great as always, her long, strawberry blonde locks bouncing freely on her shoulders, wearing a perfectly tailored bustier pantsuit. she could have worn a sack of potatoes and looked better than me, still awkwardly trying to walk in a straight line with the pair of stilettos she bought for me. Still, I’d rather suffer the little mermaid’s martyr than disappoint her.

She grabbed two glasses for us, and had a few steps back, guiding me further into the center of the room. She handed me my glass, and held up hers.

“To the first of many symposiums saved from death by your exceptional organizational skills”, she stated.

“To the only reason I didn’t panic and make a fool of myself for three consecutive days, Leah Fox”, I threw back at her.

We toasted, and took a sip. The room was packed. Still enough room to actually breathe, but I never were one for social situations of that type. Of any type, really. As soon as that glass was empty, I would beg Leah to get back to her place, which was, thankfully, close-by. I’d have to almost get across the whole city if I were to go back to mine, and in the state of exhaustion I was in, no way that was happening.

“Hey, don’t look- Do not ! - but there’s a guy looking at you from over there”, Leah told me.

I kept my eyes on her obediently, as she seemed to study said man. She had a look of mischief in her eyes that  announced trouble with a thousand golden horns. I indulged her.

“Well, will you at least tell me what this Mystery Admirer looks like ?”, I enquired.

“He’s your type, I gotta say. Tall, dark and handsome, you know ?”, she started, being less and less discreet about her staring. “Oh, and he knows how to dress, I have to ask where he found his tie pin- Oh, fuck, he saw me, abort mission !”

She winced, knowing full well we couldn’t just run away like schoolgirls. Not if we wanted to keep some form of good reputation among the dozens of career-relevant academics chatting all around us. Seeing her head gradually lift up, I sighed, and prepared myself to get some human interaction. I put on my best fake smile, and turned around.

“Eris Cetero, I have been dying to meet you again.”

All sounds faded. Heart sinking into my stomach, I barely even heard the crystalline sound of the champagne glass as it broke between my fingers. I barely heard Leah’s cry of surprise, or felt the warmth of the blood gushing from my palm. I only saw the red around ocean blue eyes, and a split-second, sharp smile.

My knees gave out under me, his arm slipped around my waist, catching me before all lights faded, blown out like candles in the wind.

~-~-~

Muffled sounds of chatter were my first perception. Then, right after, a burning sensations from my nose to my lungs, that made me choke. 

“Eris ? Are you awake ?”, Leah’s worried voice came to my ears before the golden halo of her hair above me. I could only respond with a pained groan.

“I should hope so, this is very potent”, a silky, deep voice commented outside my limited field of vision.

“I know, but no offense, who carries smelling salts on them in 2020 ?”

“I do, and they proved useful, did they not ?”

She sounded cheerful, as she always did. Every sentence he uttered had the effect of a sledgehammer to my chest. I tried to sit up, and leaning on my had me crying out in pain.

“You’re injured !”, she exclaimed, laying me back down, a hand over my chest. “Just rest a little, will you ?”

“Leah, you have to leav-”, I tried to warn her, too faintly for her to even notice I spoke.

She turned her attention back to him. “Tell me, Professor Balaur, you were about to tell me how you met our faint-hearted friend ?”

Professor ? That didn’t sound right, by all accounts. I couldn't get rid of a faint ringing in my ear. Spots of light danced before my eyes. I had to do something. My heart was almost beating out of my chest. The back of his eyes caught the light just a second. Sharp teeth flashed before my eyes, as they had been embedded in my brain for the past two months, every time I spent too long, staring in the shadows.

“Please, call me Vlad. You do well to remind me, it is a good story.”

His voice was sickeningly sweet. Leah didn’t mind, seemingly genuinely interested in what he had to say, leaning into the palm of her hand, propped up on her elbow. Fighting through the numbness, I decidedly sat up.

“Leah, we have to leave”, I snapped, ignoring her protests. “Now.”

“You don’t seem well enough to go on your own”, the Count stated, his silky voice not helping with my nausea. “I could give you a ride, I have my car parked here.”

“Well, I live nearby, so we can manage”, she began. “But... Considering her state, I would love the help. You’d have my eternal gratitude, and I’ll invite you in for a cup of tea !”

Invite you in. No. No way. Not her.

“I have to go home !”, I blurted out. “I… haven’t fed Zardoz this morning and he’ll- he'll wreak havoc if I don’t.”

