#solas has me in a choke hold again

[ferniliciousness]

I've been thinking lately about why I have grown to love Solas so much. Idk why honestly, besides it's been a stressful couple weeks and I needed my mind off things lol.

Solas is pretty outta character for me honestly. I didn't expect to like him as much as I do (I'm meaning nonromanticlly, though I do also like him in that way). And thinking back on him and the game and how I've been the past couple months playing it, it's literally how well he portrays my own depression.

I see sooooo much of myself in Solas, in ways I literally do not have the words to describe I just do. I can't fully explain it but, I just see myself in so much of him, from the way he self isolates to the way he loves to info dump on anyone. Even the way he feels so much self hatred and regret, how much he reflects on the past and the little things I see in how he acts that shows his past. I relate so much to him, even in pushing people away, the shutting down and lying because he doesn't have the heart to tell the truth. Seeking solitude in his own thoughts and wallowing in his own pain.

I have never felt so seen in a video game, including how all of his friends around him barely notice. Even a romancing Lavellan struggles to notice and barely brings it up, even going so far as to be hurtful towards him. Everyone just assumes that's how he is. Meanwhile me, fresh into the game, knowing little about Solas except story spoilers, I see it. I see him. I notice every painful laugh, every hesitation, every time he sees solitude, hell even his art to me screams out some kind of pain.

He is so proud, so full of himself, he would never ask for help, or advice. Not that he would anyway, this is his mistake, his burden to bear. Only he can fix it because only he should have to deal with the consequences of what he's done. It was his choice, his actions, his mistake that caused all of this and now he's going to fix it. Pushing people aside keeps them from getting hurt, and keeps you having to admit you've been wrong this whole time. It's his mistake, his problem to fix...

And damn I just want to hug him. I want to scream at him every word I wish people would say to me. Cause he's not alone, its not just his fault, and he doesn't have to fix everything himself. People do care about him, people do see his pain, he's not alone.... And just.... Damn....

[trope-appreciation-tuesdays]

Field Medicine

Trev coughs, and iron fills her mouth. Hot and wet, it dribbles out the corners of her mouth, cutting crimson streaks down her face. Fire is lodged in her chest. Her hands pat weakly against the intruder that sticks into her. 

“No, no, no!” Cassandra pulls her hands away. Trev gasps at the sudden motion, but Cassandra ignores her. “You can’t take it out. Not now.” 

Instead of taking the fire from her chest, Cassandra pushes her hands against it. Trev screams. 

“We have to stem the bleeding,” Cassandra explains. 

But what are words when Trev can’t even breathe right? Every heave of her lungs brings a little less air. She is drowning on dry land. Cassandra looks at her, worry and fear craves a deep furrow between her brow. “Stay with me, Trev. Just hold on, we can fix this. Solas is almost here.” 

Trev is a warrior, so she tries. Breathe a little deeper, a little harder. But her pants turn to wheezes, to gasps, to guttural animalistic chokes for air. Cassandra’s eyes widen with horror and panic, but she doesn’t let up on the pressure. Trev’s world darkens at the edges. It is slowly but surely consuming her. With Cassandra’s pleas echoing in her ears, her reality fades out. 

----

Muffled voices intrude against Trev’s consciousness as she feels hands upon her body. They are stripping off her armour. 

“Roll her over, we must to push the arrow through. You have to hold her still. She will wake when we do this,” one instructs

“Why can’t we put her to sleep?” Another asks. Cassandra. Recognition flutters against Trev’s mind.

“Her body doesn’t have the reserves for it,” the first one replies. “There’s no time. We have to do it now.” 

Trev tries to open her eyes, to tell them she is awake, but her eyes remain firmly shut, her body limp. She can do nothing but listen and wait. Cold air plays against her chest. Goosebumps wake. Hands turn her onto her side. One pair firm, yet gentle. Fingers calloused in a pattern she knows well — Cassandra. Cassandra keeps her arms pinned. “It will all be over soon. You will heal, you will be okay,” Cassandra whispers against her ear. 

Trev wants to believe. 

The other, larger, softer and cold, puts a palm against Trev’s back, the other... somewhere else. Then, it starts. The inferno flares to life in Trev’s chest. She jerks, and her eyes snap open. A ragged voice erupts from her raw and bloody throat. Someone pushes the arrow lodged in her chest deeper, deeper, into her. 

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” Cassandra presses her brow against Trev’s even as she holds her down, allowing this torture to take place. 

Trev screams because that’s all she is allowed to do. Her voice goes hoarse, and her strength fades quickly. Shaking and shivering, the arrow makes it through her body, and blood pours from the new wound. Her body gives up, and her world fades once more. 

----

This time, no voice calls her to consciousness. Instead, it is a finger rubbing against her throat. Willing or not, her throat bobs, and the liquid in her mouth flow down it. Lips press themselves over hers and more liquid replaces the one she had swallowed. The finger massages again, and she swallows once more. 

“We’re almost done, you just have to finish the healing potion and you will be able to beat the fever and infection.” 

Gentle hands stroke her hair, wiping the sweat off her brow, and tucks her into the blanket. “Come back to me, Trev... An arrow cannot be the end of you...” 

Fingers laces between Trev’s own and squeezes. Summoning what little strength she has, she squeezes back and allows herself to sink back into sleep. This time, a restful one. 

Want to destroy me each and every time? Then just say "It will all be over soon" and I'm mush

[queenaeducan]

Happy Wednesday!

This has been a WIP oneshot for months now, but b/c it’s a subject I don’t write too often progress has been slow. I’m so close to being finished (or finished enough that I can start editing) that I can t a s t e it, but there’s still a little bit yet to write.

His arrival home is greeted first by the bell on the shop door, chiming his return in a merry voice. The store itself paid no mind, the lights dimmed and its wares dozing. Water wells beneath his fingertip as he presses it into the soil of a nearby pot, a telltale sign of a fresh feeding, a hearty meal they need to sleep off. Merlin lies curled on the counter, ears twitching in his direction but not stirring to say hello, her tail fanning over her nose.

He leaves them to their rest, abandoning his bag by the bottom of the stairs so he can climb them unencumbered. Vines entwine themselves around the banister, their grip as iron as the nails that hold the rail in place. The highest seem to stretch for the handle in the same breath as him, falling just short of reaching the faded, brassy doorknob. Solas hesitates at the top of the stairs, seizing his last spare moment to straighten the collar of his shirt before he enters.

He’s met by the sight of Ian looking at him over the rim of his glasses, hazel eyes artificially enlarged by the wire-rimmed lenses. Like a bird on a branch he’s perched upon a barstool, fingers slid delicately between the pages of an open book, back a little too straight for Solas to believe he was posed like that in the half-second before he’d opened the door.

“Welcome home.” Ian speaks with a voice that had spent all day talking to plants, low and inviting, fit to coax miracles from soil. “Did you h—” He chokes on his own question, swallowing before he asks it again, “Did you have a good day?”

Tagged by: @noire-pandora

Tagging: @thedascharlatan, @rosella-writes, @dreadfutures, @gaysolavellan, @acecasinova, @ocean-in-my-rebel-soul, @fiadhaisteach​, @ whoever wants to share something and @ me!

[thepixelmoon]

Solavellan - In dreams

Phew, it's been a hot minute since I posted some of my writing here! I've been playing lots of Dragon Age: Inquisition lately and I'm in Solavellan hell, so here's a short piece featuring Solas and my Lavellan inquisitor, Hanin. Beware: spoilers for the Trespasser DLC ahead!

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

The leaves crunch beneath her feet as Hanin rushes into the clearing, almost out of breath. Panting, she looks around for the black wolf that has led her here – a spirit, maybe? A shadow? A sort of guide? Her connection to the Fade has always been stronger than most people’s, but somehow this feels entirely different. She can’t put her finger on it. It feels like something she’s never experienced before, not even with magic. 

As her feet slow to a stop, Hanin takes in her surroundings. There are trees circling the clearing, as well as a waterfall that spills crystal clear water into a small lake. Further ahead, two Ghilan’nain statues stand tall and proud. 

A soft breeze caresses her face, warm and gentle in the dimming light. She feels, with a sinking heart, that she’s been here before. 

‘Vhenan,’ someone calls from behind her, and Hanin’s heart leaps. She turns around and he’s there, flesh and bone, still alive and breathing and holding out his hand. Without a second thought, she runs up to Solas and wraps her arms around him in a tight embrace. 

‘I’ve missed you,’ she mumbles into his neck. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ 

He staggers a little, but quickly regains his balance and hugs her back just as tightly. ‘I’ve missed you too, my heart. Terribly so.’ 

Hanin pulls back just enough to look into his eyes and cup his face in her hands. ‘You’re back. I can’t believe you’re actually back,’ she murmurs, more to herself than him, tracing the shape of his eyebrows and nose with her fingertip. She doesn’t want to stop touching him, doesn’t want to let go lest he vanishes again.

‘I came to see you. I know I left so suddenly.’ 

‘You didn’t even say goodbye.’ 

‘I know. Ir abelas, vhenan.’ Solas takes her hand in his, brings it up to his lips and presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. ‘There’s so much I didn’t tell you.’

‘Can’t you tell me now?’ 

He squeezes her hand, looks into her eyes apologetically. ‘The time we have is short. I’ll be gone soon.’

Hanin’s fists instinctively clench around the fabric of his shirt. ‘Please.’  

Solas’ hands covers her own, soothing her. 

‘I know you seek answers, and you shall have them, in time.’

That does very little to ease Hanin’s concerns. ‘Can you guarantee those answers will give me comfort?’

‘I can’t. It is not for me to make such a promise. I’m sure you understand – you too, as the Inquisitor, have to make difficult choices every day. You can’t always please everyone. Someone has to be let down in order for things to move forward.’ His face falls a little. 

‘Yes, but does it have to be me, Solas? Of all people?’ 

‘You’re the only one who would understand,’ Solas replies, his voice softening as he cradles Hanin’s face between his palms. ‘Remember when I erased your Vallaslin? It was right here, in this clearing.’

Hanin nods, her eyes meeting Solas’. ‘You told me I was beautiful.’ A sob threatens to tear its way through her throat, but she swallows it down. ‘And then you put an end to what we had.’

Solas closes his eyes, gently brings their foreheads together. Hanin feels his thumbs swiping over her damp cheeks, wiping her tears away. She tightens her hold on him, desperate to feel his warmth, but he remains lukewarm. 

It’s only then that she notices. 

‘This is a dream, isn’t it?’ she murmurs, her voice faltering. The vibrant colours, the sounds of the water, Solas’ body lacking its usual warmth. It all feels so real, it has to be an illusion. 

‘It is,’ he confirms. His voice is laden with sadness. 

‘Where are you, Solas?’

‘Far away.’ He stares into her eyes. ‘Though never far enough to not be able to reach you in dreams.’ 

Hanin lets out a choked sob. She’s been hugging and touching Solas with both arms and hands, when in reality she only has one. How did she not notice? 

‘I’ll come to you, vhenan,’ Solas says reassuringly, still holding her close. ‘In this life or in the next, but we shall meet again. This, I promise you.’ 

‘Come to me,’ Hanin whsipers, closing her eyes. 

When she opens them again, the clearing, the waterfall and Solas are all gone. She’s alone again. 

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 6

Hope you guys all enjoyed my (almost) cliffhanger last week! This chapter is the longest so far, and I worked very hard on it, so if you get whumperflies please let me know!!! <3

Next chapter might take a bit longer what with uni starting again soon but I will do my best to keep it to once a fortnight at the LATEST. so we’ll see!

Masterpost

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @oceanthesarcasamfox @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld @memoriesneverforget @sky-or-something-idfk (aka my loves. if you want to be tagged just ask!)

CW: pet whumpee, aftermath of torture, creepy whumper, general violence, panic attacks

-

The door handle turned. Rowe whimpered. He wished it would just fly open, slam against the wall, hurry it up. He’d been curled up in his room ever since Master Tomas had casually mentioned that he was going grocery shopping, and Kasia would be coming over to get some work done. Rowe had felt the blood drain from his face, not him not him not him, I want to be good, I’ve tried so hard to be good for you Master-

“I’ve had a really stressful day at work,” Kasia said as he stepped into the room, in a low voice that made Rowe go cold. “Stand up.”

Rowe didn’t hesitate. “Take your shirt off.” He complied. “Arms behind your back.” He did as he was told.

“Wow, you really are pathetic, you know that?” said Kasia. “And I deal with a lot of Pets.”

Kasia took a few more steps towards Rowe until he could smell the cigarettes on his breath. He took Rowe’s face roughly and stared at him. A calloused thumb ran over his lips, making the hair on the back of Rowe’s neck stand up, and still Kasia just stared. Rowe kept his eyes on the ground, trembling.

“You’re so…,” Kasia laughed, “I can’t believe I gave my mate such an ugly Pet. And he hasn’t even hit you, has he? You must think you can just relax and walk all over him.”

Rowe shook his head, minutely but firmly, blinking away tears. No, no, I won’t relax, I won’t get comfortable. I’m just a Pet, I got tossed out, I’m worthless. Serving my Master is a privilege. I won’t forget.

Rowe was grateful for the discipline. He could get so caught up in why Master Tomas wanted him to do something, when really his place was as an obedient Pet. Not questioning, just accepting. He needed this reminder.

“Even looking at you annoys me. You don’t deserve an owner like Tomas.”

And then the first punch came, hard, sudden, into the side of his ribcage, and Rowe’s vision blinkered as he buckled and fell to the ground.

“Seriously? You’re on the floor after one punch? I thought I could have some fun beating you down.”

Rowe’s arms shook as he tried to push himself back up, his chest throbbing with every shallow breath. Kasia stamped a boot onto his back and he thumped against the ground, gasping as Kasia pressed harder and harder until Rowe was squirming, trying desperately to make his limbs work again, but the thought of being disobedient was enough to make his body limp. He could feel the barely-healed wounds on his back opening up. It was like being whipped all over again. The weight momentarily lifted from his back, only to come down far harder. Rowe’s jaw clacked sickeningly against the floor and he bit his tongue, hard. Pain exploded in his mouth. He moaned weakly and Kasia delivered a savage kick to his ribs, in the same place he’d just been punched.

“How’s your nose, Pet?” Kasia said roughly, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back until Rowe’s eyes met his. “Healed any?”

“I-it’s, agh, p-please, I d-don’t know-”

Kasia lifted Rowe’s head higher, and he suddenly realised with a rush of nausea what was coming. Fear overtook him as he cried out.

“N-no, no, please- don’t! No!”

It felt like a twisted version of déjà vu as Kasia crushed Rowe’s face into the floor, making him howl in pain. His nose was making horrifying crunching noises. Rowe cried desperately, hitting his fists off the floor to force himself not to grapple Kasia’s arm, not to do anything that might anger him further.

All of Master Tomas’s kindness, the ice pack and the painkillers and the gentle towel cleaning blood off his face, all of it was undone in a few seconds. Rowe wept harder at the thought of it. Master had wasted so much on him.

Kasia eventually let go and Rowe choked as he lifted his face, blood streaming into his mouth. The pain was so bad he could hardly think. He pushed himself up, turning to face Kasia and save his back any more pain.

