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dragonagedidiot · 19 days ago

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Spoilers in this fic for a mission near the end of Dragon Age: The Veilguard!!!

I'm just going to post this here, I wrote a fic based on my idea of Rook being trapped in the Fade (from his perspective) for months instead of hours or days.

Please enjoy!! :)

Rook watched listlessly as rocks floated by in the dark prison of regret Solas trapped him in. There wasn't much to do besides think and walk up the long spiraling staircases that hung in the Fade.

Regret was amplified in the prison itself. Before being trapped, Rook could push away his thoughts to focus on what needed to be done. Something was always happening. The world was falling apart. Everybody needed him. But now he could do nothing.

Trapped in the Fade, surrounded by monuments of his failures. Haunted by the people he failed, and he got killed. There was nothing to do but think. The voices of his friends tormented him in the Fade.

Rook trudged up endlessly spiraling staircases. Passing statues of Bellara and Harding, stoically guarding the walkways of the prison. But also many others he didn't recognize. He wasn't the prison's first captive. Elves frozen in joy, fear, and anger also loomed over him. Making Rook feel small. Some faces he recognized from the fragments of Solas's memories they found. But at the edges of the prison, there was an ocean of stone elves and humans and dwarves and spirits. Not letting themselves be forgotten despite their captive leaving long ago.

Time was hard to tell in the Fade. Was time affected by the Fade?~~ What felt like days and weeks passed slowly. Of course, if the prison kept prisoners trapped by their regret as Solas said, Rook should work on letting them go. But it hurt. It wasn't easy. And it could not be done quickly. Despite the world ending.

Because he could have done something different, couldn't he? He was responsible; for the lives of every person on his team, for the dragon tearing apart Minrathos, for not convincing the first warden causing the massacre at Weisshaupt, for getting stuck in this god-forsaken endless prison in the first place.

Sitting underneath a statue of Bellara, exhausted, he listened to her whisper. "I told you those enchantments were dangerous. Yet you chose me. Why did you choose me to die?" Her voice shook with betrayal as she repeated, "Why?" softly again and again as Rook closed his eyes. Shame was heavy in his gut as he remembered Bellara's joy, her determination. Rook cut her life short just as she was recovering from her brother's death. Would having chosen Neve have been better, or would she have suffered the same fate as Bellara?

He didn't have many needs in the Fade. He didn't feel hunger or thirst. But he did get tired. He did sleep. He never remembers falling asleep, but he always remembers waking up. The fade did odd things to his dreams. Sometimes he stared at his own sleeping form as the statues around him fell and crumbled and screamed. Others, he had nightmares of Thedas choked with blight, his friends dead, and the world cowered in fear. Sometimes, he dreamed that the veil tore like linen as Solas drowned the world in demons.

He awoke under a stone tree that smelled of ash. A statue of Harding was kneeling over a withered stone bush, smiling. "My ma would love these Arlathan berries! After we save the world, you have to come with me to the farm! My ma has been waiting to meet you!" Her voice whispered and threatened to drown him again in his guilt. Varric was a mentor, but Harding was the first friend he had made in a long time. He didn't have to look over his shoulder with her like he had to with the Crows. She didn't care about who he was before joining the team.

Circling up slowly passed more statues. Grey wardens, shadow dragons, his friends. The staircase spiraled steeper as he left the statues behind, the stairs becoming thinner and further apart. No longer among the statues he passed twisted stone hands, holding up the last island at the top. A small island that only held a large locked stone door. Etched on the closed door were scores of tallies. He had been making a mark each time he reached this door. It was important. Something was locked behind it. An exit? A secret? Perhaps it was nothing.

He made a new tally on the door.

There was no way to leave once he got here. After days of walking up here from the bottom, the staircase disappears. The statues were no longer visible. All he could see was an empty void below. But the door never opened. He knew why. He was still drowning in regrets and guilt. It would end once he moved on. But it wasn't this time around. He could wait to fall asleep again. Waking up at the spot where Solas stood whenever they talked. But he didn't want to wait this time. He took a step off the side.