Leah gave me a puzzled look. She knew I was lying. She could always tell. She didn’t understand why, but she wouldn’t ask. She trusted me. I promised myself I would tell her, at some point. If I had no other choice.

“Well then, you can’t take the bus in that state”, the Count commented. “For my peace of mind, would you let me take you home ?”

No, absolutely not. He kept his gaze locked on mine. I couldn’t let him anywhere near Leah. Never mind me, she had to be safe.

“Alright”, I yielded. “Go home, Leah, I’ll be fine. I just need a second to get my bearings, I'll be fine with...” I felt like I had to swallow bile. “With Vlad.”

She hesitated, and I gave her the best smile I could muster. She agreed to take her leave, after making me promise to call her as soon as I got home. Scribbling my address on the back of her visit card, she handed it to the Count, and planted a kiss on my forehead. With a last wave, just like that, she left. I couldn’t contain a sigh of relief. A gloved hand appeared in my field of vision.

“If you think I’m coming with you, you’re even more insane than I thought”, I snapped at him, not giving him the satisfaction of eye contact.

“Oh, Eris. Let’s not pretend like there is any other outcome to this situation.”

No matter how much I hated it, he was right. I gave him my arm, and saw his hand twitch as it brushed against the bandages. Leah had gone so overboard I could barely flex my fingers, but on the flip side, no blood seeped through. I wondered how he managed not to go feral when the cuts were still fresh. He took hold of my briefcase, and we left.

Trying to dissociate myself as much as I could from the situation, I barely could make sense of my surroundings as the Count guided me to the outside. I heard myself say goodbye to Laurent as we passed him, giving a bullshit explanation as to why I was leaving with him. The word “date” was thrown around, which I’d have to be angry about later. I focused on not snapping my ankles on the stairs. Curse high heels and feminine fashion standards.

We crossed one of the side doors at the entrance, and stepped outside. For a second, the night’s fresh air made me feel better. The large street, occupied only by a grassy railway, was lit by the orange glow of street lamps. In my fuzzy mind, It looked like a Van Gogh, a blur of light and colors, and the faint sound of the wind rustling into the trees. A welcome silence, after the noise of the inside.

We stopped near a car. Black, sleek, elegant design. A step up from the creepy old van I rather imagined, if I ever got abducted. He opened the passenger door for me.

“I’m not getting in”, I told him, a bit stubbornly.

“Listen, I have told your friend I would get you home safe, and I will. I behaved myself even though you… Well.” His gaze lowered to my injured hand, which I instinctively hid behind my back.

“Why, why on Earth should I trust anything you have to say ?”

“Because, dear, I may be a monster, which you seem so adamant to believe, but I am not, and never have been, a man to go back on word given.”

Looking at the situation objectively, I didn’t have much of a choice. No tram anywhere in sight, no people to scream to, and anyway, the Kitty Genovese thing made it clear that witnesses don’t do anything for your survival. And in her case, she was murdered by a human, which I wouldn’t be so lucky about. If he really took me home, that would bring him further from Leah, which was a substantial advantage. Taking a deep breath, I nodded, and got in the passenger seat. After making sure I was settled, he closed the door, and went around to sit behind the wheel. He typed up the address on the screen, and turned on the GPS. The car’s windows were tinted, and the interior was lit by a soft band of red led lights. Fitting.

“Seatbelt”, he commanded.

“Since when do you even know how to drive ? I would have expected a hearse, drawn by undead horses”, I sneered.

“I am not the Grim Reaper, Eris. Also, everybody knows how to drive, these days, it’s an easy skill to pick up.”

“Huh, pick up, is that what you call it ?”

He laughed. As soon as I went back home, I had spent every waking hour I had to spare researching things like him. That proved to be a difficult task, given that 90% of the hits were either literature, were it good or bad, conspirationist websites with very disputable sources, or witnesses with incoherent, horny accounts of their meetings with seductive succubuses. I figured I had to not be the only one, but there was absolutely no way of finding anything credible, as truth often makes a worse audience than embellished fiction.

At this point, I only had random bouts of legends I classified by percentage of credibility. Silver burned his skin, but didn’t seem necessarily lethal. It did seem to leave a scar for a long time, I thought as I watched the thin, white circle on the back of his hand, relaxed on the wheel. Antlers didn’t seem to be efficient either, or at least, not in a permanent manner. I wasn’t sure about direct sunlight, but cloudy weather seemed to be just fine to him.