“Please-” he sobbed, “please d-d-don’t-”

“Bit late for that,” laughed Kasia. “You’re fun to mess around with. I feel better already. But I can’t beat you too bad or Tomas will notice.”

“Wh-wh-what if h-he asks about my n-n-nose,” Rowe stammered out.

Kasia smiled at this and casually knelt down over Rowe, straddling him heavily. He grabbed his neck with one hand and pinned him down. With his other hand he slid a thumb over Rowe’s eye socket and held it there. No pressure, yet. Yet. Rowe forced himself to be still, and good, and take it.

“If you tell him,” began Kasia, digging his thumb in slightly. Blobs of grey fuzz appeared in Rowe’s vision. “I’ll not only make you regret the day you were born-” his thumb pushed in harder, “-I’ll also tell him you’re lying and he’ll throw you out-” and harder. Rowe started to whimper in fear, “-and then I’ll make you my Pet full-time. And I won’t hesitate to chop off and rearrange and reshape any part of you I dislike. Like your eyes, for instance. Or your tongue. Or your fingers. Do you understand?”

Rowe could barely breathe with Kasia’s full weight upon him. He couldn’t nod, couldn’t move his face at all while the thumb in Rowe’s eye made his entire head felt like it could burst with pain. He whined pathetically with his last bit of breath. Kasia looked at him solidly and for a second Rowe thought he really would gouge his eye out, but then Kasia took both his hands away and patted Rowe roughly on the cheek as he gasped.

“Good boy. So how did you get these injuries? You clumsy thing. You’ve busted your nose again and, well, you’re gonna have a bruise on your ribs.”

“I-I walked into a door, sir.”

“Yeah, you did. Now get up and clean the blood off your face.”

. . .

Tomas bustled through the front door and nudged it closed with his hip, his hands full of shopping bags. ‘’Kas? You’ve not burnt the place down then?’’

‘’Not for lack of trying,’’ came the reply as Kasia walked over and took a few of the bags. ‘’Let me get some of those. You feeding the five hundred?’’

Tomas smiled sheepishly. ‘’There’s a lot of food I don’t think Rowe’s tried yet… have you seen him at all?’’

‘’Nope. Heard him pattering around upstairs, though. Slammed the door pretty hard at one point. I didn’t go up to check on him, I hope you understand. I just figured, if he’s that nervous around you…’’

‘’Yes, yes, of course. Don’t worry.’’

‘’Well, I’d best be on my way. You know, your house is wonderfully quiet. Don’t hesitate if you need me to watch it again, please. I could get so much more work done in a calm place like this.’’

‘’Thank you so much, mate. I’ll let you know, yeah,’’ Tomas said warmly as Kasia grabbed his jacket and headed off.

He had barely closed the door when he heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. Tomas turned to see Rowe kneeling before him in his usual position, with his forehead to the floor. He still found it unnerving, seeing this frail man, covered in scars and bruises, submitting before him. ‘’Welcome back, Master Tomas.’’

‘’Hey, Rowe,’’ Tomas said, crouching slowly and reaching out a hand to the back of Rowe’s head, watching for a reaction. Rowe didn’t flinch, or stiffen- in fact, he leaned into the touch. Tomas ruffled his hair gently. Before he could invite Rowe back up, he spoke again.

‘’Master, please allow me to handle the cooking tonight, a-and any other chores you need me for.’’

‘’Oh, o-okay,’’ said Tomas. ‘’Um, well you can certainly join me in the cooking. I don’t want you to have to do it all yourself. And here, let me help you up.’’

Rowe began to unfold himself and Tomas held out a hand. After a moment of hesitation, he slipped his fingers between Tomas’s and let him take some of his weight as he stood. Tomas frowned in pity as he saw Rowe’s face- a neat bandage lay across his nose. Small bruises had formed under each eye- which was something a broken nose could cause, according to the internet. They looked deathly against his pallid skin. Rowe saw him frowning and Tomas felt the hand he was holding go stiff.

‘’P-please, Master, let me cook for you. I-It’s the least I c-can do.’’

He looked so… terribly sad. ‘’You can help, Rowe. Um- Kasia said he heard something slamming upstairs? Did you do something to your nose?’’

‘’I- I walked into a door, Master. I was foolish and careless and s-stupid. Please- please punish me for my ugliness.’’

‘’Aw, Rowe,’’ Tomas murmured involuntarily. ‘’You don’t look ugly. I wouldn’t hurt you over something like- I wouldn’t, I mean, I wouldn’t hurt you at all. I’m not going to punish you. Have you been worrying about that?’’

Rowe’s eyes dropped and he slowly nodded.

‘’Thank you for telling the truth. I don’t think you’re ugly at all.’’ It seemed to be something that was concerning him, so Tomas added, ‘’If I do, I’ll tell you, okay?’’

Rowe’s shoulders loosened and looked up at Tomas again. ‘’Yes, Master. Thank you.’’

Crisis averted? Tomas thought. ‘’Okay, great. Let’s start chopping some veg.’’

. . .

Rowe sliced the knife down harder as he hands trembled. He was doing his best, he really was, he was trying to just be fucking useful for once, but he was so on edge with Master Tomas so near to him. Rowe was constantly checking over his shoulder, so he could be ready for the first slap or punch. The knife in his hand reminded him of the times he’d been made to bring his master the tool that would be used to punish him.

Rowe was holding a weapon. An instrument for causing pain. Once again he wished he could be normal, wished he could be a good, blank, Pet, instead of one that couldn’t even chop vegetables without thinking about all the ways the knife could cut and slice and open and chop off- chop off- like Kasia had said-

Rowe’s head spun. He felt sick. Kasia wasn’t here. It was only Master. He was the one Rowe should be worrying about. Master could do as he pleased, Rowe repeated to himself, over and over. If Master wants to use the knife on me, I’ll let him. Of course I’ll let him.

. . .

Tomas stirred the stock cube absent-mindedly, his back to Rowe. He had tried to put enough space between him and Rowe to, hopefully, make Rowe feel a little more at ease. He watched as the hot water swirled around his spoon. The sound of rhythmic chopping behind him told him that Rowe was working diligently.

. . .

The carrot seemed to bend and stretch before him as Rowe tried to gather his thoughts. He was okay, he was okay. He hadn’t angered Master, not yet. So far, he was mercifully being ignored. Rowe looked back down and held the knife firmly.

The little coins of carrot were mostly even. Rowe hoped that would be good enough.

. . .

Tomas gently scraped in the onions and garlic and let them simmer. He rolled up his sleeves as the kitchen warmed up.

. . .

The knife was so sharp. Rowe was staring at it as he worked, not even looking at the vegetables, just watching the blade, waiting for Master to turn around and yank it out of his hand and order Rowe to his knees. Why did Master keep saying he wouldn’t hurt him? Rowe wanted to believe it every time, and every time it took longer for him to snap out of it. He moved his fingers out of the way at the last second as he brought the knife down shakily.

. . .

Tomas turned around. ‘’Rowe-‘’ he began, taking a step towards him. Rowe jerked in surprise and spun to face him.

. . .

The knife was still in his hand. He’d been so startled by Master Tomas suddenly being right there behind him that he had gripped it harder reflexively as he turned. Rowe stared down in horror. A long, thin cut ran along Master’s exposed forearm, all the way to his hand. Tiny drops of blood were beginning to form.

And then Rowe’s mind went blank.

. . .

Tomas easily caught Rowe as he fainted. The knife bounced off the floor and Tomas kicked it out of the way. The cut was superficial, and sure it was a surprise, but it hardly hurt. Still, he knew enough to realise how grave this was. A Pet hurting their owner. His stomach twisted at the thought of the beating that would have earned Rowe in the past. No wonder he passed out.

He gently laid Rowe on the couch, grabbed some kitchen roll, and wrapped it around his arm. Perching on the armrest, Tomas let himself look at the man in his care.

He could see long scars along his thighs, like he’d be belted while kneeling. Deep red scrapes, cuts and sores ran around his wrists, the scars of old restraints. His chest was rising and falling evenly, and his face looked soft. Relaxed. Tomas watched his fingers flick minutely, his lips part as he breathed. He wasn’t screaming. He looked peaceful for the first time since Tomas had got him.

And then… Rowe stirred. A groan rumbled in his chest as he rolled his head, and Tomas quickly put a hand to Rowe’s cheek to stop him grinding his nose. This made Rowe’s eyes finally twitch open, little by little then all at once when he remembered what had happened and saw Tomas sitting over him. He cried out, he hands scrambling to find purchase as he pushed himself away, tumbling off the sofa and ramming his forehead against the floor so hard that Tomas heard the crack.

‘’Oh, God, please!’’ he cried, his voice cracking as sobs and gasps racked through him, ‘’P-please Master I’m so, s-s-so sorry, I’m so sorry, I w-w-would n-never, I, I mean, I d-don’t, I w-was trying so ha-ard to be good-‘’

‘’Rowe, it’s okay,’’ Tomas blurted out, raising his voice. He grabbed his shoulders and lifted his head up off the ground. Rowe’s eyes were bright with fear like Tomas had never seen before. It was so intense that he let go of his shoulders reflexively and Rowe shrank into himself, trembling before his owner.

‘’I swear, I s-swear I c-can be better, Master, I ca-an, please please don’t s-send me back, I-I’ll take any pun-nishment like- like a good Pet, I’ll be g-good-‘’

‘’Rowe-‘’

‘’I-It w-was an accident, please Master p-p-please believe me, I wo-would n-never do some-something like that, I’m begging you-‘’

‘’Rowe, I’m not going t-’’

‘’Please,’’ begged Rowe hoarsely, tears rolling down his cheeks, and something in his voice made Tomas stop and listen. ‘’Please, Master, please, I can’t- I don’t know why you want me to b-b-believe that you wo-won’t hurt me, but I can’t d-do it, I just wa-want to be good s-s-so bad and I ca-an’t, I k-keep messing up a-and you never hurt me and I j-just want to be good, I w-want to be good I don’t want to- to get thr-rown out and I need p-p-punishment, Master, please…’’ he gasped.

‘’I’m not….. you are being good. You’re being really good.’’ Tomas felt his heart breaking.

Rowe’s sobbing was becoming weaker and weaker as he ran out of energy. He stared up at Tomas with eyes that were sparkly and wet. He looked utterly broken.

‘’I just want to get it over with, Master.’’

‘’No, I’m not going to punish you,’’ Tomas said seriously.

‘’I’m begging you,’’ he cried, his voice cracking. ‘’I can’t- I can’t take this waiting a-anymore! Please, Master, please, I want it, l- let me throw myself at your mercy, I w-want to be punished f-for my disobedience, please treat y-your Pet the way I d-d-deserve, I’ll take anything for you Master, please beat me, please cut me, please whip me, pl-‘’

‘’Rowe, stop! Stop it! Stop it, please, stop,’’ Tomas shouted. Rowe fell silent immediately with a whimper. ‘’I know- I can see that’s what you thought I wanted to hear. I understand. But I’m not- this isn’t a test, or a game, okay? You don’t need pain to be good.’’

Rowe kept his mouth shut, flinching as Tomas sank down next to him.

‘’All this time you’ve been waiting for a punishment that never came.’’ Rowe nodded. Tomas exhaled deeply as he thought. Rowe needed order, and he followed rules diligently, and Tomas had fucked up by leaving Rowe in limbo with no idea when he would be punished. At least now, he had let Tomas know what was distressing him. A punishment would give him a bit of comfort, in a twisted way. ‘’Okay, Rowe, I will punish you.’’

Rowe burst into fresh tears, pressing his face to the floor. ‘’Th-thank you, thank you Master, thank you, thank you, thank you.’’

Tomas gently took Rowe’s chin and lifted his head. Was this just putting off the difficult conversations until another day? Or was this an act of mercy, relieving the mental suffering Rowe had been putting himself through? Tomas decided on the latter. Screaming at Rowe that he wouldn’t hurt him while Rowe shook and cried and begged didn’t seem very productive.

‘’Firstly, since you gave me this cut it only seems fair that you bandage it up.’’

‘’Yes, Master,’’ Rowe choked out as he ran upstairs to get the first aid kit. Tomas sat back up on the couch and peeled off the kitchen towels that were now sticky with blood. Rowe returned, discarded them, and got on with dressing the cut. Rowe’s hands were still as he pressed the anti-bacterial wipe against his Master’s skin. The bandage wrapped around his arm was neater than Tomas had ever seen before. He had to bite back the praise he wanted to give Rowe- this was a punishment, he reminded himself. He steeled himself to deliver Rowe’s punishment.

‘’I’m going up to my office. Finish cooking and bring it to me, then wash up and tidy the house. While I’m working tomorrow, stay out of my way and don’t disturb me. The only time I want to see or hear you is if I ask you to do something, which you will do immediately. Understood? You can speak freely again in 24 hours.’’

‘’Yes, Master Tomas,’’ Rowe whispered as he hurried to the kitchen counter. Tomas took himself upstairs and buried his head in his hands. He hated how good he was at sounding stern. He hated how unnatural it felt. He couldn’t shake the fear that he was undoing all of the progress Rowe had made.

[shanaraharlyah]

Never Gonna Be Alone part 2

“Oh, You've gotta live every single day, Like it's the only one, what if tomorrow never comes? Don't let it slip away, Could be our only one, you know it's only just begun Every single day, May be our only one, what if tomorrow never comes? Tomorrow never comes

Time, is going by, so much faster than I, And I'm starting to regret not telling all of this to you.

You're never gonna be alone! From this moment on, if you ever feel like letting go, I won't let you fall, When all hope is gone I know that you can carry on We're gonna take the world on I'll hold you 'till the hurt is gone ”

~Chad Kroeger & Mutt Lange

---

Part 2 of my Dragon Age Inquisition Trespasser fic snippet below cut for possible spoilers.    Takes place during the time skip between cutscenes at the end of the DLC.  

Dorian Pavus x Kartaelin Lavellan

@14daysdalovers Prompt: Breathless Kisses

Image setup and Rendered in DAZ Studio 4.15.  Postwork in Photoshop Elements 8.0.

Bigger Here

Part 1

From behind the pair, two sets of footfalls rushed toward them, one heavy, the other fleet, and The Iron Bull and Sera soon came around into view.

"Hey, Boss.  Looks like you made it in time."

"Hi, Bull, he was here for me, he never needed our help.  He tipped us off in order to save the South from the Qunari attacks and to get me here, to save me."

"Shite!" exclaimed Sera as she came around in front of the pair sitting on the ground.  "What happened to your arm?  Dorian, how can you hold it against you like that!?"  Her face scrunched up aghast at the sight of it.

Dorian raised an eyebrow at the crude elf, "That's where you draw the line, is it?  You'll hand someone a glass of piss to drink for shits and giggles, but you can't abide the touch of a friend's ghastly wound!?"

"I'll have to remember that one," Sera giggled with a grin on her face, "but no, that's not what I meant, and you know it.  Ugh!  Frustrating people are... frustrating!"

"It's alright, Sera," interjected Kartaelin, always the calming voice amongst his friends.  "You don't have to touch it.  Solas removed it to stop the anchor from killing me."

"Double shite," replied Sera.  "So... you're okay now, yeah?  It still doesn't look like it's good, is all.  So, what's next?"

