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whumpzone · 4 years ago

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Tomas and Rowe - Part 7

look at me smashing out chapter 7 ahead of schedule !! but I’m gonna reiterate again that uni is starting up, so updates may begin to slow down. with that said, please enjoy!

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 (just ask if you want to be tagged!)

CW: pet whump, general violence, mentions of self-harm (but not actual), dehumanisation

And then Kasia would come again. He seemed to always know when Master was out of the house. It was no different today.

"Hello, pet," Kasia said. Rowe didn’t look up, instead sliding silently to his knees. Kasia had him well taught already. "You may speak, this time."

"Thank you, sir." Rowe’s stomach felt hollow with fright. Every time Kasia appeared he was unprepared. He always seemed to arrive just as Rowe had started feeling calm. Maybe even settled. But the minute he heard that voice he felt like he’d just been caught doing something awful. And this was all so wrong! This wasn’t his Master; he shouldn’t be grovelling like this. He was Master Tomas’s property. It went against all of Rowe’s training to let Kasia treat him like his Pet.

But… what could he do?

The gentle rattle of metal brought Rowe back. He mechanically pulled his t-shirt off and didn’t resist as Kasia put the handcuffs on, securing his hands in front of him, hanging between his hip bones.

"Tight enough?"

This was a game. Rowe could win this one. Kasia played it every time. "No, sir. Not yet." He gritted his teeth as the cuffs ground deeper into his wrists, hissing quietly, but it was certainly better than making Kasia angry.

"How are things going with Tomas? Are you being good for him?"

This was a game Rowe couldn’t win. "I- I am b-being good."

"Mm?"

"I’m being good," he said, clearer. "H-he’s gone out for grocer-"

A smack on the head made his thoughts whirl. "He?"

"M-master! Master To-omas, Master Tomas h-as gone out for groceries."

Another smack. "Stop panicking. You’re so damn annoying. And yeah, I know. He told me he always goes the same time each week so you won’t freak out so much. So lucky for you, he hasn’t twigged that it’s not him leaving that gets you messed up, so much as it’s me coming over. But-"

Kasia grabbed Rowe’s chin and hauled him to his feet. "You’re still giving him trouble. All your trembles and flinches and-" He flung a hand at Rowe’s face, stopping a hair’s breadth from his healing nose. Rowe couldn’t help but jerk away with a gasp. "-all that. So you see? You’re not being good. You’re being a fucking pain."

"I’m s-sorry-"

"No you’re not," Kasia said, matter-of-factly. "But you will be."

The knife trailed casually along Rowe’s collarbone. Tiny threads of blood ran down his chest, which was rising and falling normally. His back was perfectly straight against the chair.

"That’s good. Stay nice and calm for me."

"Yes, sir."

"Tomas needs a Pet that doesn’t cry all the time. You don’t want to stress your Master out, do you?"

"N-no, sir, no."

Kasia dragged the knife along to Rowe’s shoulder, digging it in deeper as he cut down his arm. Rowe focused on being blank, and obedient, and keeping his breathing calm, and not making any noise, and not pulling a face, and definitely not crying. He could do this. The knife was momentarily taken away from his skin, leaving the cut to fill itself up with blood.

"Does it hurt, pet?"

"That doesn’t matter, sir."

"Good boy."

Kasia kept his eyes firmly on Rowe’s face and slashed his forearm without warning, watching for any sign of pain or fear. Rowe steeled himself. He wouldn’t give it to him. He let the adrenaline of the sudden cut overcome the pain.

Kasia frowned, clearly hoping that Rowe would falter. He swung the knife viciously along Rowe’s bicep, then another above his bellybutton, then another frighteningly close to his neck- but Rowe was being good-, then another diagonally across his chest. Kasia stood, the knife hanging by his side, taking heavy breaths as he watched Rowe. By now, blood was running down Rowe’s upper body in rivulets, seeping into the waistband on his shorts and dripping off the end of his fingertips.

"You look creepy."

Somehow, this hurt more than being told he looked ugly, like Kasia usually did. "I’m sorry, sir."

Rowe felt a lump in his throat as he swallowed, and a new prickle of fear took over him. He couldn’t cry, he’d made it this far, Kasia couldn’t see him cry. He knew being obedient wasn’t enough to earn him any mercy- Pets were made to take pain, they didn’t deserve pity. He had to be perfect, and then maybe he’d only be hurt a little bit. He took a breath, and the way it hitched made his heart sink.

"What’s this?" Rowe screwed his eyes shut and bowed his head, but Kasia delicately placed the bloody knife under Rowe’s chin and lifted his face up. "Look at me, pet."

When Rowe opened his eyes all he could see were watery shapes- a blink sent tears running down his cheeks. Kasia clicked his tongue. "I’m disappointed."

Rowe whimpered. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-"

This man wasn’t even his owner, but displeasing him meant more pain. Sure enough, Kasia dug the knife into Rowe’s thigh, slowly pulling it down until he reached his knee. The cut was perfectly straight. Rowe braced himself as Kasia lifted the knife, but he wasn’t prepared for it to nudge itself back into his leg, starting at the top of the cut and following it down, pressing a little deeper.

"You want forgiveness?" Kasia asked calmly.

Rowe’s breathing was becoming desperate, and he couldn’t suppress a whine as he opened his mouth to speak. "Hh- yes, yes, please-"

"Beg for it then. Be a good pet and beg."

"Please," Rowe gasped. This felt all too familiar. "Please, sir, s-sir, I’m s-sorry-"

"What are you sorry for?"

"Not good enough."

"I’m so-sorry f-for being such a b…bad pet! I’m sorry f-for crying," Rowe whimpered as the knife started its journey down the cut again. The pain made his limbs shake, only aggravating the cut further. "Agh- please!"

"Please- sir- I know I’m worthless, I- ah! B-B-But I w-want to be better- so please- f-forgive me…"

"And?"

"And- I, I, uh- agh!" Rowe cried out as the knife twisted in his leg, forcing his words out faster, "Ah, ah, th-thank you, sir, thank you f-for teaching me, I n-needed this, I’m- ah! I’m grateful!"

The knife stopped, but Kasia stayed silent, so Rowe continued. "I’ll b-be good, I’ll be quiet, I w-w-won’t inconvenience Master Tomas, so tha-ank you, thank you sir, th-this is what I deserve as a pet…"

He chanced a glance at Kasia’s face as he pulled the blade away. He was looking at his watch, frowning. "Time for me to go."

Rowe whimpered as Kasia moved around the unclip the handcuffs. Please, at least tell me that was good, tell me I did it right, tell me I begged the way you wanted, tell me I’m good, I’m good, I’m good…

…

The house smelt strongly of bleach. Tomas winced, kicking his shoes off in the entrance. "Only me, Rowe!" he called. Not five seconds later there was a small figure kneeling at his feet, forehead to the floor.

"Welcome back, Master."

"Hey pal. Up you get, I need your help with the shopping."

As the pair set the groceries down on the kitchen counter, Tomas wrinkled his nose again. "What have you been doing in here?"

Rowe looked up with frightened eyes. He hates being questioned, mused Tomas. Always thinks he’s done something wrong. "I- I was cleaning the furniture, Master. I th-thought it might please you."

"It does," he reassured. "It smells very fresh in here. And since you cleaned it, you might as well get to enjoy it, hm?"

"My…my place is at my Master’s f-"

"I know," Tomas held up a hand to stop him. "I’m not testing you. But a lot of pets are allowed on furniture." Well, my mate lets her dog up on the sofa. That’s close enough, right?

"O-oh, really, Master?" Rowe asked with a glint of hope, before freezing up again, "I mean! I’m n-not questioning you, Master, I d-d-didn’t mean that!"

"It’s okay. Yes, really. You don’t need to ask for permission- from now on, you’re allowed, okay?"

"Yes, Master."

"Now, let’s unload all this food, yeah?"

Tomas rummaged in one of the bags, bringing out a packet of cheese. He handed it to Rowe, underlining a word with his finger. "What does this say? Take your time."

Rowe’s lips moved silently as he sounded out the letters. "Ch…cheddar."

"Well done! That was so good! Want to try another?"

"Yes please, Master."

"Good! Now, I’ve got one I need to write down. It’s a whole sentence, but I think you’re ready."

Tomas looked back at the shopping. What was easy to read? What was pronounced phonetically? He didn’t worry that Rowe obviously already knew what everything was called- he was so keen to learn properly he wouldn’t dare lie. Eventually he handed him a small spice jar.

"Puh- ah- pap- r…rika. Ah! Paprika?"

Tomas smiled as he quickly scribbled the words on the side of the paper bag, keeping his handwriting neat and even.

"Try that."

Rowe brushed his hair out of his face and leant in. "My name is Rowe. Hello, Tomas."

"Hello, Rowe!"

Rowe took a step back with a jolt, looking up at him uncertainly. "I- I- I didn’t mean to- to address you w-without your proper title, Master."

"And yet you just did."

Rowe quaked, shrinking away from him, but Tomas forced himself to be steadfast. Come on Rowe, you can do this.

"You were. You’re being good. You’re still being good."

"I’m sorry! I d-didn’t- I didn’t me-mean to, I w-was doing what y-y-you asked Master…"

"Th-then…"

"Try saying my name again."

"T- T- T… I can’t," Rowe whispered, "I d-d-don’t want to be hit."

"I won’t hit you. It’s okay. I’m not your old master."

"I w-was trained to always address my Master properly."

"I know," soothed Tomas, not stopping to think too hard on what Rowe’s ‘training’ entailed, "I know being here is confusing. Can you just try, one more time?"

"T- Tomas…" he forced out, ducking his head and bracing himself. Tomas reached out and Rowe flinched, violently, before seeming to catch himself and force himself to stay still. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from trembling, even as Tomas gently rested his hand on the side of Rowe’s head, rubbing his thumb up and down. It took a few seconds, but Rowe leaned into the touch, his breathing coming under control again.

"There, that was really good. Well done, Rowe. I know that was hard for you."

"Master?"

"It’s okay, it’s okay. We can work on that. For now, I think your reading is coming along just fine. I’m very happy with you."

"You… you are?"

"Mmhm. Now, let’s finish putting this stuff away. I have some work to get on with."

Tomas’s smile vanished as he closed the office door. He hadn’t been imagining it. He’d kept calm, and casual, but there were definitely cuts on Rowe that hadn’t been there when he left. They were hard to miss, long searing red slices poking out from his white t-shirt and the bottom of his shorts.

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling on a curl by his ear. What to do, what to do? How had he got those?

He remembered a horror film he’d seen once where a woman had lived in captivity for so long that she kept harming herself even after she was freed, because living without constant pain was too unnatural for her. Had Rowe given himself those cuts? Had he- Tomas’s eyes widened- had he also broken his own nose? Was he that desperate for punishment that he was willing to punish himself?

His panic rose as he realised Rowe could be doing that right now. What was he thinking, making Rowe call him by his name? It was far too early for that, he was still learning it was okay to sit on the damn sofa, Christ alive Tomas.

He rushed back downstairs to keep an eye on Rowe. He had to figure out a way to stop this.

#tomas and rowe #whump #whump fic #pet whump #dehumanisation #master/pet #pet whumpee #begging #aftermath of torture

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novamm66 · 5 years ago

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Red Sky in the Morning - Chapter 17 – Safe Harbour

Find the Red Sky Master Page Here.

And if you prefer AO3 that is Here.

—-

Kiaya gulped as she stood at the base of the stairs, waiting with Cassandra. She could hear the ebb and flow of the sounds of many people gathered in the lower courtyard.

“Is it too late to change my mind?”

The other woman snorted. “I think it might be. Just remember, slow and steady, don’t look at the people directly if it makes you uncomfortable, and don’t drop the sword.”

The last startled a laugh out of Kiaya, and her smile came a little bit easier. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

They stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for their cue, before Kiaya turned to Cassandra.

“I am really sorry about before. We should have told you. I should have told you before we left for Crestwood or when we got back. It was a mistake, I know. And I don’t want you to think I was siding with Varric.” Kiaya said, referring to the fight she had broken up earlier that day. “I just didn’t want you to kill him. I think you would have regretted it. Eventually.”

“I know,” Cassandra sighed. “I just wish…” her face was wistful for a moment before hardening, “It doesn’t matter. It is done.”

Kiaya couldn’t resist hugging her. “Just try not to hate him forever. I really need you both.” Kiaya said.

Cass chuckled. “I promise not to kill him, at least not right away.”

Kiaya laughed, “That works.” The two women pulled apart as they both saw Leliana motion to them from the landing. Kiaya felt her stomach heave as her nerves reasserted themselves.

“Tell me you have a bucket stashed somewhere close.”

Cassandra looked at her with concern. “Don’t be sick over the wall.”

“I’m kidding.” Kiaya managed a weak smile as Cassandra started leading the way up the stairs. Kiaya following a few steps behind. “Mostly.”

—-

“Kiaya?” Evelyn’s voice echoed up the stairs to Kiaya’s room.

“I’m here, Evie,” Kiaya called from where she sat, scrubbing at a spot of the rug.

Evelyn started speaking just as she reached the top of the stairs. “We need to… Why are you doing that?”

Kiaya grinned over her shoulder at her sister, but before she could answer, Cole beat her to it.

“Trying to fit the mould of what they need me to be. Nothing feels real.” Cole said, running his fingers down Shi’s back. He was sitting on the couch with the cat in his lap, their identical expressions of curiosity and innocence making Kiaya laugh.

