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theheartsmistakes · 4 years ago

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Any Other Name

.Chapter 1.

The London Institute hadn’t changed in the five years since Cordelia had last seen it. Its pointed rooftops disappeared into the alloy colored clouds that perpetually covered the sky of London making Cordelia sometimes wonder if underneath the constant precipitation the sky was purple or grey rather than blue. The arched glossy windows reflected the view of the city with the billowing smoke from the factories, the lines from the bridges, and the diamond-like flecks that glittered off of the Thames.

It rivaled the Institute in Tehran in size alone, but otherwise, the cold, steel gray of the stones had nothing on the warmth and light of the sand-colored building that she had been living in for the past five years. Already she missed the way the sun warmed the inside of the building and filled the rooms with its light that sent fractals of color off of the beads that adorned the bright colored drapes in her bedroom. She missed the smells of spices, burning applewood, and whatever flower bloomed wildly in that season as she walked the crowded merchant-lined streets.

She’d only been in London all of ten minutes and already she wanted to climb back through the portal and take her grandmother up on her offer to let her live there with her in her small one-bedroom flat.

“We are a family,” said her father proudly when he informed them at the dinner table only a week before that they (he) were offered the position to be head of the London Institute after the removal of William and Tessa Herondale. ��This is a family decision. No one is staying behind. We are moving as a family.”

It didn’t feel like a family decision when he removed her bedroom door after she’d locked herself in for twenty-four hours in protest.

One year, she told herself. One measly little year in the dreary, desolate wasteland that was London, and then she would be eighteen and free to make her own decisions including where she wanted to live.

Her older brother Alastair, the bastard, had turned eighteen only a month ago and had opted to remain in Tehran to help oversee the Institute until the Clave found a family to take over. Cordelia bristled at the idea of someone else living in her room which she’d just managed to decorate according to her taste. What if they turned it into a boring old office or Angel forbid a crafts room.

Never, in her seventeen years, did she hate her parents. Not for any reason for they were quite good parents. They let her go out with her friends any night of the week she wanted, they supported her in whatever protest or interest she happened to be on even if it pertained to mundane issues, and she rather liked spending time with them when she wasn’t training or out in the city with her small, but loyal group of friends.

Her friends.

They’d only said goodbye a few hours ago, but she’d at least hoped for one fire message of encouragement to help her through these trying times.

She’d scold them for it later.

When she’d come to London as a child during her parent's annual Clave meetings, the only enjoyable part of being here visiting with the ever eccentric Lucie Herondale. They’d become fast friends when they first met at ten years old and remained in touch either through fire messages, the occasional visits, or annual Clave meetings. Until about six months, when all correspondence stopped. Cordelia sent her dozens of messages, but none of them were answered. When she attempted to call from a city payphone on the landline she knew Lucie kept, the automated message said the phone number had been disconnected.

Cordelia wondered if it was something that she had done or said that upset Lucie. That was until a week ago when her parents sat down with her and her brother and told them of the Clave’s decision to exile the Herondale’s for their demon blood.

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!” Cordelia yelled when her parents informed both her and Alastair. “They’re exiled? What does that even mean?”

“It means they’re no longer considered Shadowhunters,” said Alastair from where he sat across from her at the dining room table. He was rather unperturbed by the situation which didn’t surprise Cordelia in the least. He never liked the Herondale’s; least of all James Herondale, Lucie’s older brother.

“I know what it means, Alastair, I’m being dramatic,” snapped Cordelia. “What did they do to deserve this? Will has always been an esteemed member of the Clave and Tessa as well. They can’t do this to them!”

Elias, Cordelia’s traitorous father looked to her mother Sona for assistance but her mother looked just as angry as Cordelia felt.

“It’s all to do with their blood,” said Elias carefully.

“Their blood?” Cordelia said as if he’d just announced he was infected with some virulent disease.

“Bigotry, darling,” said Sona and glanced at him over the edge of the purple scarf that concealed her hair. “I think the word you are looking for is ‘bigotry’.”

“No,” said Elias. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Why not,” said Sona, flippantly. “It’s not as if the Clave is here to hear you. We’ve always been honest with the children, it won’t do to stop now.”

“Sona, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was an argument that they have had before and did not side with one another. “We agreed to be a unified front.”

“I agreed to no such thing,” said Sona and turned her gaze to Cordelia. “The Clave upon hearing that Tessa’s father is the greater demon Belial, has decided that despite her angelic heritage, her blood is tainted and we cannot allow tainted blood into the community in fear that her demon-side will eventually take over and she— or her children— will be responsible for something horrendous which is the nature of their kind.”