"We need to get him back to Orlais, and to a proper healer," answered Dorian.

"Can you walk, Boss?" Bull asked.

"I think so.  The anchor is no longer wracking my body, there's just a throbbing and occasional pain when I move my arm.  It's odd, there's a distinct sensation that it's all still there, but then I remember..."  Kartaelin moved to get up, but the Tevinter would have none of it. 

"You're in shock, I can't have you falling down the stairs and cracking your skull on the pavement on our way out of here.  Can you imagine, walking into the Winter Palace, 'Where is the Inquisitor?', 'Oh, we allowed him to lead us back after having his arm amputated, and gee, well, he fell down the stairs and into the abyss.  Can you believe it!'  Leliana and Josephine will have all of our heads after the effort they've put into saving this organization.  So, no, I'll carry you.  Bull, can you gather his things?"  Dorian sighed, “Sometimes I feel like I should be in the one in charge."

The Iron Bull nodded and gathered the Inquisitor's belongings.  

"I like it when you take charge," said Kartaelin huskily, the familiar lopsided grin that had been absent these last few days finally returning to his face.  

Knowing where this was headed, Bull ushered Sera toward the stairs amidst loud protests.  As much as he'd also like to stick around and enjoy the show, he knew they needed to get back to the Exalted Council and the healers at the palace, and the only way to hurry the two love birds along was to leave them behind.

"Festis bei umo canavarum!" exclaimed the mage, wiping the remaining tears from his eyes.  "Is this really the time or place for this?  ...You're just lucky that I love you so much."

"I am," Kartaelin replied coyly, wrapping his hand in his lover’s leather collar and pulling him closer to him.  He craned his neck until his lips met Dorian's and he peppered him with soft kisses.  It was the least he could do after worrying him so terribly.  They'd both feared his impending doom on account of the mark, and Dorian took it especially hard.  He'd put up a wall around his heart a long time ago to prevent himself from being hurt by anyone, but the Inquisitor had broken right through, and the thought of him being taken from him so soon tore him up inside.

Slowing his ministrations to one final passionate kiss and savoring the moment, Kartaelin pressed his forehead to Dorian's.  "I'm sorry I worried you so much, ma vhenan.  I never wished to cause you hurt."

"I know, amatus.  I just... I couldn't bear to lose you like this," Dorian replied, choking up again.  "The thought of the one bright spot in my life being ripped away by ancient elven magic, just..."

The Inquisitor reached up to cup Dorian’s face with his hand, tenderly caressing his cheek with his thumb.  "It's alright, Dorian, I'm safe now.  Solas has bought us time, but we have more work to do.  We should get back to the council.  I'll fill you in on the way."  He leaned in for one more kiss before the Tevinter could reply, taking his breath away.

Pulling back slowly, his lip caught playfully by the Inquisitor, Dorian gently gathered the elf into his arms.  "You are right of course, but what's all this 'bought us time' business?"  With a grunt he stood, the Inquisitor held tightly against his chest, "You are heavier than you look.  Eating too many of those fancy tea cakes Solas likes so much?"

Kartaelin let out a hearty laugh, "I suppose there's no chance of you changing your mind about letting me walk out of here under my own power then?"

"Not a chance," Dorian smiled, heading back toward the stairs and the exit.

"Well, we could ask Bull to carry me if I'm too heavy for you," Kartaelin smirked.

"Truly?  This is how you treat me after the moment we've just shared!?  I should drop you right where we stand," Dorian replied in mock irritation.

"And what would the others say?" Kartaelin teased.

"They'd agree with me, you little shit!" countered the mage.  "Then they'd come back to get you anyway....  Remind me again, why is it that I love you?"

"This IS why you love me," Kartaelin sassed.

Dorian sighed, "Well, you're not wrong.  Tell me, were you always this antagonizing?"

"It's just for you.  You bring out the best in me, Dorian," the elf responded.  "Or the worst, depends on how you look at it.  Either way, you wouldn't want it any other way."

"Maker, what did I do to deserve this!?" Dorian mused in exasperation.

Kartaelin just smiled.  Pressing his injured arm against his own chest, the Inquisitor placed his hand over Dorian's heart and rested his head against his shoulder.

"Oh, the things I'm going to do to you tonight," the Tevinter mage muttered under his breath.

"I look forward to it," Kartaelin quipped, nuzzling the jaw of the man he adored.

"Of course, you do," Dorian breathed.  He still worried about the ‘bought time’ remark, but he trusted the elf wouldn’t keep him in the dark for long.  He had to accept that right here, right now he was holding his amatus in his arms and they were both alive and safe for the moment.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

*scrambles into the room, hair haphazard, eyes bleary* Wednesday? OH SHIT! WEDNESDAY! 

Thank you @little-lightning-lavellan and @dungeons-and-dragon-age for the tags! (and if anyone else tagged me thank you, but it seems the curse has struck me as well! Dumb tumblr! *shakes fist*)

So, I’m working on Mythal encounter ideas and this is what I have to share >:D

Aterian. A whisper, no more. A hushed murmur in the corridors.

Aterian. Louder, harsher, sharper, but still distant like oncoming thunder.

ATERIAN!! A shout, a roar cloaked with revelry and...and adulation? Like a mead hall celebrating a victorious battle or an icon addressing its followers. 

ATERIAN! ATERIAN! ATERIAN! The roars were chanting, beckoning like the crimson lights and they only seemed to flicker at each uproarious call, his head pulsing, blackness closing in to where there was nothing, nothing, but pressure and sharpness!

Fane suddenly felt a snarl rip from his lips as a sharp, hot pain coursed through his head, his knees buckling, his hand tearing from the one holding his own so tightly, so desperately. He fisted his hands into his hair, clawing at the strands, tearing at the roots as he folded over like a turtle hiding in its shell. What was going on?! What was that...that name?! Why was it being chanted like a god’s!? Like the very things that didn’t exist!?

Why did it hold so much power?! He didn’t want more power! 

His head hurt! It was searing, blistering, and pounding like a tong and hammer in the forge! It felt like it was being split open with an axe, the head wiggling back and forth as if to pry it open! This was on the same level as what the orb had done back in Haven, but somehow, it felt worse! And all he could see was black! No green, no blue, no gold, no crimson! Only black, black, blackblackblackblackbla--!

“Vhenan!”, Solas called out to him, endearment sharp, but only from horribly concealed fear. “Vhenan, look at me!” 

Warbling silk and desperate lilt tried again, but it found no purchase on his blackening mind, on its shaking walls as Fane curled into himself tighter, the pain climbing and climbing and climbing to where he wished he would die! It hurt! It hurt! Why did it hurt?! Why couldn’t he just answer the cries with one of his own that said, ‘Enough! Begone!’?! It had been so easy in the past when the ‘faithful’ had cheered ‘Inquisitor’, so why couldn’t he admonish these ones!?

“The soul knows what the mind cannot bear.”, Flemeth’s infuriating crypticism came forward once again, somehow piercing black, piercing reverent roars. “Our minds seal away the darkest parts of our souls to naively protect itself, but all it takes is one, just one, well placed key to unlock the door.” The sound of shifting grass and assured footsteps came forward as did the witch’s voice with a painful question. “...Isn’t that so, Aterian?”

The utterance of that dreadful word, title, name, or whatever it was only made him let out an enraged snarl before more pain had him actively tearing a few strands out from his head, but he didn’t feel their sting. He wished he could have, for their ire would be less than his mind’s! Two hands appeared to carefully wrap around his wrists, attempting to still his frenzied yanking somewhat, but Fane only snarled again, jerking away from blue. No, no! Blue wouldn’t be tarnished by black! He wouldn’t let it! 

“Enough, Mythal!”, Solas commanded, voice sharp and snapping. It would have caused Fane to blink in surprise and bewilderment, knowing how much the Elvhen ‘goddess’ mattered to his sky, but he was not in the right place to care about anything as it was all shrouded in black. “Do you seek a rampage?! Have I not warned against that in the past?!”

“Worry not, old friend. As always, your dragon is in no danger from me.”, Flemeth said, seemingly trying to talk down a wolf that intended to bite, voice coming closer as if she were standing beside him now. “This is but a push, not a shove. He must remember all that was forgotten. I am just providing the key.”

“He is not mine. He is his own.”, Solas practically growled before he heaved a steadying sigh, cooling himself, even as Fane could feel, between the pounding and pulsating, how much heat was exuding from him. “And what, may I ask, are you attempting to unlock? A beast? Something that does not exist?!” His sky’s voice rose again before it leveled out with another sigh, wrangling itself back as surely as Fane was attempting to do for himself, clawing and yanking at his scalp as it burned.

“You don’t know either, then. Hm.”, the woman muttered under her breath, but Fane heard. He heard. Just like he could hear the cheers of those he didn’t know! “Do you fear him? Do you fear what he could do to you, to me?”, Flemeth asked next, more forward, more straight, completely dodging around Solas’ own inquiries and the sky did not press, it only lashed out.

“I fear what this could do to him!”, Solas barked, the thud of a knee coming down next to where Fane was now rocking back and forth in his doubled over position. “Fane. Fane!”

“Shhhuuut...up!”, Fane hissed out before choking on a harsh gasp, more pain blooming throughout his head to where he slammed a hand down onto the ground; the one with the Anchor. 

...And the result of such a desperate action only made him see more ebony.

Local wolf god attempts to get his mother figure and lover (who are both different types of dragons) to get along. It does not go well. At all. 

Tagging: @noire-pandora @oxygenforthewicked @shift-shaping @dreadfutures @mywitchcultblr @aymayzing @varric-tethras-editor @rosella-writes @the-dreadful-canine and any one else who’d like to share! X3

[sukifans]

PET • RI • CHOR

[n] a pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather

ZUKO X OC SERIES

SUMMARY: a captured waterbender and the fire prince may sound like an unlikely pair, but kena never much cared about others’ expectations and zuko, well… he was just along for the ride

A/N: we have read more cuts, bitches. also iroh is the ultimate wingman lmao. enjoy this pt it is very soft and fun ~

⏎ MASTERLIST // PART I « PART II » PART III

Zuko found himself walking down the seemingly endless corridors of the Fire Nation palace. He caught sight of his reflection in a window pane and stopped to look. He quickly reached up to touch his face when he realized he no longer had his scar. The skin that was usually rough and dry and cracked was now as smooth as the rest of his cheek. His hair was longer, pulled half-up in a top knot that held the Fire Lord’s hairpiece. He moved his fingers away from his face to touch the golden flame but stopped when he heard a voice.

“Hey, over here!” the voice called. He turned and saw the familiar girl from the tea house standing at the other end of the corridor. She giggled before running off, rounding a corner.

“Wait!” he shouted, chasing after her. He was only barely keeping up, just catching glimpses of her long braid or her clothes whipping around a corner before she disappeared again. He stopped when he saw her standing still in front of a doorway, smiling. “Who are you?”

Her face immediately fell and her eyes filled with tears. Guilt squeezed his chest, making it hard to breathe. “You mean, you don’t remember me, Zuko?”

“I- I’m sorry. You’re so familiar, I just can’t place you-“ he stammered.

“You forgot me!” she roared, face contorting with anger now. He took a step back, frightened by her distorted features. “You killed me, and now you forgot me! How could you?”

“I d-didn’t kill anyone,” he whispered. The girl opened her mouth wider than should’ve been possible and let out an inhuman wail, running into the dark room beyond the doorway. Against his better judgement, he followed.

Zuko’s heart raced when he looked around and found himself in the Agni Kai room he’d been burned in. Three figures stood in the middle of the room with their backs to him, one on their knees between the other two. Cautiously, he approached. He felt sick to his stomach when he saw his father and Azula were the two standing figures. On her knees was the waterbending girl from the infirmary he’d known as a child. Ozai was holding her by her hair as silent tears rolled down her cheeks, forcing her to hold her head up.

“Let her go,” Zuko demanded. Ozai and Azula both laughed.

“Or what, Zuzu? You can’t fight both of us and protect the snow savage,” Azula purred. She crouched down and grabbed Kena’s face roughly, her sharp nails digging into her skin. Kena whimpered helplessly and Zuko felt like he’d been hollowed out. The poor girl’s whole body was trembling with fear.

“Zuko, help me. Please,” she whispered desperately. He tried to move to reach her but his feet were rooted to the spot. Ozai yanked her hair and Kena swallowed a yelp.

“Look, little girl. He’s not going to save you. In fact, he gave you to me.” He forced her head back up to make her look Zuko in the eye.

“I didn’t! Kena, please-“

“Beg, savage, and maybe he’ll help you,” Ozai snarled, throwing her onto her face at Zuko’s feet. No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t move. He felt like he might fall apart when he and Kena made eye contact just as she started sobbing openly and loudly.

“Zuko, please! Don’t hurt me! I’ll do anything, just please don’t hurt me again!”

“I- I would never-“ he started but was cut off by Kena’s desperate cries as she dropped her head again. “I’m trying but I can’t move.”

She tilted her head up and suddenly she was older — the girl from the tea shop again. With a rush he realized he could move again and immediately dove down to scoop her up. As soon as he touched her, she screamed like she’d been burned and scrambled away from him, looking terrified. Ozai laughed again and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her up off the ground so her feet barely skimmed the floor. She desperately clawed at his arm but Ozai was entirely unbothered. She was struggling to breathe, chest heaving while she choked and sputtered.

“You will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher,” his father said and Zuko’s blood turned to ice in his veins.

Azula approached Kena with her hand engulfed in blue flame. The waterbender thrashed and fought but couldn’t get free, not before Azula brought her hand to her face-

“Kena!” Zuko sat bolt upright in his bed, drenched in sweat and his heart racing. His blanket was tangled and twisted around his legs and his pillow was somehow across the room. When he realized what he’d seen had just been a nightmare, he started trying to calm himself down with deep, uneven breaths, holding his head in his shaking hands.

Kena. She was here. She spoke with him. Hell, he had a date with her in less than twenty four hours. Sana had told him that she and her mother had escaped from the palace before being executed, but he had never been sure whether or not she was lying to spare his feelings. To see her here, alive and seemingly happy... he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to speak to her again without blowing his cover. She didn’t seem to recognize him, what with the scar and all the time that has passed. He didn’t know if he preferred that over her knowing it was him or not.

Sighing, Zuko slipped out of bed and started to dress himself. He needed to get out for a bit and take a walk, maybe pick a fight, to clear his head. He slung his swords in their sheath over his shoulder and tied the ribbon of his mask around his head before creeping out of the apartment, careful not to wake Iroh. He wandered down the empty streets, sticking to the shadows cast by the shoddy buildings of the Lower Ring in the moonlight and slipped into small alleyways to avoid running into any late-night stragglers.

His breath caught in his throat when he turned into an alley see someone else at the other end. There stood a woman in a flowing white dress with a large black bag across her body. Most peculiarly, she also wore a mask — a black base painted with white detail to depict a smiling koi face. She cocked her head curiously as they studied each other silently. He briefly considered pulling out his swords, believing he’d found his fight, but changed his mind when he realized she didn’t seem to be carrying any weapons. If she had, surely she would’ve drawn it by now.

