#professor lavellan au

[fatale-distraction]

A swim in the sea for Ellana and Solas please from the sensory prompts list!

I am so outrageously happy to receive this one

Because hilariously enough

Ellana can’t swim. 😂

Here’s some Y2K AU

Sensory Prompts

———

Solas let his head fall back to embrace the hot sun above as dark, salty water lapped at his chest. Another few steps and he submerged completely, echoing blue silence enveloping him in a cold embrace.

He exhaled hard as he resurfaced, shaking water out of his eyes as he treaded in place; took a moment to refill his lungs.

He couldn’t remember when the last time he’d been to the beach was, only remembered the horrific burns he’d gotten on his neck and shoulders, Higher Love blasting through the speakers of June’s car radio, the smell of beer, bonfire, and burnt burgers. Sylaise and Andruil stoned out of their minds. The twins wrestling in the sand while Ghil pelted them with marshmallows. It must’ve been ten years at least.

When was the last time he’d spoken to any of them?

Before he could render himself too melancholy, Solas dipped forward and started back to shore with strong, languid pulls. As he drew close enough to touch his feet to the coarse sand, he could make out a smallish, red haired blob sitting in the sand, sorting shells in her lap as the waves teased at her feet. A cloud passed over head and her long, long curls blew in a soft gust of wind.

She usually kept her hair up.

Solas had nearly tripped over Dorian’s beach chair when he’d caught sight of her, the long red mass swinging tantalizingly around her ample hips.

“Miss Lavellan,” he called out as he trudged up the beach, water sluicing down his body. Her violet eyes flicked up and down and he was irrationally pleased to see her freckled cheeks flush. “Why aren’t you enjoying the water with everyone else?”

“Who else is going to catalogue all the different kinds of identical white shells?” She held up a string of them that clattered musically together.

His unamused stare took a moment longer than usual to draw the truth out of her.

“I can’t swim,” Ellana admitted, dropping her hands into her lap with finality. “You go on, I’m perfectly happy guarding the beach towels. And the shells.”

Absolutely not.

“Get up, Miss Lavellan,” instructed Solas, crossing his arms. She was already protesting. “You must know how to swim. What if there’s an emergency?”

“Then someone’s dying, I guess.”

“No, you are going to learn.”

“Nnno.”

“Stand up, da’assan.”

“Make me, hahren.”

Heat raged through his veins. The defiant way she tilted her chin up at him and the bratty retort, mirroring his cadence and elvhen endearment…Ellana had mastered the art of riling him up in a remarkably short time frame. It drove him mad in the worst and best ways.

“Oh,” he huffed a laugh, unfolding his arms and advancing. “Oh, my dear, I would be DELIGHTED to.”

The younger woman crab-scrambled away in vain. “No, I only meant—…”

He leaned down and scooped her up into his arms like she were a particularly loud, flailing sack of flour.

“Professor, don’t you DARE, I will bite you—…” Ellana tried to clamber over his shoulder as he turned and strode into the water.

“Hahren!!” The moment the water rose around her legs, she clung to him like a frog to a tree branch, limbs wrapped around him. Solas kept his own arms tight around her middle.

“I’m not going to let you go, Ellana,” he informed her so softly she could barely make it out over the waves.

A gull cried out. She glanced up at him. He met her gaze soberly. Slowly she loosened her legs from around his waist and let her lower half drift into the cold water. Her arms were still locked around his neck like a vice. He could feel her heart pounding against his own.

“You’re an asshole,” she squeaked.

“You’re a stubborn pest,” he returned without venom.

She was pretty even when she scowled. “If I drown, my sister will murder you so hard they’ll never find your body.”

“I haven’t the slightest doubt of that.” Solas had no misapprehensions regarding Evelyn Lavellan’s determined dislike of him. The dark-haired woman wouldn’t even need as serious an excuse as the untimely death of her favorite sibling. An imagined slight would do just as well to earn her ire.

“You won’t let go?”

“I promise.”

The young woman bit her lips, already pink with the wind and cold water, now reddening so temptingly. Solas felt heat rise all the way up to his ears. With great care, she pried herself loose from his neck and settled for clinging to his arms while she treaded water. True to his word, Solas kept a firm grip on her elbows.

“You see?” he said with encouragement. “You’re doing just fine. Just keep kicking.”

“If you let go I will haunt you,” came the shaky reply.

“Ellana,” the strong tone drew her attention from the water beneath her to his intent gaze. “I won’t let you go.”

[ellstersmash]

pinot noir

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Makon (@bearlytolerant) x Athi Lavellan (professor au) Rating: G for General (no swears?!) Words: 2241 [Read on Ao3] Athi reluctantly informs her professor she'll be dropping his class.

This is the right call.

Athi repeats the thought with each step, walling off her doubts with manufactured confidence. Unfortunately, Professor Makon’s office is a decent hike from her advisor’s, across campus and two floors up, giving her way too much time to cave.

This could've been an email. Should've, really. After what happened, he won't want to see her any more than she wants to see him. Maybe he won't be there. That syllabus was pretty dense; Athi’s only mostly sure she's remembering his office hours right. Maybe she got them wrong and he won't be there and she won't have to admit her defeat to his face.

The dark, polished wooden door is closed when she finally reaches it, and she breathes a sigh of relief. Surely a note will be fine.

But luck is not on her side today. As Athi approaches, it opens, and a student she doesn't recognize emerges. They hold the door and she gives them a tight smile in reluctant thanks.

It snicks shut behind her.

The professor is seated at his desk in the center of the decently sized room. It's a dark, heavy, ornate piece of furniture that matches the door and full bookshelves and is large enough that he doesn’t dwarf it like he undoubtedly would a more delicate one.

“Miss Lavellan.” His voice is calm but his surprise is plain. “Please, take a seat.”

She takes in his office in one discerning sweep. It's lovely, but moody and serious, high ceilings and cohesive décor utterly drowned in black and brown and crimson, though the huge arched windows set into two of the walls help keep the room from being oppressive. Afternoon sun streaming in turns the red from vampire edgelord to pinot noir.

It feels comfortable, but not the lived-in sort. Immaculately clean, and there are no papers on his desk, no garbage in the bin, no personal effects anywhere—save a single picture frame set on one corner of his desk and a pipe stand and humidor on the other.

“I won't be staying that long,” she says.

The large leather chair behind the desk creaks slightly as the professor leans back, arms folded to his chest. His dark eyes are fixed on her in precisely the situation she was hoping to avoid.

“Very well,” he says, then continues before she has a chance to blurt out her confession. “In fact, it is quite fortuitous for me that you visited my office today, as I have been desiring to speak with you since the regrettable events of last week.”

Of course he wants to talk about it. Athi drops her gaze to the desk and clenches her jaw, fully prepared to derail whatever tiresome rant he has planned.

“I owe you an apology, Miss Lavellan,” he says, yanking the fight right out from under her. She scans his expression for signs of insincerity or mockery but finds none. “I singled you out among your peers, and despite any vexation I may have been experiencing, it was not at all my intent to confound or mortify you. I assumed—wrongly, we may agree—that all the students enrolled in a course on the medicinal magic curriculum would already be able to perform the spell I requested, and hoped that by being a part of the lesson you might become more engaged with it.”

The way he speaks, like some century-old thesaurus is swapping words out for him as he goes, is both mesmerizing and irritating. Athi could listen to him speak for hours in that deep timbre which rumbles at the lowest dips in tone, though she has to hold onto the actual words a while, shuffling them around in her head until they fall into some kind of sense. But once they do, she has to agree; his assumption was fair. Most of the others probably could have done it without a fuss. 

Athi digs her thumbs into the back of the padded wooden chair as he keeps talking.

“We may not always see eye-to-eye on appropriate classroom behavior. However, it is not my job to embarrass you into submission, but to teach you. I am afraid I did you a disservice, and I am sorry for it.”

He is quiet, then. Finally. Waiting for her acknowledgment? Her acceptance? Her forgiveness?

The silence hovers a little longer as Athi finds her words.

Then she slumps into the chair. “No.”

His straight black eyebrows draw together, a few deep furrows appearing between them. “I beg your pardon?”

She shrugs one miserable shoulder. “You asked me to do something I should have been able to do. I couldn't do it, got upset, and took it out on you and your very nice shoes. I'm sorry.”

Professor Makon waves one hand in dismissal. “Please do not trouble yourself over the shoes. They survived the assault quite unharmed, I assure you.”

“Glad to hear it. I'd hate to force you into sneakers.” Athi bites back a grin.

He sets his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers in front of him. Taps the tips together thoughtfully. “I appreciate your apology, yet I find myself unable to surrender the entire portion of blame for our… altercation. Perhaps we might agree to share it?”

There's the beginnings of a smile on his face, too, uncertain but warm. It disarms her.

“If you insist,” she agrees.

“Excellent. And now, perhaps you and I can start afresh. Your magi—”

“I’m dropping the class.”

His expression sobers. “Oh.”

“My advisor said I should talk to you about options, but I think it's pretty obvious I'm not cut out for this.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Oh, please. I can't even unwilt a few leaves. And there's no way I'll be able to make up for the hands-on portions with theory, much less put it into practice in future.” She shakes her head. “Honestly, I shouldn’t have even enrolled.”