Cordelia gapped like a landlocked fish. “That’s the most idiotic thing I have ever heard!”

Sona nodded.

“Tessa is one of the kindest, sweetest, most good-natured people that I have ever met!” Her voice inched up an octave that had Alastair grimacing. She didn’t care. This was criminal. This went against everything she’d ever believed. Tessa was someone as close to an aunt as Cordelia would ever have. “Doesn’t the angelic blood dominate the demon side anyway!”

Sona nodded. “The Clave claims they do not have enough evidence of this and therefore cannot risk it.”

“You keep saying the Clave,” said Cordelia vehemently. “Who exactly are you referring to?”

“It’s all of them, darling,” said Elias.

Sona rolled her eyes. “Inquisitor Bridgetstock, the toad, is who I am referring to and the hoard of Clave members that he has fear-mongered into following after him. This is what we deserve for establishing a democracy.”

“You’d prefer totalitarianism?” said Elias.

Sona just shrugged again. “If it meant avoiding this lunacy, then yes, I suppose I do.”

Cordelia felt like screaming to release some of the frustration building in her chest. “What about Will?”

“His mother was a mundane,” said Elias.

“Oh.” Cordelia felt her cheeks fill with heat. “So the Clave has something against Mundanes, as well. So was Sophie Lightwood, are they going to exile her too?”

“The Clave is trying to keep the Shadowhunter bloodline pure,” said Elias, carefully, but there was a note of distaste in the last word. “Sophie ascended so therefore she is for all intents and purposes a Shadowhunter. Also, Will wouldn’t abandon Tessa or his children even if it meant keeping his marks. He was very adamant about that part.”

Cordelia slumped back against her chair and crossed her arms in a way she hadn’t done since she was a child. “So what, we’re just meant to pretend like they never existed? Is that what you’re saying?”

Both of her parents averted their eyes. Sona looked down at her hands resting in her lap and Elias stared at the plate of food he hadn’t touched in front of him. “Yes,” he finally said. “The punishment for fraternizing with ‘the exiled’ or any Downworlder unless it is for official Clave business is deemed punishable.”

Cordelia scoffed, but it was Alastair who asked, “Punishable, how?”

“It depends on the severity,” said Elias and meant to leave it at that.

“Meaning,” inquired Cordelia.

“Meaning,” said Elias in a tone that implied he was finished with this conversation. “They are not our friends, colleagues, or otherwise. They are our enemies and we are to treat them as such. They are working on making this into a new law and if broken, it could mean the stripping of your marks.”

Even Alastair’s eyebrows rose at that. “It seems the Inquisitor is finally getting what he wanted after all, a cease and desist on any camaraderie with Downworlders. He always did see them as a vile group.”

Elias nodded but reached over to put his hand on Cordelia’s arm. “I know Lucie was a dear friend.”

Cordelia’s eyes swam with tears at the mention of Lucie’s name. She couldn’t imagine what Lucie was going through now. Was she afraid, angry, lonely, feeling everything all at once? At least she had her family, but was it enough? Would it be enough for Cordelia?

“I cannot stress how important it is that you obey these laws until we can come up with a way to have them disbanded,” said Elias. “I know your heart, Layla, I see its fire at any signs of adversity and I don’t want to be the one to temper it, but I need you to be careful and believe me when I saw, I will do everything within my capabilities to fix this.” He looked at each person sitting at the table with him. “I may not agree with the Clave’s decision, but for our own protection, we must comply. Do you understand?”

“You want us to be silent,” said Cordelia.

Elias’s hand slipped from his daughter’s arm.

“Sometimes words are not enough,” said Sona on the other end of the table. “Sometimes we can speak louder with our action. We have raised you to be free-thinkers, to defend the innocent, and protect the ones that need protecting. We trust that you will use your best judgement on how to do just that.”

Cordelia uncross her arms and dropped her hands into her lap. She wanted more than anything to go to her room and try to send another fire message to Lucie; to rage about how ridiculous this all was, and let her friend know that she wasn’t alone. That not for one moment would she, Cordelia Carstairs, who once painted herself red and marched through the streets of Tehran as a message to their mundane government that she did not agree with the patriarchal rules placed on women, would go along with these laws.

She thought of the Blackthorn family motto: Lex malla, lex nulla.

A bad law is no law and how she wished she could claim it is her own.