Slowly, she nodded to him in acknowledgement before turning and disappearing around the corner. He hurried to follow but she was nowhere to be seen when he poked his head out of the alley. Maybe she really was a spirit of some sort. Ba Sing Se was certainly weird enough for it.

Kena woke up late in the morning, sunshine streaming in through her small window and directly across her closed eyelids. She sighed and turned over, burying her face into the pillow to maybe sneak a few more minutes. That, is until whoever was at the door started banging on it again like they had been when they’d woken her. She continued to lay there, listening for Fera. They knocked again. Clearly Fera wouldn’t be answering this morning. She had probably already left for her job as a maid for a wealthy family in the Upper Ring. Groaning, she pushed herself to her feet and wrapped her robe around her body.

“I’m coming, I’m coming! Spirits, just stop banging on the door before you break the damn thing!” She yanked the door open only to immediately be trampled by four raucous girls rushing into the apartment.

“Morning, sunshine!”

“Are you okay? You just left us yesterday!”

“Yeah, you looked like you’d run into a spirit or something!”

“Did he reject you for some reason? Do we need to go knock him around for a bit until he finds his sense?”

“Because we totally will.”

“Yeah, we can take that skinny kid, easy.”

Kena laughed at her friends. “Guys, it’s fine. Last night I just remembered that Fera had asked me to pick something up for dinner from the market and I’d totally forgotten so I had to hurry. Sorry I didn’t say anything, you know my one-track mind.” She went to the kitchen to put on some tea while the rest all settled down in the living room.

“But you did ask him out, right?” Jin pressed and Kena rolled her eyes, cheeks heating up.

“Yes. You guys shoved me back in there.”

The girls looked at her expectantly. “And? What did he say?” Mona gestured for her to continue, raising her eyebrows.

“He said yes,” she answered quietly and her friends immediately started hooting and hollering. “Shut up! The neighbors are gonna make a noise complaint again!”

“Aren’t you excited, Sola?” Kyali sighed dreamily, clasping her hands. “I don’t think you’ve been on a date in the entire time we’ve known you and now you’re going out with this hot, brooding, mysterious guy.”

“I bet he writes poetry,” said Oma. “Maybe he’ll write something about you!”

“You guys are insane,” Kena laughed, shaking her head. “All of you need to stop reading those garbage romance books.”

“Look, we all already know you’re Miss Independent and you don’t need a man or whatever. You can be excited about your date tonight,” Jin said pointedly. Kena rolled her eyes as she carried over the pot of tea and five cups.

“Fine, okay; I’m a little excited,” she said, pouring everyone a cup before sitting on the mat next to Mona. She was more than a little excited, but for different reasons than her friends thought. She was also incredibly nervous, unsure of whether or not to confront her childhood best friend.

Mona took a sip and smirked. “Is this jasmine?” Kena shook her head exasperatedly, hiding a smile, as her friends all laughed.

Zuko sat on the floor in front of his uncle, who by all appearances was attacking him with a small comb. He winced when the teeth pulled through another knot, grumbling.

“Nephew, when was the last time you combed your hair?” Iroh tsked as he gave another mighty pull.

“I’ve had bigger things to worry about recently, in case you forgot,” Zuko responded. Iroh sighed dramatically.

“Often, we only feel inside as good as we look outside,” he said. Zuko rolled his eyes.

“This seems like a little much.”

“It’s your first date with this girl! You need to make a good first impression.”

“I’ve already made a first impression. She knocked me over and cut her hand open.”

“And that was very kind of you to help her!”

“You kind of gave me no choice.”

“I could tell you liked her, I was just pushing you in the right direction,” Iroh said smugly and Zuko grimaced. “But you’re still working on your first impression. A first impression only ends when the relationship does.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Uncle.” Zuko made a strangled noise of protest as Iroh started slicking his hair down with some sort of slimy paste.

“I used to be very popular with the ladies in my prime. I can give you some tips, if you’d like.”

“I would not,” Zuko interjected quickly but his uncle steamrolled ahead anyways.

“First, you should compliment her as soon as you see her. Tell her she is more radiant than the first fire lily of spring.”

“Talking about fire lilies seems like a bad move,” Zuko said. His cheeks tinged pink, however, remembering the fire lily he gave her that night in the palace — the last time he’d ever seen her until the day before.

“Perhaps you’re right, Nephew,” Iroh mused, looking thoughtful. “Instead, tell her that her eyes are more captivating than a moon flower during a lunar eclipse. Or, perhaps that her presence is as warm and comforting as a fresh cup of tea on a winter night! Remember, this could be your future wife!”

“That’s enough, thank you.” Zuko stood quickly, having heard enough to be sufficiently embarrassed. “You’re going to make me late if you keep messing with my hair.”

“I suppose that will be as good as it’s going to get, then. Do a turn so I can see you properly.”

“Uncle, honestly-“

“Turn, Prince Zuko.” Exasperated, Zuko turned in a quick circle, shoulders tense as Iroh scrutinized him. “You look very handsome! But you would look much better if you smiled.” Iroh beamed as if to demonstrate and Zuko gave him a sour look. “I said ‘smile,’ not ‘scowl.’ Don’t do that in front of her.”

“I’m leaving now,” Zuko said flatly, walking towards the door.

“Be nice! Pay for dinner! Don’t frown! Stay out as late as you want, I won’t wait up,” Iroh called after him as he hurried out.

Kena felt her heart start racing when she caught sight of him outside the Pao Family Tea House, hair combed and flattened into a middle part that she had to swallow a laugh about — surely Iroh’s work.

“Hey, Lee,” she said as she approached. “You look so cute.” She laughed and she ruffled his hair. He gave her a pained look and caught her wrist in his hand.

“It took my uncle ten minutes to do my hair.”

“That’s sweet,” she said with a soft smile, surprising him as she laced their fingers together. He willed himself not to go red in the face. “Come on, the festival’s already begun!”

She dragged him through the streets, talking excitedly about the food she wanted him to try and a few performers that would be on the stage in the middle of the Lower Ring later. He didn’t say much, just enjoyed her presence and the fact that she was alive and here and somehow with him. Any chance he got he stared at her, analyzing every detail of her face and comparing it to what he could remember from childhood. She still had the same medium-brown skin, dark hair, and grey eyes of course, but it all felt new and exciting again; her hair was longer and flowed freely down her back and her eyes, though still kind and sparkling, held something deeper that had not been there before. He also noticed a long, thin white scar that trailed down the left side of her face from her forehead, through her eyebrow, and down to the corner of her jaw. The thought of someone hurting her made him angrier than he’d anticipated, but he tried not to focus on it. Instead he fixated on how she was almost always smiling or laughing, how casually and comfortably she touched him when she held his hand or grabbed his arm when he made her laugh or brushed her fingers against his forehead when she put a goofy hat she’d won in a game on top of his head. It had been a long time since he’d let himself just be around someone, and it felt incredible. She was still, despite everything, so unabashedly Kena that it made his heart squeeze in his chest. He didn’t know how he hadn’t recognized her as soon as he laid eyes on her, because it seemed overwhelmingly obvious now.

Kena, meanwhile, was trying her hardest to get him to slip up. Something had happened between that night and the day before, because she saw immediately from the way he looked at her that he knew. She figured it was only a matter of time before he misstepped somewhere.

“Lee is an interesting name,” she’d mentioned casually as they watched two contortionists on stage twist themselves into impossible positions.

“I really have to beg to differ on that one,” he’d said in response.

“It’s just a very common name in the Fire Nation, you know? Before I came to Ba Sing Se, there were at least a dozen people named Lee in even the smallest villages. But oddly enough, I’ve never met anyone named Lee here except for you.”

He’d simply shrugged and said, “my village was colonized by the Fire Nation decades ago. I guess the name bled into the local culture.” She’d hummed noncommittally at that and went back to square one with a new plan.

“So, you mentioned you and your uncle traveled around a lot,” she’d started. “Why?”

He hesitated just a beat too long. “We were... uh, part of this traveling circus.” She couldn’t believe he didn’t have a better lie ready.

“Really? What did you do? Actually, let me guess.” She tapped her chin for dramatic effect as she considered something Zuko would likely be awful at. Her face split into a wicked grin. “You juggled!”

He looked at her, slightly annoyed. “Yeah, you got me. I juggled.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn how to juggle. Can you show me something?” She handed him a couple small fruits from a cart they were standing near, looking up at him expectantly. He looked ashen as he slowly took them from her. Awkwardly, he threw them up in the air and they flew in wildly different directions, one landing directly on his head.

“I haven’t practiced for a while.” He cleared his throat, a deep red creeping across his cheeks as she laughed.

“Ah, I understand.”

When they stopped for food at a noodle cart, she’d mentioned they offered supposedly authentic Fire Nation fire flakes. He’d nodded in acknowledgement and then ordered the blandest thing on the menu. The prince was certainly going to give her a run for her money.

Zuko didn’t understand why she kept bringing up the Fire Nation throughout the night. Did she know? He didn’t think she did. She hadn’t at the tea shop, why would she now? Did he do something to tip her off? She’d been in Ba Sing Se for many years; she most likely had heard nothing about his banishment or his hunt for the Avatar and had yet to bring up anything about his scar. He hoped that she didn’t think he was here to hurt people — surely she wouldn’t have asked him on a date if she thought that, right?

Night had long since fallen, but the streets were still bursting with light and life from the festival. He had a small grin on his face while he watched Kena start an argument with a man running some rigged betting game. She accused him of cheating and he shouted at her to leave immediately or he’d call in the Dai Li. Grumbling, Kena grabbed his hand again and stalked away. He was still smiling as she pulled him along and she sent him a (mostly) playful glare.

“What are you grinning at? I just lost ten silver pieces!” she huffed.

“You,” he responded without thinking. Realizing what he said, he quickly shut his mouth. They both flush and looked away from each other.

She took in a deep breath to regain her composure before turning her head to look at him again. “Do you want to see something cool?” There was no way he would’ve been able to refuse that excited look in her eye, even if he’d wanted to.

Zuko followed as she lead him into an alley and started climbing up a fire escape. He watched as she nimbly maneuvered herself higher and higher. “Are you sure this is... legal?” he asked hesitantly.

“It’s not,” she called down to him, peeking her head over the railing, “but it’s alright! We’re crafty. Now hurry up or we’ll miss it!”

“If you say so...” he trailed off as he gripped the side of the ladder and started making his way up. When he reached the top, he found her sitting with her legs dangling over the edge of the flat roof and staring at the city skyline, holding her chin in her hands. He sat down next to her and took the opportunity of the quiet moment to examine her profile illuminated by the festival lights below. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly. At first he tensed but then he slowly relaxed, slowly wrapping his arm around around her waist. They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, taking in the view. Well, she was taking in the view; Zuko was trying to ignore the goosebumps running across his skin from her warm breath dancing across his neck.

“Lee,” she started quietly, “I know we just met yesterday, but I think I really like you.”

“I really like you, too,” he agreed, surprising himself a little. He rested his cheek on top of her head and closed his eyes. She still smelled the same — something fresh and pleasant and clean that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Kena was tired of dancing around what they both knew. Throwing caution to the wind, she cleared her throat and spoke. “You know, I used to be a servant for the royal family in the Fire Nation.”

He cursed himself for the way his whole body flinched. “Yeah? How was that?”

“Terrible. I was taken from my home when I was young and kept there for years. It was just my mom and I.”

“No friends?”

“They don’t exactly let the help just make friends all willy-nilly. That’s a good foundation for a staff revolt.” She rolled her eyes. “I did have one friend I managed to make though.”

“Oh, that’s nice.”

“Yeah, except he was the prince.”

She heard his breath hitch. “Oh. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. That’s why we had to leave, actually. Ozai found out and was not happy his firebender son was making nice with someone like me. Apparently he wanted to execute us to make some sort of point, but Ursa and the other servants helped us sneak out of the palace before we were taken to be killed.”

“I’ve heard a lot of good about Ursa,” he said softly, tenderness in his voice.

“She was a wonderful woman. There was a lot of her in the prince, too. I guess that’s why I liked them so much.” He said nothing, so she continued. “It broke my heart to leave. I never even got to say goodbye even though I pinky-promised to see him again the night before Ozai found out.” She thought for a moment. “I always wondered if he ever thought of me, because I thought of him all the time.”

“I- he did. Probably. I don’t know,” he huffed. “I mean that I think, if it were me, I would’ve thought about you every day.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet for a long time before Kena finally spoke, smiling faintly. “You and your uncle stick out like two sore thumbs here.”

His shoulder shook under her cheek when he chuckled. “I know. I think it started out as a joke, and then we actually couldn’t think of anything better.”

She sat up straight now and cupped his face in her hands. Gently, she brushed her thumb over the rough, gnarled skin on his cheek. She wasn’t sure why, but a few slow tears rolled down her cheeks. “We match,” she said softly, meeting his eyes when he used his fingertip to trace the scar that ran down her face.

“It looks much better on you,” he joked and she gave him a watery smile. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Suddenly, she lunged at him to squeeze him in a tight hug, knocking them both backwards into a pile. “It’ll take a lot more than your awful father to kill me,” she murmured into his chest from her position on top of him. Hesitant at first, he wrapped his arms around her. It just felt so right to be with her again. He couldn’t help tightening his grip and burying his face into her cascade of hair. In the background he could hear fireworks going off, but he didn’t care about anything that wasn’t her.

“I missed you, Kena,” he said, so quietly the wind almost carried the words away. His lungs ached because her name on his lips felt like a long, full breath of fresh air after years underwater.

“I missed you too, Zuko.” Her cool skin against his warmth felt like a wave of water over the flames inside of him. He finally, for the first time he could remember since losing his mother, felt safe. He clutched at her clothes to pull her in as close as possible, breathing her in deeply. She smelled like the first monsoon after a lifelong dry season; she smelled like petrichor.

A/N:

TAGS: @beifongsss @the-lva-way @lammello @llorom6nnic @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @royahllty @mamooska8 @bucky-blogs @youneedmemanidonotneedyou @eridanuswave @rosetheshapeshifter @fantasticchaoticwho @bwndito @dancerslovelife @justab-eautifulmess

[spell-cleaver]

Swords & Starflowers, Day 10

DAY 10: FLUFFTOBER: “Once upon a time...” @flufftober​ 

Spell’s October Writing Aims

Of course, this is a part of the Swords and Starflowers AU.

⚔💮⚔

…Palpatine’s armies have pressed forward toward Chandrila, and Butterfly’s correspondences grow increasingly desperate. I think we both know, my friend, that the time to act is now, or we risk losing all our tentative alliances we have worked so hard to build.

Your friend and—most importantly—ally,

Starflower

“Mama?”

Padmé had scarcely put down the quill and blown on the ink to dry it when the soft call made her start—she twisted around in her chair at her desk to see Luke standing in the doorway, his two knitted dragon toys held tightly to his chest.

“Luke?” she asked quietly. “What is it, little star?”

He came closer, and tugged at the hem of her pale blue nightdress; she bent down and picked him up. She just smiled when he peered curiously at the letter she was just writing to the contact Snowheart. He couldn’t read yet; she had nothing to worry about.