“Not what I would have said, but not wrong. Shi was sick on the rug, he’s my cat, I’m cleaning it up.” Kiaya rinsed out the brush in the bucket next to her before picking up a rag and resuming her scrubbing.

“Nothing is more real than that,” Evelyn laughed, crossing the room and started to shuffle through the papers on the desk.

Kiaya climbed to her feet, picked up the bucket, and headed to the balcony to dump it. “Was there something you needed?” She asked as she came back in.

“Alone would be- Maker’s Breath!” Evelyn was staring at the empty couch. Both Cole and the cat were gone.

“You get used to that.” Kiaya smiled fondly at the vacant space. “You may commence your scolding.” Kiaya said as she put the cleaning gear away.

“What makes you think I am going to scold you?” Evelyn was trying to look stern but Kiaya could see the smile fighting to get through.

“You have that, Kiaya-is-being-an-idiot tone of voice.” Kiaya flopped down on the couch.

“Well, you are.” Evelyn crossed the room and sat down beside Kiaya. “You want to be coy and aloof about yourself, fine. But it’s dangerous and stupid. Why haven’t you told anyone about the extent of your injuries?” Evelyn grabbed Kiaya’s hand, worry clear on her face. “You haven’t been doing the therapy that would help you. Why are you hurting yourself?”

“Feel better?” Kiaya asked when Evelyn stopped.

“Not until I get answers.” Evelyn frowned at her.

Kiaya sighed, “I woke up in chains, in a cell, with no idea how I got there or why, and your name was the only one they had for me. The only reason I wasn’t executed on the spot was this fucking thing.” Kiaya dug her fingertips into the palm of her left hand as she held it out. “I was, I am, living on borrowed time. After everything that has happened,” Kiaya shuddered, “The Inquisition needed someone better. They needed someone who is not me.”

“That’s shit and you know it,” Evelyn stated. Kiaya looked at her in surprise. Evelyn rarely swore. “They need someone human, who thinks of others before they think of themselves, and for that you are perfect.” Evelyn’s face softened as she wrapped her arms around Kiaya’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t isolate yourself. It leads to bad places, remember? You need people, and there is no shame in that. Your friends here have fought beside you, bled with you. Why can’t you be honest with them?”

“The truth hasn’t always served me well in the past, and I’m just…”

“Scared.” Evelyn finished for her.

“Yes, I am scared,” Kiaya groaned. “I couldn’t bear seeing pity on their faces. Or worse.”

“This is not the same as the Circle, and no one is going to treat you like that again as long as I draw breath. You cannot survive this alone. You need to trust people. I think you should start with that gorgeous Commander of yours.” Evelyn suggested.

“He’s not my Commander,” Kiaya replied, rolling her eyes at her sister as her face warmed.

“The way he looks at you all gooey-eyed, he is yours. You have been in his office every night for the last two weeks. Just tell him already.” Evelyn poked Kiaya in the side.

“I am there getting help with writing reports. You know that, Evelyn. ‘My mother abandoned me like a stray dog and my father tried to kill me like one’ tends to be a bit difficult to work into Inquisition business, and it tends to dampen any pleasant conversation.”

“You are being an idiot. There, now I do feel better,” Evelyn said as she stood and crossed the room to Kiaya’s wardrobe while Kiaya laughed.

Evelyn began putting away Kiaya’s laundry as she continued. “Lyra will be here shortly with food and then I am teaching, her, Cassandra, Solas, and Dorian the exercises you need, so whether you are here or out there running around, you will be doing them.”

“Why not Sera too? She will get the most joy out of folding me into knots and making me squirm,” Kiaya said dryly.

“Good idea.” Evelyn laughed and Kiaya groaned.

“After that, you are going to stop being silly and tell Commander Cullen how you feel. You are leaving in two days and you won’t get another chance for ages.”

Kiaya watched her sister pulling out clothes. Tears pricked at her eyes. Evelyn always took care of her; she took care of everyone. Her tone brought back memories of a ten-year-old scolding her for tracking dirt on the library rug. “I am so happy you are here, Evie. I am so sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

“Stop that,” Evelyn said, pausing with hands on her hips to glare at Kiaya. “I started all this when I asked you to go to the Conclave for me and besides, the Trevelyan name has never done you any good before. I am going to make damn sure it does now.” Her voice and stance softened. “You are not alone in this. Now, get changed into something loose. We don’t have a lot of time.”

—-

Kiaya couldn’t concentrate. The letters on the parchment were dancing in front of her eyes and she couldn’t pin them down properly.

It had been a long afternoon. Dorian had brought wine, and her friend’s jokes and teasing had made the afternoon fun, but Evelyn had been thorough in showing everyone what needed to be done and it had left Kiaya in a lot of pain. Which was really her own fault. Kiaya’s months of neglect had resulted in very stiff joints, and the muscles in her legs and back were unbalanced. She had barely been able to walk by the time she arrived at Cullen’s office.

Also, she kept changing her mind about confessing her feelings to Cullen or not. Every time she made her decision another reason, for or against, would come to her and she was plunged back into doubt again.

“Kiaya, are you alright?”

Kiaya jumped. Cullen was looking at her with a half-smile and a tenderness in his eyes that always made her heart beat faster.

“I’m fine.” Kiaya croaked, her throat feeling dry.

“You just seem a bit distracted.” Cullen’s eyes flicked down to the parchment in front of her. Kiaya followed suit and discovered that she had dripped ink all over the page. It was beyond saving.

“Crap,” Kiaya groaned, looking up sheepishly. “I guess I am having trouble focusing.”

“Then we have done enough for this evening.” Cullen stretched his shoulders, rubbing his neck.

“This from the man who never stops working before midnight,” Kiaya said, glancing at the pearly light of evening outside the window. “I will pretend I believe you.” She looked back to the document in front of her and sighed, “I guess this one is kindling.” Crumpling it up into a ball, she tossed it into the wood box next to the fire.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Cullen said, “If you are able.” Concern appeared on his face; he had commented on her noticeable limp when she had arrived.

Kiaya smiled and nodded. “Moving might actually be better right now. It might help with the stiffness.”

“Evelyn was quite upset this afternoon. I take it she was hard on you?” Cullen asked as he put away what he was working on.

“I got an ear full, that’s for sure. As for how sore I am, that’s really my own fault. If I had been doing what I should have I wouldn’t hurt so damn much now.” Kiaya couldn’t stop the small groan as she stood.

Cullen held the door open for her. “Well, I’m not in a position to judge, so you will not hear a scolding from me.”

—-

The walk was Cullen’s idea but he was having trouble thinking of anything to say. Kiaya had fallen silent again. They had stopped along the back wall of the keep, and Kiaya was leaning against it, staring at the horizon with unfocused eyes.

The light played up the rich red and gold of her hair. Waves and curls had escaped the knot she had bound it in and they drifted around her face on the gentle breeze. Her eyes shone with soft grey light and she was absolutely...

“Beautiful.”

Kiaya turned to face him, the grey of her eyes shifting to blue as she moved.

“I, the sunset and view.” Cullen stammered. “It’s beautiful.”

Kiaya nodded as she looked back to the horizon. She seemed about to say something, but instead she shook her head and sighed instead.

“What is bothering you Kiaya? Maybe I could help.” Instinctively, Cullen reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek.

Her eyes closed and she tilted her head into his fingers. Before Cullen could even register his surprise Kiaya spoke.

“I can’t decide whether my caring so much for you is a good or bad idea.”

Cullen froze, his hand still gently touching her face. His heart suddenly wanted to fly. Then Kiaya seemed to realize what she had said and she stiffened, her face the picture of surprise before she covered it with her hands.

—-

Kiaya was mortified. She had been so wrapped up in her own head, the moment he had touched her everything else had disappeared. When he asked, she answered without a thought, distracted by the warmth of his hand on her face and the care and concern in his voice. In all the scenarios she had imagined, both good and bad, none of them started with her blurting her feelings out like a ninny.

Kiaya felt Cullen’s hands circle her wrists. “Kiaya, look at me.” Cullen’s voice was gentle but firm. “Please.”

It took her a moment before she let him pull her hands away from her face and she opened her eyes. He had moved closer, and she had to look up to see his face. When their eyes met, her racing heart stopped dead in its tracks.

Cullen’s golden eyes were on fire. “Do you mean it? You care for me?” He asked.

Kiaya nodded, and he kissed her.

Kiaya’s eyes closed and her hands fisted into his shirt as she rose up on her toes to meet him. He tasted like honey and rainwater, mixed with the scent of leather and metal that always clung to him. It had Kiaya intoxicated instantly.

Their kiss lasted forever and it ended far too soon. Kiaya’s heels hit the ground with a thump, their foreheads touching as they caught their breath.

“I take it that you think it’s a good idea?” Kiaya smiled.

“A very good idea.” The two melted together again, kissing softly as sunset gold surrounded them. It was perfect.

—-

Cullen was more content then he had thought possible. Kiaya’s confession that her feelings matched his own had given him the courage to act, and he had done what he had been dreaming of longer then he would care to admit.

They had stayed on the battlements until the stars came out, but when Cullen felt Kiaya shiver he insisted they return to his office. Once they were safely shut away, they curled up on the couch with idle conversation between stolen kisses, gradually settling into a comfortable silence. Kiaya was curled into his side, her head resting on his chest. The gentle movement of her fingers stroking his was the only indication she was awake.

Cullen tenderly kissed her hair, inhaling the delicate scent of her, and she hummed quietly.

“Kiaya, how did you get hurt?” Cullen softly asked the question foremost in his mind.

Cullen felt Kiaya tense beneath his arm, her fingers stilling before they resumed their slow pattern. He was relieved that she didn’t pull away; in fact, she curled more tightly into his side.

“I was about fourteen, fifteen when my Grams told me how they found me. She gave me the Ostwick Chantry emblem with ‘Kiaya’ scratched on the back, and they agreed to my request to go there. The chantry had the record of my birth with my approximate age and the names of my parents. It listed my father as Lord Trevelyan. I decided I wanted to know more, but Papa was dead set against it. We had an awful row and I, as an almost adult, thought I knew better. I packed up and left.”

Kiaya paused. Cullen could tell this wasn’t easy for her to talk about. Her sentences were clipped, and she was speaking very quickly. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, waiting for her to continue.

“I travelled to the Trevelyan estate outside of Ostwick only to discover the family wasn’t there. So, I talked my way into a job in their kitchen, which didn’t go well because I can’t cook, and waited for their return. By the time they did, I had heard enough of the household gossip to convince me that I did not want to tell the Lord who I was. I was simply biding my time until the Raven came back to Ostwick and I could run home. Then I met Evelyn.”

Kiaya’s voice warmed as she spoke of her sister. “She was smart for a ten-year-old, and she knew we were blood the moment she laid eyes on me. She was so lonely after her mother died. Her father and brother were, are, nasty pieces of shit. She was thrilled to have a sister, and we agreed to keep my presence to ourselves. I was kitchen staff, and no one looked at me twice, so it wasn’t hard. I was there when Evelyn’s magic presented, and I was able to help her control and hide it, and she was teaching me to read and write. It was fun, like a game, sneaking around to spend time together at night.”

Cullen felt a shudder go through her, but before he could speak Kiaya continued.

“Until the night he caught us. There was a party and he was drunk, and I guess he wanted to show off his collection of books he never read. He caught us practicing magic. He was angry that I had ‘turned’ his daughter into a mage. Evelyn defended me and told him everything, which only threw him into a rage. He hit her and I attacked him, and Evelyn lost control.”

Kiaya sighed. “The last thing I remember is casting a barrier that barely protected all of us from the explosion and I was thrown out a window. Whether that was the cause of my injury or the beating Lord Trevelyan laid on me after he found me unconscious on the ground, I don’t know. Ultimately, I was lucky that Malcolm was attending the party with his family, who were neighbours of the Trevelyans. He pulled Lord Trevelyan off me, then, since both Evelyn and I were discovered as mages, he brought us to the Circle. Lydia was the head healer, and she saved my life. But there was too much damage, and it took me six years and some desperate measures to walk normally again.”

The crackle and snap of the fire filled the room. Cullen’s mind was a storm of thoughts and feelings as he processed everything she had said. No wonder she struggled to trust anyone. He was angry on her behalf, but there was nothing to be done about anything now.

Kiaya shifted and sat up, her eyes filled with worry as she scanned his face. “Was that too much? Should I have gone with the short version?” Her tone was light but forced, the crease between her brows betraying her concern.

Cullen reached out to stroke the side of her face. “Not at all. I’m touched that you told me, but out of curiosity, what is the short version?”

“Bad shit happened, and I got hurt,” Kiaya said, her brow smoothing and the sparkle of laughter appearing in her eyes.

Cullen laughed, “Well, that is certainly shorter.”

Kiaya grinned as she curled back against him with a sigh of contentment. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Cullen asked kissing the top of her head again.

“For listening. For not feeling sorry for me or thinking less of me, or at least not outwardly.”

Cullen shifted and tilted her face up to his. “You have only increased my admiration for you. You are strong and amazing, and I will always listen to anything you wish to tell me.”

Kiaya kissed him, and for a time, words became unnecessary.

—-

I am furiously blushing right now. This one was a hard one for me to write. It’s my first kiss scene so I hope you enjoyed it.

(Thank you so much @kagetsukai for the advice I hope I embraced the awkward well.)