“May I ask why you did?”

Athi can't stop the sheepish smile that spreads across her face. “Healers get the best gigs. And the biggest paychecks.”

“So this is merely a means to an end?”

“Does that offend you? That I should want to end up with a reliable, stimulating job that pays me well enough to live a comfortable life?”

“Of course not. That is your prerogative.”

“If it's any consolation, I don't mind the part about saving people’s lives, either.”

His low hum of acknowledgement settles in her ears. Gods, but he’s handsome. It's hard to hold his gaze too long. Athi grabs the frame off his desk and flips it around.

It's a picture of the professor with one arm draped around the slender shoulders of a much shorter woman. He's dressed down, shirt open in a loose vee, and she's gorgeous, with tightly coiled green hair and a wide, infectious smile. A lover, likely enough; he certainly seems happy to be with her. His wife?

Odd that the idea should sit so poorly in her stomach.

“Has finesse always been a struggle for you?”

Athi nods, strangely glad for the interruption, and sets the photo on her lap. “Can’t warm a mug of water for your tea, but I can set a pond boiling.”

“I hope you don't know that from experience.”

She smirks and lets him speculate.

“I wonder if you might indulge my curiosity,” he starts slowly, “with another demonstration.”

So she’s to be a circus act? Watch the sad semi-mage bumble through simple tricks—what fun. Athi barely keeps from grimacing at him. “Why? Are you in the slim and elusive market for a hot spring?”

He laughs, then coughs as if to cover it.

“Believe it or not, I gather no pleasure from your success or failure. I am a teacher, Miss Lavellan, and I only wish to assess your abilities for your own benefit.”

Athi fills up her lungs, then hisses out a long breath. “Fine.”

Professor Makon fishes a pair of scissors out from his desk then unlatches one of the windows, drawing in a branch from the outdoors and snipping off some leafy new growth. He lays it on the gleaming unmarred surface.

“Remove some of its life.”

Athi does so. Stretches out her hand and focuses on drawing its life force, its moisture, its vitality, into herself until the leaves lay crisp and withered on his desk.

“Very good. Now restore it.”

It’s but a sip of life, not enough to have her glowing but enough to drain her when it’s gone. The leaves start to unfurl, then a stray thought, a doubt, and she nearly loses her grip on it. Cuts it off to avoid a disaster.

The professor hums again. “You very nearly had it. Based on what I've witnessed, your magic is indeed quite strong,” he says. “Your willpower is formidable, though your focus and discipline are…” His head tilts back and forth as if sifting the right word to the top of the pool.

“Pathetic?” she supplies.

He levels a weary look at her. “Unbridled.”

Athi snorts. “Tactfully put.”

“It is not a matter of tact but of implied permanence. Do you not wish to improve your skills?”

“I guess, but why do you care?”

“Ah, right. You are quitting.”

She hates the way he makes it sound, but it's not inaccurate. “Yes.”

“And so I should wash my hands of you, then?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

His index finger, long and well-manicured and probably capable of channeling more magic than her entire body, taps steadily on the desk. “What if you did not quit? What if you remained enrolled in my course?”

Athi narrows her eyes at him. “Are you promising to pass me?” He doesn't seem at all the sort, but people can be surprising.

Apparently not this one, though, because he looks thoroughly offended she'd even suggest it.

“Absolutely not,” he says. “Whether you pass or fail will be entirely up to you and your efforts. However, I am willing to take the time to assist you in your studies outside of class if you are willing to apply yourself. I would hate for you to walk away from my course because I failed to assign an appropriate prerequisite. Might I plead with you to finish out the semester with some personal assistance?”

“Outside of class?”

“Can you not make the time?”

“I can, but—”

“Then what holds you back?”

Fair question. He is a master of his craft. It's a generous offer, and one he has no reason to extend. Plus, she could think of worse ways to spend a few hours per week than personal lessons with Professor Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy—even if he does have a smoking hot wife at home. But there is still no guarantee that she won't fail, wasting both her time and money and denting her GPA in the process. And this way, she'll be disappointing more than just herself.

Athi sits back in the chair and sighs. “Will there be snacks?”

Her professor’s eyes soften, deep brown crinkling at the edges as he smiles. “You should take the evening to consider your options. If you are not present in class tomorrow, I shall take that as my answer.”

She’s been dismissed. He holds his hand out and Athi nods and returns the picture. Gathers her bag from the floor and makes to leave.

“If you decide in my favor,” he says, “then I shall see you tomorrow, Miss Lavellan. And if not—”

“See you never?”

He straightens the picture on his desk and meets her eye. Jaw tight, a sharp nod, and he lets her go.

-

Too early the next morning, Athi paces the hall, avoiding the gazes of her potential classmates as they file into the lecture hall ahead of her. She envies their confidence, their probable magical skills, their sense of belonging. Wants to be one of them. Wants to show them.

Wants to show him.

A careful sip of coffee; she leans against the wall to weigh her options. She could leave. Drop the class, and lose the option to label herself a healer-surgeon and all the benefits that would incur. Maybe take another course that’s more to her strengths, like Patient Relations, or Experimental Medicine.

Or she could stay.

Take the professor’s offer and walk in that room like she deserves to be there. Like her magic is every bit as good as it should be. Make her dad proud. Or, if she fails, make him regret subsidizing her education—and still lose the lucrative subspecialty of “healer,” making it that many more years until she could pay back his investment.

Professor Makon wouldn’t fail her, though. Would he? He cares. He’d try. He’d teach her.

Another minute until class starts. Everyone planning to show is already inside, seated, books open, ready to learn. And she’s out here, cradling her coffee like a coward.

The door creaks open. Professor Makon’s head pokes out, black hair pulled back in a neat bun and eyes scanning the hall. Too soon, he spots her loitering like an idiot.

Smiles.

“Well?” he says, “Will you be joining us, Miss Lavellan?”

She gives herself another five seconds to consider, then holds her coffee up—a lavender anti-spill travel mug she purchased especially for this class—and says, “This is my price.”

The professor examines her offering, then opens the door wider to let her in. 

“I accept.”

[molokokoart]

I really like the AU in which Solas is a professor at the university. I have a lot of ideas for it, because I modeled my Lavellan.

[brekkie-e]

The more I spend time with Emmerich the more it is difficult to red tape conspiracy theory away my Lavellan's single-ness and availability for a Solavellan ending. Like. Harding and Tara (my Inquisitor's cousin and also Rook) would meet him and be like wait? You're single? Have I got the girl for you. You gotta take her to the Necropolis gardens on your first date, she's been waiting to see them since she was 8. Yes, do take her to your favorite tomb. You have to explain in great detail to her how you corpse whisper. She's gonna love you. (The fact she's the Inquisitor is borderline a jump scare, they just dont mention it to him. Her ex being Solas is also a jump scare.)

So now I'm considering doing a Barbie's Nutcracker styled AU playthrough where it's just my Inquisitor having the weirdest yet best dream of her life? Falls in love with a distinguished Nevarran professor, in a cursed future where her ex is stuck in her head and Varric can't remember her name. Harding thinks her cousin is the Inquisitor. The Antivan Crows are nice??? But all the horrors don't bother her because this dream is showing her what being valued and cherished by your partner is supposed to look like. Apparently all her dream relationships involve raising a spirit boy together?? And then it ends with her cousin and her ex boyfriend running off in to the Fade together.

She wakes up in a cold sweat and is like "why the hell was Tara kissing Solas? They hate eachother? She's a lesbian? I need coffee."

[greypetrel]

Haiiiii ✨💛 *serve minimo tre teglie di tiramisù*

For the AU meme (please do pick just one if these are too much :'D) : -15 for an Alyra and Aisling tag team (bonus if Merrill is interfering) -16 for the raccoon of our hearts and/or bearded king Garrett (but the king/queen is someone unexpected OO:) -26 for all of the babies / two of your choice / it's the TQC crew (omg!) instead and the DM is Darcy bambino mio bellissimo aaaaand of course Shahra has Something To Say about it because the setting is clearly a ballroom scene disguised as a dungeon

MA BUONGIORGIO.

I’m writing this as I start: let’s see if I can make it with three short things to post all together. The first one set my brain on fire and I’m loving it so WHO KNOWS.

Added after the first AU: OOPS. In my defense: I love urban fantasy and New York settings and this could become a series by itself.

Tis the prompt list

Could be Worse.

15. Urban fantasy/paranormal (werewolves, vampires, ghosts, paranormal investigators, etc.)

It all had seemed a good, innocent enough way to make more money.

Or at least, that’s what Alyra had thought at the start, when she and Morrigan had set up this whole endeavour.

They needed it to keep their house, an old abandoned firehouse that they were slowly and steady renewing. Except, the rent spiked, and neither of them together could allow it anymore. Go figure with a child of 10 in the middle.

So they decided, one night, that combining forces for a little, innocent scam that could bring them some more money, would have been the way to go. They just needed the guts to lie in people face, and they both had it, and competences enough to make their stories plausible - and they had them too.

Morrigan, an History professor at the Saint Nug Community College and part-time herbalist, would have made something up to root their claims in historical evidences, and concoct a fake exorcism. Alyra, a forensic psychologist, would convince old grannies that what they saw was correct. They just needed a scientific counterpart.