“Luke?” she coaxed again, bringing his gaze back to her and wrapping her arms around his torso. He snuggled against her, cuddling. The head of his blue and red dragons—Scaley and Sparky, respectively—switched against her. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Luke nodded solemnly. “I… can’t sleep. Can—” He looked up at her with those big blue eyes—the ones that looked so much like his father’s they never failed to cleave her right to the bone. “Can you tell me a story?”

“Of course, little star.” She stood up, padding barefoot through to the next room over, where Luke lay alone in the double bed they shared. Sabé had pulled some strings to get them such a nice cottage to hide in for a few months, while Padmé conducted Rebel movements from afar and Luke grew up none the wiser to the tragic world his family tried to protect him from.

She laid him down into the bed and pulled the covers up right to his chin. “Hold on just a moment,” she said, then grabbed her hairbrush from the bedside table and briefly ran in through her curls. She needed to sleep now, anyway—that letter would be sent in the morning—so she climbed into bed next to him and smiled when he immediately latched onto her, hugging him back.

“What sort of story do you want to hear?” she asked softly, sliding down to pull the covers up over them both and letting her head rest on the pillow. She used to know so many stories, but now the only one she knew was a tragedy, and it played out in her mind every time she looked into Luke’s eyes and saw Anakin staring back.

“A happy one,” he mumbled into her side. “About siblings! Twins!”

Padmé stiffened. “What?” she uttered, trying to keep her voice calm. “You… want to hear a story about twins?”

Luke nodded. “I dreamed that I had a twin,” he said. “She chased me around the gardens with a sword and whacked me on the shins.”

Padmé’s heart clenched. “Well, that’s what sisters do.” She tried not to think of Sola—tried not to think of the fact Sola, and her nieces, believed her dead.

“I wish I had a sister.”

“Believe me, little star,” Padmé choked out. She really tried not to think of Luke’s twin—the baby stolen and spirited away before she could hold her for the first time, before she could hear her do anything but scream. “I do too.”

“So, can you tell me a story?”

Padmé… pulled herself together. Reigned herself in. She had a son to comfort.

“Naboo has a lot of stories about twins,” she said. “They’re magical, they’re bound by strings of destiny that not even the Spinner herself can reweave. They share dreams; if they are mage children, their powers double when they’re close to each other.”

“That’s not a story.” Luke pouted. “Can you tell me a story?”

“Of course, Luke.” She took a deep breath, and thought… of the Sun and Moon. Their place in the heavens. The stories they were born from.

Their association with the legendary warrior Anakin, who had never fallen—not the way her Anakin had.

“Once upon a time…”

[hawkeish]

From the prompts: “Congratulations! One of your dreams has finally come true. Let me give you a big hug and wow, you’re warm…” for anyone you want or maybe Siofra x Blackwall? ❤️

this prompt is so great (although I took a few liberties here too) - thank you for giving me an excuse to write a Blackwall hug! It’s emotional hurt/comfort with a bit of angst but a (hopefully) sweet ending, please read the CWs before going ahead though just in case!

CWs for depression, disassociation, general sadness, references to not wanting to exist - Siofra’s going through it, although it’s not graphic. Please let me know if it needs any other warnings/the warnings need changing!

Blackwall/Female Lavellan, 1.2k

Read it on AO3

When they close the Breach, the snow’s falling in fat, heavy flakes.

It drifts in the air, settling on the ground like powdered sugar. Smothering all colour and noise, even though bodies swarm the temple and the winding mountain pass—exhausted mages, too many Inquisition forces, the few companions Siofra was allowed to bring. She stumbles behind them, staring blindly into the snow.

Everything’s strangely quiet as the Inquisition returns to Haven in triumph. Too quiet. Normality seems dulled, somehow, without the sickly green tinge to the sky. Void of life, like Siofra’s trapped in her own world, watching everything happen around her through a thin, cracked pane of glass. Going through motions. Feeling, but not feeling enough.

Only the crunch of fresh snow beneath her feet and the static, buzzing pain in her hand reminds Siofra that she’s not caught in some half-dream.

The pain is bad. The gnawing emptiness inside is worse. But the fact that she constantly wants to cry is the worst thing of all. This urge has tried to drown her for weeks. Often, she takes herself off for long walks in the wintry nothingness beyond the village, because she doesn’t know any of these people well enough to have a public breakdown. Sometimes, she comes back with her pockets stuffed with a bizarre amount of elfroot, because part of her wants to think it’ll make her disappearances look perfectly normal.

The rest of her knows the lie’s a flimsy one, but still.

The need to sob is particularly bad now, though, and there’s nowhere to run. Tears have been threatening at her eyes for as long as she’s been trailing Cassandra on the narrow, ice-slick path down to the village. Siofra’s tried to hold them in, but as they wearily march towards Haven’s open gates and the ecstatic crowd ahead, a few slip down her snow-kissed cheeks. Some of them gather at the edge of her mouth; their salt burns on her tongue.

Creators, why is she like this? Siofra clenches her fists, ignoring the scream of pain from her marked hand as her nails dig into the soft flesh of her palms. She should be happy. She should be delighted. Closing the hole in the sky is good. Closing the hole in the sky means a step closer to ending whatever caused it. Closing the hole in the sky means a step closer to going home, to seeing the people cares about most in the world, to being able to hold them as tight as she can and never let go—

Stop thinking about them stop it stop it now.

There’s a choking lump in her throat, and she feels slightly sick, and fuck, there are more tears. Siofra grimaces, wiping them away with the back of her good hand before they can spill, trying to pretend that the swarm of people around her can’t see exactly what’s happening.

“Herald? Are you all right?”

It doesn’t work.

Cassandra’s voice cuts through the growing roar of celebration around them. It knocks Siofra from her daze; she realises, suddenly, that the party’s stopped right beneath the arching entrance to Haven. Right in the middle of everything, of course. How fortuitous. Solas, Leliana and Cassandra circle her, their watchful gazes heavy; just through the gates, she can see the rest of her inner circle gathered. They’re rosy-cheeked and merry, chattering like clan-mates: there’s already a celebratory mug of ale in Sera’s hands, and Josephine is beaming.

They look so relieved. So happy. Why can’t she be happy? Why does she have a sudden, sinking feeling that this isn’t good—that this is just the beginning, and that she might still never see her family again?

“I’m fine!” Siofra replies, too quickly. She forces a grin alongside the words: it’s a shark-smile, all teeth. “I—uh, I’m—I—”

What does she want to say?

I would like to go home.

I would like to stand here and sob.

Sometimes, I would like to stop existing.

A few seconds pass before  Siofra realises that she’s not actually making a sound, and her eyes go wide. Her ears start to twitch and worry in that way they do when everything is very much not fine, and then she realises everybody’s staring at her, waiting for her to finish.

“Herald?” Cassandra repeats, and Siofra flinches at the word.

“Fenedhis,” she whispers, as her bottom lip starts to tremble dangerously, and her eyes dew up and she feels her knees go a bit weak—

“Lavellan!” Blackwall calls, and before she can do anything, he’s striding forwards. “Congratulations!”

“Congratulations?” She manages, and then, suddenly, she’s not touching the ground.

Blackwall’s wrapped his arms around her and has hoisted her off her toes, in a bear-hug so tight that’s it’s slowly cutting off her ability to breathe. His touch takes her by surprise: she chokes on her next sob, then hiccups, and then her entire body floods with something she can’t quite name as the fact that she’s being held starts to sink in. Sorrow? Elation? Siofra’s not sure.

All she knows is that nobody has held her like this since she left home for the Conclave.

She didn’t think anybody would hold her like this again.

“You’ve only gone and bloody done it!” Blackwall says, loudly. Very loudly. Far too loudly. “I know this was a dream of yours. You should be proud. We should all be proud!”

“Proud?” She wheezes, barely audible above responding cheers. Is he mad? Has he taken a blow to the head? This isn’t her dream. None of this is. “A dream? Are you—”

It clicks, then. How loud he’s speaking. What he’s saying. That, when Siofra opens her sore eyes and peeks over his shoulder, the crowd’s now a raucous, jostling mess: embracing each other, squeezing shoulders, clapping strangers on the back. Some look on the verge of tears themselves. Others are shouting curses or celebratory insults up at where the Breach used to hang between the clouds, like some brash, joy-drunk choir.

Everybody’s laughing and cheering, and nobody’s looking at the elf stood crying in the snow.

Relief rushes through her, a current so fast and heady that she wonders whether she’s going to vomit. But vomiting over the only person who’s hugged you in months is hardly a pleasant way to return the favour, so Siofra tries to steady herself, sucking in some shaky breaths through gritted teeth.

As she does, she notices that he smells a bit, Blackwall. Of leather, and sweat, and the smithy. But of something else, too, something familiar. Citrus, spices, apples. That afternoon by the lake, when he became more than a beard and gruffness. When she realised that perhaps she had something like a friend in this Inquisition, after all.

Siofra breathes it in, wrapped in his arms. Creators, the Warden’s strong: she’s not exactly tiny, and she’s in full armour. Sense tells her to try and pry herself from his crushing embrace before he squeezes the last dregs of air from her lungs.

But she doesn’t. She can’t. Because Blackwall is so warm and so very soft as he holds her against him, and he has his fingers knotted in the snow-damp, snow-white curls spilling down her back.

“Thank you, Beardy,” Siofra mumbles into his shoulder, as he settles her back on her feet.

Thank you doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s at least better than being sick.

“You’re welcome, Siofra,” Blackwall says gently in return, giving her one last squeeze.

As they break apart, Siofra feels a little less hollow, just for a moment.

[whatissleepeven]

I -

I can't stop thinking about it -

About what, you ask?

An Obey Me! and Fate/Grand Order crossover

(Warning: Long post ahead!)

Either the bois get summoned to Chaldea or they're able to summon Servants themselves

(...I'm leaning towards the first)

The tomfoolery! The shenanigans!

Imagine: Humanity's Last Master (aka you) ends up summoning them as they trek through Rome with Mash and the Servants they already summoned

They set up the summoning circle, but one minor mistake is made and the summoning glow looks a bit darker than usual and BOOM

"S-...Senpai...is this normal?"

You have no idea what's normal or not, I mean you're time travelling to save your people for fucks sake -

"Servant of the Rider Class. My True Name is Lucifer. Do not expect me to cater to your every whim."

...Wait he's a what now??

They were not supposed to have this whole "Class" thing designated to them (it's not how demonic summoning works he swears), and yet they do for some reason

(You can tell I had fun thinking of their Classes)

The introductions are...cold, to say the least

"Saber Class Servant, and none other than The Great Mammon, Avatar of Greed! I got better things to be doing, so don't go calling me whenever ya want, got it?!"

"Lancer Class...Leviathan. I have an mmorpg raid coming up, so I can't stick around."

"Berserker Class. My name is Satan. What? Are you surprised that I seem calm for a Berserker? It's quite alright; I get that reaction often enough. A word of advice: Be careful what you wish for."

"My name is Asmodeus, but you can call me Asmo darling! I'm a Caster, which is good. I can't mess up the work done on my nails and hair!"

"Hm...Oh? Sorry, I was thinking about lunch. Servant Class: Ruler. I'm Beelzebub, but most people call me Beel. Do you have any snacks on you?"

"Servant Class: Avenger. My name is Belphegor, but I doubt you'll be alive long enough to remember that. I won't do your dirty work for you, human."

You are just...done at that point. You are literally carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and their attitudes are not helping

"Yeah, yeah, here's the gist: there's a war going on and we're trying to save the planet. The future's been incinerated, and it's our job to fix what went wrong. I don't have time for your uncooperation; get on board."

(Mash is worried for your mental health)

It takes some time, but they do manage to open up to you

The main catalyst for this is when they heard you talking to Robin Hood, who was summoned in France

"Say, Master...I gotta ask: Why are you doing this?"

You pause what you're doing, shooting him an incredulous look. "You mean saving the world?" You ask in return.

He shrugs, tilting his head forward in a slight nod. "Yeah. There's other people who could do this, aren't there?"

"There isn't." The brothers hear you say firmly. Beel almost went in because he wanted a snack, but the others held him back; the conversation had peaked their interest, and they wanted to hear what you had to say.

"Robin..." Your voice comes out strained, as if you were barely holding yourself together. "I watched innocent people die in front of me. Good people. The world outside is gone. I can't even go see my family, because they're dead. I'm not expecting you to understand, but it hurts so bad that somedays I don't feel like getting up. If I die, it's all over; humanity's done. I'll never be able to see my family's smiles again, I'll never be able to hear their laughter; I'll...I'll never be able to go back home.

"So, instead of asking why I'm doing this, you should be asking "How far are you willing to go?" instead."

Robin is silent for a while. Mammon shifts on his feet. The Green Archer finally speaks, somber but curious tone filling the air. "And? What's the verdict, Master?"

Your voice has a tone of finality to it that shoots them back to the past, back towards the Celestial War. It's final, but it's tired. "Whatever it takes."

(And, so, the brothers come to understand and even sympathize with your situation a little bit. You had to fight for the sake of others without rest, you were a leader, you were a savior, but most of all...you were alone. And something about that didn't sit right with them.)

They would fit in perfectly with Chaldea's dynamics, actually

Mammon has a gold sword he lovingly calls Goldie (yes it changes into his beloved credit card)

His Noble Phantasm is literally him raising his sword and mountains of Grimm burying his opponents from the sky as he cackles out:

"Don't worry, I'll take all that money off ya hands!"

Or, in a proud declaration:

"My sword is my love, and my love is my sin. I'll take all that you have on ya! STULTUS IN AVARITA!!"

(Translates (from Google) to "Greed of the Fool")

(It also gives you an increased drop rate in materials)

Leviathan's weapon is his trident

He's surprised that he wasn't summoned as a Rider, once he got used to the "Class" thing (which was fairly quick, he's seen an anime like this before). I mean, he has a giant snake named Henry 1.0 and Lothan that he would've loved to fight side by side with

He usually doesn't fight, but he proves to be invaluable in Okeanos since he has knowledge on war strategies at sea

His Noble Phantasm is a bit strange, but endearing (sad). He rushes forward with his trident glowing, saying either:

"I can't get the latest Ruri-chan merch because you blew up the world...I won't forgive you. I can't forgive you!"

Or, in a somber tone:

"Even though it's fun, a gamer's life becomes stifling if you keep playing by yourself. I hope you're watching, (Y/N)! EX SOLA INVIDIA!!"

(Translates (from Google) to "Envy of the Lonely")

(Chance of Death increases with Overcharge, and it hits a single enemy)

Satan? Even though he's a Berserker, he behaves more like a Caster (initially)

He's holding a book that shoots out beams of pure energy at his opponents

His Noble Phantasm is...more violent

"Ah, so you've decided to call upon my Noble Phantasm...don't blame me if it's too much for you."

Or, he begins in a deathly calm voice:

"I am me; that's all I need to be. I know this, so why...? Why does this happen? TELL ME! "

He discards his books altogether, grabbing a single enemy with his bare hands and ripping them to shreds.

Asmo’s skill is charming his enemy, which confuses most people since you’d think it’d be his Noble Phantasm

Instead, it boosts his allies’ attacks and NP by 30%

“Don’t get too hurt out there~!”

Beel’s Noble Phantasm heals all allies and increases their attack

“We can’t fight on an empty stomach.”