Comments, Likes and Reblogs would make me giddy.

#Red Sky in the Morning #Kiaya Trevelyan #Kiaya&Cullen #commander cullen #Cassandra Pentaghast #here comes the fluff

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empresstress13 · 6 years ago

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Dragon Age Questions

I was tagged by the wonderful @dirthara-mama !

01) Favourite game of the series?

So, as @wardsarefunctioning, I am terrible at answering “favourite” questions. XD In all honesty, I really don’t have a favourite though. I think all 3 games have different strengths and weaknesses, but I enjoy playing them all.

02) How did you discover Dragon Age?

My close friend had been telling me about it for awhile, and then while I was staying over at her house after a party she had me play a bit of DAO on her console. Now, something you have to understand: I am pretty shit at playing on consoles. I enjoy it, but I’m terrible at it. I adored the game either way. As soon as I got home I bought it for my PC.

03) How many times you’ve played the games?

I’ve played DAO about 7 times (not including the 100+ hours I LOST), DA2 4 times in full and have a couple partial runs, and DAI 6 full runes and several partial as well. . .

04) Favourite race to play as?

I’ve already mentioned my favourite issue y’all. I do have a huge soft spot for elves. . . but I seriously love all my OC children.

05) Favourite class?

I lean towards rogue or mage usually, but it depends on my mood! Sometimes you just really want to swing a giant two-handed weapon, you know?

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

Some things I’ve done differently, but other things I’ve done very similarly each time. There are certain choices I always make, and in general I can’t do true “jerk” runs. . .because I start feeling horrible 5 minutes in. XD That’s not to say that I never say any of the disagreeable options. . . just not often, and usually nothing really mean? I do romance different characters though, and there are choices and options that change depending on who I’m playing. I do try and stick to a bit of character-driven rp? Which is interesting, because sometimes even if I arrive at the “same” choice for two characters, their reasoning would be worlds apart? Or alternatively sometimes they’ll have similar feelings on an issue, but their “solutions” differ.

07) Go-to adventuring group?

I try to change it up pretty regularly? I’m not sure if I have a consistent group.

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

I have something like 20 DA OCs (I have a problem. I know.). . . .but there are some that are more developed than others for sure. I’d say that the ones that I know the best in my head are: Nehnara Surana, Kyria Cousland, Beatrix Tabris, Elraen Mahariel, Evangeline Hawke, Mirabel Hawke, Svetlana Cadash, Adhlea Lavellan, Revasulahn Lavellan, Lilith Trevelyan, Esther Trevlyan, and Innanis Adaar.

09) Favourite romance?

hmmm. . . . so this is difficult because I could take this as “the one that makes me the happiest” or “the one that I find most intriguing”. . .which are somewhat different. In DAO I really loved both Leliana and Zevran’s romances. I loved Fenris, Merrill, and Isabela in DA2. My favs in DAI were Solas and Josie. Merrill is hands down my absolute favorite romanceable character; I absolutely adore her. However. . .the Solas romance is probably the one that’s taken up the most of my thoughts/ fan discussion. Probably because it’s such a frustrating romance. XD (My former girlfriend said it was because I have a voice kink, like intelligence, and am emotionally masochistic. . . which I won’t comment on. Instead I’ll think of Merrill and happy things.)

10) Have you read any of the comics/books?

I’ve read some of them, but I’ve been horrible about order!

11) If you read them, which was your favourite book?

Oof. . . .there’s a lot of things in Masked Empire that I find hugely frustrating. . . but it also has Felassan. I adore Felassan. I wish I could have had more Felassan in my life. So. There is that.

12) Favourite DLCs?

Oof. . . .hmmm, I really enjoyed Return to Ostagar? Is that weird? And the one with the castle in DAO. I don’t remember the name right now. I have lots of feelings about Trespasser of course, and Jaws of Hakkon is another one I really liked.

13) Things that annoy you.

It’s hard for me to separate “things that annoy me and could be different” and “things that annoy me but are limitations of the medium”? Like. . . I always want more choices, but they really can only offer a limited number of possibilities in a video game? Specifically speaking about dialogue choices: I wish that there were more options to disagree with characters without being a complete asshole to them? There are plenty of times were you can, but that’s what has stuck out the most to me when I’m like “I really want to say something else here” is usually when I’m being forced between “agree” or “disagree in the nastiest way possible” (and “no comment”). Those times are probably less than I’m thinking but they always stick out to me?

There are things within the lore that are odd to me, and I probably choice to ignore or skate around.

14) Orlais or Ferelden?

FERELDEN (for the dogs if nothing else)

15) Templars or mages?

Mages (and Delrin Barris. He can stay.)

16) If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

They are mostly in the same universe. . . and mostly still alive. Or that’s at least true for my wardens and my inquisitors. I have a “canon” setup for DAO more or less (Nehnara Surana is my main HoF, but Beatrix Tabris, Syndis Brosca, and Elraen Mahariel all are alive and important to varying degrees. Kyria Coulsand died during the sacking of Highever :( . . .and Alyn Amell is . . .probably alive and in the Tower?). I’m not decided on my “canon” Hawke.

I’m also not decided on my “canon” inquisitor, but I know that a lot of them are all around. My Trevelyan family is very, very large. . .

I also have some non-player character OCs that I don’t talk about as much but know things about?

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc)

Uuuuhh. . . I have too many. XD The first time I played DAO, I named the mabari Huan, because I’m a huge nerd.

Nehnara named her mabari after her late father, and Beatrix named hers Blossom.

18) Have you installed any mods?

I did for DAI with a lot of help from @thema-sal-shiral, but it was difficult as all hell for me and I’m scared to mess with it at all. Ever again.

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

Nehnara greatly preferred it to the alternative.

20) Hawke’s personality?

Mirabel- Purple-ish; Evangeline - Blue-ish ; Kelda - a hot mess ; Leah - Red/Purple

21) Did you make matching armor for your companions in Inquisition?

No?

22) If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

Uhhhh. . . .someone asked something similar for Nehnara Surana recently and here was my issue for answering for her: she’s really, really, super suspicious about this as an offer. There are things she want to change in the depths of her heart, but who is offering? Why? What do they get out of it? Are there consequences? There are always consequences or a price of some sort. . .

Lilith Trevelyan. . . would really like to find a way to save her two best friends from her days as an apprentice.

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

Yup! Look above to see my weird warden mess. I also tend to ignore certain parts of lore so. . . .

24) Are any of your character(s) based on someone?

A lot of my characters are based on parts of different people I know or have seen in real life, but not in full?

25) Who did you leave in the Fade?

I haven’t always left the same person. . .but it is usually Stroud. DX I’m sorry.

26) Favourite mount?

. . . .I have the perverse urge to say Bog Unicorn. Because I can.

tagging: @ellstersmash , @katalyna-rose , @lycheejellytea , @saphyremelodies , @thevikingwoman , @bearly-tolerable , @solverne-02 , @nordxz , @befooled , @elevanetheirin , @wardsarefunctioning

As always: Feel free to ignore! Only do this if you have the time and/or inclination.♥ Love y’all!

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lotsofthinkythoughts · 6 years ago

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25 Dragon Age Questions

Tagged by: @lavellenchanted

Tagging: @fogsblue and anyone else who’s played the game and wants to do these

01) Favourite game of the series? This one’s tough, because I love all of them. Even Dragon Age 2, which is by far my least favorite, I love. Probably Inquisition, because of the characters and I prefer the combat to that of Origins.

02) How did you discover Dragon Age? My friend Em, played them and I was like... Hmmm, this sounds neat, so I got Origins for the PS3 which I had at the time and fell in love.

03) How many times you’ve played the games? ... NO. I’m not gonna look in my saves folders to count. More than I should admit to XD. Enough to romance almost all the options at least once at least soooo yeah. And one of those options is actually a mod

04) Favourite race to play as? In Origins, human, because I like the rawness of the conflict with Howe as a noble. In Inquisition, give me ELVES OR NOTHING.

05) Favourite class? I usually play Rogues Archers in Origins and then Mages in the other two. I love basically anything ranged.

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time? I try to vary things up, but I do have a lot of repeat decisions. Like I rarely ever side with the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt. I’ve DONE IT, but I tend to go mages, and I tend to play Hawke v. pro mage as well, which leads to my Dragon Age 2 playthroughs all looking a lot alike. (I also have a severe case of ‘must do all the quests’ syndrome, which means once I know a branch leads to more quests I always must pick it or it gnaws at the back of my brain that I broke the quest chain)

07) Go-to adventuring group? Alistair, Wynne and Zevran in Origins, Fenris, Varric and Bethany (far as long as I have her) and then Isabela for Dragon Age 2, and Varric, Dorian, and Iron Bull for Inquisition. I tend to choose my companions based on banter and just how much I like them even though I do try to have at least one of every class, so sometimes I’ll swap out Cassandra for Bull, or bring Cole instead of a warrior in Inquistion, and I party swap a lot in Origins though, because Oghren is funny, if terrible and I love Leliana and Shale and Morrigan is so fun to hear needling Alistair. Alistair is... always in my party though. He arrives and he stays. XD

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into? Hmmmm, I have a Diplomatic Lady!Hawke (she’s named in game because I... honestly just forgot to rename her at the time, and didn’t think I’d get so attached, but now she’s THE Marian so.. yeah) She wasn’t super well thought out at first, but by the time the end of the first chapter hit, I’d really fleshed her out in my head; her motivation for doing whatever it took to keep her sister safe (she’s my ONLY rogue Hawke too, so there’s that) after losing Carver, her need to have other people like her because of how her mother reacted to Carver’s death. So probably her, I’ve got a whole... emotional mythos in my head for her that goes with her and her entire relationship with Fenris.

09) Favourite romance? Cullen. He’s just such an adorable dork. (I also love Alistair for this reason) But also Dorian. God Dorian’s romance is SO GOOD. And even Solas’ is very good and emotional. And to represent DA2′s options, Fenris. Who I love dearly. He’s such a prickly angry guy and I just love seeing him open up over time. (Isabela is also compelling, I like the ‘this is casual WHOOPS I’ve caught feelings’ aspect both her romance and Zevran’s have)

So... basically ALL OF THEM?

10) Have you read any of the comics/books? One of the comics, though I forget the title right now as it was a couple of years ago now. I’ve never gotten around to reading the books, but I keep meaning to.

11) If you read them, which was your favourite book?

12) Favourite DLCs? Hmmm, Well I like the companion DLCs, so Stone Prisoner and Exiled Prince. I don’t like that they ARE DLCs, but I enjoy the characters, yes even Sebastian, so probably those. Awakening and Trespasser are both also brilliant and I love them for giving me extra story.

13) Things that annoy you? That you have to have your dog as a party member in Origins. That’s so dumb. I also hate that they decided to HIDE the relationship meters in Inquisition. I get why, but I liked knowing how much everyone liked me or disliked me. So -shrug-.

14) Orlais or Ferelden? Ferelden. What kind of question is this?

15) Templars or mages? Mages. I... am actually not going to explain this, I started to but decided this is not a debate and I don’t care what anyone thinks soooo. Yeah.

16) If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one? Both? Parallel in the playthrough, but there’s definitely a universe in my head where I’ve got like... seven wardens kicking around and Hawke twins and ... well actually there’s only one Inquisitor in that one too, and that Ellana Lavellen who Romances Cullen, because she’s my OFFICIAL Inquisitor but like the others are kicking around, as people, so like Adaar’s mercenary company ends up at Skyhold along with the Chargers and that sort of thing. It’s all very messy, but a lot of fun.

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc) I admit after heard the dog was named Barkspawn in the Darkspawn Chronicles I stole that and used it forever more, because I’m terrible and it makes me giggle. I don’t usually name my summons, I’m very bad at the game and they die too fast lol.

18) Have you installed any mods? -shoves mods in a closet- -shifty eyes- No. -closet bursts open and buries me in mods- OKAY YOU CAUGHT ME.

SO MANY. SO SO MANY.

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden? No, with the exception of my Dwarvish Noble Princess. She was stoked because the Wardens are cool and the Deep Roads suck. (And like for the others, it’s more... being a Warden is preferable to dying, but none of them want to have to leave their lives and families behind)

20) Hawke’s personality? I tend to play Hawke as a snarky diplomat depending on who she’s dealing with. With a side order of angry Hawke when people are particularly stupid. (Sooo throw it in a blender and mix well? Tends to come out as sarcastic in the imports)

21) Did you make matching armour for your companions in Inquisition? No, they all have their own color schemes. Cole is in blues, Dorian in reds, Solas in green, that sort of thing. And then I color coordinate with whoever I’m romancing. XD

22) If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change? For Lisbet (my Human Noble) it’s the deaths of her family. She misses them a lot. For one very unlucky Lavellen, (who is so unlucky I’ve forgotten his name, because after this happened I noped right on out of that save) it’s the death of his whole clan. I looked up how to correctly do that quest chain quickly after that so none of my other Lavellen’s had to suffer such pain.

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon? I mean... probably but I honestly at this moment can’t think of any. Except that my Warden Queen didn’t just disappear into thin air and totally comes back to Denerim at least once a year while she’s on her quest to cure the Calling, which she does, because Lisbet doesn’t know how to fail. (Also babies. She and Alistair have babies and canon can fight me about it.) Soooo those I guess.

24) Who did you leave in the Fade? Depends on who is there, Sometimes Hawke, Sometimes Stroud, Loghain in the one playthrough I’ve ever done where he was made a Warden.