Hence when Lavellan came in. A colleague of Morrigan, who couldn’t lie to save her life and was there only because her job didn’t pay her enough to repay her student debt (“You wouldn’t believe how little Columbia pays their PhD students and assistants!” she would say, laughing it off), but beside the weird habit to dance when she had a blowtorch in her hand -who left Alyra extremely worried and had set on fire at least two cardboard boxes, one flower vase and Kieran’s homeworks- she was clever and insanely competent.

Or well, usually.

Not when she was shaking her instrument like it was a spray can, a frown on her face as the relevator beeped and booped wildly.

In front of the client, of course.

“Everything is perfectly all right, Mrs D’Onterre, our expert is just…” Alyra looked behind her, at the blonde who was now hitting her device against the wall as they walked on, muttering something with a pout in her voice. “… Checking that our instruments are perfectly functional. Which they are, right, Dr. Lavellan?”

“Oh? Y-yes, uh…” She blushed and stopped using her relevator as a hammer, retreating it and starting to look at it intentely, a deep frown on her face. They had tried to teach her to make a poker face, with scarce results for now. At least she was aware of it enough to look elsewhere. “… There’s some great activity, here.”

“Which means that we must be close.” Morrigan concluded, much more convincingly, stepping quicker and stopping before the group in front of a closed door. She turned on herself, making a show with a swirl of the fringes of her shawl and a tingle of jewelry as she did so. She dressed the part of the witch, and looked like one, deep kajal making her eyes seem even more poignant in the dim light of the old house. All in black and dark Bordeaux, she looked positively like a raven. “Now, Mrs D’Onterre, I must ask you to leave us alone. We need to commune with the Spirit, for the exorcism to be effective.”

“But I’m sure I could be of help in communicating with my poor, poor husband-” The lady tried to argue, nervously playing with the long string of pearls on her neck.

From the noise of them, Alyra considered, they must have been true: which only meant they could ask for more money than what they initially thought. If only Aisling could behave and stop glaring at the screen as if it had something wrong and she was surprised it reacted, it would have been an easy job, and they would have returned home with a glorious first gig in their pocket, and the money to pay rent.

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here.” Alyra added, with a sympathetic hand coming to rest onto the woman’s shoulder. Her shirt was silk. Of course it was. “Ghosts process grief much more violently than the living. Have you heard of the five stages of grief?”

“I-” The woman looked at her, confused. “Y-yes, of course.”

“Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. One after the other. Our departed add Revenge and Destruction, if they’re treated in the wrong way.”

The woman paled at the revelation. Alyra smiled, faking a sympathy she really didn’t feel in the least.

“I know it’s difficult to stay away from your beloved husband, I promise we’ll call you in if the situation will allow it. We just need to make sure dear old Woodrow is past his Revenge or Destruction phase.”

“I see. Please, do all you can, there’s a Picasso in that room, that was his late mother’s. It would destroy him if some harm came to it.”

Alyra’s smile only grew, as her mild disgust for the woman in front of her. But she was a professional, so she just patted the other woman’s shoulder and promised her they would have been extremely careful and done all they can. Poor old Woodrow only needed assistance to pass into the light, and she could have returned to admire the painting her husband so loved.

And then, finally, after a last recommendation from Morrigan not to open the door, no matter what she heard or saw, they were finally alone in a filthy rich reading room. Scantly lit as well, because if they could afford bookshelves of pure mahogany, a table coffee between two sofas with a marble plane and yes, a damn Picasso painting over the mantel, covered by two flower vases that partially hid it from view, paying for new lightbulbs was definitely too much.

“Fucking parasite.” Alyra hissed.

Morrigan chuckled and started to pour the content of her bag on the coffee table, putting everything in order and sitting on one of the sofas exactly like she belonged, perfectly at ease in the luxury. Hadn’t she known she was born in a hippie community with no running water, Alyra could have thought her for a rundown ex debutante raised in the Upper West Side. She fixed a lighter, an incense burner with some sticks, a bunch of laurel, lavender and rosemary tied together, a small collection of crystals of various colours and shapes, some charts and a golden pendulum.

Which left Alyra free to turn towards the third party, glaring at her and pointing her hands on her hips.

“What did we say about rule number 3?”

“Stick to the plan and follow your hints.” She huffed, fishing a screwdriver out of a pocket of her boiler suit and lowering the goggles on her eyes. They seemed impossibly large and made her look like a fish. “I’m sorry, but this fucking thing is behaving.”

“Behaving how?”

It indeed was still beeping and booping like crazy, filling the room. It was getting pretty annoying, no way around it, and the fact that miss Columbia Doctorate was frowning at him, didn’t bode to anything good.

“It shouldn’t beep like so! It’s supposed to detect electromagnetism in the air… I calibrated it to detect the fields of house appliances, like fridges and A/C units, tvs… But it should not be so loud and insisting. Unless they have a real problem. Something is letting out a strong magnetic field, which makes my relevator react. I don’t know what it is, maybe they have a generator which is malfunctioning, such a strong field can only be caused by a quantity of electricity that isn’t really safe for a house, and if we calculate-”

She stopped, at least, realizing something. She looked up, eyes impossibly big behind the lenses and finally noticing that her colleagues were observing her with utter disinterest in their faces.

“Uhm, either I calibrated it to be way too sensible, or every bits of metal should be magnetic in this house.”

Alyra nodded, and walked briskly to a window, where she tried to stick the house keys to the metal handle. When she let them go, the keys fell to the parquet without a hint of resistance. Huffing in annoyance, the redhead picked them back up.

“Not a magnet. Please make that infernal device stop or I’ll throw it out the window.”

“I’m trying.” Aisling insisted, grumpily, as she slipped her bag on the carpet and sat on the sofa opposite of Morrigan, one ankle folded behind the opposite knee and back curved over her instrument. She fished some more instruments from her bag and set to work.

“Or maybe there’s truly a ghost.” Morrigan said, absent-mindedly, blowing on an incense stick and waving it around.

“Please.” Alyra groaned.

“Why not? This house is very old. XVII century, from the Dutch coloners. The legend says that Gertrude, the daughter of the owners, rich fabric merchants, evoked a demon and killed all her family. And there has been… Quite a few murders in the course of the centuries. All dead by stabbing.”

“We’re in New York City, people stab each other all the times.”

“Not all the time, my love.”

“Remind me to invite you to the next bring your son at work day. You’d be surprised.”

Morrigan chuckled, as she walked around with the incense stick, filling the room with its perfume as she kept on telling the story of that place, and more on the stabbing part. All the victims had been found in that library, all stabbed in the very same vital point. It wasn’t, that much was clear and Alyra worked with the police enough to know it, not the job of an amateur. And with enough mental openness, Morrigan concluded, one could also say that it was the job of not more than one person.

“Or just a bunch of history nerds with prosecution of grandeur and narcissism enough. Do you know how many Zodiacs have appeared?” Alyra muttered, propped on a windowsill and still not convinced.

Still not convinced by the fact that apparently, the smoke all flowed towards a certain corner of the library, right above a big brass globe that worked as liqueur cabinet. Morrigan observed it with interest.

“Odd.”

“There must be an air vent there. Come on, chant some things, spray your water, let’s go. This will cost the old goose enough money for all three of us, and we’ll have pizza on the way back.”

“You really don’t believe in anything unexplainable, do you?” Morrigan turned, cracking half a smile towards her as she raised an eyebrow.

“I think ghosts are just the products of suggestions. There’s no scientific evidence to support sightings, right?”

She turned towards Aisling, who now stood still, looking at the screen with less of a challenge on her face and pure concentration. She rose the goggles back on top of her head, and was munching on the back of the screwdriver absent-mindedly, leaving it beep, and didn’t look up as she spoke.

“Maybe it’s a ghost for real.”

Silence fell on the room. Or well. Almost, because the damned detector was still going crazy.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t have accepted this job if I didn’t believe in ghosts and the paranormal.” She looked up, blinking at Alyra with disbelief. “You don’t believe in it?”

“Of course not, this is a scam and I have a Master! You’re a Physicist, why do you believe in ghosts?”

“Because the world is that much duller if Nessie doesn’t exist.”

“You do believe in Nessie.”

“Of course! She’s very gentle and I’d like to give her some scratches. Such a good girl.”

“How do you scientifically explain a plesiosaurus in a Scottish loch?”

“There’s so many things Science hasn’t explained yet…”

“I told you she was the right person for this job, love.”

Alyra groaned loudly, and marched to the liqueur cabinet as well. If she was the only rational one that was sure they were scamming a rich idiot and nothing more, and wasn’t there hunting for ghosts, she definitely needed some liquid courage to restore some of her patience. She opened the globe and took out a bottle of whiskey that looked pricey enough. A fresh gust of wind breezed in her face, but she shrugged it and ascribed it to the air vent.

“Alyra-”

“Stop me.”

She uncorked the bottle -an old Glen McKenna from 1936- and brought it to her lips, when the bottle literally exploded in her hand.

She yelped and jumped behind her, covering the spike in noise from the detector behind her. Morrigan jumped at her, pushing her away and pressing her thumb in her palm, hard. Something felt wet there, and when Alyra looked down, there was blood on her hand.

“… Hell of an alarm.”

“We should get back.”