(Once he hits his last Ascension, your party gets the added bonus of him attacking a single enemy with a lance. All other Ascensions has him using his fists for attacks.)

Belphie’s Noble Phantasm is almost as violent as Satan’s, and yes...he chokes out a single enemy out (rip MC)

“HA! You think I’d work with the likes of you, a lowly human? Get out of my sight.”

It’s Instant Death, unless Evasion or Invincibility is activated

Lucifer’s pride is a bit wounded. He’s a Rider, of all things??

(...He eventually gets used to it though)

His Noble Phantasm is him literally mounting Cerberus and raising his spear towards the heavens, looking as radiant as the days before the Fall

“It seems drastic times call for drastic measures. Cerberus, I trust you to handle things here.”

And Cerberus runs forth, either chomping the enemy in two or breathing fire at them and turning them into ash. (It hits everyone)

Satan and Jekyll hang out a lot because, well...they’re a lot alike

Mammon can and will do stupid shit with the Cu Squad and you cannot change my mind

One time he teamed up with Cascu to steal the other Cu’s spears (Mammon wanted to sell them on Akuzon), and well...half of Chaldea is still in repair to this day

Merlin of all Servants is the one to look after Belphie and Beel

They usually hang out in the garden Robin tends to, Asterios occasionally joining them while bringing both food and Euryale

Asmo frequently visits Medea, dragging Medusa into their group

(Dantes grows fond of Beel overtime, I mean Beel is just so pure there’s no way you couldn’t like him)

Lucifer and EMIYA butt heads at first, but they end up becoming friends despite that

Lucifer admires EMIYA’s skill to keep up with Servants who have a black hole for a stomach, and EMIYA admires Lucifer’s skill to round up his brothers effortlessly when the need to arises (or so he thinks, because he does not know about the Hate Lucifer Club which is run by Satan and Belphie).

Levi and Fran have a pure kind of friendship that must be protected at all costs

He shows her new animes and games, and even though she’s confused most of the time she never fails to listen to his ramblings, nodding whenit was appropriate

BONUS: Undateables (+ Luke)!

Solomon’s situation is...peculiar.

He’s not a Servant, but he behaves like one??

(He’s actually a mage that helps you on your journey to save humanity)

Unlike Da Vinci, he’s able to accompany you to the Singularities (free of charge, too!)

Once he sees the other Solomon, all he says is “I see...interesting.”

(Ngl he probably figured out everything by the time you all went to Okeanos)

Asmo also drags him into his group (consisting of Medea and Medusa), offering to paint his nails as they talk about anything and everything

Simeon is a Lancer and you can’t change my mind

He’s more of a buffer for your team, like Asmo. His skills are primarily healing, and his NP saps the health of an opponent while healing someone other than himself with that health (he cannot heal himself)

He gets along great with Karna!! The two are so nice and kind that it hurts to look at them both for too long

Solomon tells him about the gossip Asmo has on the other Servants. He always listens with an amused look on his face.

Luke is a smol Caster, but he will not hesitate to break your kneecaps

He, too, is a buffer for your team

“I’ll defend you from those demons, (Y/N)!”

His Noble Phantasm heals all allies, restoring their health by 20%

He bakes with Fsn Cu at night, having Proto Cu and Robin Hood try out his sweets. Beel is there 10/10 times, eating any failures or rejects

Diavolo is Ruler Class because he is literally the Ruler of Hell

Surprisingly (to you, at first), he’s the one who always asks to accompany you. He’s very open and considerate, wanting to help wherever and whenever he can

“The Human Realm is essential if we are to establish harmony between the three Realms. Without it there...angels and demons would fight each other for eternity.”

He tells you about his ideas for an exchange program and you offer him input

His Noble Phantasm is applying Invincibility to two allies for 3 turns after dealing heavy damage to a single enemy (cannot apply Invincibility to himself)

He likes to talk with Caster Gil and Archer Gil about their past, going to Ko Gil on occasion. He helps look after the child Servants, and he can often be found reading bedtime stories to them

(Everyone was scared of him at first once they found out who he was, so he usually held off revealing his True Identity)

Barbatos, at first glance, seems like an Archer...but in reality is an Assassin

(HE CONTROLS TIME FOR F*S SAKE)

His Noble Phantasm, depending on the enemy selected, can revive a fallen ally and add them to the Sub Team

(This is only if the enemy that killed the ally is selected)

This stuns him for 3 turns no matter what

He likes to chat with the Tamamo that helps EMIYA in the kitchen. How the two are communicating without issues is up to anyone’s guess

[whumpzone]

Tomas and Rowe - Part 4

From now on I’m going to try to stick to Friday as upload day... let’s see how that goes lmao

Previous

taglist: @sola-whumping @just-another-whumper @oceanthesarcasamfox @looptheloup @briars7 @black-polarf @zipadeedooda-drabbles @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi @rosesareviolentlyread @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jazz-0307 @kestrelsparverius @whumpsy-daisies @whumpersworld (if you would like to be added or removed just ask, thank you all!)

CW: pet whumpee, aftermath of abuse, injury detail

-

Tomas waved as Kasia headed off down the street. Seeing his friend had given him a new boost of energy. It felt so good to discuss Rowe with someone who handled Pets every day. If anyone was going to understand, it was Kasia.

He looked down at the cupholder in his hand, within it two hot drinks. A latte for himself, and a hot chocolate for Rowe, since he was probably wired enough without an extra dose of caffeine.

‘’Rowe?’’ he called, making sure Rowe wouldn’t jump when he pushed open the bedroom door. ‘’I’ve brought you a- oh my goodness, what happened to you?’’

Rowe was huddled in a corner, a bloody hand over his face, his t-shirt splattered red. He didn’t move or speak, just looked up at Tomas with frightened, tearful eyes. His chest was rising and falling erratically as he sobbed.

Tomas rushed over, setting the drinks on the floor and kneeling down.

‘’Oh Rowe, Rowe love, what’s happened here?’’

Rowe blinked and several tears ran down his cheeks, but he stayed silent. Tomas gently reached out to the hand that was covering the bottom half of Rowe’s face. Rowe didn’t resist as he gently took it and lowered it out the way. He gasped, and Rowe shrank.

‘’That… that looks painful. Can you tell me what happened? Please?’’

Rowe took a shaky breath, more tears streaming down his face. ‘’I-I tripped, Master. And I’ve ruined your shirt, and I-‘’ his breath hitched, ‘’-I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I mustn’t cry, I’m sorry-‘’

‘’It’s okay, it’s okay, you can cry,’’ Tomas soothed, still holding Rowe’s bloodstained hand. ‘’You tripped, oh Rowe, that is so unlucky. Hold on and I’ll fetch you some painkillers and we can sort your nose out.’’

‘’P-please, I don’t deserve it, please Master, don’t w-waste them on me.’’

‘’You’re in pain, Rowe. Your poor nose. Just wait two seconds and I’ll be back.’’

Tomas hurried to the kitchen, grabbing a pack of frozen peas and a teatowel. Upstairs, he rummaged around in the bathroom until he found a packet of painkillers. He made Rowe sit cross-legged as he cleaned the worst of the blood off his face and pressed two pills into his non-bloody hand.

‘’Here, wash them down with a sip of this, yeah?’’ Tomas said, offering him the hot chocolate. ‘’I nipped out while Kasia was here to get us both a drink.’’

‘’Th-thank you, Master, I’m sor-sorry for b-b-being so useless.’’

Rowe swallowed them shakily, his eyes widening as he tasted the sugary drink.

‘’Hahah, it’s tasty right?’’

Rowe didn’t reply, just drank a few more sips, choking slightly as his sobbing made it hard to swallow. Tomas wrapped the frozen peas in the teatowel and waited until Rowe had put the drink down.

‘’Okay, you need to hold this on your nose for the time being. It’ll feel funny, but it’s for your own good, I promise. It’s not a punishment.’’

Rowe nodded, and Tomas held the ice pack to his nose.

‘’You’re not useless, Rowe,’’ Tomas said, ‘’Everyone has accidents like this. If you want, I’ll give you some chores to do in a bit?’’

Rowe’s sobbing calmed down somewhat at this. ‘’Y-yes, please Master, a-anything you want, I’ll be good.’’

‘’I bet you will be. You’re taking this ice pack like a pro. Well done.’’

‘’I, I,’’ Rowe mumbled nervously, ‘’I’m sorry for ruining your shirt, Master. I wa-was so careless.’’

‘’What? We can sort that, no problem. Oh Rowe, I do feel bad now for confining you to your bedroom and then leaving the house. Kasia would have happily helped sort your nose out if you’d gone and got him.’’

Rowe went quiet, and still, and Tomas wondered what he’d said wrong. Perhaps it was a bit early to be forcing Rowe to mix with strangers, he conceded. He sipped his coffee quietly and watched as Rowe’s breathing slowly returned to normal.

. . .

‘’Rowe?’’ Master Tomas called as the door opened, and Rowe knew there was nowhere to run, nothing he could do. He would sit here obediently and take whatever his Master dealt out. ‘’I’ve brought you a- oh my goodness, what happened to you?’’

He stayed silent. His Master had asked him a question, but he had just been reminded of where speaking got Pets. Maybe it was a test. Surely Master preferred Rowe without his whining.

‘’Oh Rowe, Rowe love, what’s happened here?’’

Master Tomas sank down on his haunches, looking at Rowe head on. He had some disposable cups with him, which he placed safely out of Rowe’s reach. If his nose weren’t filled with blood, he probably would have enjoyed the smell. Slowly, deliberately, Master reached out and took Rowe’s hand, forcing him to show the damage on his face. He gasped, and Rowe just wanted to hide. Master’s one wish, his one desire for Rowe so far was for him to be pretty, and he had already fucked that up.

He had brought this beating on himself. But it seemed that his Master was totally oblivious to his friend’s actions. And now he was being asked to lie to his Master? But if he could just be good, please his Master, it would be a one-off. Rowe suddenly realised Master Tomas was speaking.

‘’That looks painful. Can you tell me what happened? Please?’’

This time it was an order. Rowe had to obey. His voice was so soothing and it only confused Rowe more because he had to be angry, he had to be, surely he was furious with the state of his Pet? All Rowe had done since his arrival was cause problems and force his Master to waste precious time on his worthless self. He had deserved that beating. Even if he did tell the truth, why would Master believe him? Rowe knew then which answer would better please Master Tomas.

‘’I-I tripped, Master,’’ his voice sounded stupid and nasal and he hated the way his breath caught as he wept.  ‘’And now I’ve ruined your shirt, and I- I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I mustn’t cry, I’m sorry-‘’

‘’It’s okay, it’s okay,’’ Master Tomas said, mercifully stopping Rowe before he babbled too much. ‘’You can cry. You tripped, oh Rowe, that is so unlucky. Hold on and I’ll fetch you some painkillers and we can sort your nose out.’’

Rowe did his best to not whine in desperation. ‘’P-please, I don’t deserve it, please Master, don’t w-waste them on me.’’ This kindness, it had to be a game. It was too much, no one would ever treat a Pet with such warmth, what point was there to it? Rowe would do whatever was asked of him whether or not he was fed or patched up. Master Tomas must enjoy knowing that Rowe owed him for this, for the food and clothes and bathwater. He would make him pay for it later, Rowe was sure. But Master Tomas was being so generous, and the thought of what he’d have to do to make up for it terrified him. Once his old master had let Rowe sleep through the night, and he’d paid for it with three days of no food. What was this building up to?

He faintly heard Master Tomas telling him to stay still, and Rowe watched helplessly as he left the room, returning shortly with a packet of medicine and what looked like a bag of ice.

‘’Here, wash them down with a sip of this, yeah?’’ Master ordered, giving Rowe two pills and passing him one of the cups. ‘’I nipped out while Kasia was here to get us both a drink.’’

‘’Th-thank you, Master, I’m sor-sorry for b-b-being so useless,’’ he choked out. More kindness. Rowe did as he was told. The drink tasted amazing, he’d never had anything like it, and his surprise made Master Tomas smile.  

‘’Hahah, it’s tasty right? Okay, you need to hold this on your nose for the time being. It’ll feel funny, but it’s for your own good, I promise. It’s not a punishment.’’

Not a punishment. That would be coming later. Maybe Master Tomas had been planning a long torture session, and wanted Rowe to be at his best for it. That would explain why he was so keen on Rowe looking pretty, and why his only ‘punishment’ so far had been incredibly mild. The only thing that confused Rowe was why Master Tomas had bought a second-hand Pet if he wanted him in such good condition? But Rowe knew that it was not his place to try to understand his owner. He held the bag, which he could now see was filled with peas, to his face. It felt odd, but not unpleasant.

‘’You’re not useless, Rowe. Everyone has accidents like this.’’ Even though Rowe was sure this was just a game, a way to trick him, Rowe couldn’t help but feel calmed by Master’s soft voice. ‘’If you want, I’ll give you some chores to do in a bit?’’

Finally, something Rowe understood. He felt himself relax, just a bit. ‘’Y-yes, please Master, a-anything you want, I’ll be good.’’

‘’I bet you will be. You’re taking this ice pack like a pro. Well done.’’

Master seemed…. he seemed happy with him, and Rowe wanted to keep being good. ‘’I, I- I’m sorry for ruining your shirt, Master. I wa-was so careless.’’

‘’What? We can sort that, no problem. Oh Rowe, I do feel bad now for confining you to your bedroom and then leaving the house. Kasia would have happily helped sort your nose out if you’d gone and got him.’’

He froze up at the mention of Master’s friend. The memory of his nose slamming against the wooden frame played out in his mind, over and over, and through his red-raw eyes Rowe could see Master’s face fall. He had reacted poorly again. He braced himself for Master to kick him, or throw his hot drink over him, or grab the bag of ice and grind it into Rowe’s nose and make him scream. But, agonisingly, nothing came, and Rowe was left to overthink. Master seemed content to sip from his disposable cup in silence. Rowe was happy with that too. He never wanted to talk again.

 It must have been at least twenty minutes before Master broke the silence abruptly- ‘’My arse is numb from sitting on the floor. Shall we go and give you some chores?’’

‘’Yes, please, Master.’’

Downstairs, before Rowe could kneel, Master held out a slender hand, stopping him. ‘’Let’s have a look at your nose.’’

Rowe placed the bag into Master’s hand, watching his face for any indication of how bad it was. Master frowned, pressing his lips together, but his eyes weren’t angry. ‘’It’s not crooked, which means it’s not badly damaged. It should heal up on its own soon. Does it hurt?’’

‘’No, Master,’’ Rowe replied, and it didn’t. Not really, anyway.

‘’We’ll give your face a rest before we do more ice, hey?’’

Master Tomas put the bag back in the freezer and sat down in the same spot on the sofa as earlier. Rowe kneeled below him and tried to look pretty despite everything. Master gave him a strange half smile.

‘’Do you want to sit on the sofa with me?’’

‘’My place is at my Master’s feet.’’

‘’Then at least kneel on a cushion, here.’’

Rowe was handed a soft cushion and obediently slid it under his knees. It felt…nice? What was the point of this?

‘’Did your old master come and get you every morning?’’ asked Master Tomas.

‘’No, Master. I had my daily duties to carry out, and I completed them without prompting.’’