But she couldn’t message Lucie. She didn’t even have a way to reach her and maybe Lucie didn’t want to speak to her anyway if she hadn’t even attempted to contact her in some other way.

“I hate this,” she said quietly.

“I know, Layla,” said her mother. “I know.”

“What of the Fairchilds?” asked Alastair, stirring his mashed potatoes around with his fork. “How did the Clave get Charlotte to agree to this? They’re practically family. Isn’t the blond one parabatai with the eldest of the Herondales?”

Elias sighed and nodded. “He is— was. He is being stripped of his mark this week.”

Cordelia gasped and felt as if she might vomit. “Matthew would never!”

“He didn’t have a choice,” said Elias. “It was either have his parabatai mark removed or be exiled.”

“He’d choose to be exiled.” Cordelia didn’t know Matthew Fairchild all that well, but she knew he wouldn’t abandon his dearest and oldest friend. The friend he chose to tie his own life.

“He’s not yet eighteen,” said Elias. “He cannot make that choice.”

“Charlotte is allowing this?”

“Charlotte has been removed from her place as Consul for not agreeing to any of this and is being replaced by Marcus Pounceby.”

“Marcus Pounceby!” said Alastair and Cordelia together.

Their father just nodded though his expression had grown increasingly tired. “Yes, it appears that if one just bends every which way for the Clave one can achieve a lot.”

Cordelia had to physically restrain herself from flipping the table. “This is bullshit!”

“Cordelia!” Her mother hissed. “I know you’re upset, but I won’t hear that sort of language at the table.”

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t, and saying ‘this is crap’ just didn’t justify how she felt. “I can’t believe this is happening. I thought we were supposed to be better than mundanes. This feels like its been torn directly out of one of their history books. Next they’ll have use hunting Downworlders and demons.” She couldn’t sit there any longer. She couldn’t handle any more information that made her want to portal directly to Alicante and demand they strip her of her marks. What was stopping them from exiling her family next? What if they stopped liking her hair color or decided she wasn’t fit to be a Shadowhunter because she was a woman? “May I be excused?”

“You haven’t eaten anything,” said her mother.

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Your mother worked—“ Elias started but Sona shook her head and said, “Yes, just clear your plate and you can go.”

——————

In the week that followed that conversation things progressively got worse. It helped that she was in Tehran with her friends, battling demons that terrorized the night and training during the day, until that fateful night when her father declared that they were moving to the London Institute.

The inside seemed as dark and cold as the outside. She didn’t remember it being this way when she visited as a girl. It used to be so full of light, but perhaps it was the people that occupied it that made it that way. Now, it seemed as lonely and depressed by their absence as Cordelia felt.

She dragged her suitcase up the flight of stairs to the second story and shuffled down the hall at a glacial pace as if every step was a concession to agreeing to live here. The hallway had holes in it where pictures were once hung by Tessa of her family and their lives there. Cordelia could remember a few: one of Tessa and Will on their wedding day, another of Tessa heavily pregnant while hanging a Christmas ornament on the tree, one of Will holding a baby, and one of all four of them together underneath the Eiffel Tower. Lucie was only six in the picture and resting her tired head on her father’s shoulder. James stood in front of his mum with a half-smile on his face and a baguette in each of his hands.

The barren walls seemed to groan and sigh as she walked past.

The door she knew to be hers was already opened, a dull strip of light came out into the hallway. Cordelia stood in front of the dark red wood of the door and nudged it open with the toe of her boot. It squeaked on its hinges as it slowly revealed the bedroom inside.

Memories of laughter crashed into her like a blast of icy, winter wind. Two little girls sitting on the massive bed, the covers were thrown over their heads with a witch light glowing between them, as they brought their collection of dolls to life in elaborate stories.

It still smelled like her— like Lucie. A mixture of Damascus roses, ink, and freshly printed papers.

Cordelia sighed and dropped her bag at her feet.

The bed was the only thing that remained of what used to be Lucie’s old bedroom. Stripped of the colorful coverlet and sheets that Lucie had chosen, it was just an old mattress with a plush, lavender velvet headboard. The only sign of there ever having been any more furniture were the marks in the wooden floorboard where Lucie’s writing desk sat and piles of dust in the corners.

“It’s not much now,” said her mother whom she hadn’t heard come up behind her. “But you can make it your own.”

Cordelia scoffed. “I don’t want to make it my own.” It was Lucie’s. It would always be Lucie’s.

She felt her mother’s hand on her waist. “I know this is difficult for you, Layla, but we must make the best of it. It’s what Lucie would have wanted.”