“We are due rent in two days. Clean this mess, say some prayers, take her money and get out.”

“She’ll realize we didn’t do anything, ask the money back and we’ll be over.”

“There’s no ghost!”

“DOWN!”

Aisling yelled, and Morrigan pushed Alyra down on the ground, just in time for a knife to be thrown over their heads, swishing in the air… And stopping its flight right in the centre of the Picasso on the mantelpiece, swinging forlornly this way and that.

The trio froze, as the detector launched a continuous beep in the air. Alyra’s butt was wet with spilled whiskey and she was sure she had other glass shards in her thigh. But all she could think about was another thing.

“Tell me that painting is a fake, please.”

Morrigan swatted her arm, groaning. Except, another knife appeared out of thin air, pointed right at them.

They froze instantly. How quaint, that when he came to bring them food -which was maybe not so casually every time Aisling was in charge of cooking lunch for everyone when they worked- Cullen, Aisling’s boyfriend, an ex-sergeant in the NYPD, suggested to come with them. Just for support and to do the heavy lifting. Alyra dismissed it with a groan, saying that they didn’t need a person more, and they couldn’t have justified his presence too. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but respected the no.

It would have come handy, right now, a fourth person that actually knew how to behave in a fight.

Everyone got stabbed in New York City, after all, and apparently today was their turn.

“We’re here to help!” Aisling declared aloud, talking right to the corner with the globe as she rose up, hands up in the air, a ghastly expression on her face.

The knife stilled.

No one moved.

“Go on.” Morrigan said, voice aloof as her usual, but Alyra knew her enough to read fright in it. Fright, in how her hands were clutched on her arm.

“I- uh- Sure.” The Physicist behind them continued, clearing her throat. “We- we- We were sent by your wife. Your lovely, lovely wife, to help you.”

The knife moved.

“NO! Please!”

The knife stilled.

“I- uh- W-we didn’t want to touch your things. Or… Or offend you. We did offend you, didn’t we? I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

No reaction from the knife. She walked slowly, palms still up in the air, and never turning from facing the corner. She walked around the coffee table and the other sofa, making her way impossibly slowly towards the corner with the liqueur globe.

“I’m Aisling. That’s Alyra, she’s my friend… She apologizes from taking the whiskey. Right?”

“I don’t-”

Two sets of eyes, one green and the other of a hazel so light that it looked yellow in some light, turned to look at her with scolding. Alyra felt the stupidest she ever felt in her life, but whatever trick it was, she played along. Whatever Aisling was doing was working, and by her own rule, everyone should play along. Damned sisterhood.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have taken the whiskey without asking.”

The knife lowered its point, and Alyra paled considerably.

“See? She’s not that bad. She’s just a little grumpy and abrasive, but she’s very caring.” Aisling kept on, slowly making her way towards the corner.

“I’m not-”

“You are, love, silence.”

“And the other is Morrigan. She’s a good mom and she knows a lot of things! Really a lot. You would like her, if you read all these books. Her office is also full of books.”

The blonde kept chatting and telling trivial things, which incredibly seemed to be working. The knife didn’t raise again, didn’t motion to move and be thrown. It stood there, still in the air as the blonde apparently tried to befriend an invisible presence or a weird tourist trap. Alyra kept chanting in her head that it was just a tourist trap. That it was just a trick with the A/C, that was why the room was suddenly colder and she could see her breath condensed. That the knife was just hanging from a nylon string that they couldn’t see in the dim light. That was why the light was so dim, so they couldn’t see the trick.

Except, when Aisling came to stand right in front of the weapon, telling the presence of the squirrels in Central Park, and about how she saw one rolling down a hill full of fresh fallen leaves, once, and it was so cute. Slowly, very slowy, she managed to move a hand down and gently close her fingers on the handle of the knife.

“-There.” She said, smiling a little forcibly, but still a smile. “I knew you were good, Woodrow!”

She took the knife in her hand took breath to speak again, when someone else spoke.

“I’m not Woodrow.”

The blonde yelped and jumped behind, letting go of the knife. She stomped heavily on glass shards, thankfully with heavy combat boot on, and Morrigan yelped too, retreating over Alyra to dodge the knife that landed on the carpet where her foot was.

“I’m Cole.”

---

“… And you’re sure you really don’t mind it?”

Alyra asked, flabbergasted by the… Stoicism or stupidity, she couldn’t say, of Aisling’s boyfriend, leaning casually over the door of what had to be the oldest station wagon in the city.

“There are worse things.” He simply answered, shrugging as if it everything was normal.

“Worse thing? Worse things than welcoming a ghost that started to throw knives at people because in 1776 the one person who could see him asked him to guard the house and don’t let people steal from them? What is worse?”

Her voice sounded shrill, and she knew that from an external point of view she would have really looked like the worst in the little group that collected in front of the old firehouse, between the aforementioned run down station wagon and a Volkswagen Westfalia painted in purple and Bordeaux and ravens. And that group counted Morrigan, still dressed like your friendly neighbour witch, in boho fashion, one ring for finger and burning a bunch of bay leaves and rosemary around a floating takeaway cup of mango lassi that was somehow drinking up from the straw, with a decisive sound of sucking, all by itself, and an Aisling that kept on chatting with said floating takeaway cup. Explaining minutely how mango lassi can solve everything in the world, her mother always said, and how he would have loved the flat, and Cullen’s pancakes the next morning.

Said Cullen, who blinked twice at her, and in the most serious way, like he wasn’t talking with a person who was at her second existential crisis of the day, answered.

“She brought home a horse, last year.”

“Horses exist, ghosts don’t!”

He turned to look at the lassi cup, which lowered in time as a male voice spoke:

“I want to see the squirrels.”

“You don’t need to walk ghosts and clean their poop.” Cullen continued, cool as a cucumber. “And I hope this ghost won’t wake me up munching on my toes. Or sit on the couch and bite if you try to move him.” A pause, and he frowned, finally worried. “He can’t bite, can he?”

“The throwing knives part doesn’t bother you? Seriously??”

“I was in the NYPD. Won’t be the first knife attack of my life, won’t be the last. You’re a forensic psychologist, you should know it.”

Oh yes, Alyra did know it. All too well. And furthermore, she was really at a loss for further counter-arguments about that whole predicament. She could hope to win if it was two against one, using her relationship to Morrigan as a lever, and the old “I’m the mother of your son!” argument. But this was becoming 3 against 1, and ghosts existed, her wounded hand hurt, and all she thought she knew about the world was wrong.

So, she grunted, decided that she could stop playing hysterics, that was Williamsburg and not a playground, they just made it back from Manhattan all in one piece -more or less-, they got paid well, and their ectoplasmic impossible new friend was going to Jackson Heights with Aisling and Cullen. All she had to do and all she did was, now, regain some dignity, ignore how Cullen sympathetically patted her shoulder and told her that Aisling’s mother was right about mango lassi, and to just eat something and go to sleep.

With Alyra’s chagrin because she knew he was right but hated people mothering her.

With Alyra’s even greater chagrin, Aisling bid her goodnight by hugging her tight, as if they were suddenly best friends and without minding that all the redhead did as a comeback was awkwardly patting her back.

They wove their goodbyes as they hopped on the car, and with a half empty lassi floating in the backseat, they drove away into the night and left the other couple on their own.

“You told me it was a scam.” Alyra retorted.

“I told you that potentially it was a scam.” Morrigan blinked, turning annoyed by that discussion. “Only if we didn’t find a ghost. It’s different.”

“You chose her of all people because she’s mad as a hatter?”

“I chose her because she’s really good at what she does. She turned down a research position at Columbia to go and teach at a community college, you know? And yes, because she believes in ghosts and Bigfoot and Nessie.”

“Maybe you should just go as a pair. Marry her and not me and live and work together in a world full of undead teens and seances and werewolves and dragons, without me breaking your rhythm.”

Morrigan looked at her with a look. With disappointment and scepticism, crossing her arms at her chest and bending her head that way. The same way she had looked at her ever since they met, when they disagreed.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Alyra grumbled, turning to get back in the house, marching towards the door.

“I look at you as you should be looked at, right now.” She replied, stopping her with a hand on the shoulder, squeezing.

Alyra turned and let the other hug her. She smelled like laurel and rosemary and incense, the shawl soaked all the perfumes she used in the night. It was a good perfume, and it smelled like her. She melted right into that, sighing heavily and circling her lover with both arms, before speaking again.

“I’m sorry. It was just… A lot to take in, and I’m looking for some easy target to blame to rationalize something that can’t be rationalized.”

“I know, love. It’s going to be all right. She’s right about one thing, tho.”

“…What?” She groaned.

“That Punjabi place was good. I bought you some Biriyani. And a mango lassi.”

“… You too.”

“I’m objective, and you are not. And you’re always grumpier with an empty belly.”

Alyra groaned, pushing the other away and rummaging in her backpack to find the keys, marching up to the door.

“I’m grumpy because ghosts fucking exist and Miss Unicorns and Rainbows wants to fix it with yogurt and mango.”

“It’s a lot to take on, but you know what does it mean?”

“What?”

Morrigan turned, stopping beside her and grinning with the exact same expression of a cat who just put its paws on a big, fat tuna while the fishmongers was distracted.