‘’Right. Well, for a start, I want you to eat breakfast every morning. And you are free to get that yourself, without waiting for me. In fact, that also goes for lunch.’’

‘’Yes, Master. Thank you.’’

Rowe’s stomach had twitched with nerves as his Master announced another indulgence, but then Rowe remembered what Master had told him that morning- he preferred his Pet well-fed. In a way, it was another order to follow, another way to please his Master, and this made him feel better.

‘’During the week, I’ll be mostly in my office working. I need you to collect any letters I get and stack them neatly on the kitchen table for me. I’ll tell you if I’m expecting someone, so if the doorbell rings unexpectedly, I’ll come down and handle it. If in doubt, come and ask me. Got that?’’

Rowe blinked, then nodded. Keep on top of the post and don’t answer the door unless told to. He could do that.

‘’Do you know how to make a cup of tea?’’

‘’Yes, Master, and I can cook. I just don’t know the layout of your kitchen, yet.’’

‘’I’ll show you, no problem. As long as you can make tea though, that’s great. I’ll need you on hand to make a pot while I’m working.’’

‘’Of course, Master.’’

‘’Oh, and keep an eye out for spiders. Ideally, don’t let them get in at all. And, uh- make your bed every morning.’’

‘’Would you like me to make yours too, Master?’’

‘’No, no thanks. I do mine myself, it makes me feel ready to face the day,’’ Master Tomas mumbled, his eyes drifting idly. ‘’Good habit to get into, so I’m told.’’

. . .

…Right, Tomas thought. What are some other bullshit ‘chores’ I can give him?

He almost cracked a smile at his own silliness. He was so bad at this! Surely Rowe could smell a rat? It was hard to tell- Rowe seemed to have two modes, terrified or blank, and right now he was the latter.

Tomas wracked his brains. He was already regretting telling Rowe to make cups of tea- what if he got boiling water on himself? But he had looked so eager at the prospect of being given tasks to do, and it was the closest he’d come to a positive emotion, and also Tomas was keen for Rowe to not go mad with boredom.

He considered asking Rowe to do the laundry, but that would mean clueing him in to just how often Tomas spilt toothpaste down himself, and he was not ready for that. And, he reminded himself quickly, Rowe is not my bloody maid. I want to help him. Jesus Christ, Tomas.

Rowe seemed to take Tomas’s prolonged silence as an indication that he had finished giving out chores, and pressed his forehead to the ground, his thick hair almost touching Tomas’s foot.

‘’Thank you, Master. I will be a good Pet, I promise. B-but please, may I know the punishments if I fail to meet your standards?’’

‘’Punishments, right…’’ Tomas hummed as he thought up some more nonsense on the fly. ‘’Well, if I notice a spider has gotten in, you’ll have to get rid of it yourself. I don’t see how anyone can make tea wrong, but if you do, you’ll have to remake it until I say it’s good enough.’’ Bed making was so juvenile he couldn’t even be bothered to make up a punishment. There was only one rule that he was actually keen to ensure Rowe stuck to. ‘’If I find that you haven’t eaten all day, I’ll have stop working to sit with you and force you to eat something. And I really, really don’t want to do that.’’

 That night, Tomas lay awake, listening to the sound of Rowe’s screams. He deserves a full night’s sleep, even if it is filled with nightmares, he decided, and rolled over.

[fenharel-babe]

By the way this is rlly long-

Just a reminder that I still think of Solas angst and here’s another one :)))

Like,,,imagining her writing letters for him. Not sending the letters to him but just...writing letters as if she would send them to him. It’s like a diary. She doesn’t know why she started doing it, but she needed to get words out of her head, so she started writing them. She just says what she did that day. She didn’t do it everyday, but everytime she did something big. Whenever she solved a extremely difficult task, helped so many people in just a few days, or had a funny story to tell. She would write it as if she was talking to him. It gave her comfort during these times. Almost no one ever knew she did it. The only person who did was Cassandra when she caught her. Bloom doesn’t know Cassandra did, but Cassandra knows what she’s doing. And she feels an ache in her heart for her dear friend. Solas did her so wrong and he’s going to destroy the world. Cassandra doesn’t know how to feel either. Solas was a little weird to her, but she gave him respect like he did to her. They talked a lot and they gave each other respect. However, now that trust was betrayed...but she still was conflicted with her feelings towards Solas. Just like Bloom (my inquisitor) was.

And then maybe when the final battle comes or when she finds a way to stop Solas, but it’s very dangerous, she goes to Cassandra and tells her to give him her letters. All of them. They’re in her room and she tells her where they’re hidden and that she needs to give them to him. She practically begs. Cassandra can’t help but promise her, but she begs her to return. Bloom can’t promise her that, but she promises that she’ll try her best. In the end, she does what she needs to do, and Solas only realizes he has lost when he sees Blooms body on the ground. The rest of the fighters are far away from the two of them, as if the world knew this was going to happen. Like the world was laughing in his face and giving him this last chance to be with her. He runs over to her and holds her in his arms. She lets out a whimper of pain, but looks him in the eyes and she smiled.

She smiled.

She smiled at the man that just led to her death. The man that almost destroyed the world. The man that would have if it weren’t for her. He couldn’t smile back at her, he let out a little breath. “Hey, there,” she said. He was still silent, not knowing how to respond to her. “I’m so sorry, Bloom,” he managed to choke out, his voice shaking as tears fell down his cheeks, landing on her own cheeks. She let out a groan as she reached up her right hand to wipe the tears away. “No crying. Not now. I don’t want the last thing I see is you crying.” Leave it to her to try and make things okay, even as she’s dying. However, his tears continued to fall.

He leaned down so their foreheads could touch and he closed his eyes as she did. “I’m sorry I did this,” she whispered out. He opened his eyes in a rush and pulled back and looked a little angry. “Sorry? Why are you sorry? You’re dying and it’s my fault,” he almost shouted. “I did this, Solas. I made this choice. Yes, you...” she paused. “You May have lead to this, but I still chose to stop you. I chose to sacrifices myself.” She tried to justify her actions and tried to make Solas feel like it wasn’t all his fault. But it wasn’t working. It never would work.

If only he listened to her...this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t be dying here.

“Remember me, Vhenan. You will receive a gift,” she said with a little smirk. He tried to smile back, but he couldn’t. He placed his hand on her cheek and stroked it. “I will never forget you.” She leaned up (with his help) and kissed him one, last time. He held on to her tight, as if that could save her. But it couldnt. Nothing could at this point. And oh how he regrets everything he’s done. But he just kisses her, showing her his love in her final moments. And when she dies, she at least dies in the arms of her heart. Her Vhenan.

And then when Cassandra sees that Bloom has died, she mourns like everyone else, and a bit harder than everyone else. She knew mages were dangerous, but Bloom was one of her closest friends. Bloom ruled her magic, ruled everyone with a kind heart and always gave her best. It was hard to not admire her. However, even as Cassandras mourning, about a week later after Blooms death, she remembers her promise to her. Even though it sickens her a little to face Solas, she knows he’s suffering just as much as everyone, maybe even a little more. Plus, she knows she has to do this. He deserves to know of her sadness. Not to make him feel worse...but to remember her. Just like all of Thedas would.

“Solas,” Cassandras voice called out. It echoed in the emptiness of the inquisitors room. Solas slept in Blooms quarters, trying to imagine her there with him. He was laying on the bed and didn’t dare move. “Well, I know you’re Awake. You’re rarely asleep.” She tried to sound composed, but her voice was shaking at being back Ik this room. She remembers Bloom and her thinking of plans up here, talking, and enjoying time together. Her voice was shaking but she shrugged it off and took a breath. “You haven’t seen the letters have you?” After a few seconds, Solas leaned up and looked over to Cassandra.

She was leaning on Blooms desk, her back facing it, in her room, looking conflicted. “What letters?” His voice was raw and tired, and she felt sympathy for him. Even if she wasn’t supposed to. When he said that, Cassandra when to the front of her desk and pulled a key out of her pocket. She paused before she unlocked the drawer. It wasn’t even her writings, it was Blooms. Why was she getting emotional? Maybe it’s because it’s her last thing she ever wrote. The last thing she ever put all of her emotion into. But Cassandra opens the drawer and finds a box full of letters. It makes her sad, but she picks it up and slams it on the desk. Anger was rising in her.

She put all of this emotion out there. On these pages. Her sadness caused by a man who’s head was far up his ass, and Cassandra was witnessing said man having the gall to be sad and regret his choices. “After these letters, you will realize how wrong you were even more than you had. You say you understand what she went through, but do you?” Cassandras voice was filled with venom. She wasn’t trying to be angry, she wasn’t, but it took over her. Blooms innocent life that was stolen had put her into a mess. “Even after these letters you will not understand. I witnessed her writing these. She cried over these pages. Cried over you. But I will leave you be,” she said, leaving the room before more hatred left her mouth.

Solas stared at the desk for a second, not able to move. He thought that if he stared long enough, she would appear at the desk...but he knows that’s not how it works. He gets up and goes over to the desk and looks in the basket. It was filled to the brim with letters. They all had his name written on the front of them. Written in her glorious handwriting. When he opened them, his heart crashed. He apparently fished out the last letter she wrote. The one before the final battle. He opened it and he read over it and he could hear the sadness in her voice if she said these aloud.

“Solas. I’m scared for tomorrow. It’s not for me...it’s for you. I don’t want to kill you, Solas. I don’t want to. I’ll do whatever I have to for it not to lead up to that. And I have a plan. A plan you will hate. I have to sacrifice myself. I love you, Solas. But I cannot let you destroy this world, full of people who don’t deserve this. Why not teach them? Tell them of their mistakes. We changed once and why can’t we change again?”

Before he knew it, tears fell down his cheeks. Of course she would say that. That people can change and be saved. She was always the one saying that, and he wasn’t surprised that it was one of the last things she wrote. He read the rest and it was her telling him how much she loved him. He read more and more. They talked about her helping kids, saving some animals, talked about her bad days (which he wishes he was there to comfort her...), tell funny stories, and they always ended with, “I love you, Solas.” He stayed up into the late hours of the night reading through this letters.

His heart aches now. And his fear has come true. He will die alone. Without his heart...

Hehe I LOVE sadness >:)))). And if you want a happy ending (LIKE I DO :() then just imagine her surviving and then him finding the letters and then both crying but just saying how they love each other :))). Take this sadness while I go read some Solas fics and CRY MY EYES OUT.

No proof reading bc it’s late and I’m tired. Sorry if there’s mistakes.

[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Graveyard

A WIP graveyard? Perfect for spoopy month! >:D

Thank you @rosella-writes @varric-tethras-editor @drag-on-age and @oxygenforthewicked for the tags! I gib you heart! :3

So, I have a few WIPs that are mostly just me experimenting with character concepts or potential divergences for later scenes. However, I do have maybe one or two completely separate stories that will probably never see the light of day again, but I keep them in case I change my mind! X3

1. Sanguine Promise

This is story is an original one of mine. I haven’t shared it anywhere, but it was the major birthplace of Fane, or rather, Aterian. Cyfrin was also created here. Fane started out in Dragon Age, but his character was produced in the world of my own devising. General synopsis of this story is: three factions, three gods, and the entire society of each sovereign state is heavily mired in blood. I created a caste system of ‘Viscous’ and ‘Fluid’ as well as different hues that each citizen of a faction would hold depending on what god created that faction. I don’t have much in the way of snippets for this story, but I have a spreadsheet about a mile long with world building notes. X’D

2. Smut attempts

...I’m not joking. I have various documents with smut attempts written, and they will never see the sun shine. It’s not that they’re *fans self* hot; it’s that they’re cringe. A lot of them are before I really, really had a good idea of how Solas and Fane operated as a couple, and so I struggled with how to go about setting the scene. I’m becoming more confident in my writing, so I might revisit them if I find the courage. *screeches*

3. Of Draconologists and Dragons

This is the elusive Modern AU Solavellan fic I once shared and said I would write! I wrote the first chapter, had ideas for several more, but then...I fizzled out. It was around the time I drastically slowed with my main fic as well, but unlike that one, I couldn’t find the inspiration to pick it back up. It may come back one day, but not any time soon. :3

4. Unhinged

Some of you may remember be sharing this many, many months ago. It was a character exploration story, and me experimenting with potential oddities with Fane due to his...nature as both elven and draconic. @little-lightning-lavellan actually put the idea in my mind and thus a mini story was born! :D It has about four or five chapters, I think? However, it remains uncompleted due to me thinking it could work for my main fic later on down the line. :3

And that’s...pretty much it! I’ve only been writing for less than a year, so my range is limited in what I’ve dabbled with! However, I have ideas for a lot of things. I just need to...well...you know, write them? *grabs brain in a choke hold* 

Tagging: @little-lightning-lavellan @dreadfutures @the-dreadful-canine @noire-pandora @aymayzing @1000generations and anyone else that’d like to play! (sorry if you’ve been tagged already! Today was very, very busy and I just got on again since this morning! <3)

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumptober #10

Dragon Age - #10 - Blood Loss

*

“This is miserable,” Dorian announced.

“You’re being overdramatic,” Lavellan said, slipping past him. 

“I am cold. My feet? I lost feeling in them three hours ago. I have to keep looking to make sure they’re still there,” Dorian said.

“Try a shirt,” Iron Bull said, smacking Dorian on the back good-naturedly.

“I’m not sure you’re one to talk,” Lavellan said, stopping to observe some tracks in the snow. “Honestly, Dorian, it’s not that bad here.”

“Emprise du Lion is the worst place in all of Thedas, and I’m saying that as a man who lived in Tevinter,” Dorian said. 

“Well, boss?” Bull asked, ignoring Dorian.

“They should be up ahead,” Lavellan said, shaking his head to get the snow off his ears. “The snow has hardly covered these tracks. They’re the freshest we’ve come across.”

“Good. Then we can kill them and get out of here before Dorian complains even more,” Cassandra said.

“I see you shivering,” Dorian said, narrowing his eyes at her.

“But do you see me complaining?” she said.

“Quite frequently, actually,” Dorian said.

She marched on ahead, following the tracks in the snow. Lavellan let himself fall behind so that he was walking next to Dorian.

He slipped off the cloak he was wearing and draped it over Dorian’s shoulders. “Honestly, we need to get you better clothing. No wonder you’re freezing.”

“Fashion is worth the suffering,” he said, attempting to shrug the cloak off. 

“Stop,” Lavellan said, putting his hand on Dorian’s arm. “You need it more than me. I’m fine.”

“Amatus, you are the one thing I will never complain about,” Dorian said.

“You were just complaining about me this morning.”

“Well, that’s because you jumped through that hole in the floor of Skyhold again.”

“I had to talk to Solas.”

“We have stairs!”

“The hole is faster!” 

Dorian threw his arms up in exasperation. “When you finally break your legs, don’t come...well, not crawling to me, because your legs will be broken, but...you know what I mean! No sympathy from me.” 

Lavellan laughed. “I think you’d show me a little sympathy. I did give you my cloak to keep you warm.”

“Ah, yes, thank you for giving me a cloak and more stress than I know what to do with,” Dorian said. “Noted and much appreciated.”

“Hey! Red Lyrium bastards up ahead!” Bull called back to them. 