“What are you thinking about ? I can sense it’s a tad violent”, he teased, keeping his eyes on the road.

“How are you here ? How are you alive ?”, I jabbed at him.

“Are you disappointed ?”, he replied in a slightly mocking tone.

“Thoroughly.”

“Well !”, he laughed. “Strictly speaking, I was not alive to begin with. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

He tapped on the wheel as he drove. The rhythm reminded me of something, though I couldn't quite place it. He had his hair cut, and was clean shaven, I noticed. Overall, he looked pretty much like a normal man, late fourties, more handsome than the usual, maybe, objectively speaking. He looked sharp, intelligent. Dangerous.

“Are you going to kill me ?”, I asked, turning my attention to the road as well, trying not to have my voice shake as much as I physically was.

“Kill you ?” He seemed to think a few seconds. “No. Not yet, at least.”

“Then why are you here ? How did you find me ?”, I blurted out.

“I tasted you, I’ll always know where you are”, he softly replied. He glanced at me, lingering a little. “As for why, let’s say that I am… curious. No one even tried to stake me since that funny little man Van Helsing.”

I huffed out a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Among all who could have taken interest in me, it had to be an immortal, bloodthirsty creature, who could smell me to the ends of the earth like a hellhound.

“Stalker”, I laconically commented.

“Stalk- What ? I’m not a- How dare you even-”

He sounded genuinely offended. My sudden fit of quiet laughter cut him off. His outraged expression softened, and he let out a sigh, taking back his composure. He took a right into my street, and parked in front of my buiding. After turning of the engine, he leaned back into his seat.

“Before you leave, I have something for you.”

He reached behind my seat, and handed me a wooden box, wrapped a red silk ribbon. I gave him an inquisitory look, to which he didn't respond. If he wanted to kill me, I ventured he would find a more dramatic way than a booby-trapped box. I mean, he wasn't an Acme character. I untied the ribbon, noticed a lock. The Count handed me a key, attached to a thin, golden chain.

“I’m more of a silver kind of girl”, I teased.

“Very funny, but also a lie”, he replied, sliding a finger along my ear, and the three golden rings piercing it.

A shot of electricity ran through me. He was about to lower his hand, yet I felt his touch, barely grazing along the small scars I knew were still swollen, still red, under the foundation I used to cover them up. Dozens of them, little cuts. Broken glass is something sharp. I heard him take an inspiration, as if to say something. I took the key, worked it into the lock. The lid opened on red velvet, in which was incased a colt. A gun. A gun ?

“That is a gun”, I flatly stated.

“Not just any kind of gun. This one is loaded with custom-made white oak bullets.”

I remained speechless a moment, taking it from its case. The metalwork was intricate, and the handle, distinctively polished antler. I wonder if…

“It is. I thought it would be… appropriate”, he told me, as if he had  read my mind.

Appropriate. I scoffed. None of it was appropriate.

“It’s simple of use, really, cock the hammer back, point, squeeze the trigger”, he explained.

“I know how a colt works. I’m more concerned of the reason why I now have one.”

“I would like for it to be a token of trust.” He shifted in his seat to face me. “I want to know that I am no threat to you. Should you not believe it, you now have this.”

I tightened my fingers around the grip. “Will it kill you ?”

“To the best of my knowledge, yes”, he nodded. “I have never died before, however, so this is brand new territory.”

He laughed at his own questionnable joke. I cocked the hammer back, and set the barrel against his chest. “Give me a good reason I shouldn’t do that right now.” He didn’t seem phased in the slightest, which had me doubt the actual usefulness of his gift. He leaned in, his face inches from mine.

“Curiosity”, he whispered, tilting his head to the side. “Everything you study in literature, I lived. Everything event you try to make sense of, I witnessed. Every battlefield you excavate, I have bled on it.” 

I lowered the gun, and looked away.

“As for myself, you have made me curious of this world again.”

“Why me ?”, I muttered, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. His cool breath had the fine hairs of my neck rise up.

“Well, what can I say, except that you have touched my heart ?”

“Dear God.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, and groaned. “I’ll shoot myself.”

“What do you say ?”, he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I could almost feel his lips brushing against my cheek.

“Won’t you invite me in ?”

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