25) Favourite mount? The Red Hart. So pretty.

#Dragon Age #ask game

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cakelanguage · 7 years ago

Note

Dorian from DAI prompt (any pairing) w/ 77. “Maybe I’m meant to be alone.”

THE ANGST. This turned out so much longer than I thought it’d be and it isn’t even done yet, so enjoy Part 1, Anon! :’)

You can also read on AO3

He’s always had bad taste in men, a fault he can’t bringhimself to fix. He falls in love easily, won over by pretty words and physicaltouch. It doesn’t have to be gentle, just the act of someone wanting to touchhim is enough sometimes to sooth the ache that settles in his chest when thenights are drawn out into stark loneliness. He likes hearing his bed partner’spraise. “Such a good fuck,” they’d say, “so beautiful,” said others, and Doriangreedily clung to them as they shooed him out of their beds when they were donewith him.

One man kept him for a while, back in Tevinter. Rilienus wasgentle in all the ways the other men weren’t. He spoke only loving words toDorian, always gentle, always willing to talk with him. Smoke clung to himafter practice and Dorian delighted in burying his face in the crook ofRilienus’ neck to inhale the scent mixing with the spiced undertones of the man’sperfume. Dorian believed he’d found his prince charming, something that shouldn’thave existed in Tevinter, not for him. But he was perfect. To Dorian he was perfect.

And then Rilienus told him that he was getting married.

“Married? To whom?” Dorian asked his voice cracking.

Rilienus sighed, running a hand through his hair in anattempt to fix the disarray it had become. “Her name is Aesthia,” he said softly.“Her bloodline is strong and my father thinks that the pair of us will have agood chance at producing a powerful heir.” He moved his hand to run lazycircles along Dorian’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

Dorian grabbed at his lover’s hand. “You’re sorry? Rilienus,can’t you-“

Rilienus pulled his hand back roughly. “I can’t, Dorian! Don’tyou understand?”

Bitter anger flushed his cheeks. “So it was a lie? Youpretend to love me for months because, what? I’m a good fuck? A pretty thingfor you to play with until you decide that it’s over? Just ‘I’m gettingmarried, thanks for this final round of sex’?”

Rilienus sneered at him with contempt. “You know that’s notwhat this is, don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then why tell me this after you made love to me? After allthose endearing comments about love and false promises?” Dorian felt the tearsforming and hurriedly blinked them away.

The man sighed. “I do love you, Dorian.”

“Then why do this to me?”

“I wanted you one more time.” The confession is soft but noless heartbreaking. “Without it being goodbye.”

Dorian clenched his fists into the sheets. “So this is itthen.”

“I have a duty to fulfill, I can’t just run away from it.”

“But what about…” Dorian let his voice trail away andinstead stared desperately at Rilienus. He couldn’t bring himself to say italoud, to bare his heartbreak so openly.

The other man broke his gaze, fiddling with the sheet thathid their bareness. “It was never going to last, Dorian.”

He felt his heart threaten to shatter in his chest and tearsgather in his eyes once more, this time not fighting them as they slowlydripped down his face, no doubt pulling the kohl down as well. A metallic ironseeped into his mouth from biting his tongue to hold back the sobs thatthreatened to burst from his mouth. Dorian didn’t spare his lover a glance ashe got out of what had seemingly been theirbed. He wondered if Rilienus would christen the same bed he’d laid with Dorianin with Aesthia.

He’d never felt so naked in his life, never so desperate tobeg for returned affections. After his clothes were back on he turned to lookat Rilienus. His face tight and tears glistening against his high cheekbones. “Forwhat it’s worth,” Dorian said, his voice thick with emotion, “I loved you too.”

His bad luck with men continued when he fled his home. Hewas an “exotic beauty” according to his first love in the South, something thatdeserved to be fawned over and enjoyed. Dorian kept that in mind when his firstlove’s hands grew rough and the bruises clung harshly to his skin in mottledpatterns. His exotic beauty did not earn him a bed that night and he felt hischest tighten uncomfortably in his chest when the man spit on him beforethrowing him out of the house.

Redcliffe was better in that he had Felix. Fleeting thoughthe meetings were, Dorian treasured the moments he got to spend with his bestfriend even if they were mostly about how to stop Alexius. Felix, for all theaffection and acceptance he’d given Dorian, had never been a man that Dorianfell in love with. It was probably because he felt too much like a brother tofall into the other category. That didn’t stop Dorian from wishing that theyhad fallen in love with each other. How much easier that would have been.Alexius had married for love and did not scorn Dorian for his proclivities withmen. In addition, Felix was the best man Dorian had ever met, which is probablywhy Dorian couldn’t fall in love with him; Dorian didn’t deserve a man as goodas Felix.

The candles flickered as the wax continued melting away atthe little desk they were standing at in the little nook in the chantry. It wasone of the few places that the two could meet comfortably without Alexiusgetting suspicious.

“Dorian,” Felix said.Dorian turned his attention away from the note he’d been writing for Felix togive to the Herald when they arrived with a questioning hum. “Someday someoneis going to see how perfect you are.”

The comment startled a laugh out of him. Of course his bestfriend would say that, he always thought Dorian deserved more. “Of course I’mperfect, Felix,” Dorian said with a flourish at his body. “Bred to be as suchanyway.”

Felix shook his head. “That’s not what I meant and you knowit.”

Dorian turned his attention back to the parchment andcontinued writing. “I know.”

Felix hesitated before putting a hand on his friend’sshoulder. It was cold, the Ferelden chill invading Dorian’s skin through hisarmor-free arm. He could see the telltale bruises barely visible on Dorian’supper arm, large and in the shape of a man’s hand, turning a purple-ish yellow.If he looked at Dorian’s face he’d see the redness of his eyes, almostcompletely masked by his kohl liner and the healing split lip that must havebeen coated with elfroot to have healed that much already. He’d seen his friendhurt too often by people he fell in love with and sometimes he privately cursedthe Maker because of it. “Why do you do this?”

Dorian paused and twirled the quill between his fingersabsentmindedly. The question sits heavily between them and Dorian resists theurge to shrug Felix’s concern off and give a sarcastic answer, but he knew thatwasn’t what needed to happen here. “They like me.” It sounds even more patheticnow that he’s said it aloud. Dorian can feel Felix’s flinch through the gripthe man has on his shoulder and decides to revise his statement. “They like meenough.”

“If they liked you they wouldn’t do this to you.”

Dorian snorts unattractively and draws a small heart on aspare piece of parchment in front of him. “Perhaps,” he concedes that butpresses on, “but it isn’t all that bad. They’re nice for a time and I can livewith that.” Maybe. Possibly. Maker he’s so lonely he just wants he wants hewants. “Besides Tevinter does not have love.”

“But we aren’t in Tevinter and you want love, you wantromance, don’t try to hide that from me. I know you too well.”

He doesn’t say anything and the two settle back intosilence.

The Inquisition is… well it’s actually exactly how heexpected it to be. There are hordes of people cramped together in Haven andmore often than not he finds himself wondering if they all sleep together in agiant pile like dogs before scratching the idea as ridiculous. It smellshorrendous and the beer is admittedly not as bad as he raves it is; he feelsalive.

The Inquisitor is a lovely little woman, full of questionsand open for discussions and comparisons. He finds himself purposefully sittingdown on one of the boxes that are around his usual haunt so she doesn’t have tolook up so far to see his face. He enjoys her in the same way he enjoys Felixand though it scares him a little at first at how quickly he’s grown to likeSenna, he finds that it’s also comforting. He especially likes hearing abouther attempts at wooing their lady Ambassador Montilyet.

The other members of the Herald’s inner circle regard himwith distrust and at times outright disdain depending on the situation. Solastalks to him across the way at a safe distance as if wary of Dorian approachinghim like a sickness. Though he supposes he doesn’t blame the elf consideringwhere Dorian is from. Blackwall spits like his first love in the South and italmost makes Dorian nostalgic. Almost. Sera calls him names and plays pranks onhim whether to humanize him to the others or to humiliate him he isn’t quitesure yet.

Varric is fun to talk to, his stories are wild and if allelse fails he can bring up his friendship with Mae. He’d been more than a bitsurprised when the dwarf had mentioned they were cousin-in-laws, but hesupposed Thorold’s family had to be out in the world somewhere. Josephine likedasking his opinion on garnering support from other nobles and the possibilitiesof getting any support from Tevinter. Although the latter was unlikely they hadfun talking about it at the very least. Cullen was also fun when you caught himan hour or so after training, when he was settled at a makeshift chess set andwould play a few games before he remembered to be cautious of him. He treasuredthose moments.

Cassandra and Vivienne treated him with the same amount ofannoyance and disdain which only spurred his teasing and smart remarks. It didn’twin him any favors but it was too much fun to see their lips curl downwards andthe huff of disgust to escape. Leliana knew too much for his comfort but herespected her and admired her taste in shoes. Finally someone who knew fashionthat wasn’t all Orlesian pomp and flair.

The Iron Bull was the one who really surprised him though.

The Qunari observed him with casual glances that were nodoubt calculating and noting everything he did, but talked to him like he wouldanyone else. They tossed barbs at each other like it was a game to see how theother would respond and Dorian found himself throwing extra comments out whenthey were out with the Inquisitor to hear the Qunari talk. Of course the IronBull smelled like he’d never taken a bath in his life and was obnoxious andloud and a Qunari, but he wasn’t bad. Not that Dorian would ever admit that outloud.

It wasn’t until they had been settled into Skyhold for amonth that Dorian noticed a pattern. He’d wake up, go about his usual businessthen conveniently park himself in the tavern when the Chargers would come backfrom any mission or training they’d done. They’d be sweaty and gross, oftentimesblood was still smattering their clothes and their uproarious laughter wouldbounce around the space. Dorian would sit on the outskirts, close enough to thebar to not be too suspicious but angled so he could stare at the Iron Bull fromhis seat.

He’d started to admire the ruggedly handsome features of theman, mapping out the scars that dug into his flesh and following their pathacross his features. The eyepatch reminded him vaguely of his past dreams ofbeing a pirate and wondered what it’d feel like beneath the pads of hisfingers. The horns were different; large, masses of bone that stuck out asbroadly as his shoulders and he wondered what it’d be like to grab hold of themand yank the man down so that they were face-to-face. And his hands, huge likethe rest of him and scarred, missing fingers and chunks of flesh and, from thefew times he’d felt them through his robes, so warm and gentle.

It was then he knew he’d fallen in love again.

He’d been trying to be better about it, falling in love. Hecouldn’t allow himself to be hurt for a scrap of love, not when he had so muchto do for the Inquisition, not when he had so much to prove to those who stilldoubted him. Not when he watched Bull take multiple partners up to hisquarters, that grin on his face that made his eye twinkle.

He goes to the Inquisitor instead.

Senna’s in her quarters going through documents on her deskwith her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth. He’s always found itadorable and he knows Josephine does as well. He coughs to get her attentionand he watches as she breaks into a grin. “Hello, Dorian,” her voice is lightand cheerful as if she hasn’t been doing paperwork for the last couple ofhours. “What can I do for you?”

He wants to just talk with her like usual, throw around somegossip before switching to hypothetical situations that leave them laughing,but his brain can’t catch up with his tongue apparently. “I’m in love withBull,” tumbles out of his mouth before he can so much as return her friendlygreeting.

Her eyes widen and she blinks at him before she puts downher quill and approaches him. She doesn’t say anything, not at first, justgrabs his arm and directs him to her couch. They sit in silence and Dorian canfeel the anxiety creep inside him before Senna talks. “Is that bad?”

Is it bad? Dorian isn’t quite sure if it truly is or not. Onone hand, Bull has never refused anyone who wants to sleep with him, he’s seenanyone from a waifish elf to a burly soldier take a night with Bull. On theother hand, it isn’t permanent, just a fleeting night that passes too quickly beforedawn breaks. Not that he has anyexperience with permanent, he reminds himself. He could enjoy a single night,just like the others. “I suppose not, but…”

Senna picks up on what he’s trying to say with all thetenderness of a mother. “But Qunari don’t fall in love in the same way we do.”

“Precisely.”

She puts her hand on his leg and rubs soothing circles totry and help him relax. “Are you sure it’s love? It could just be a crush.”

He gives her a mirthless laugh and turns sad eyes to her. “Iwish it was just that, a silly passing infatuation. Unfortunately, I’ve alwaysfallen in love easily. Too easily, Felix used to say.” Senna didn’t sayanything and Dorian continued to fill the silence. “But he has an open doorpolicy, right? Perhaps I could just make sure I got their before anyone else?He could have me first, then shoo me out to enjoy someone else, it wouldn’t bethe first time.”

“Dorian.” Dorian paused his rant and looked at Senna. Hecould see her mouth pulled into a frown and the way her eyebrows were peaked.He could almost say she looked like she might cry. “Why don’t you talk to Bull?”

He shook his head. “I can’t be selfish like that justbecause I have feelings for the man, that’s not fair to him.”

“And you think making yourself miserable is any better?”

“I’m used to it. I take what I can get and it’s enough.”

“But you-“ Dorian held a hand up to halt her rebuttal andlooked down at his lap.

“Maybe I’m meant to be alone.”