He opened his eyes as he lay on the ground the statue of himself, glaring at him across the divide. "You're a failure. Solas was right you couldn't handle being the leader. You're a failure every second you spend stuck here. It's been too long. The world has already ended. Your friends are dead."

Rook stared at his own stone face, "I'm getting out of here," He said like every time he got here. Slowly pushing himself to his feet. "I won't give up. I can't," He said to himself again. He wanted to quit, but he refused. He had to keep going.

"This prison was built to hold GODS!" His own statue screamed, "What makes you so special? So capable of escaping when they COULD NOT!!"

Rook turned away from his statue, "Nothing. But I promised to do whatever it takes." He whispered as he began to walk up the stairs again.

#dragon age veilguard #dragon age #dragon age rook #veilguard spoilers #dragon age veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #regret prison #dragon age fanfiction #fic #writing

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doriansbutt · 1 month ago

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“You can let go now.” And/or “We have nothing to speak about. There never was."

👀👀👀

oof I angsted REAL hard boys oof

under a cut for length and big endgame spoilers

—————

Flynn’s side is wet and warm. He can feel the blood seeping into the fabric of his shirt, the left side of his armor stained red. His feet fumble beneath him as he and Harding and Emmrich continue the climb to the throne room, to Elgar’nan, to the end. He pants, trying and failing to suck in enough breath with each step. He has enough in him to finish this. He knows that. But these fucking gods won’t be the only ones not leaving this place alive. But, fuck. He’s going to die in Tevinter. Of all places. Fuck.

“Flynn, we can take another breather, it’s alright.” Harding’s voice is quiet next to him, gentle but urging, her eyes pleading. She knows too…

Flynn starts to shake his head, but the movement makes his eyes spin and he stumbles into the crumbling wall beside him. Harding helps ease him down behind some shelter as she calls for Emmrich’s help. Flynn barely registers what’s going on around him, barely acknowledges the potion pressed to his lips until he’s nearly choking on it, groaning in pain as it pulls his side. “Fuck…” he wheezes.

“We’ll sit until it takes effect,” Emmrich says, laying calm but heavy hands on Flynn’s shoulders. “I’m afraid that’s all I have left…”

Flynn tries to catch his breath, to breathe through the waves of pain and nausea, a weak grip on one of Emmrich’s hands to keep him grounded. “It’s…fine…I’ll make it…”

Emmrich doesn’t need to reply. Flynn can feel his sorrow, see it etched in the lines of his face. Sure enough, as expected, the potion begins numbing what needs to be numbed and gives Flynn a little boost of energy—enough to get him on his feet again. He rejoins Harding and rests a bloody hand on her shoulder. “Solas can only go on so long…we gotta stop Elgar’nan…”

“Flynn…”

“Lace…ma’elgara, I know. We can’t stop, though.” Flynn can taste blood in the back of his throat. He doesn’t have time.

“I’m not ready…” Harding replies softly, but she looks ahead, leads the way through blight and debris to the throne room. To the end.

——————

Flynn barely has enough strength to smile in relief once the veil closes and Solas is gone for good, all strength leaving him now that the job is finally done. He turns with everyone else, facing the throne where blight falls away from Bellara, freeing her with a gasp of relief.

Their friends all start to move in her direction, and Flynn feels the world falling away from him, turning dark at the edges, colder now. He doesn’t even register that he’s on the ground until hands start slapping at his face, a voice urging him to stay awake.

“Flynn, no, no, please, please wake up…”

“Lace…” Flynn whispers, eyes fluttering open just enough to see her worried face above him. With a shaky hand, he reaches up to try to wipe the tears that fall down her freckled cheeks, accidentally smearing her face with blood. “I…I’m sorry…”

“Shut up, you’re fine….you idiot…” Lace chuckles despite herself, giving Flynn a weak smile. “Please don’t go….” she begs, voice cracking.

“Hey, I…I think I did okay…right?” Flynn can feel himself growing weaker and weaker, the light getting dimmer around them. He can vaguely hear other voices, but he doesn’t register what they’re saying. All that matters is Lace. His sun. His light.

“You were amazing…” Harding chuckles. “And you outlived the Dread Wolf.”