“We’re gonna make a lot of money out of it.” She grinned more. “So, now get your shit together and eat. Yogurt and mango won’t put you in any more existential crisis, I’m sure, and we do need Unicorns and Rainbows to make those money.”

Alyra then didn’t mind being pushed out of the way, handled a paper bag smelling heavily of spices, and let her fiancée open the door and enter first, with a huff of satisfaction as she sat on the bench and slipped out of her boots.

Maybe she was right, and that was what they needed.

But Alyra, forensic psychologist with a Master, refused to admit that anyone was right on mango lassi as the universal solution to all problems.

She could accept ghosts, but not that.

---

The road back to Jackson Height went pleasantly.

No one was around at that hour of the night, so it mattered little if Aisling was turned towards the backseat, smiling and explaining and listening to Cole explaining that he could disappear, if he wanted. But he didn't want, and he wanted something to do.

The way he -dead at fifteen and still sounding much like a teen- said that he needed to be useful to stay in this plane and get friends, and begged them to let him help, clutched at Aisling's heart with a vengeance. Cullen squeezed her hand, knowing, and she assured the ghost that he could stay all day on their couch doing nothing, for all they cared. It was, indeed, a very comfy couch.

They settled up for some more house rules -no haunting electronics, those were a lot of money, no waking up if not for emergencies, no touching the stove- as they went, driving the whole way up to the old ground floor flat they occupied.

Parked the pick up, they showed Cole the inside. It wasn’t much, and Aisling had to put some effort in shooing the pinto horse from the couch and back to the small courtyard outside, but it was well lived in. A yellow couch in front of a tv, a small kitchenette with a fridge all covered in photographs, more photographs and prints on walls painted in a warm shade of teal. A door to the bathroom, one to a bedroom, a glass one to the courtyard. A small table with space for six, another with two chairs outside.

Cole didn’t need a bed, but Cullen made him one on the couch anyway, shrugging it off as just “a trial, see how you like it”, as Aisling put all her instruments from the bag back to a bookshelf near a desk all covered in papers, notes and books in a terrible order.

Half an hour later, the couple bid goodnight to their new roommate, reminded the horse to be on his best behaviour, and closed the bedroom for the night.

They were, actually, too tired to spend much many words, and just hopped in their pjs and under the covers. Aisling curled up against Cullen’s side, as he switched the light off.

But evidently some more words were there to spend. After ten minutes in the dark, Aisling spoke again.

“Cullen?”

“Mh.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“No Quantum Mechanics after dinner, hon.”

“Mpf, it’s not Physics.”

“Go on, then.”

She shifted on his side, crossing her arms on his chest to look him in the face as she made it.

“You worked with Alyra when you were in the police, right?”

“Some times, yes.”

“Does she hate me?”

Cullen opened an eye, looking at the silhouette of her face in the dark. And sighed heavily.

“She doesn’t.”

“But she always, always look at me with such an annoyed face… I don’t know, I feel like I’m always saying the wrong thing.”

“Does she blink when she looks at you?”

“Uh?”

He sighed, shifting a little to get more comfortable under her weight, recalling years ago, before he resigned from the central.

“She always looked annoyed and grumpy. At everyone. And yet she always had a helping hand. But when she was pissed off for real… She looked at you without blinking, let you finish speaking and then destroyed you with words.”

He bent up slightly, pushing his head forward to plant a kiss on Aisling’s forehead, affectionately.

“Mh. I was thinking to quit.”

“What? Why? You’ve been so happy to go at their place.”

He sat up, propping himself on his elbows and switching the lamp on the side table on back again. She blinked in the light, shifting to rest her head on his stomach, fingers absent-mindedly playing with the fabric of his shirt. She didn’t look at him.

“I like Morrigan, a lot. And Kieran too… But if Alyra doesn’t like me… I don’t want to be annoying. I know we need the money… But I don’t know, maybe this is stupid. Maybe I should go back to uni.”

“Ash.”

“I think that if I called, Dorian and Solas could get me back my job. It was paid badly, but…”

“Ash, you hated it. They paid you awfully litte. No.”

“I brought home a ghost, Cullen! Who tried to kill me!”

He frowned down at her, with reproach.

“Little Brother tries to kill us twice a week, I remind you. How many toes has he broken you?”

“That’s different! Cole is a ghost!”

Cullen sighed heavily, moving to pick her up and bring her bust up against his. She helped the movement, grumpy but not so angry as to avoid the contact. He sat her on his lap, crossing his fingers on her waist, as she circled his chest.

“Honey, you know I love, you, right?”

“Yes, and…?”

“… And I love you, but honestly ‘we found a ghost, can I keep him’, it’s not remotely the weirdest thing you ever told me or asked me.”

A moment of silence, and she frowned at him.

“What the fuck, Cullen??”

“It’s not you and Dorian talking about Quantum Mechanics over dinner and expecting me to understand.”

“We made it easy! I teach, and he’s-”

“Quantum Mechanics, Aisling. With formulas.”

Another moment of silence.

“And demonstrations.” Cullen concluded.

Aisling pushed back to face him and give him a look full of disbelief and reproach, before slipping down and flopping heavily at his side, on her back with her arms crossed on her chest.

“See, that’s why I went to teach to Saint Nug. You could understand us if you just had some more maths-”

He chuckled, slipping down himself to hug her and press a kiss on her temple, soothingly.

“It’s a lot, that’s true. But it’s gonna be fine, honey. We faced worse things.”

“Like Quantum Mechanics at dinner?”

“I’ll admit that isn’t remotely the worse thing, even if I understand more your mother when she speaks Bengali.”

She laughed through a kiss, trying and failing to kiss her boyfriend back. She had more luck with just snaking her arms around his neck in a hug, finally relaxed.

“How come?”

“Have you ever tried your own cooking?”

[thegeekprompts]

RP MASTERLIST

Below you will find a masterlist of many fandoms and muses. To be added t this list, reblog THIS post

Last update: 18th of August 2024

BILLIE BUST-UP

BARNABY - CANON - spookyowlman

BORDERLANDS

HANDSOME JACK - CANON - pateretfilia HANDSOME JACK - CANON DIVERGENT - pyramultimuse

CARS (DISNEY)

TOPAZ MCLAREN - OC - blue-jewel-muses

CASTLEVANIA

ALUCARD - CANON - bloodxstarved RICHTER BELMONT - CANON - hxdrostorms

CRITICAL ROLE

BEAUREGARD LIONETT - CANON - playedbetter CALEB WIDOGAST - CANON - playedbetter FJORD - CANON - playedbetter MOLLYMAUK TEALEAF - CANON - playedbetter

CUCUMBER QUEST

CUCUMBER - CANON/AU - wizard-of-night

DOCTOR WHO

12th DOCTOR - CANON DIVERGENT - rpwithoutlimit 13th DOCTOR - CANON DIVERGENT - rpwithoutlimit 14th DOCTOR - CANON DIVERGENT - rpwithoutlimit CYRUS - OC - musesreunite NOMAD - OC - musesreunite NOTA - OC - dalek-nota RAWYA - OC - musesreunite THE ARCHIVIST - OC - thearchival THE MASTER - CANON - musesreunite

DRAGON AGE

ANDERS - CANON DIVERGENT - playedbetter COLE - CANON - playedbetter CULLEN RUTHERFORD - CANON DIVERGENT - playedbetter DORIAN PAVUS - CANON DIVERGENT - playedbetter GARRETT HAWKE - OC - playedbetter JUSTICE - CANON DIVERGENT - playedbetter SEBASTIAN VAEL - CANON - playedbetter ZINNIA LAVELLAN - OC - playedbetter

FANDOMLESS

EZRA CAGNEY - OC - ironwoodwizard HADES - CANON DIVERGENT/OC - hades-kami OLEANDER IRONWOOD - OC - ironwoodwizard

GOOD OMENS

AZIRAPHALE - CANON - wayfaringstrangxr CROWLEY - CANON - wayfaringstrangxr CROWLEY - CANON - pyramultimuse

GOT/HOTD

AEGON II TARGARYEN - CANON DIVERGENT - sunfyre-rider AEMOND TARGARYEN - CANON - vhagar-rider DAEMON II TARGARYEN - OC - vermithorbonded

HANNIBAL

WILL GRAHAM - CANON - wayfaringstrangxr HANNIBAL LECTER - CANON - wayfaringstrangxr

HOLLOW KNIGHT

HOLLOW KNIGHT - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON

HICCUP - CANON - dragonmasterhiccup

LEAGUE OF LEGENDS

ALUNE - CANON - playedbetter APHELIOS - CANON - playedbetter APHELIOS - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr BRIAR - CANON - playedbetter CAITLYN - CANON - wayfaringstrangxr DR.MUNDO - CANON - playedbetter EKKO - CANON - playedbetter JARVAN IV - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr SERAPHINE - CANON DIVERGENT - playedbetter VI - CANON - playedbetter VIKTOR - CANON - playedbetter VIKTOR - CANON - pyramultimuse ZOE - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr

PACIFIC RIM

PETER WILLIAMS - OC - blue-jewel-muses TANYA WILLIAMS - OC - blue-jewel-muses

PAUELLA MAGI MADOKA MAGICA

ZATSU SAIGAMI - ORIGINAL CHARACTER - blue-jewel-muses

PLANES: FIRE & RECUE

AQUA - ORIGINAL CHARACTER - blue-jewel-muses

POKEMON

GYM LEADER MORTY - CANON - healbellls RIVAL BARRY - CANON - healbellls GYM LEADER JUAN - CANON - healbellls E4 MEMBER DRAKE - CANON - healbellls PROFESSOR ROWAN - CANON - healbellls TRAINER BRENDAN - CANON - healbellls MATSUBA - OC - healbellls

SAINT SEIYA

ARIES KIKI - CANON - santuxrio ARIES SHION - CANON - santuxrio CANCER DEATHMASK - CANON - santuxrio CANCEL DEATHTOLL - CANON - santuxrio GEMINI KANON - CANON - santuxrio SAGITTARIUS AIOLOS - CANON - santuxrio SCORPIO MILO - CANON - santuxrio TAURUS ALDEBARAN - CANON - santuxrio VIRGO SHAKA - CANON - santuxrio

SANDMAN

LUCIFER - CANON - wayfaringstrangxr MORPHEUS - CANON - wayfaringstrangxr

STAR WARS

OBI WAN KENOBI - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr JUNO - OC - blasters-and-sabers VESPER TURIN - OC - blasters-and-sabers BELLE FIOR - OC - blasters-and-sabers

STRANGER THINGS

EDDIE MUNSON - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr HENRY CREEL - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr

SUPERNATURAL

DEAN WINCHESTER - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr LUCIFER - CANON DIVERGENT - wayfaringstrangxr SAM WINCHESTER - CANON DIVERGENT - stanfordprepped

THE BOYS

HOMELANDER - CANON - red-white-and-trauma FRENCHIE / SERGE - CANON DIVERGENT - freakinxfrenchie

THE EMPEROR'S NEW GROOVE

KUZCO - CANON - boombambaby

TRANSFORMERS

BIOSHOCK - OC - blue-jewel-muses IRONHIDE - CANON - blue-jewel-muses METROPLEX - CANON - blue-jewel-muses OME - OC - autobot-ome OMEGA SUPREME - CANON - guardian-of-cybertron SIDEWINDER - OC - blue-jewel-muses SIGMA SUPREME - CANON - blue-jewel-muses ZETA SUPREME - CANON - blue-jewel-muses

VAN HELSING

GABRIEL VAN HELSING - CANON - pyramultimuse SELINA  - OC - blue-jewel-muses

[kittynomsdeplume]

WIP Title Ask Game

thanks for the tag @cleverblackcat.

You know, I have a recollection of doing this game a couple of years back, and I daresay some of the WIP's in my folder remain the same as then 🫣

I'm going to mostly include new ones, and things that still frequently occupy my thoughts, otherwise I'd have to tag the entirety of Tumblr 😅.

Rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents. Let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!  

Yep, my WIP titles remain pretty basic. Got a few tentative titles, some placeholders, and then mostly just the pairing, because I would honestly forget titles anyway and not be able to find the fic I want to work on. Though I have started to sort my fics into sub-folders, by Exchanges/Events, One-Shots and Series. The Series are then further sorted by pairings, and that has certainly made it ALOT easier for me to find things. It was a nightmare before.

Blackwall and Ev Flowers Blackwall assorted Liddy Regency AU 2 Regency AU 3 Passing Notes Under Her Mask Post UHM Professor Cullen AU Solavellan Bathhouse Solavellan under the vallasdahlen Dread Wolf haunts you Solavellan oasis Mirror Thread Wolf Makes You… A Bespoke Tuxedo Lover’s Noose Sacred and Profane - Steampunk AU Fallen to Dust Chapel of luuurve Dorian and Fenris pt2 Wet Little Wolf Blackwall Recruitment Hawke to the Rescue Anders makes Hawke go BOOM Solas/cullen/lavellan Dread Wolf Take Me Ancient lovers Tworians Cullistair Dorian/Cullen Loghain Dark Ritual Cousland/Loghain Lions and Tigers and Bears Ali/Cullen/Trev Death Becomes Her

Tags under the cut:

@alyssalenko | @shanaraharlyah | @rosella-writes | @dreadfutures | @thedastrash | @retrowondergirl | @inquisitoracorn | @knuttydraws | @blackwallmancer | @inky-does-art | @kemvee | @charmcity-jess | @amarmeme | @spooky-daggers | @charlatron | @isk4649 | @plisuu | @jentrevellan | @pikapeppa | @melisusthewee | @morganlefaye79 | @sidhelives | @a-shakespearean-in-paris | @theluckywizard | @kalliesa | and anyone else that would like to go through their WIPS and feel the burning SHAAAAAAAME 🤣

[crackinglamb]

OC Name Meanings

Tagged by @pikapeppa, thank you! 🥰

Tagging @ir0n-angel, @lilbittymonster, @bogunicorn and @espressocomfort. No pressure!

Rules: Search and post the meaning of your OC's name (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! bonus if you can find something for their last name too.

Right, so...I have a lot of OC's. Holy crap, did this get long. I'll go by fandom to keep them organized, and listed here are just the main player types, not background characters. And if you want to know more about any of them, they can all be found here.

Fallout 4

Nora Howard (Junkyard 'Verse series): My first SoSu. Nora is the default name and I struggled for a long time to come up with a last name for her. At the time, I thought it would be funny for her to share a name with Todd Howard, and then it stuck.

Valara Thorsgaard (Set to Repeat, Subject to Change): Lamb the Younger gave me the first name and I liked it. Val, for short. The Scandinavian last name was just...I dunno, it felt right?

Honoria Wilcox (No One Knows): 'Honoria' is a version of Nora. Her maiden name was Beaufort, because it was slightly pretentious and so was Honoria's mother. Wilcox was her late husband's name and she was glad to take it.

Eleanor (Nights series): Another Nora variant, no last name.

Joan Whitfield (The Bargain): I wanted something different for this OC since she ends up with Kellogg. (All my Nora variants end up with Hancock.) The first name comes from my extended family, and the last name sounds lawyerish. 😆

Tien Xu (Unexpected): Ahh, the SoSu from my first real AU. She's a Chinese prisoner of war who ended up in the Vault. No real reason for her given name, but 'Tien' was my favorite chemistry professor's last name back when I was in college.

Alice Monroe (Amends to the Dead): My most recent SoSu. From the get go I wanted her to be a badass, because let's face it, you get pretty OP'd with some of those skills in-game. 'Alice' is a nod to Resident Evil. 'Monroe' is just because it sounded good.

Mass Effect Trilogy

Jayne Shepard (Soldier, Spectre, Savior series): It's the default FemShep name, but I changed the spelling. That's really it.

Jehanne Shepard (Some Kind of Resolution): Henna, for short. Jehanne is a phonetic variant of Jane.

The Wayhaven Chronicles

Aya Batra (Little Things): Batra is one of the surnames you can choose when making your Detective, but Aya was my own invention. It's a variation of an old D&D character (Aeo, who in turn is a variation on Io). Someday I want to write more for her.

Dragon Age

(oh boy, here we go)

Da'Fen Carlisle Mayers Lavellan (Until It Squeaks series): Carly, to her friends. My first MGIT. When I created her I wanted her to be a 'just some person' kind of character, so she needed a name that didn't stand out much. Tbh, I don't even like it. I think I was halfway through writing Twist when I decided it was short for Carlisle, which eased my meh a little. Then as time went on in the story, she earned the rest. Abelas was the first to call her 'Da'Fen' because she was the Consort of Fen'Harel, and she was formally adopted into Clan Lavellan after the events of the main game.

Imogen McLean (Wicked Things series): My ex wouldn't let me name Lamb the Younger Imogen when she was born, so I decided I would save it for a character someday. And so I did. 'McLean' because she's of Irish descent, and I knew a girl by that family name when I was a kid.

Eliana Hawke (Wicked Things series): I tend to give my F!Hawkes unique names, I guess. But this one was for the purpose of Imogen getting to call her Elly and Elly getting to call her Genny. It was a deliberate 'the names you use denote intimacy level' kind of thing.

Terisin Mahariel (Wicked Things series): It means 'Flint-like'. I wanted something hefty for the HoF, something that would give the impression of gravity and determination. And then everyone in the fic shortens it to 'Ter'. 🤣

Mira Foret (Driftwood series): This is actually a nickname, her full name is Almira. Her family name on Earth was 'Wood', and upon being transported to Thedas, she changed it to 'Foret', which is the Orlesian version of the word. There is actually a reason she has these names in particular, but that gets into level 40 IRL stuff, so I shan't say.

Carmilla Hawke (Maker Damned Fools): Cara, for short, and only if you have her permission. Back when I first wrote MDF, I had a notion that Leandra wanted to give all her children names beginning with the same letter. "How'd Bethany happen?" Varric asked. Because they didn't know they were having twins and had to come up with a name on the fly and Malcolm had a twisted sense of humor. It makes more sense in the fic. Anyway, she hates the name, and thus goes mostly by Hawke.

Hera Trevelyan (No More My Heart Beats Without You): I just liked it. Didn't even know it was the default name of F!Adaar. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Ellisora Lavellan (Flowers For Fen'Harel series): Everyone uses Ellana. It's the default. I don't like defaults (usually) and will twist them around any which way until I find something I do like.