Cordelia turned. “Please don’t talk about her as if she’s dead. I did what you asked, I moved here, please don’t expect me to be happy about it. It’s not enough that I have to stay in this house, but I have to live in her room and make it my own. I won’t. My stuff may be stored in here, but it’s not mine. My room is in Tehran.” She turned back around and glared at the large space before her as if it’d done her some great wrong.

Sona patted her daughter on the waist before releasing her. “I didn’t come up here to upset you more, but I feel I should warn you. The Inquisitor and the Consul are coming by in an hour to meet us. They want to discuss a few things with your father over dinner. I was told to tell you to please be on your absolute best behavior.”

“So you’re asking me to sit there and look pretty?”

Sona’s eyebrows quirked. “We need to support your father. He is the only one in the Clave that has any semblance of reason. They trust him, we need to help strengthen that trust if he is to help make sense of some of this nonsense. Do you understand?”

Cordelia hugged herself. “I hate them.”

“Hate them all you like,” said Sona. “You don’t even have to speak to them if you don’t want to, but you do need to be present. The Consul’s son will be there.”

“Augustus?” said Cordelia with distaste. “Can’t you tell them I’m ill or tired from our travels. Jet lag is still a thing even if you portal.”

Sona tapped her wrist where a watch should be. “Dinner is at seven. Dress respectably.”

Cordelia looked down at the black bike shorts she had under the oversized gray sweatshirt she’d thrown on that morning while she finished all her last-minute packing. By respectable, she knew her mother meant nice, pretty, clean. Look how they want you to look so we can attempt to impress Inquisitor Bridgestock and Consul Pounceby because even though we don’t agree with their decisions, we still have to abide by their laws.

It made her want to punch a hole in the wall or throw something out the window.

She pulled the strap for the scabbard holding Cortana, her beloved sword, over her neck and rested her blade against the wall beside the closet door, and walked across the room to sit on the edge of the mattress.

Never once in her life was she ever not proud to be a Shadowhunter. It was as much a part of her as the color of skin, her name, or the distinct tone of her voice. The angelic blood sang in her veins and powered her limbs to protect those who could not protect themselves against the darkness and evil that threatened it. Never once did she consider that darkness and evil could ever touch or harm her community; that it would never be found there. Now, she came to realize, it was not so far away.

How could she fight her government? She couldn’t, not without consequences, but how could she stay silent either about what she knew to be wrong and unjust.

Her whole existence felt like the inside of a snow globe after it was turned upside down and shaken. Now, she just had to wait for the dust to settle, and perhaps things would not look so different then.

———————

The Consul was the first to arrive.

Cordelia stood in the bathroom mirror smoothing out the dress she’d thrown in the bag she packed while they waited for the rest of their things to arrive from Tehran. The white of the soft fabric warmed her skin and brought out the flecks of copper in her red hair that she left down and curled at the ends. Her mother would scoff at the length of the hem, falling to the middle of her thighs. It wasn’t exactly what Cordelia would have chosen to wear to this dinner either, but she’d left her Fuck the Patriarchy t-shirt and ripped jeans in the box with all of her clothes in Tehran. It may be written in Persian, but the look on her parents’ face would have been worth it, and who knows, perhaps it could have been a conversation starter.

She was pulling on a pair of dark leather sandals when she heard the sound of voices fill the foray. Her mother’s warm, but fake laughter sent a pinch across Cordelia’s spine. She knew it wasn’t sincere, but she still would rather hear the sound of her mother kicking them out of her house rather than welcoming them in.

I am not being complicit, she told herself as she turned towards the bedroom door. I am infiltrating the enemy. I will find their weakness. I will attempt to understand them so I can use the knowledge later to destroy them… And I will spit in their water glasses and lick their bread rolls.

With a practiced smile, she marched towards the door when she felt the give and heard the groan from a floorboard beneath her foot. She looked down and carefully lifted her right foot and watched as the board rose back up.

Interesting. None of the other boards did that.

Carefully, she got down onto her knees and dug her nails into the crack around the board. The perimeters showed markings of being dug out before. She pried it up enough to get her fingers underneath and it popped up with ease. She slid it away and beneath was a white sheet of paper with a garden stone sitting on top of it and Cordelia’s name written on the front.

Cordelia looked up to make sure no one was coming. The voices could still be heard from the foray and dinner didn’t technically start for five more minutes.

She reached down into the hole and slid the paper out from underneath the rock.

Sitting back on her hip, she unfolded it and read:

50 Ernest St, Bethnal Green, London

The Old Clock Tower

February 3, at 10 P.M.