“It is something to be proud of…”

“Lucanis….” Flynn whispers in surprise, not having the energy to turn in the direction of his voice.

“You’re going to make me tell Viago about this, hm?”

Flynn can tell Lucanis is trying to hold it together, and he gives him a small, apologetic smile. “Tell him…I’m sorry—“ He’s interrupted by a coughing fit, weakly trying to catch his breath even as copper coats his lips. He’s out of time.

“Flynn…no, no, hey, it’s okay, just breathe…please, stay with me…” Harding’s voice catches, a sob choking her as she grips Flynn a little more tightly.

“L…Lace…tell…Eorthan—“

“I’m here, da’len.” Eorthan takes one of Flynn’s hands from Harding, holding it in his own. They’re so warm… “Elgara vallas, da’len…” Eorthan doesn’t sing, but the words are from the lullaby their mother used to sing. Sun sets, little one…

“Lethallin…” Flynn gasps, a chill running through him.

“Heofon….you can let go now. It’s alright.” Eorthan’s voice is quiet and calm, reassuring. “I will keep them. It’s alright…”

Flynn can tell his brother is trying to be strong, but he has no strength to argue with him. He’s slipping away so quickly now… “Lace…ar…ar lath, ma’elgara…”

“I love you too…”

#my oc #Flynn lavellan #Flynn de riva #lace Harding #ship: farding #eorthan lavellan #da4 #da4 spoilers #does he die??? or no???? hmm????????#sketchyelvenasss #fic #butt responds

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ghilan-maim · 2 months ago

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15 for your inquisitor & their love interest? 🫶

15. soothing kisses ty ty! i'll be using my girl ellora lavellan and her man solas during the inquisition era, specifically after clan lavellan is wiped out!

this got away from me and is messy 700+ words that i pulled outta my ass in like the 30 minutes since i saw this so please take that with a grain of salt i havent written in a hot minute!

Her veins are alight—even more than when she has lightning crackling at her fingertips. It had been a rush of bone-deep frigidity before fury burned her to a sweltering heat. Her clan was dead, and sadness and tears would come in the wake of anger. It has, after all, always been the easiest of her emotions to wrangle. It shook through her fingertips as she flitted around her room in Skyhold, packing things here and there for a trip to Wycome.

Deshanna never taught her retribution, but she had learned it anyways. She can almost hear the ghostly whisper of her mentor telling her to cool her rage for who would it serve, how would it benefit the People. It means little to her, now. Her people were dead and gone now—what care did she need to have for the benefits of revenge when it would sooth her so completely?

She’d been meant to lead them, one day. Raised to shepherd them as Deshanna always had. But they were gone now—stolen, as so many elven lives have been. It seemed a constant throughout history that her people were meant to suffer.

But now, she had power. She had the divine blessing of a dead woman she had no faith in. Who would question the herald of their beloved Andraste in doling out righteous justice? She angrily wipes at the wetness on her ruddy cheeks. Tears had never served her, but they certainly loved to taunt her. Always there at even a brush of strong emotion, disarming and distracting enough that she did not hear her vhenan until he’s just over her shoulder, a cool hand making her pause.

“Don’t.” She chokes out. There might have been a time when she’d have sent him away completely—where his wisdom and his calm would have done nothing more but see her oppose it at every turn. She didn’t have the energy to test him this time, to needle at him in a way that mirrored her earliest dismay towards him.

No, she simply lets her shoulders slump as he turns her to face him, white lashes tacky with tears and violet eyes blooming red. She’s a pitiful sight, one that she’d have liked to shield him from, but his eyes take her in with just as much awe as they ever do. He looks at her as if he can’t quite believe what he’s looking at, and she’s never sure how to feel about it.

“Vhenan,” He says the diminutive softly, his hands reaching for her cheeks as if she’s a spooked halla likely to bolt at any given reason.

“They deserve to pay, Solas.” Her throat is tight, and his brow furrows to match it. “Those shemlen hunted like animals! What use is being the herald of their Makers bride if I can’t use that power to get justice?” Her voice is a furious hiss, breathless for her tears but no less filled with conviction. She doesn’t want comfort, doesn’t want to give him the chance to talk her down. But her eyes flutter shut to the sensation of his thumbs gently wiping around them and she sways into him, clutching the fabric of his tunic and trying to keep her sobs in with a trembling lip.