Senna whimpered at the statement and Dorian accepted thedesperate hug she pulled him into. He mumbled soft reassurances that felt emptyin his mouth, but she seemed to accept them. He left soon after, reassuring herthat he was alright and that things would be fine. But he had made hisdecision:

He would take whatever he could get from Bull, even if itwasn’t love, it’d be enough.

It always was.

#adoribull #adoribull fic #dragon age fic #dragon age inquisition #angst #the happy ending is coming #I promise #Dorian just wants to be loved #josephine x inquisitor #da:i #my fic #dorian pavus #the iron bull

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fadekhat-blog · 7 years ago

Text

The Fool

Solavellan

22 - Muffled, from the other side of a door - with a twist, courtesy @katalyna-rose (Thank you so much, I really enjoyed this!) @dadrunkwriting

This is what Sulahean, they/them, looks like by DAI, this website is the bombbbbb. They’re my concept of an older, nonbinary Lavellan. Use it for your OCs!

It was a night like any other. The Andrastian’s packed Haven’s sorry excuse for a tavern as I plucked out a merry tune on the lute I had filched during our last outing. I was still feeling the loss of my previous piece, a custom made work of cherry wood and ivory, but the masses hardly seemed to hear the difference.

Part of me longed for the days when I had performed for people who would’ve cared. Playing a flat note before the masked masters of Orlai would’ve been the same as spitting in someone’s face. The Game is everything there, after all, and no noble would suffer such an insult.

Unless of course someone else had paid you to do it, in which case they might see that you made it out of the ordeal alive. If you could find a way to be of use in the future, that is.

There was something pleasant about this too, however. The Inquisition’s people, shems and flatears like myself though they were, had a wholeness to them. What you saw was what you got, with the enlisted folk, anyway, and what I saw was a rebel army who was grateful for any distraction.

The person I saw most, of course, was Flissa, and she was perhaps my favorite person in all the world. No one cuts off the Herald of Andraste, you see.

That’s what I thought, at least, until a certain balding elf appeared in the crowd. His expression, as most always, hovered somewhere between a smirk and a scowl. I’m sure he thought his look of disapproval quite severe, but I carried my jaunty number to the end before acknowledging his curmudgeonly presence.

“Solas!” I said, holding my lute in one hand as I dipped into a courtly bow. Something else I learned in Orlai. “So good of you to join us, hahren!”

The joke was obvious: I could’ve been a decade, if not two, older than him, what with my lifeless grey hair and speckled skin. The crowd reacted as expected. I was, after all, a performer.

His expression was strange when I looked up. They were laughing at him, I suppose, through I would argue the joke was rather more at my expense.

That wasn’t it, though. He didn’t care what any of these people thought.

A wolfish smile peeked out of the corner of my mouth.

It was the bow. He, the man who knew everything about everything and simply pitied those that didn’t, disliked being addressed as a superior. Only part of his absolutely did like it.

I slung the lute over my shoulder and bid farewell to the crowd.

“Apologizes all around, my flock, but duty calls!”

Tankards were pounded against tables, prayers were said in my name, and off we were into the night.

“If you wish to be a jest, that is your own business. I won’t be the hound of your performance,” Solas said with his air of casual disdain. A snort of laughter escaped through my nose. Well, it didn’t escape exactly. I was drunk enough to let it out merrily.

“Oh, but you enjoy it, Solas. You wouldn’t bother stepping in if you thought it was below you. Where are we going?”

“Your cabin,” he said as I turned down the path toward the Chantry. The scenic route, so to speak.

“My cabin, you say? Why, we Dalish don’t fuss about with roofs and walls. Did you know, I tried to use my bed just yesterday, and there was these intolerable contraption of feathers and cloth scattered all over it. Do you know what those might be?”

“I believe those would be pillows, Sulahean. Humans use them to prop up their heads at night,” he said, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes before giving in to our little inside joke.

I had lived amongst humans longer than my own people by then, if I could still call them that, and yet humans never failed to explain the most basic of concepts when they saw the marks of Fallon’Din upon my face. Neither did he, when we first met.

“Ah, I see now,” I said, wandering toward the front gates. A walk would have been so much more interesting than the inside of my “cabin,” as the Shemlen say.

“Back to the matter at hand,” he said, guiding me back toward our true quarry with a lazy hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure that we can both agree it would be best to stop this nonsense. You can’t demand respect when you’re the drunkest one among them.”

“Mmm, and why should they respect me? Because some apparition touched me in the fade?”

“Because they need to if they wish to survive. You have to stop playing the fool sometime, Sulahean.”

“Mmm.” My usual refrain when my mouth refused to let me speak. Later, I would tell myself I didn’t want to.

He spoke for a while without me hearing, but the rhythmic pattern of his speech helped me tune out the hums of my past. I think he knew that, otherwise he would have given up.

He was perceptive that way.

I was shrouded in fire. Screams rose around me, the years passed wound around my neck like a rope.

“So please, stop calling me hahren,” Solas said as I fell back into the present tense.

“Oh? How old do you think I am, exactly?” I said, half in the moment.

“That is hardly for me to say,” he said, his tact getting the best of him.

“Please, I’m no lady, Solas. You couldn’t offend me if you wanted to.” A challenge. A test. What would he say?

“Very well,” he said, acquiescing to my game. “Forty.”

I stared at him flatly, daring him to tell the truth.

“Fifty, then. But not in spirit, or reality. The world has worn your body beyond its time, I suspect.”

I smiled again, triumphant.

“So you admit you admit that you are older than me, and hence my elder. My hahren, so to speak.”

“More than you know,” Solas said, seeming to sense that this was going nowhere.

“I’m sure.”

We arrived at my door suddenly, as if a fade step had carried us there in but a moment.

“My point, Sulahean, is to take care. It’s not your way, but they need it here. I’m sorry you were put in this position.”

“There’s more to the breach than they could know. Your strength will carry them beyond them beyond the wildest depths of their imagination.”

My high, the buzz of booze and short lived wine, fell around my head as we spoke. How do you respond to that? Where was this coming from? How could he believe in me when he knew nothing about me?

“I know,” was all I said.

I love you, I whispered, when the door was shut behind me and he was most certainly gone.

Not romantically, exactly.

Not even as a friend.

But as something more. As someone wandering down the same, but different, paths of life. A soul lost, but drifting defiantly onward. As a reason to keep going, beyond the distant memories of my past. As reason to believe in myself in the present tense.

Not as who I was, or who I should’ve been, but as who I am now.

And so I decided that Sulahean’s tarot card would be the Fool, and thus is was. Interesting tidbit I found on el Wikipeida - the fool is often depicted being followed by a cat or dog, hence the hound comment from Solas. More importantly, Death is often dressed as a fool, because “death humbles everyone just as a jester makes fun of everyone regardless of standing.”

It is so

damn

perfect.

Also, I hereby officially commit to writing all meaningful Solas dialogue to the beat of Rufus Wainwright’s “Hallelujah.” Maybe it’s hackneyed, but it just feels so good.

#Dragon Age #dragon age drunk writing #Drunk writing #Trans Sulahean #Trans Lavellan #solavellan #solavellan fanfiction #Sulahean #writing prompts

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ladydracarysao3 · 8 years ago

Photo

In Love, Serenity

Chapter Eighteen: Addicted

Chapter Summary Rhaegar Hawke is a notorious, sarcastic playboy, but he finds himself bewitched by a woman who appears to despise him. He had one taste of her and like a drug addict, he has to score another hit.

Notes That, and I think Hawke doesn't like being told, No.

So this chapter does not have background music, but I do have a lyrical (?) song to share if you're interested. It is major inspiration for Hawke's obsession with Abner.

Take Me To Church - Hozier (However, I prefer the Elli Goulding Cover but Rhaegar Hawke My husband insists on the original.)

Listen, this chapter has smut at the end, but you can totally skip it if that's not your bag, it will not affect the story for you at all. So, if you are one who prefers to refrain from such dirty things, when you see the ***** and a break, the chapter is done!

For those of you who continue on, much like the first smutty chapter, this one switches perspective, because... it just does... I don't know why I do it, but apparently it's a thing I do now.

Enjoy! Comments, likes, and reblogs are loved and adored :)

[Read Chapter 18 on AO3] or [Start from the Beginning]

-Hawke-

“So then Krem says, ‘I bet you can’t get all three of those red heads to bed you tonight.’ Let’s just say, he was buying all of my rounds for a week!” Iron Bull laughs with such a booming vigor that he has to clutch his stomach, head arched back, teeth glinting in the flickering fire light. Bull has been swapping stories and telling jokes with Abner ever since the fire was set. She laughs with him, but Hawke notices – though she clearly tries to hide it – that she favors her left side. Favoring the ribs that had been smashed not two days before by a brut… her husband.

She really shouldn’t try to be so tough. Granted, Hawke would act the same way if it was he who had taken the crippling blow. He stretches his shoulders back at the thought, the fresh scars on his back are still painfully sore from when the demon ripped through his armor as if he was made of butter. While he can appreciate her obstinacy, she needs to take the proper time for rest that Solas had instructed. With everything she just went through, it is amazing she can even walk. Instead, she insists on pretending that she feels great and that nothing catastrophic just happened to her.

Ever since Solas fixed her broken bones, however, she has been different. Lighter. Though, she has yet to address the fact that they all just watched her bathe in the blood of her husband. In fact, she still has some of his blood on her… How can they act like she is okay? How can she make jokes with Bull at a time like this? How can they go along with it? He’s not sure why, but they do.

They all do.

“Mmmm,” Abner smiles into the stars as if she is picturing something beautiful hanging in front of her. “I am a sucker for a red head. Can be a man, a woman, a dwarf, human, elf…shit, I’d even give you a go if you had crimson hair flowing from that head, Bull.”

Smiling to himself, Hawke feels his self-assured arrogance flourish with her words. He has never felt so appreciative of his auburn hair as he does in this moment. Hawke was unaware of her fetish before, perhaps he can use it to his advantage.

“You know, Bers… I bet there is a spell for that. Damn, I’d even wear a wig.” Iron Bull purrs as he leans in toward Abner with want and desire radiating from his one good eye.

Inwardly, Hawke blazes with jealousy. The nerve of the qunari, Hawke is sitting right here. Sure, he doesn’t have any official claim on Abner, but he wants to. It is pretty fucking obvious that he is attracted to her, and that they have an intense, albeit limited, history.

He can’t help himself, he has to attempt to claim her. No matter how much he does not deserve it, and shouldn’t try, he wants to. Hawke has never been one to abstain from his wants, no matter how dangerous they are.

Clearing his throat as challenging and superior as he can muster, Hawke springs a look of perturbed irritation on his face. Interrupting their ardent banter, they both turn their gaze to him, brows cocked, Abner’s eyes annoyed and expectant. Suddenly, with her gaze on him, all of the air within his body… leaves.

Momentarily, he loses his train of thought. Instead of a witty retort, he babbles like an incoherent moron. “I… uh… well…That is to say… I don’t think Abner needs anymore redheads… in this camp, anyway,” he awkwardly utters. As soon as his mouth shuts, he rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, annoyed with his own incompetence.

Smooth. Real smooth… Jackass…

Now she is looking at him with both pity and a half crooked smile. Like Hawke is nothing but a child throwing a tantrum, threatening to take his toys and go home. Well, he does want to take her and go. She is a wonderful, enticing, and feral creature that Hawke wants to play with, and those desires do not involve the qunari sitting to her right. Hawke can feel the pout sulking on his face, and he tries to correct it with a more flirtatious look in her direction. He raises a single eyebrow, places a fist on his hip, and thinks to himself a mantra of, Look dashing. Look dashing. Look dashing.

She is not impressed. Rather, she slowly closes her eyes, obviously rolling them behind her lids. As she opens them again, they stay narrowed, cutting through him with an apathetic precision that slices his heart. Has she lost all interest? Will she ever again look at him the way she did that first night?

She must have felt the raw, primal connection they shared, why push him away? Perhaps it was her Avvar secret… her secret marriage… and something about being half-blooded? Maybe? He doesn’t know, but the crazy, mabari war hound is out of the bag now, so why is she still so cold?

She is such a mystery. He barely knows anything about her…yet… he can’t get her out of his head. This never happens to him. He doesn’t obsess and fall over himself for the attention of a woman. He looks like a Maker damned fool. This is ridiculous, he has known many women. Droves of women. He’s unsure what Abner has done to him… but that feral, wild, and wicked look behind her eyes drives him crazy with want. He feels a kinship with her, like no other. Her presence makes him want to do things… bad things… naughty things… despicable things… Not that a woman has never made him feel lustful, honestly, they all have. The other feelings he has for her, however, are quite unique. Abner instills a need in him to be tender… loving.

She is a Goddess. He would worship at her feet like a dog. The Lady of the Forest. As she calms the rabid mind of a wolf, she accentuates both his ferocity and his compassion.

Hawke needs to know everything about her. He needs her to look at him, smile, and share all of her secrets. Allow him to share the load of her burdens. Crack jokes with her, fight beside her, share stories, hold her, stare at the beautiful wildfire that lives in her eyes, and make love to her every night before she sleeps. He has never been so quickly transfixed by a woman, but she has bewitched him - mind, body, and soul.

He would gladly move mountains for her, if it meant she would look at him the way she did when they first met. What he would not give to go back to that night, when she was carefree and comfortable. That must return. She is like drug and he is happily addicted. He needs another fix, to rapture in her glow. He had that one precious taste of her spirit, and like a fiend, he is desperate for more.