Cielu Rhonelade

Cielu Rhonelade. Cordelia smiled as she mentally rearranged the letters to read Lucie Herondale. It was her nom de plume for a time when they were kids and Lucie wanted to be like the author George Eliot and claim her work under a different name.

But it was Lucie, of that Cordelia was sure, and she wanted to meet with Cordelia tonight.

A/N:

This story can also be found on AO3 if you would prefer to read it there.

Likes, comments, and reblog are always appreciated!

Next update: Friday, 5/14

#the shadowhunter chronicles #chain of gold #chain of iron #chain of thorns #the last hours #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #james x cordelia #jordelia fanfiction #cassandra clare #modern au #alternative au #thomas lightwood #lucie herondale #christopher lightwood #alastair carstairs #will x tessa #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn

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writingfromkitchenator · 4 years ago

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Oh Grey Warden

A Dragon Age Fanfic

Masterlist

The Iron Bull x M!Dwarf Inquisitor

Words: 1,785

Warnings: Mild angst, mention of parental loss, mention of old injuries, fluff

“Ah, Chief?”

Bull looked up from his empty tankard, one that he’d been staring at, a little lost in thought. As he looked at Krem, the sorrowful notes from the bard caught his ear, but he didn’t pay it much mind, as Krem was looking unsure.

The uncertainty wasn’t like Krem, and this had Bull worried almost instantly. “What’s wrong?”

Krem licked his lips and his eyes flickered over to the other side of the tavern, Bull quickly taking the hint and following his gaze.

Tiadith stood there, looking a little lost, his eyes staring at nothing as the words of the song seemed to wash over him, and it was only as Bull watched grief pain his expression, that he paid attention to the song.

Oh, Grey Warden,

What have you done?

The oath you have taken

Is all but broken.

All is undone.

Ash in the sun,

Cast into darkness

The light we had won.

Bull frowned a little as he watched Tiadith seem to slump as the song ended. He knew that what had happened at Adamant had not been easy, that it would have lasting consequences on everyone that had been there, but he’d never expected to see this type of reaction from their Inquisitor.

Tiadith seemed to pull himself from his trance, shaking his head a little, and in doing so, he found Bull watching him. With a deep breath, he took a hesitant step forward, before shaking his head more violently, and marching himself out of the tavern.

“Crap,” Bull said. “Is that the first time he’s heard the song?”

Krem nods slowly. “I think so, but he’s never given me the impression that it was affecting him like that.

Bull grunts with worry and gets to his feet. “There’s more to it than that, I think.”

“It was…unnerving seeing him so lost.” Krem said quietly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that.”

“Me either,” Bull agreed. “Leave it with me.”

Skyhold was a large place to try and hunt down one dwarf would’ve been a task in itself, but luckily for Bull, Tiadith was easily recognisable, and with only a few questions on the way, he soon found he’d retreated to his room.

Bull took the stairs up slowly, a little worried when he was greeted by silence, and he quickly took in the empty room at the top of the stairs. “Boss?”

“I’m out here Bull.” Tiadith’s voice came from the balcony.

He was seated on the railing, back against the wall, his eyes on the distant mountains, his expression drawn, even under his beard, and Bull couldn’t help but give a concerned frown. “Are you alright?”

Tiadith sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “Not really.”

Bull leans against the railing next to him, watching him carefully. “What’s going on?”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” He said. “I’ll be alright.”

“Bullshit,” Bull said quietly. “I’ve never seen you react like that. Out of all the decisions you’ve made, all the things that we’ve had to do, what made you stop at the words of a song?”

Tiadith is quiet for a long moment, keeping his eyes closed as he breathed deeply, using the fresh air to try and clear his head. As a shudder goes through him though, it was clear it wasn’t working. “This…this can’t go beyond us Bull. I kept this…to myself because I didn’t know how others would react at first, but when the Grey Wardens plans became known…”

This threw Bull for a moment, although he didn’t let it show. “What connection do you have with the Wardens?”

He looks at him, his eyes intense. “Promise me this doesn’t go beyond us Bull. I mean it.”

Bull gives him a wry smile. “I know you’ll put an arrow between my eyes if it does.”

Tiadith stares at him for a moment before sighing and looking away again. “My…father…was a warden. He died during the battle of Ostagar. I’d hate to think of what he’d think of all of this. There’s an…irony involved in being glad that he didn’t live to see it.”

This hadn’t been what Bull was expecting, but now it made sense why he was acting the way he was. “You were close to him.”