“Yes, but do you deserve the burden of their blood on your hands?” He says with that insurmountable sadness that she’s noticed before—maybe one day she’ll know its source. For the moment, she is too busy fighting against herself and the comfort he offers, releasing her grip on his tunic to grab his wrists and move herself from his grasp. But when her eyes open again and the tears clear away, the look in his eyes makes her crumble.

She’s buried her face into his chest and let her grief shake through her bones, one anguished cry as he holds her close—not like something delicate and broken, never that, but with a firmness that anchors her to the moment, to him, to herself and all the regrets he knows would follow her rash plans. He whispers sweet nothings to her between kisses to her temple, across her hair.

His lips are a balm but hardly a cure, each soft touch that jostles at her crown sending a soothing shiver down her spine.

When she opens her eyes again, it’s to a dream much more pleasant than reality.

#my writing #ellora lavellan #solavellan #angsty ish i guess #this is my first time writing her omg #this is unedited please i just wanted the ghost of writing to enter this mortal form #and let me write #it worked tho ty i feel good after getting SOMETHING out #the way its mostly her just being like IMMA KILL THEM and then i get to vague the soothing kisses rip #sorry i immediately thought of this concept and had to

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martyrmarked · 12 days ago

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𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 he was the dread wolf, he was just solas. it helps to dull that fury that was kindled behind her ribs amidst the rain and before all of that blood, terror seizing her heart with jagged claws. she'd made an uneasy peace with the ghost of him years ago, a truce whereby the white-hot sting of betrayal would be exchanged for the gratitude left in the wake of a missing limb. the ritual had shattered that, however, and the pieces left in its wake are sharp enough to cut in her attempts to cobble something together from them.

she hopes that asha drives him mad with cards and laughter and hues that even solas cannot name.

the knife flips as another card is turned, another face revealed, and for a moment she swears she can see her face glinting back at her in its arc. is that what she was supposed to be, what she was when that ancient magic churned beneath her skin? something to cut between worlds?

is that what solas saw when he looked at her all that time, a poor excuse for a dagger?

❝ you're angry, ❞ sidri says softly as something hardens in asha's features and she is back in skyhold's courtyard, a newly mounted banner churning in the window above her and the chill of the frostback still lingers in her bones. ❝ a dear friend told me once that it would save me, even if i had nothing else left. i didn't understand it then, but i do now. hold it close, keep that ember kindled. anger burns even more brightly than hope in the dark. it'll guide you when all else has dimmed. ❞

her expression softens, grows nearly tender. she hopes that they have what she had, wills them to find someone who can be both ally and true north, someone who says their name with the cadence of a hymn. since rook cannot have varric until the time is right, sidri thinks with a sickening twist of her stomach, let them find some aspect of him in another. ❝ you're right to say it, rook, and no offense taken. i used to hate when people would tell me the same four things over and over again but i just swallowed everything i wanted to say, choked back my words.❞

she looks to the knife once more and her teeth pluck at her lower lip. ❝ once i would've told you not to, that there was some part of him left that could be reasoned with, but now? i don't know. i thought i knew him and i don't think i do, not anymore. i have half a mind to ask you to let me be the one to hold it, if the time should ever come. ❞

What's the difference between an important figure in history and a performer? The performer likely was paid more.

Though not spoken aloud, they know that deck. Varric taught them the trick to counting off that deck. Rumbled on how best to doctor their own after their original deck, a gift from their troupe leader, was bloodied beyond salvation. It was just one stab wound, but it had hurt more than just their body (and pride). Yet strong fingers had covered their own, settling them with a pat -- 'Chin up kid, everyone outgrows their first deck eventually.' -- but... that didn't matter anymore, did it? The cards now in play were doctored by beings who had eons to perfect the craft and they -- it didn't matter. Get up, pat off the dust, and dance little clown. Slip on the least cracked mask and dance. Dance.