Sa'vir Lavellan (No Strings): It means 'the First Path' or, more precisely for her character, 'the Only Way'. It was both to give some backstory to her and was a nod to her being inspired by The Unending Wake's Vir.

Lahalaan Lavellan (My Blood On Your Hands, Your Teeth In My Skin): Ahh, my poor Laani. She kicked around as an OC for a long time before I finally was able to write something for her. She was always meant to have a longfic, but it never happened. It means 'Like the Foxes', and it suits her as a redhead and a rogue class.

La'Vise Lavellan (Just Like Fire): The title of the fic is the definition of the name. She is my one canon story. I am utterly unsurprised at myself for not finishing it.

Lark Cadash (All the Earth and Air series): Again, default is bleh. Malika > Lika > Lark. Then I leaned into the bird symbolism.

Shae Cadash (Destiny Is Just In the Timing): This is apparently a popular name for a Cadash, lol. In order to set her apart (both in fandom and in my head), it's actually a nickname. Her full name is Shaelgat, meaning 'Unto Shale', and it has Lore(tm). A daughter of every generation is named this, and will be until they find the golem they're named after.

Banal'ras Nydha, the Twice-Born (Hope Is a Fragile Thing): She's actually a MGIT, who was given the name 'the Shadow of Night' by Solas in the Fade before she became corporeal in Thedas. She has a shtick that goes with it, the ability to use Fade cloak even though she isn't a mage otherwise. Ya know, like Cole. Her story and name are part and parcel with each other and mostly because I wanted to make an OC who was Deeply Mysterious(tm) without ever explaining it. The legend-mark comes from the Avvar, among whom she lives at the start of her fic.

(we're almost done)

Virlas Lavellan (I'll tell you my sins (and you can sharpen your knife)): Default, bleh. Symbolically fitting name, yay. It means 'the Way That is Given' or something like that. This was a giftfic turned treat for the Solavellan Hell Exchange, and I didn't think too hard about the name other than something that would fit for a post-canon Lavellan.

Rinna Cadash (What Lies Beneath): Another giftfic OC. Dwarven names tend towards being short and this one just felt right.

Eshali'nan Lavellan (A Wolf Named Vengeance): This fic is a modern AU collab with my beloved Angel, and someday we'll finish it, lol. Esha, for short, was another OC that kicked around for a long time like Laani. She has quite a backstory that will likely never get told because frankly, I'm tired of writing DA retellings. Originally she was a Sentinel in Arlathan, who spent most of the intervening years in uthenera like Solas, but woke a generation ago. She lived with the Lavellan clan and was chosen to go to the Conclave. The name means 'Daughter of Vengeance' and was chosen for her at her elevation to Sentinel status.

Great googly moogly, I have too many OC's...

[fenharel-apologist94]

Tea Leaves and Sweet Dreams

Solas/m!Lavellan

It is here!! The first chapter of Tea Leaves and Sweet Dreams - a tea shop/college AU to give me (and maybe you) a break from the chaos of NADAF. I’m thinking of working on both as my heart desires, since they’re both such different feels, and I’m so excited for both!!

Summary: Kieran was not prepared to meet Solas - the infamous and reclusive TA for Professor Flemeth’s Magic Theory and Application class - in person, in his tea shop. Much less the same academic program.

[thevikingwoman]

AU-gust 2020 - Prompt 2: College AU

I love AUs, so I will fill some of the prompts for the @augustwritingchallenge​. Most of these will be short stories in my typical style.

AU-gust masterpost.

I already have a college AU, where Iwyn is a Professor and Solas a student. I really enjoy this AU, so I decided to stick with it. This is a coda to a story I wrote a year ago, Foolish, where Solas decides to have dinner with Iwyn when a data stands her up.

note: In this story, Solas’ age is around 22, and Iwyn’s  around 28.

Fandom: Dragon Age, Words: 642

Solas x Iwyn Lavellan | College AU | romance Rating: Teen. Pining, not-flirting, pre-relationship, student teacher relationship

Office Hours

There is a knock on the door, and Professor Iwyn Lavellan puts down the article she was reading, and calls out an enter. She is a little surprised, even though it is her office hours. So far, few of her students have made use of them. She hasn’t asked for anything challenging yet, and she doesn’t even have an assignment for them this week. It is probably Emilia Trevelyan again. The young woman seems overly eager to do well – or maybe it’s just the relief of having a fellow Marsher as a professor here in far away Orlais.

When the door opens, it’s not Emilia. It’s Solas, and she tries to suppress the blush creeping up her face. She hasn’t talked to him since their accidental dinner last week, not outside her class. She wonders what he is doing here. She knows he’s taking her introductory course as a curiosity; he’s a graduate student in the art department. He has none of Emilia’s uncertainties.

“Come in, Solas.”

Just because she wanted to kiss him, and more, the other evening, doesn’t mean she can’t be courteous.

Professional. She has to be professional.

“Hello, Professor Lavellan.”

Just like Solas, who is perfectly professional, except for the face his voice is deeper and sexier than it has any right to be. He shuts the door, and sits down in he chair in front of her desk. He’s wearing an worn t-shirt, the collar stretched from many washes. His right collar bone is visible, dusted with a few freckles.  

“Can I help you?”

He licks his lips, and he probably does it on purpose. There is something between them, a sizzling heat that has no right to be there.  All she wants to do is pull him across her desk and kiss the smirk off his face.

She doesn’t, of course.

“The text for the next week – I was wondering if the old Chantry account is only report of this? I find the text very one-sided. Can you point me to any alternatives to read?”

“You’re jumping a little ahead. We’re going to see alternate sources throughout the course.” She is pretty sure he is aware of this, it’s in the syllabus outline, and on top of this he should know how to use the library. She doesn’t mind him coming by and asking, though, not really. “Contrasting and comparing will be part of the course evaluation.”

A very professional answer to a very reasonable student question.

“I see,” Solas says.

He leans forward, and laces his fingers together on her desk. He looks down at them.

“Professor – did your date ever get back to you? From the other night.”

“No, she never did. Nothing.” Though the evening turned out nice, she is still annoyed. It could be the woman had an emergency of course, and Iwyn hopes nothing serious happened to her, and that she was just another ass on a dating app.

“I’m bi,” she adds, and she really shouldn’t have. It’s none of his business, and it would have been easier if he thought her gay.

“Okay,” he says.

He pauses, looks up at her. Unlaces his fingers and laces them again. She fiddles with her pen.

“I was glad I saw you,” he finally says. “I mean – it was nice to talk. Professor.”

“Yes, it was nice.”

It was more than nice, she would like to have dinner with him again, but she stops that thought. Solas is about to say something, and she stops that too.

“Did you have any other questions? About the course.”

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

Solas gets up, unfolding his long body from the chair. When his hand is on the door handle, he turns around and smirks a little.

“See you around, professor Lavellan.”

Then he is gone, the door closed again. Iwyn groans.

Fuck.

[fatale-distraction]

For the DADWC: sharing drinks for Solavellan?

Some inappropriate jokes from my Y2K AU for @dadrunkwriting

***

How did a respectable college professor of his years keep finding himself in these situations, Solas wondered, watching the Lavellan siblings cavorting across the pebbled beach of Lake Calenhad while he reclined on a folding lounge chair and enjoyed a cold, stiff drink. It was late spring, the waters still a bit chilly in spite of the sweltering sun, and both girls had chosen to wear shorts and t-shirts over their swimsuits.

Dorian, he thought, glaring at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Dorian was how. The Tevinter had gone from determined to merely drag his friend from his self-imposed hermitage to a determination to ruin his entire life the moment he’d caught the slightest whiff of the little crush Solas had on his student.

A shriek and a splash caught his attention. Evelyn was on her back, rolling with laughter while her younger sister was scrambling back up out of the water, pebbles flying as she clawed her way back to shore, soaking wet and vowing revenge against her sibling. Long strands of dripping red curls stuck to her cheeks and neck, and her freckled skin was flushed pink beneath her vallaslin. The t-shirt stuck wet and transparent to her skin, the vibrant purple of her bikini somehow more enticing beneath the transparent, clinging fabric.

Dorian laughed. “You should see your face,” he wheezed, wiping away a tear beneath his sunglasses. Both men wore linen Bermuda shorts and loose unbuttoned shirts. Solas was currently pink from the top of his head all the way down his pale chest, and not from the sun. He turned to glare at his friend again while Cullen trotted over to help both girls to their feet, bronze, muscled skin and blond hair gleaming like an Adonis. Solas felt positively frumpy next to his stylish comrades, something that would never have bothered him before, but today…

Water dripped down thick, freckled thighs from soaking wet jean shorts in thin rivulets to pool at her feet. Ellana blinked water from dark lashes as she laughed and held onto Cullen’s toned arm as he hauled her up easily. She was easily half the human man’s height, but in those tiny shorts, her legs looked a mile long. Solas swallowed and took a long sip of iced whiskey. Dorian continued laughing as he stood and made his own way over to the siblings and Cullen. Solas watched suspiciously as the other man bent to Ellana’s ear and murmured something that had her giggling and turning as red as her hair. Horrifically, she began trudging her way back up the gentle slope, waving to her teacher with a cheery countenance.

“Miss Lavellan,” he greeted her as she dropped heavily into the chair beside him, breathless with laughter.