She gets up from her spot at the fire, “I’m goin’ to bed.” She cuts her eyes at Hawke, razor sharp daggers searing into the depths his soul. He wants to follow her, but with all the seriousness of a mage going into a harrowing, she says, “Alone.” Begrudgingly, he watches her as she heads to her tent, wishing he could follow, annoyed that he cannot.

Izzalea walks in front of him in that moment, obstructing his view of Abner’s tent. Stretching and groaning, Izzy is oblivious to his desperate yearning to recapture her scout. “Maker’s balls, I am so sick of this swamp. At least the rain finally stopped. Though, I wonder for how long.” She sighs and plops down on a log beside him. “How amazing would it be to have our gear actually dry out?” She gently ribs him with her elbow.

“I’m not sure what good it would do. We all stink and are covered in blood and guts anyway,” Bull grunts.

No one has been able to bathe since they arrived. Not really, anyway. The marsh is full of the undead, and the water is disgusting. There is nothing around to clean themselves with, so they wipe off as best as they can and persevere. Everyone could do well with a warm bath, a dry bed, and a decent meal.

That gives him an idea. “I think we need to let everyone have a well-deserved break from the bullshit,” Hawke winks at Iron Bull who takes obvious offence to his well-directed snark. “And we all deserve respite from having to smell the especially noxious qunari.”

Bull’s nostrils flare as he begins to glare and, possibly unknowingly, tilt his horns in Hawke’s direction. This just fuels his fire, “Say Bull, you‘re part beast or something, aren’t you? I mean that’s why you have horns and all of that, right? Should you not be able to lick yourself clean?” Hawke feels wickedly proud of himself, retaliation for hitting on Abner.

“RRRRRRAH! ENOUGH!” Bull growls and bellows at Hawke as he sharply rises to his feet.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Izzalea raises her hand to stop Bull from a charge. She punches Hawke roughly in the shoulder as he continues to taunt the horned goat-man with a malicious smirk. “Knock it off, Hawke.” As Bull sits back down, glowering, Izzy sighs in irritation, “What was your point, Hawke? Without any additional of insults, preferably.” She cuts her eyes at him. With all of this love and adoration, he feels as if he’s back in Kirkwall.

He sits up straight, tugging at his tunic proudly and winks at Bull again, who in turn rolls his eye. Pivoting to Izzy, he unfolds his plan, “There was a town, Sothmere, not far from the bog. I bet they have an inn there. What do you say we stop there, rest, wash ourselves, and have a decent meal?”

“Oh that sounds wonderful!” Izzy squeals, Hawke didn’t even know this woman could emit a sound so high-pitched. However, her disposition immediately plummets, “But Josie didn’t give me the funds for that sort of thing,” she says as she drops her head down, resting it in her palm with her elbow leaned on her knee. She looks like Hawke had promised her a ride on a griffon only to laugh in her face and tell her they’re extinct.

“Ah, well… fear not your Inquisitorialness! It will be my treat. My gift to the Inquisition and all of that,” he says as he smiles at her, mockingly putting-on-airs and twirling his fingers about.

She sits up straight again, grinning ear to ear, “Thank you, Hawke! Are you sure you want to spend your coin on that? Once we get out of the bog it will only be a few nights before we reach Skyhold.”

Honestly, or obviously, Hawke has his own agenda. He seeks privacy with Abner before they return to the keep. With all of the bustle that goes on there, it would be easy for her to slip away, disappearing from his grasp forever. Plus, he will be leaving again, this time for the Western Approach, almost immediately upon return. He cannot risk losing the chance to talk to her. Perhaps he should attempt to apologize… or something… He still doesn’t know what he did, but apologies tend to do wonders with the fairer sex. Really, he’s willing to do anything if it means he has the chance to experience her charms again.

Hawke winks at Izzalea and bumps his shoulder into hers, “Really Izzy? Do you really want to arrive in Skyhold to face your dapper and handsome Commander, while smelling like a death bog?”

Izzalea grimaces at the thought and shakes her head. “No.”

“Then the inn it is! We deserve it,” he smiles at her and rises to his feet. He flashes a brief, smug nod to Iron Bull before turning on his heel to head to his tent for the night. As he strides away, he calls back to his companions over his shoulder, “It will be something for us to look forward to as we fight our way out of this revolting marsh.”

The next day is slow going. Even though they finally leave the bog behind, the steady pace needed to keep it easy on the wounded, tired soldiers seems to make their travel drag on forever. There were not enough horses for everyone, so the worst of the lot were propped on steeds and lead by the rest at a slow, even march. They still manage to arrive in Sothmere by the next evening, however. Like the Maker shining his light down upon them, they see the inn from a distance, and everyone’s mood revitalizes.

As members of their entourage clean themselves, they slip into the cleanest, most comfortable clothes they can find in their gear, and trickle into the inn’s tavern for drink, food, and relaxation. Hawke practically skips down the steps from the inn rooms to the tavern floor. His light, linen tunic and slacks feel fresh and easy on his newly washed skin. He walks up to the bar to order himself a much needed drink.

A beautiful barmaid walks up to Hawke, smiling a lovely, toothy grin and crinkling the freckles spread across her nose as she winks at him in hello. She has a light, sunny, red hue to her wavy hair that cascades over her shoulders. Her breasts are hoisted quite high due to some kind of brown, leather, corset contraption underneath that Hawke doesn’t understand, but greatly appreciates. While a linen chemise is below, barely keeping her breasts from being displayed bare, in all of their glory. She catches him staring and laughs while shaking her head, “’Ello there, handsome stranger, what can I do yis for?” She has a rich, friendly Starkhaven brogue that almost makes Hawke long for the Free Marches, and the other lovely lady there with a similar accent.

He smirks coyly at the maiden. He drops his voice to a low, playful rumble, “How about a glass of your finest red, my lady?”

“Oh, yous a cheeky one, eh?” she flirts, “Not sure how fine it is foryis, but I might have a bottle of sumptin in the back.” He watches as she walks through a door into the tavern’s store room. A pale green skirt flits around as she walks, but Hawke still enjoys the view of her bum swaying before she disappears into the room.

When she returns, she displays a proud smile on her glowing, pale, freckled face. “This’ll have to do, big spender,” she winks at him as she pours a glass into a goblet. “Best we got.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” he coos back to her, all the while he obviously drinks her in with his eyes.

She giggles at him while handing his goblet over, he slides his coin across the wooden counter. As he drinks, the wine hits that very particular and unfortunate spot at the back of his throat, causing him to cough uncontrollably. While he was trying to appear suave for the barmaid, instead he hacks and dribbles red wine down the front of his pale linen shirt.

She covers her mouth with her hands but laughs hysterically at his discomfort. Hawke sighs, taking his wine and his shame to find the rest of his cleaned companions in the tavern. It does not take long, as he sees a table with Izzy, Bull, Cole, Solas, and a couple of the rescued Inquisition soldiers sitting at a long table not very far from the bar. He joins them and enjoys some light banter, however, Hawke notices a far off stare in Izzalea’s sage colored eyes.

“Something weighing on your mind, Izzy?” Hawke asks just before taking a swig of his wine.

“I just…” her voice trails off as quickly as it begins.

“What is it boss?” Iron Bull asks, looking concerned from the end of the table.

“I just don’t understand how that… Thing, could have been married to Abner,” Izzalea speaks slowly and cautiously, keeping her stare on the table, eyes searching the woodgrain for answers.

“It’s possible that it wasn’t her choice,” Bull says gravely. Izzeala turns her head to look at the Qunari. “The thing is, well as far as I’ve heard, it’s how they get their brides to the wedding ceremony…” Bull says plainly. “They abduct her.”

Hawke feels the color rush from his face and feels sick to his stomach, followed quickly by outrage. He growls inwardly, “They what?” The thought of a young Abner being abducted and forced to marry that man sickens him.

“Well, to my understanding it’s just a custom. The groom has to prove himself to her family by successfully taking her from them. The marriage is supposed to be worked out and agreed upon before, and the bride can even help him if she wants. The ritual was explained to me once when the Chargers where working near an Avvar strong hold. They talked about it like it was fun, a test of valor.” Bull drops his eyes from the table and takes a drink from his tankard. Shuddering to himself he continues, “But I get the feeling that our friend may not have been so keen on the idea…”

Cole quietly murmurs while his face is tipped downward and a frown shapes his lips, “Not a game to her…”

“I do not think it prudent to speculate how she was married or how she felt about it, The Iron Bull. Imparting Avvar customs to our friends here is one thing, speculations of Abner’s private affairs is quite another,” Solas calmly and coolly scolds Bull, who in turn shoots a glare and releases a low grunt at the elf.

Izzalea groans with guilt written plainly on her face, she runs her fingers through her wet hair, shaking it out as she does. “Solas is right…we should change the subject. I am sorry for bringing it up.”

Iron Bull watches Izzalea idly play with her auburn tresses, a twinkle shines in his eyes as he looks past her and to the lovely barmaid beyond. “How about we take bets as to whether I can seduce that gorgeous redhead serving drinks at the bar?” He looks at the woman with a hunger in his eye and a smirk on his face.

The two soldiers at the table look at the woman and then eye the enormous Iron Bull up and down. “I will take that bet,” one says.

The other chuckles, “Yeah, me too. I think she will take one look at you and turn the other direction.”

Bull laughs proudly to himself, “You men of little faith. Prepare to lose your coin…” He starts to rise from his chair only to freeze in place because of something he sees. His jaw slacks, surprise shining in his eye. He slowly eases back down without dropping his gaze from what has shocked him.

“What’s wrong Bull, lost your nerve?” Hawke chuckles as he turns his head to follow Bull’s line of sight.

And then he sees her.

Abner is slowly slinking down the steps from the inn’s rooms and into the tavern.

She is a vision.

Her thick and dreaded hair is pulled back into a large messy knot, or bun, or whatever you call it with hair like hers. She has fresh kohl marked around her eyes, matching her black tattoos, and her skin tight, black leather breeches. A look that is seductively dangerous.

And her tunic… it is scandalous.

Obviously, they did not have the means to bring a wardrobe on this mission, but she is wearing a mere sheath of a top. Sleeveless and thin, it drapes and flows loosely from her shoulders. The color is lighter than her skin… and maker is that material thin. Painfully thin. Hawke begins to doubt if she even knows what a breast band is…

Hawke’s loins tighten and quiver at the sight of her. He licks his lips as he suddenly feels parched, but he cannot avert his stare. Barefooted, she lightly and gracefully pads up to the bar. He finds it hard to contain himself as he hopes she comes to their table soon. He cunningly pushes back the chair next to him, hoping she will grace it with her exquisite behind.

She leans on the counter and smiles seductively at the light, crimson haired barmaid. Hawke’s heart starts to plummet into the abyss as she stays there, standing with the maid. She receives her ale, but she stays. The maid giggles and blushes at something Abner says. She looks as sly as a cat flirting with a fish in a bowl.

“Looks like you will be paying us coin, Iron Bull,” Hawke hears one of the soldiers snort from behind him.

He turns to look at Bull as he grunts disapprovingly at the soldier. “How could I to get in the way of that.” He sighs in capitulation, “She deserves some fun…”

The conversations ebb and flow at the table, all the while, Abner never joins them. Hawke tries his hardest not to stare at her, but it is difficult. Ultimately, he ends up sullenly pouting and studying the wood pattern on his goblet in front of him. He surrenders his attempt to not watch her and looks back toward the bar, only to feel a shot of anxiety in his chest. She is gone.

Searching the room with panicked eyes, Hawke looks for her figure, but finds nothing. She must have gone up to bed. How is he to make amends with her if he never gets a chance to talk to her? He must find her. He must speak with her.

Excusing himself from the table, he decides to search her out. He nods to his companions, wishing them a pleasant evening and a good sleep. He jokingly advises Bull to not poke any holes in his pillows with his horns, as he doesn’t want to spend the extra coin to clean the feathers and replace the linens. Before Bull can retaliate with an equally damning insult, Hawke smugly makes his way up the stairs.

Thankfully, since he purchased the rooms, he also handed out the keys. Hawke quickly finds her door and raps his knuckles on the wood in the most charming way he can possibly muster.

Hearing muffled voices from the other side, he wonders if she not alone. There is a pit in his stomach, but then the door begins to open. The beautiful, yet sour, face of Hawke’s Avvar Goddess is staring up at him. He has displeased her, yet again, with his presence.

She cocks her head to the side, folds her arms at her chest, and taps her foot. “What do you want, Hawke… I’m a little busy…” she spits her words like venom.

Looking past her, he sees that the redheaded barmaid is in the bed, holding a sheet against her chest and between her bare shoulders. Interestingly enough her look is not of disdain, the maid is actually tracing her eyes over Hawke’s body with a delicious smirk on her lips, and lustful bedroom eyes.

“Oh Abi, are ya havin’ that? Just look at’im. He’s right fit innit he?” the maiden hums as she locks eyes with him and they both raise an eyebrow at each other. Oh, this is very interesting, indeed. Hawke can work with this. He had wanted to make amends with Abner, but he could easily be persuaded as to how he should accomplish the task.

Hawke winks slyly at the maiden in the sheets before looking down to his raven haired beauty. Leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms, and cocking his brow, Hawke rumbles in the most suggestive and sarcastic way possible, “Abi?”

“Not a word, Hawke,” she says curtly, but he detects the slightest hint of amusement in her eyes. The wall she has put between them is starting to chip. She sighs, “Why are you here?”