The pain ebbs with a yapping laugh, pulled out of them without much reservation. The mental image of the arse weaving riddles around them slipping and falling on his arse breaks the repetitive beat of traumatic nesting dolls closing tight. "Maybe I'll summon cards then -- next time I sleep." They'll play 'go fish', whist, or worse -- wicked grace. "Would love to see how badly that would go." Because it would go badly, most definitely. Smarmy arse.

The mirthful respite dies like a fire in a hearth, leaving an echo of cold in its wake. The touch is not cruel, but it hurts. The ache spreads, seeping like frostbite into the fingers holding the knife. The knife, the knife, the damned knife-- "Don't say that." The open palm becomes a fist and they pull away. The knife sings it's sick lyrium song as it is flipped up into the air and caught again -- balanced on the tip of one figure as they look aside. ( they cannot meet the brown gaze of someone who hurts more than them, surely, without bitterness souring their heart )

"No offense, but I'm tired of hearing it." The knife does not wobble, not out of perfect balance of finesse, but it's own innate magic resonating with them. A lure for a gilded fish -- a fang for the wolf fox. "There's a difference between risks and Solas doing --" Again, the distance takes over. The cart wheel is stuck in the rut, with mules pulling in front and in back. Someone yells even as they remain in the same place, rocked as the cart stutters. They're pushing and pulling, but the bloody knot remains intact. The dagger catches the light, shining with false reflections of eyes too knowing, and -- "He wouldn't want me to stab Solas back for him, but I think I will anyways." The dagger is swept away, tucked back at their side, and the mask of comedy is back for the clown. "But he'll have to wait. No use stabbing him if I-- we can't save the world -- again."

Fox teeth flash in a well trained smile even as brown eyes shimmer with the unspoken truth.

#datv verse tbd #extravagantrook #me punching the wall: THIS IS FINE #make him play go fish and eat the cards when he isnt looking asha

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trope-appreciation-tuesdays · 3 years ago

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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

#field care #pain #screaming #impaled #stabbed #fever #infection #cassandra & trev

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queenaeducan · 3 years ago

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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!

#pretty sure it's the longest oneshot that's gonna be on my ao3 lmao #my wips

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thepixelmoon · 2 years ago

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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.

#my writing #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #da:i #solavellan #solas x lavellan #trespasser #solas #dread wolf #inquisitor lavellan #fanfiction

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whumpzone · 4 years ago

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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.

#just as a note... tomas has given rowe permission to use any first aid he wants #but i couldnt mention it without it sounding SUPER clunky lol #mine #whump #pet whumpee #pet whump #tomas and rowe #master/pet #whump fic #aftermath of torture

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shanaraharlyah · 4 years ago

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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.

#14DAlovers #breathless kisses #dorian x lavellan #dorian pavus #Kartaelin #pavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanart #Fanart #dragon age fanfiction #3D #daz studio #iray #artists on tumblr #shanarah art

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emerald-amidst-gold · 3 years ago

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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

#wip wednesday #dragon age #my writing #oc: fane lavellan #solas #flemeth #mythal #solas is in the middle just like 'Please don't kill each other'#fane is going crazyyyy >:3 #i figured out where he may realize his true name too hm-hm-hm~#obviously this my change later on but i like this so far :3

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sukifans · 4 years ago

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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

#mine #petrichor #atla #avatar the last airbender #atla fic #atla fanfic #zuko #prince zuko #zuko x oc #prince zuko x reader #zuko fanfic #avatar fic #zuko fluff #zuko fic #zuko x reader #the last airbender

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spell-cleaver · 4 years ago

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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…”

#flufftober2020 #flufftober #my writing #random words on a page #padmé amidala #luke skywalker #i have no memory of my mother #swords and starflowers #flash fiction #flash fiction: star wars

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hawkeish · 4 years ago

Note

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.

#blackwall x lavellan #blackwall #lavellan #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #siofra lavellan #ish writes #professionalfruitgremlin #answered #remind me not to start writing things when I'm miserable #depression cw #disassociation cw #general sadness cw

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whatissleepeven · 4 years ago

Text

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

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