The air became charged as Lavellan called on his magic. “Well. Shall we go kill some Red Lyrium bastards?”

“What, going to climb up a cliff and jump on them?” Dorian said.

Lavellan flashed him that mischievous grin of his. “I just might.”

He grabbed his staff and ran forward. Dorian sighed, but gripped his staff and followed Lavellan.

Bull and Cassandra were already charging into the fray, weapons swinging at their surprised enemies. Lavellan cast a barrier of fire between him and Dorian, and their enemies. 

They began flinging magic about, driving back enemies and taking down whoever was foolish enough to prevail towards them. Dorian let his focus go to the fight, trying to watch Iron Bull’s back as Red Templars tried to charge him. Cassandra was holding her ground thanks to her shield, but Dorian wished they’d brought along someone like Cole to catch the Red Templars off guard.

Still, they hadn’t expected to run into this much trouble. They’d just have to make do with the group they had. 

The Red Templars were trying to get around Lavellan’s barrier, and Dorian had to switch his focus to keeping himself covered. Lavellan threw up another barrier, but several had slipped past when the first one went down and now ran at the two.

“Dorian!” Lavellan cried as a Red Templar reached him. Lavellan flung out his hand, ignoring the two Red Templars charging him, and Dorian could feel the tingling sensation of spirit magic as the Templar’s weapon came down.

It struck Dorian, but the protective shield of magic took the blow, and Dorian only staggered back, unharmed. He wasted no time in sending the Red Templar back with a burst of magic.

He spun to face Lavellan, just in time to see the Red Templar’s sword pierce through him.

Lavellan had tried to throw himself out of the way, which was the only thing that kept the blade from plunging into his chest. But it still drove deep into his shoulder, and he let out a cry that echoed horrifically through the air. 

Dorian let his anger out in a burst of magic that collided with the attacker’s chest, sending him flying through the air with a scream. The corpses on the battlefield began to rise as Dorian’s magic surged through him and mingled with his fury. The corpses hefted their weapons, running for the two that had attacked Lavellan. 

Dorian ran forward as the corpses reached their targets. He dropped to his knees in the snow, horror snatching the air from his lungs at the sight of the blood-soaked snow.

“Amatus,” Dorian whispered, gripping Lavellan’s hand. He forced a smile as Lavellan’s pained eyes fell on him. “It’s not that bad. I’m sure it hurts like a bitch, but you’re going to be fine.”

He was not fine. The wound was gushing blood alarmingly fast, and Lavellan was going to bleed out in just two or three minutes if Dorian didn’t act fast.

Dorian took the cloak off and moved to press it to Lavellan’s wound. Lavellan squirmed beneath him.

“No...no, you’re c-cold...you need it m-more,” he said weakly. 

Dorian let out a choked laugh that was half a sob. “You idiot. You wonderful idiot.”

“Keep it s-so you’re not c-cold,” he said. He tried to shift, and winced. “Gotta...gotta stay warm.”

Dorian opted for tearing his pant leg, using the material to press against Lavellan’s wound. Lavellan cried out in pain, and Dorian used his free hand to push Lavellan down.

“Don’t move,” he said. “You’ll make it worse. Oh, hell. No, it’s alright. You’re alright.”

“B-Bad?” he whispered. 

“No. Looks worse than it is,” Dorian said. Lavellan’s eyes flickered to the blood spreading across the snow. “Not all yours,” Dorian lied. “I took down two of them. Don’t try to take all the credit.” 

Dorian didn’t know healing magic. His specialty wouldn’t be any use until it was too damn late.

But he had to do something, or Lavellan would be gone. Blood was already soaking Dorian’s trembling hands.

“Amatus,” Dorian said in alarm. “Stay awake. Look at me. I’m a great sight.”

But Lavellan didn’t open his eyes. His body went slack, and Dorian pressed his hands to the wound harder, desperate to stop any more blood from leaving Lavellan’s body.

No, no, no. He would not lose the man he loved. Not like this. What good was magic if he couldn’t use it to save the people he loved?

Dorian closed his eyes, having no idea what the hell he was doing. He just pushed his magic out, his mind focused on Lavellan’s torn flesh. He pictured it stitching back together, pictured the magic flowing through his veins the way it did when he cast his necromancy spells. A body was a body, and Dorian knew them well.

He let his magic flow into Lavellan until he felt light headed with the effort. Afraid of passing out and not being able to keep pressure on the wound, he opened his eyes and looked down, tentatively pulling a hand away.

The bleeding had slowed considerably. Part of Lavellan’s wound had started to heal.

“Oh, thank the Maker.” Dorian sagged with relief, and resumed applying pressure. “I am never going to stop complaining when you wake up. You scare the hell out of me. Fuck, I love you.”

Cassandra came running over to them, Bull picking off the last of the Red Templars now. She dropped to her knees at Lavellan’s side, and inspected his condition.

“I partially healed the wound,” Dorian said. “Don’t ask me how, because I have no clue. We need to get him medical attention, though. He lost a lot of blood, and he’s still bleeding.”

“If we can get him medical attention quickly, he’ll be okay,” Cassandra said, getting up. “Stay here. I’ll go get help. It’s too dangerous to move him. Keep the pressure on that wound.”

She took off at a run, determination on her face. Dorian looked down at his bloody hands, the only thing between Lavellan and an early death.

“You’ll be okay,” Dorian said, his voice shaking as badly as his hands now. “Probably won’t be able to jump down to Solas for a bit. But I won’t even whine about it next time you’re well enough to do it. Just the first time, though. After that, it’s fair game for complaining.”

He was well aware that he was rambling, but he felt compelled to keep talking. As if hearing Dorian’s voice would keep Lavellan tethered here. 

Lavellan just had to fight a little longer. Cassandra would return with help, and Lavellan would be on bedrest for a while but then he’d be right back to his old self.

So Dorian kept talking, his hands pressed to Lavellan’s wound. This was all he could do for Lavellan now, but it was a task he would not fail. He didn’t care what it took; he would not lose Lavellan.

[athenril-of-kirkwall]

This is my first self-prompted fic! I’m posting two today.

Blackwall/Cassandra, “Taking the Reins” (AO3)

Blackwall was seated by the fire in the barn, carefully tooling a chess piece.

Dorian had taken his frustration from losing five consecutive games to Cullen out on the board, setting some of them on fire and ripping one to shreds with necrotic energy. Although Josephine had promised to send someone to Val Royeaux to shop for a replacement set, the Warden had taken it upon himself to carve replacements until their envoy had returned.

Besides, since the Inquisitor had decided that she only needed the Iron Bull to hold the line as she explored some recently uncovered ruins in the Emerald Graves, he was getting bored out of his mind, having completed the rest of the tasks he needed to do for the day.

Accompanying Rivka were the self-designated elven expert, Solas, and in what he assumed to be a deliberate provocation of her apostate lover or at the very least a representative of an alternate perspective, the self-designated elven skeptic, Sera. This, along with Vivienne following their envoy to the Orlesian capital and Cole doing…whatever he was doing…left a scarce few of their companions back at Skyhold, including the Lady Seeker, who’d seemed to have been troubled by something ever since settling in.

Speaking of which, that definitely was her coming down the long stairs leading from the main keep. As he turned his attention back to the eyes of the miniature warrior he was working on in wood, he idly wondered what precisely she could be up to down in this courtyard; the surgeon’s tent was comfortingly empty, and it was hardly as though she did much in the way of shopping amongst the stalls which greeted new arrivals.

Looking back up, it seemed to him that she was heading directly to his barn. The breath caught slightly in his throat as he saw her approach him, then dissipated as she went past the barn to look at the stables, leaning on the fence with great consideration, then sighing in that way she usually did.

Putting down the chisel, Blackwall walked towards her, asking from behind, “Is there something in the stables you needed, Lady Seeker?”

Cassandra turned towards him, mildly surprised. “Ah! No, I do not think so, Warden Blackwall. Unless…”

“Unless?”, he asked inquisitively.

“Have you had much experience horse-riding?”, she asked, then shaking her head. “Of course you must have, being a squire in the Grand Tourney and excelling in it, then a Warden alone on the road. Forgive my foolishness.”

Blackwall chuckled slightly, saying, “No need to chastise yourself, Lady Seeker, but yes, I’ve been on the road for quite a fair bit. Surely you also must have needed to ride to wherever you needed for…Seeker business?”

Cassandra sighed deeply, looking distantly. “You would think so, but on the whole I much preferred following a carriage. There have been markedly few occasions where I needed to ride at length, and certainly not in battle. Animals do not tend to react well to uses of Seeker abilities.”

“I can imagine,” Blackwall mused. “I was always much better at the mêlée on foot, but I performed well enough on horseback to get as far as I did during the Grand Tourney. Is there a particular occasion which needs you to ride forth, Lady Seeker? I trust it isn’t an emergency?”

She turned around, sitting back on the fence as she looked in his direction again, noticing the sudden edge of concern in his voice. “Oh, nothing of the kind. Well, not a pressing one. I…have been receiving reports that some malefactors of the recent war are still at large and asked the Inquisitor to inform me if she came across intelligence concerning them.”

“To what end?”, Blackwall asked, filling in the brief silence.

Her gaze steeled. “To bring them to justice, of course. Their victims will never rest easy until they are found and made to pay for their crimes.”

He drew in a breath, responding, “Ah, of course.”

“You don’t approve?”, she asked.

“No, not at all. It’s a worthy creed,” he said carelessly. “But I fail to see what this has to do with my experience riding horses, to be perfectly honest.”

Staring into the distance, through the end walls of the stables, again, Cassandra explained, “I instructed Rivka to send word to me of such intelligence where she went, and I’ve just received Leliana’s raven with a message saying they’ve reached the Emerald Graves. I shall ride to join them upon further news.”

“And you’d be travelling yourself to join them should that happen,” Blackwall finished, comprehending the situation.

“Precisely,” Cassandra said. “However, I had failed to account for the fact that we are high up in the mountains, and I shall be responsible for taking myself and a steed down the mountain paths, and I haven’t had the time to familiarise myself with any of the horses that made it to Haven.”

“I see,” he said, nodding. “Undoubtedly Horsemaster Dennet can give you better instruction—”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Master Blackwall,” The old stablemaster said, leading a large pony from the stables. “I think even the stable boys could get Princess Mairyn here eating out of the Lady Seeker’s hand. Why don’t you give it a shot? Seems to me you’ve been doing nothing but whittling wood all day, anyway.”

Cassandra turned to him, glancing over the fence at the horse.

“With such a glowing testimonial, how can I refuse?”, Blackwall said dryly. “And this is the thanks I get for baling your hay when I’m not woodworking, Master Dennet.”

With a twinkle in his eye, Dennet remarked, “You’ll thank me later, lad. Meant to be reading the latest news from Seanna anyway. Wonder who’s been besting the circuit lately.”

As she approached the Dalish All-Bred, Cassandra asked, “Does it ever concern you that the Inquisition’s stablemaster also organises races on the side?”

“I can’t imagine why it would,” Blackwall said, crossing the fence. “Shall we see how you get on, Lady Seeker?”

Turning to him, she said, “Cassandra.”

“I beg your pardon?”, Blackwall asked.

“If you’re going to be judging my riding, I think you can save on the syllable and use my name, Warden Blackwall,” she said, sizing up the saddle and the stirrup on Princess Mairyn’s left side.

“I’ll thank you to do the same for mine…Cassandra,” Blackwall said, feeling her name roll off his tongue, and idly thinking he liked the sound of it.

Still sensing her smile curling her lip, she stood on the stirrup and, with an effort, mounted the pony, adjusting her seating and getting her to trot, then break out in a gallop after a while as she took the pony around the picket a couple of rounds, coming to a hard stop in front of Blackwall, reins tightly in her hand. She looked down at the Warden, who was scratching his beard mirthfully.

“Oh, out with it already,” she said, “What was so terrible?”

“Well,” Blackwall started, “You’re still in the saddle, so….”

Her eyes narrowing, she said, “Don’t make me kick you from over here, Blackwall.”

Raising his hands defensively, Blackwall said, “I was merely stating a fact, Lady Seek…Cassandra. But I think I do know why it is you prefer galloping to trotting or cantering, although you won’t be able to make poor Princess Mairyn gallop all the way down the Frostbacks.”

“And why is that?”, she asked.

“As it stands,” Blackwall explained, “You’re riding this poor pony hard by gripping her as tight as possible with your legs when she’s trotting and essentially holding on for dear life once she gets up to speed after you’ve kicked her in the sides to get there, and it’s not helped when you’ve got a death-grip on her reins.”

Cassandra bit her lip, exhaling as accepted took the criticism.

He continued, “Well, it’s not as though you wouldn’t be doing much the same in a fight, but…”

“…it’s hardly appropriate for a gentle ride down the mountain path out of here,” she finished.

“Quite so,” Blackwall said. “If you promise you won’t go any faster than a trot, I’ll try to walk alongside you.”

“Very well,” Cassandra said, waiting for him to do so. He reached upwards with his hand, finding her wrist and guiding it gently as she got Princess Mairyn walking.

“Relax your grip, Cassandra,” he said gently, also glancing at her side. “At this speed you don’t need to clutch her tight with your knees either. Same holds for trotting or cantering, really. Just sit back and guide her gently. You can get her trotting with a slight kick.”

The pony started speeding up a little, and Blackwall broke into a light jog, finding the breath to say, “That’s good—don’t forget to relax. Break into a canter when you’re able to, and try that for a couple of rounds instead of forcing our poor Princess into a gallop.”

Moments later, she did that very thing, passing Blackwall thrice before bringing the pony to a far gentler halt than her first attempt, gingerly dismounting before him.

“It seems your prowess is well-earned, Ward…Blackwall,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I think you’ll find the ride down far easier without you attempting to choke Princess Mairyn with your thighs this time,” Blackwall said, before coughing politely and skipping a beat, continuing, “Should you need further guidance and should I be away on other business I’m sure you tear Dennet from his betting book.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Cassandra said, smiling as she gazed back over to the barn. “Perhaps once you’re done making replacements you could bring them up for a game of chess. I’m sure I owe you that much, Blackwall.”

“I, ah,” he said, scratching the back of his head, “I’m hardly any good at the game, I fear. I mainly find the pieces to look pretty.”

“Oh?”, she asked, genuinely surprised. “Well, that’s even better.”

“How so?”, he asked in return.

“I get to teach you something in return, of course,” she said. “If within a month you manage to make Dorian break the board, I’ll consider it a victory.”

“I believe the pawns you play with in chess are meant to be on the board, not your friends,” Blackwall retorted.

She smiled then laughed a brilliant laugh, nearly a giggle, and turned away, saying, “It’ll be a memory to keep me warm on the mountain path to be sure. Until then, Blackwall.”

With that, she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the thought of seeing her again across a chessboard, and perhaps the lingering mental image of the Lady Seeker’s thighs astride that horse. No, it surely couldn’t be that. And surely Horsemaster Dennet wasn’t chuckling to himself from across the paddock, having watched the whole thing from his little shack.

Because if it was and he’d somehow engineered the whole damned thing, Blackwall swore that this was the absolute last time he baled hay for the man.

-

@dadrunkwriting