He smiles at her. “Well, I wanted to kiss and make up… But I see now that perhaps we can do so much more than just that.” There is slightest twitch of a smile on the corner of her mouth, hope springs within him. She is not as discontent with him as she tries to appear.

The crimson maid on the bed squeals with delight and pleads with ‘Abi’ to let him in. He continues to lean on the doorframe as smug as the Nug King himself. Abner’s eyes never leave his. He watches as the fire burning within them slowly morphs from contempt into desire. She is internally weighing her options, and her decision seems to be leaning in Hawke’s favor.

She licks and bites at her lip. His breath intensifies. She takes one step toward him with a smile on her wicked, gorgeous face.

Barely audible, except to her, he asks, “How are your ribs?”

“Much better, don’t worry about them,” her voice is in that low sexy tone he has been yearning to hear.

Hawke seizes that moment. Without diverting their lustful gaze, he swiftly scoops her up into his arms. She hooks her legs around his waist like they belong there, and he carries her into the room. Pivoting, Hawke uses his boot to knock the door closed and roughly presses her against it.

She is raised above him just enough to give Hawke easy access to her neck. He ghosts his lips over tan flesh, lightly breathing hot breath on her skin as she squeezes him tightly between her thighs. He looks up at her as thunderous desire rumbles in his chest. She peers down into his burning soul, her fingers entwine in his hair and tug lightly at his beard.

She is looking at Hawke as she did the first time she was in his arms. He is overcome with bliss and hunger. She is his again, but he needs to ensure it stays this way.

The maiden behind him calls out, “Ay, what about me?”

Hawkes eyes flow ravenously over the enticing, warm, tanned skin of the goddess in his arms and wrapped around his body. In a low husk he responds, “Just a moment, love…”

Hawke leans in to tenderly whisper a kiss onto the nape Abner’s neck. “I just need to…”

As soft as a dropping flower petal, he presses a kiss upon her left shoulder. “Tell our beautiful friend…”

Her chest begins to heave… a kiss for her right shoulder. “How sorry…”

She shudders beneath his lips as he places a kiss on the other side of her neck. Looking back into her gorgeous dark eyes, he knows he burns for her as much as her eyes convey she burns for him. “I am.”

Abner’s teeth tug at her lower lip as she smiles at Hawke, before meeting her lips with his. Fire roars within his body. Electricity sparks as the touching of their skin ignites an insatiable thirst within him.

Hawke quivers in her presence, as he tastes her drug again.

*****

She tried to push him away, but he is a persistent little fucker.

Fine. If Hawke really wants to keep, whatever this is, going… Abner will play along.

For now.

After his finishes tenderly kissing her, and apologizing for… something? She’s not sure what for, but right now she doesn’t care. He loses control and begins to ravage her in his arms.

He is like a rabid animal. His long, messy, red tresses are still damp to her touch. His untamed beard tickles her skin as he glides wet, passionate kisses along her neck, chest, and shoulders. Leaving her slick, reddened, and dotted with small love bites. He comes up for air and looks at her while panting. His lips parted, his stormy, blue eyes, dark and animalistic.

He may be the sexiest man alive.

Abner shudders under his touch. He holds her above him, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the heat between them pressed firmly against his wash-board stomach. He has her pressed roughly against the door to her room. With a ragged moan he forces her hips down past his and presses his hard length against her heat. Excitement shoots through Abner’s body, a shiver dancing down her spine at the feel of him between her legs. Panting and rutting against each other in rhythm, she can’t wait too feel him inside her again.

Grinding and rutting against her, he bites at her shoulder. She tips her head back against the door and moans from deep within her, biting her lip in the process. She is drunk on him. Abner almost loses herself completely, almost forgets the other crimson haired minx in the room.

Her body slightly rises and falls, with Hawke repetitively pressing his cock against her. She sees stars as he tugs and licks at her ear. Her nails dig into his chiseled, scarred back and her jaw slacks, lips parted as she lowers her gaze to the beautiful treasure waiting for them on the bed.

She has a pleasure-filled, pained look on her sweet face. Her green eyes, doe-like. Her brows, pinched. Her pretty, pink lips, open. Her body is writhing slowly on the bed as Abner’s eyes follow the curves of her freckled, pale skin all the way to her activity.

Before Hawke came to the door, Abner had helped the maiden lose her garments. But she has now shed the sheet that was once modestly draped over her when Abner answered his knock. Patiently she waits, watching them rut and moan against the door. The maiden’s knees bent, her legs spread, one hand lightly rubbing her clit, the other delicately tracing her fingertips along her lips.

She looks delicious.

“Hawke…” A ragged whisper grips from Abner’s throat into his ear, “Don’t forget our friend.” She gently places his chin between thumb and forefinger, turning his head to see the vixen on the bed.

“Perish the thought,” he growls, voice rich with desire. Easing Abner down, he allows her to leave their position and slowly pad up to the temptress who lies open on the bed.

How lucky is she to have not one, but two seductive crimson haired lovers this evening?

“Rhaegar Hawke, I’d like you to meet Eliza,” Abner says and smiles at her. Eyes dark and hooded, she crawls between Eliza’s legs, over her body. She is a vision. Her pale, alabaster skin is as soft as powder. Light freckles dot her rosy cheeks, and across her nose in a dazzling array of sweetness.

“A pleasure,” Hawke hums. He stands at the door waiting, watching Eliza and Abner on the bed.

Leaning over her, Abner kisses her pouty lips. Eliza’s eyes close, but her mouth opens. Abner glides the tip of her tongue along the soft, pink lips before she dips in, caressing Eliza’s tongue with hers. She moans into Abner’s mouth and presses her hips up against her. The maid shudders with desire as Abner runs her tongue-caressing kisses on her lips, cheeks, and chin. She travels wet, adoring kisses down her neck, and arches her back, kneeling over Eliza’s writhing form.

Hawke apparently is overcome with temptation at the sight of Abner’s bum propped in the air. He comes to stand next to the bed. His hands traveling the curve of Abner’s ass, down the firm, muscled outside of her thighs, and back up the softer, delicate inside. He cups her hot center through her leather breeches, before tugging at the laces. Slowly, she feels him peel back the leather from her skin. As he pulls them down her legs, she aids him, lifting to remove her pants, one leg at a time.

He cups and grabs Abner’s ass, giving her a tongue-stroking kiss on each cheek. He glides his hand between her thighs, causing her to gasp and shudder into Eliza’s mouth. As he paces up the side of the bed, Abner leaves her kisses with Eliza to lean up on her knees, welcoming Hawke with passion between their slick lips.

Hawke’s works one hand between her legs, while the other travels to her neck. She gasps as he grabs it firmly, pressing his thumb against her throat, and pulling her into a deeper kiss. Eliza’s fingers dance and glide on Abner’s stomach causing her skin to prickle and sing. Hawke’s hand travels down to her breast. He cups it and thumbs her nipple as they continue to sinfully glide their tongues together.

Pulling away from their kiss, he eyes the crimson beauty lying beneath them. With his hooded stormy eyes, he smiles at Eliza as he bends down to seductively kiss her luscious lips, and brush his fingers along her breasts.

Abner uses the opportunity to slip off her sheer tunic, tossing it to the side. Delicately, she moves Eliza’s legs downward, and straddles over one of her thighs. Pressing her firm thigh against Eliza’s slick cunt, the barmaid coos into Hawke’s mouth with excitement. The ragged panting sounds they make turns Abner on further, as she glides and rocks herself against Eliza’s soft, smooth thigh.

Hawke stands and begins to remove his clothing while Eliza sits up enough to grab at Abner’s waist and pull her down. Their skin silkily slides against each other. Abner lies next to Eliza, yet slightly overlapped and entangled with her. They kiss as Abner trails her hand down Eliza’s stomach to her dripping core. She moans and bucks against Abner’s hand while she rubs the sweet pearl with her thumb and dips the tips of her fingers into her.

Abner hums lowly into her ear, “Do you like that, Eliza?”

“Fuck, yes…” she gasps breathlessly.

Hawke joins them on the bed, on the opposite side of their tantalizing barmaid. He kneels next to her, his cock proudly hanging before them. Eliza and Abner smirk at each other before they sit up and guide Hawke to a lying position between them. Eliza licks her hand and glides her slippery palm along Hawke’s length, from tip to base and back again, causing it to twitch in appreciation.

He hisses a sharp intake of breath and closes his eyes. Each of his hands lightly rubbing the women’s waists. Leaning down over his cock, as Eliza slowly strokes it, Abner eases her mouth over the tip. Swirling her tongue against the shaft, she glides down, encasing as much as she can while allowing room for Eliza. With added pressure of suction, Abner glides her mouth back up. She watches Hawke’s face as Eliza strokes, and she sucks. His eyes open, watching them, the blue of them turning even darker and more thunderous. His lightly furred chest rises and falls steadily, his slow breath gradually gaining speed.

Hawke wraps his fingers through Abner’s hair and guides his cock deeper in her mouth and down her throat, until her nose presses firmly against his stomach. He holds her there as she moans, the feeling of him filling her throat makes her cunt drip down her leg. Eliza reaches around and glides her fingers over Abner’s ass before pressing them inside her, fingers playing with slippery wet. Hawke releases his hold, and she springs her head up, gasping for air, grinning wickedly. He grabs Abner’s face roughly, sinking his thumb into her open, panting mouth, pulling her jaw down. He licks and bites at his lips as he watches her moan, mouth wet and red, and Eliza plays with her cunt, finger gliding and dancing between her thighs. He pulls his thumb from her mouth and pushes her head back down over his cock.

His eyes quickly flicker wide, then squeeze shut as his breathing speeds up considerably, with the added vibrations of her moaning. He pumps her head faster and harder. Pulling his lower lip into his mouth and biting it firmly, he looks down at her, their eyes meeting intensely.

Abner pulls him out of her mouth, gasping for air, overcome with lust. Eliza gives her a break, placing her mouth over him. He replaces Eliza’s fingers inside Abner with his own. His stormy eyes still locked on hers. They may have a companion in the room, but he looks at Abner as if she is the only person in Thedas. She can’t look away, transfixed, aroused by his reddened face and ragged breath. His fingers slide in and out of her as she lightly grinds her hips to help him go deeper. They repeatedly hook and rub against the special bundle of nerves deep inside her, giving Abner the feeling that she will soon unravel. The combination of his fingers, the atmosphere, and the gale raging in his eyes brings her closer to the edge.

Hawke senses this, pulling his fingers away. Abner whimpers, instantly feeling empty, longing for his touch to return. She begs him with her eyes, to bring his touch back to her.

“Get on,” a deep, seductive command erupts from his chest.

Eliza ceases her attentions. Bringing her head back up, she smiles and wipes saliva from her swollen, dark-pink lips. Hawke winks at her, motioning for her to crawl to him and straddle his face while Abner straddles his hips. In unison the women ease down to him. Abner watches his tongue reach out, gliding along Eliza while she cries out to the Maker.

As his cock fills her, Abner loses all consciousness. He feels amazing. She rocks her hips so that he continually stays inside, rubbing against her favorite spot. It feels as if fire is burning and dancing on every inch of her skin.

Eliza reaches out for her, bringing Abner back from her haze. She pulls their lips together. She tastes Hawke on Eliza’s lips and on her tongue, making Abner burn even brighter. They cry into each other as they kiss and ride Hawke. Their breathing uneven, their hips buck and twitch as he brings them both close to the edge.

Hawke’s hands grip Abner’s hips hard, pressing her roughly on him. The women’s hands tangle in each other’s hair and they press their foreheads together, swiftly approaching ecstasy. They both loudly plead for release, and find it, together.

Abner and Eliza shudder. Heads falling to the other’s shoulder, hips twitching as ripples of explosions release in their bodies. They pant and moan into each other’s skin as the last shockwaves of their orgasms dissipate. Abner feels as if her skin glows, Eliza’s most certainly does.

In a low, husky tone, Abner chuckles. Wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, she smiles, exhaling a single word, “Damn…”

Eliza giggles as she dismounts Hawke’s now glistening face. He grins quite proudly at them, his hands still driving Abner’s hips on him, slowly rocking her back and forth on him.

“If my ladies are finished?” he asks politely, smirking.

“Please, go right ahead,” Eliza giggles.

The dark, stormy, blue eyes lock on Abner’s, making her shiver and feel as if she could come again. She hadn’t realized how much she missed his eyes on her while their lovely friend obstructed her view. He flashes a wicked grin moments before swooping and flinging them into opposite positions, pinning Abner down against the bed. Hawke fervently thrusts in and out of her in long, fluid strokes, never breaking eye contact.

Placing her legs over each shoulder he drives into her. A feeling so intense, that her legs shake and tremble against him. Abner screams his name, and grunts loudly with each thrust, consumed by pleasure. His red hair cascades down the side of his face as he leans down to kiss her. Abner’s knees pinned against her chest, he stays there, slamming into her fast and hard. The bed shakes and creaks, rutting against the floorboards.

Pressing his forehead on hers, they stare into each other eyes, and she senses Hawke start to lose control. In this moment, he is the only man in the world, and she, the only woman. She feels euphoric as she reaches a second climax, dissolving into star dust as rapture radiates throughout her body.

He rumbles her name before connecting their lips one last time as he slams eagerly inside of her. Holding that position, she feels him release and tremble against her.

Abner tucks his hair behind his ear and caresses his cheek. They gaze softly at each other. He smiles and kisses her forehead before leaning up, gently helping her stretch out her unsteady legs.