“Hahren,” she mimicked his carefully measured tone. “Why don’t you come play? The water is…well, horrible, actually.”

Solas chuckled. “I’m a bit old to ‘go play.’”

The young woman frowned at him. “You’re never too old to go play,” she told him sternly, reaching for his drink.

“You’re not going to like it,” he warned, surrendering the glass with some reluctance.

Ellana made a rude noise and then took a ginger, dainty little sip of the whiskey. Her nose wrinkled. She squinted and pursed her lips.

“Don’t you dare spit that out,” ordered Solas, trying to suppress the laughter threatening to burst from his chest and almost succeeding.

With considerable effort, she swallowed the whiskey and stuck her tongue out, making another awful, pained noise. “I’ve heard that one before…” she muttered, handing the glass back with derisive dismissal.

Sweet merciful creators, this woman. Solas snorted, coughed, and blushed a bit. “It’s very expensive, I didn’t want you wasting it—“ he started to explain.

“Heard that one before too.”

“Ellana, please.”

“That’s alright, hahren, I suppose I don’t mind swallowing your expensive whiskey,” she grinned and waggled her eyebrows.

“Da’len!”

“Hey!” Evelyn’s crass shout startled the professor. She was a terrifying woman, very protective of her little sister, and it was his greatest fear that she should ever discover his inappropriate feelings for Ellana. “What are you hooligans laughing about over there?”

Solas lunged to cover the younger woman’s mouth as she opened it to answer. “Whiskey!” he choked out. “She had a sip of my whiskey and made the the most absurd face!”

[ellstersmash]

first impressions

Fandom: Dragon Age Pairing: Makon (@bearlytolerant) x Athi Lavellan (professor au) Rating: T for Teen (language) Words: 1381 [Read on Ao3] Athi's first day in Professor Makon's class.

“Class dismissed.”

Athi snaps out of her daze as the room erupts into a hushed flurry of activity. Whispered commentary passes between those who came into the course with friends or made them along the course of the past seventy minutes. Pens and pages of notes get crammed into messenger bags and backpacks along with as-yet-unopened textbooks. The best prepared start filing doorward, down the stairs, while a few teacher’s pet hopefuls branch off toward the professor’s desk.

She unhooks the clasp on her own bag, the wide worn brown leather top flap bending back easily, and swallows back the anxiety rising in her chest.

It was a hard lecture to follow, due only in part to the painfully early start time. And this was only the first day.

After struggling through undergrad, Athi has learned to be more careful where her grade point average is concerned, and taking this elective is a huge risk. She certainly hadn’t expected to breeze through med school, but this course is not required and she can’t afford a mark on her record. Not after clawing her way this far.

She puts her textbook away, then stands and stretches her stiff limbs as two people who sat in the only row behind hers shuffle toward the stairs, talking about their chosen specialties. They round her desk, attempting to walk together down the decidedly single-file space, and as one guy turns to talk to the other, his bulky backpack swings toward the still-half-full to-go cup sitting on the corner of her desk. Athi’s hand shoots out to keep it from going flying, but the lid pops off and a good amount of room-temperature coffee sloshes onto her desk and the floor in front of her, pouring down the step and pooling in the next row down.

“Oh man, my bad!” The guy looks from the dripping cup in her hand to the floor, then back to her face where his eyes widen and drift down her form.

Athi levels a weary glare at him. “No shit.”

“Um. Do you have— I could— Uh.” He’s blushing, tongue-tied, torn between looking at her and looking anywhere else. Sweet, but useless.

She briskly sets down the cup next to her sepia-stained notebook and shakes coffee from her fingers. “Unless you have a towel in that mammoth bag of yours, or are going to sacrifice your shirt for the cause, forget it.”

He seems to consider the idea, inspecting his outfit as if to recall which one he’d worn today and whether it was worth a successful meet-cute. Decides against it. Shoulders his bag and moves on with another mumbled apology.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Athi grumbles and holds her notebook up by one clean corner so the excess coffee can drip off. A bunch of pages are soaked through in places, but if she dries it out she could still use them.

“How eloquent.”

Professor Makon stands a few steps down, regarding her with the same keen eyes and cool expression he’d leveled her with when she’d first walked in the room—lost and late and not nearly awake enough to take his presence at the front of the lecture hall in stride. She’d been expecting a professor, of course, but one wizened and reedy, not tall, dark, and gorgeous, and had gaped at him for a long moment, wholly certain she was in the wrong room despite the large-lettered course name on the blackboard behind him. There may have even been a full-body scan performed.

Not her best entrance.

And then he had ruined her seconds-old crush by deciding to be a condescending tightass about it, reminding her of the class start time and pausing the lecture to follow her progress through the room until she was seated.

“At your leisure, Miss…?” he had said.

Out of spite, she had given him her most irritated smile in place of her name, and sipped her coffee—which at that point had still been piping hot and safe in its cup. Then he’d continued on his own after a few more beats of silence, and eventually her cheeks had stopped burning.

And now they've started up again. Fantastic.

“That’s me,” she says. “Eloquent.”

A flinch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite smile-like. “I made it quite clear on the course syllabus that neither food nor drink would be allowed in the classroom.”

“Oh, we’re supposed to read those?”

His jaw tenses. “I believe this most unfortunate incident could have been avoided, had you done so. Though perhaps the fault is mine. I ought to have confiscated your beverage when you waltzed in this morning.”

“Walt—” Athi feels her fist clench, then sharply warm. “Are you kidding? Your class starts at half past seven. In the morning.”

“Ah, excellent. You remember.”

Still no smile, but at this point she’s glad of that. What an infuriating man. Athi inhales through her nose and exhales slowly through her lips, drawing strength from somewhere deep down inside her to keep from throwing the sopping wet notebook in her hand directly at his head.

“Professor,” she says through gritted teeth, “did you bring a towel with you, or have you come all the way up here just to scold me? Room’s empty. Could’ve yelled at me from down there.”

Professor Makon’s indecipherable gaze lowers to the notebook, and hers follows. The next drop of coffee never hits the ground, simply hangs in the air. More of it pours from the pages in a thin stream as if being squeezed out of the paper, coalescing into a small airborne sphere of liquid. Then the puddle on the floor shifts in shape as it flows back into the air, and the sphere grows.

Athi holds her breath for a few seconds, transfixed by the casual display of magic. She’s not doing it, which means—

She glances at the only other possible culprit. His hands aren’t moving, still tucked between his thin brown vest and the white sleeves of his crossed arms, but his focus is fixed and the air around them has changed. Become more mutable, more accommodating.

There was plenty of time to watch him during the lecture. Despite her rough start with the man himself, she could at least enjoy the view between scribbling notes: long dark hair tied back in a bun, a strong clean-shaven jaw, and hints of an impressive physique under that respectable professor getup. From eight rows back, he cuts a very sexy figure. Up close, he’s physically stunning—the butterflies and breathless kind. And he smells good.

Too bad he’s a pompous jerk.

He guides the liquid back into its cup and releases the spell. It isn’t a surprise that a professor of Restorative Magic is adept at using magic, but her own grasp on it is tenuous and unpredictable at best, dangerous at worst. To see it used so easily, and without any kind of kinetic channel, is impressive. And, if she’s honest, intimidating.

“Show-off,” Athi mutters, and resecures the lid to toss the whole thing on her way out.

He sneers at that before tamping it down. Pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “I am not sure which offends me more: the thought of flaunting my abilities to impress a mere student, or your assumption that I could not conjure something more advanced than basic liquid manipulation. And I believe the phrase you are searching for is ‘thank you.’”

Sexy and infuriating.

“Chapter eight,” he adds brusquely.

“Excuse me?”

“The material manipulation of a liquid, particularly when the path is visually obstructed or otherwise unclear, can be useful in a number of medical applications, such as slowing or redirecting the flow of blood in order to staunch an internal hemorrhage. It will be covered in chapter eight. Week four, if you care to read the—”

“The syllabus. Right.”

Along with the desk and the floor, her notebook is now dry. She packs it away and slings her bag over her shoulder, exiting the row and turning sideways to get past him.

“Well, this has been lovely. ‘Til Thursday, Professor.”

“Will you be joining us on time?”

She rolls her eyes, not that he can see it. “On time.”

“And without the beverage?”

Athi just smiles.

[love-in-nature]

Sketch practice to go with my modern au, My Professor, Fen'harel. This is the prequel to my fic My Neighbor, Fen’harel. Some people had asked how their relationship got started, and since I’m getting back into writing, I thought making the prequel would be a good way to get back into the flow. Also, to get back into the flow of sketching since for me art and writing feed off each other :D

[elbenherzart]

“Good girl.” A sketch for Inadvisible on AO3, written by the amazing and outstanding @pikapeppa :3  Professor Solas & Nare Lavellan. 

[pikapeppa]

“Come now, Tamaris,” Felassan crooned. “Come for me.”

The sex police would GREATLY DISAPPROVE of this Felassan/Tamaris Lavellan art for Inadvisable. I, on the other hand, am full of nothing but sexy love. 😂❤ Check out the chapter on AO3 for the full thing, created by my beautiful soulmate @elbenherzart. 

Warning: VERY explicit.  🍆💦

[totentnz]

why is this so fucking funny