He grins at Eliza, winks, and exclaims, “Good job!” He smacks her playfully on the ass, causing her to giggle. He looks down at Abner lovingly, gently rubbing her thighs in his strong hands, “You too, my love.”

Abner allows herself to flush at his words, just this once, feeling her own affinity for the man grow in her chest. She feels warm, tingly all over as they each pick a side of her to lie next to and cuddle.

She really shouldn’t make a habit out of this. But just for this night, Abner will allow herself to feel loved.

#in love serenity #male hawke #my hawke #hawke #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fandom #dragon age romance

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trevorbailey61 · 7 years ago

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Latitude ‘17

Henham Park, Suffolk

Saturday 15th July 2017

It is like waiting for the fixtures to be announced, the speculation, the anticipation, the planning, the feasibility of making it to a Tuesday night game in Swansea. The difference is that it is not just when you are playing that it unknown, it is also who is playing. It was Kraftwerk that first brought us to Suffolk but we loved our first festival so much we have been back every year since and now book the tickets before any acts are announced, putting our trust in the organisers to cater for our tastes. From about December we scour the internet for rumours, official and unofficial forums, or should that be fora?, to give us just a hint of what to expect, has our faith been rewarded. Year after year the same names appear, P J Harvey, Nick Cave, Bon Iver, Arcade Fire, all acts that would grace the festival, raising the anticipation. Then the email arrives, names have been allocated to the stages, the most prominent appearing at the top of the page, the headline, the big draw, the act to bring in the punters. And there it was, Saturday, the biggest slot in the weekend, the day when the park is packed to bursting and the draw to bring all these people in; Mumford and Sons. There are few acts I hate, I can normally find something in almost any form of music I can relate to and if I can’t the my reaction is mostly indifference. I have, however, developed a fierce and totally irrational hatred of Mumford and Sons, the Richard E Grant talking boil on my neck uttering a stream of profanities upon hearing the first few chords of “The Cave” or “Little Lion Man”. Not only a headline, they are taking over the whole fucking day, all the acts on every music stage are there because they are buddies of Marcus Mumford, give us a break. And to add to this, when the timings are announced, they manage shut everything else down during their headline slot, the only other act allowed on during their star turn is some rapper called Dave, and I really couldn’t go and see anyone who thinks is it cool to name themselves after a blokey TV channel. Alright, I appreciate that despite my feelings about them they are a big draw and almost everyone I decide to rant at shoots me down by pointing out that the Saturday has sold out, although the same happened last year when the headline were the less demanding National. Even so, how much indulgence did it take to book them?

Overnight, the stages have been given a Gentlemen of the Road make over letting us know who is in charge, the boil emits a little more seethe but I manage to control it. We begin, however, in the comedy tent, giving me the opportunity to lance it completely and enjoy the rest of the day. We saw Phil Ellis compare the literature tent last year where his act was based on still living with his parents in his mid-30s as a result of annoying the friend he shared a flat with to the point that he threw him out. His act was very much for an adult audience but the programme noted that he also did a show for children. Based on what we had seen, it seemed an uncomfortable fit but this morning we saw said show, called “Funz and Gamez”. Despite his still rather seedy appearance, a green jacket and some uncomfortably tight fitting shorts, he was a natural and the children were keen to get involved in the Gamez. That these were mostly about the humiliation of their parents shows how well he judged what they find funny. He also managed to throw in a few lines to keep the adults amused with his life lessons being particularly macarbe, “don’t get a dog when you are seven because it will die when you are doing your A-Levels”, “don’t get too attached to your grandparents”. In many ways the show seems spectacularly inappropriate for children, it even features a character dressed up as a Koala Bear whose intentions are all too obvious, but that is why it works. The variety influenced children’s television of my childhood often included ventriloquists but there was something quite creepy about them, the awkward co-dependency that Anthony Hopkins caught perfectly in the film “Magic”. Nina Conti has managed to ditch most of this, showing a self-awareness that makes it clear that her main alter ego, Monkey, is speaking her words. He tells the cameraman to “zoom in on her lips”, and later, a hypnotism sequence, of course, leaves him speechless. Through the Q&A section that follows, he finds out enough about a family near the front so that she can build a scene in which these people become her dummies. Strapping masks to their faces, she manipulates these at arms length making it appear as if they are talking, she quickly finds a voice that is right for each character. She reassures them that the pressure is on her to make it work and they relax, giving her the movement she needs to build the dialogue. It is brilliant and achingly funny, all the more so because despite the frantic plate spinning needed to make it work, it all seems so natural and effortless.

By now the Gentlemen are calling and I am soon at the Obelisk stage listening to The Very Best. Last year I saw them at the Sunrise Arena so their ascendancy to the biggest stage has been meteoric even by Latitude standards. This is undoubtedly due to their association with the headline, they featured on the “Johannesburg” EP along with Baaba Maal, but they are an excellent band and may well have made this transition anyway. Made up of Malawian singer, Esau Mwamwaya and Swedish producer Johan Hugo, their music is a mixture of African rhythms and chants and house grooves. Whilst this may make it sound a bit “coconut herring” they combine these elements to produce sublime pop songs that tackle issues such as poverty and corruption. It may not have the intimacy it had last year but Mwamwaya looks at home on the bigger stage, striding from one side to the other and reaching out to the furthest parts of the arena. The record of supermodels in music is not a good one, for every Grace Jones there is a Naomi Campbell, struggling to get her limited voice around some stodgy RnB. Karen Elson is, as to be expected, a striking figure on stage, her pale white skin and red hair perfectly lit making her stand out from those around her. Her marriage to Jack White saw her move to Nashville where she recorded her debut album, “The Ghost Who Walked”, a series of murder ballads and roots American folk style songs. Seven years later, the marriage is long over and the songs on her second album, “Double Roses”, are accompanied by delicate strains of harp, flute and violin. The sound is pared back a little for this set, no percussion or woodwind, but the harp remains to give the sound its ethereal beauty. For someone who must be used to being in the spotlight, she seems a little nervous, saying little and staring over the audience to the back wall of the tent for much of the set. The songs, mostly about loss and regret, require little else, a quite beguiling and haunting performance.

We get a Son to introduce the next act, Lucy Rose, who also tells about the day and tells us to get out and explore the other stages, it would have been nice to do that later in the evening but, well they’ve done alright so far so I may cut them a little slack. Rose, enters the stage, looking at those gathered around the arena and noting that if she added up everyone she had ever played to before, it would be less the the number now in front of her. A one time vocalist with Bombay Bicycle Club, with whom she probably played here a few years ago, her delicate folky songs are pleasant enough but with eyes closed, she retreats into herself a little, perfectly pleasant but nothing to really grab your attention. After the first three songs, I have to leave as we are meeting up for something to eat and I would like to say it was more of a wrench to draw myself away.

We head for Blixen, a pop-up version of the London restaurant that has become increasingly popular in the time it has been at Latitude. We came here during its first year when we could just walk in and find a table. It was lunchtime on the first day but they still hadn’t completely set up and as we ate we could watch a group of about five men stand around while another was trying to erect a banner, his disregard for his own personal safety during this bit of DIY was really quite impressive. Now, however, it is fully booked weeks in advance but fortunately I have an organised wife who had secured us a table and we share a pleasant meal with Daphne and Peter. So comfortable had it become, we could have stayed there for longer but that music wasn’t going to appreciate itself and soon we are sitting in front of the small stage in the Solas area listening to Seamus Fogerty. With his check shirt, acoustic guitar and festival stubble, he looks every bit the Irish folk troubadour but the i-mac at his side indicates the direction in which he will take his ballads. It is a fascinating set that was well worth seeking out.

The Lemon Twigs were a band who many had recommended we see and they more than justified this praise. The striking thing was how the two D’Addario brothers, still both in their teens, have acquired such a wealth of musical knowledge. Some of their references hark back to a time before even when their parents were born but they can draw on diverse influences such as Phil Spector, Queen, The Beatles and Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd often within the course of one song. Take “I Wanna Prove To You”, it starts with a regular 4/4 beat and a catchy melody making you think you know where it is going but then it slows down, an abrupt change in rhythm and suddenly we are in a different song. “Haroomata” starts as a slow ballad before becoming a wild fairground carousel, two conflicting themes that they somehow manage to merge, more invention in a single song than most can achieve in the entire set. For a cover they choose a Roky Erickson song, someone few their age would have heard of indicating just how much music must have been part of their life. The both play guitars and drums, swapping over midway through the set with two others drafted in to provide keyboards and bass. Brian is the steady one, rarely moving from the microphone as he does his songs, while Michael, shirtless and stick thin, leaps around the stage looking, at least from a distance, like a young Ronnie Wood. An exhilarating set, the only downside being, given the sell out day, that relatively few had found their way to the BBC Music Tent to see them. In years to come, many may well wish that they had been there and others will claim that they were.

Two Door Cinema Club were booked to headline the Friday night three years ago before having to drop out to be replaced by Lily Allen. This provoked an outburst of Twiiter rage that led even the usually thick skinned Allen to ask why everyone was being so nasty to her. The headline missed, they now occupy an early evening slot but they still draw a headline crowd. Of course this must be good to provoke such a backlash against the person brought into replace them - yes? Well no, they are undoubtedly accomplished and play well but they are so bland they make even the headline act today seem edgy by comparison. Maybe this is price our generation has to pay, living through an era that saw Bowie, The Pistols, Public Enemy, music that set out to be confrontational, the only way our children can rebel is through music that is just so dull. Better to take a break from the music and listen to the wonderful verse of Linton Kwesi Johnson. Reading the poetry he has written over his long career, he is careful to place the words into the context of the time, the battles that he helped to fight in a Britain that was routinely and institutionally racist. The subject is at times harrowing, the brutality against black people that would often involve the police, if not in the act itself then in covering it up. His calm dispassionate delivery makes his words all the more powerful and he tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to silence the applause after each poem. This is followed by an interview with Cossi Fanni Tutti, whose life is certainly interesting but not necessarily one that you would have liked to live yourself. Given her reputation, she seemed strangely subdued but having heard the story about tampons it can’t be unheard and won’t be repeated.

Leon Bridges and Sohn have both played Latitude before and I make up for missing them then by seeing them both now. Bridges has developed into a confident and charismatic soulman, owning the main stage in his brilliant white suit and modelling himself on a young Marvin Gaye. He has the sound and the moves to pull this off showing the presence to hold his large audience. In contrast Sohn’s electronic landscapes are generated from the computers and keyboards he sits behind, atmospheric but in contrast to Bridges a bit soulless. With a spectacular sunset behind us, however, we spend most of the time with Jorja Smith, another scarily young singer with a deep, distinctive and wide ranging voice, terrific stage presence and a cracking band behind her. With just a few singles to her name, there was already a familiarity with her work and as she finished with “Teenage Fantasy” many were able to sing along.

And so the time had come. There had been talk of a rebellion, of a BBC Music Tent sit in to demand entertainment, some even mentioned an escape attempt to visit the Adnams brewery in Southwold but it was just talk. In the end we meekly made our way into the arena where I would face down my enemy. Given my hostility, I am surprised how many of their songs I actually know and I am carried along by the warmth of a crowd who obviously don’t have the problems with them that I do. Better than I thought they would be? - no not really, I expected them to be good at what they do, they wouldn’t be where they are if they weren’t, it’s what they do I have problems with, not how well they do it. I will admit, however, that I enjoyed them more than I expected, “Little Lion Man” was catchy, moving along at a fast pace with the pauses hit precisely, and “Awake My Soul”, a duet with Maggie Rodgers, was really quite moving. The highlight, however, was undoubtedly the three songs performed with Baaba Maal. In particular “Si Ti Veux” was spellbinding, Maal’s pure voice soaring out into the Suffolk underpinned by complex rhythms and intricate counter melodies. For “There Will Be Time” and “Wona”, Maal’s vocals are incorporated into what are more typical Mumford songs with more distinctive verses and a chorus but he adds his characteristic voice and is a striking stage presence. With Maal’s duties done and the quiet introduction to “The Cave” starting, we decide to leave to catch Robin Ince’s Festival shambles, there was at least a token gesture.

Ince proves to be a more commanding host than Keaveny had, his routines are well judged, his interviews ask some searching questions and he is accompanied by some interesting guests. One of these was American Comedian Barry Crimmins who as a child suffered long term and horrific abuse which for a long time he would hide behind a gruff exterior and hard drinking. Eventually in order to come to terms with his own demons, he became a campaigner for other trauma sufferers with his life story forming the basis of the film “Call Me Lucky”. Finally, anarchist cook, George Egg, demonstrates how to make a breakfast of kippers and egg using a wall paper stripper, how else.

Despite all my misgivings, and possibly a stubborn determination not to enjoy myself, then a full and entertaining day. There was never any doubt that Mumford and Sons had a broad and deep musical knowledge and in curating the day, they gave the opportunity to acts to play the big sages who, in other circumstances, maybe wouldn’t have had the chance. Outstanding sets from The Lemon Twigs and Jorja Smith justified their place and showed that they are both young acts with a tremendous future ahead of them. Even the headline themselves held my interest, I won’t be going out and buying any of their albums and I still find it surprising that such bland folky music is so popular but as a live act they have their merits. In particularly giving such a prominent role to African music in their headline set was something for which they deserve credit. The boil has been silenced - for the time being at least.

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