“As close as I could be in the Carta,” Tiadith gives a small smile. “And when you’re too young to really understand what your father was doing. I was only just starting too when we heard that there’d been a cave in during the lyrium run that he was on. We thought he was dead.”

“What happened?” Bull asked.

“It was a couple of years before we heard anything,” Tiadith said. “By then, I was old enough to start doing my own work in the Carta, small tasks here and there thinking it was the only way my life could go. He sent a letter explaining, as best he was allowed, about what had happened. That letter…it changed my life Bull, it suddenly gave me something to reach for, no matter how far that seemed.”

Bull thought for a moment, watching as Tiadith looked away, facing out over the mountains. "I’m not going to try and guess what this has been like for you boss, especially if you looked up to the wardens like that.”

Tiadath gives a soft laugh. “I only ever met him once more after that, even though we talked in letters back and forth, but that one meeting…that one meeting just set me in my dream of doing more.” He sniffed. “I never would’ve dreamed it would’ve turned out lie this. Ever since the Blight, I feel like dream has just gotten further and further away from me and that-that song was like a final confirmation that everything that happened recently, was very much real.”

He’d known Tiadith long enough now to know that he was referring to his own experience in the Blight, having been in Fereldan for the Carta when it hit, and getting wounded that left him unable to wield a sword as he’d been trained. Bull had seen the deep scar himself, running from his shoulder down to his side, and he’d often wondered how he could even wield a bow.

But this made even more sense now, learning that his father had died, and the dream of following in his footsteps slowly slipped more and more through his fingers as the world slowly seemed to go further and further into shit.

“I’m sorry Bull,” Tiadith said. “It wasn’t my intention to throw all this on you, or to even let anyone see me like this. It just hit me hard in there. I guess pushing it to the back of my mind long enough, I finally let it crack through.”

“You don’t have to apologise to me,” Bull said, giving him a nudge and a smile. “You need to get this off your chest and I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t willing to listen.”

Tiadith gives a small laugh, dropping his head. “Thanks. That’s an irony in itself considering who you are.”

Bull snorts. “If that really bothered you, you wouldn’t have flirted with me so much.”

He chuckles and then leans against him, his head resting on his shoulder. “Who does that say more for? You or me?”

Bull wraps his arms around him. “Take your pick, I’m not fussed.”

They stay like that for a long moment, looking out over the mountains. Bull knew that Tiadith would talk when he was ready.

“I don’t know how to keep going Bull,” He said softly. “I don’t know how much more I can take. I feel like I’m going to break and I don’t know if there’s a way back from that. I always thought that I’d be ready for such a life, prepared to do anything, but all this…all these things happening, especially with the Wardens, it’s just made me question…”

Bull hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “Did you need me to take care of anything?”

Tiadith shook his head. “It’s not that kind of problem Bull. It’s just…dealing with the reality of it all after having expectations for so long. I’ll be alright eventually.”

Bull sighed and rested his head atop of Tiadith’s. “You know, you don’t have to do this alone. I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon.”

He goes silent again and Bull can practically feel the emotions simmering away, and with a grunt, he bundles Tiadith into his arms, carrying him back into the bedroom.

“Bull-”

“Shush, I’m not going to just have you sitting on the edge like that all day. Makes me uncomfortable.”

“I’m not going to do anything,” Tiadith looks at him as Bull puts him down on the bed, a small smile tugged at his lips. “I quite often sit out there.”

“I know,” Bull grunts, sitting on the bed next to him. “And I don’t like it even then. What if a strong wind comes through and blows you right off?”

Tiadith chuckles, shaking head. “I have much better balance than that, you watch me leap out of range of enemies enough. I haven’t fallen off anything since I learnt to properly do that.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it all the same.” Bull said softly. “Now, come here.”

Bull stretches back out onto the bed, opening his arms up with a grin, Tiadith returning it, shaking his head and moving to his side, cuddling into him.

“Admit it,” Tiadith said quietly, closing his eyes. “You just wanted a cuddle.”

“Maybe,” Bull said. “But I also know you need this, and right now, that’s all I care about.”

Tiadith sighs contently. “Thanks Bull.”

“Anytime,” Bull gave him a soft smile, even though his eyes were closed. “And I’ll make sure that Maryden knows not to play that one around you.”

“Won’t that get people talking?”

“They talk anyway, Boss. You should hear some of the rumours about us.”

Tiadith snorts. “I have.”

“And?”

“I’m incredibly amused at how invested people are in our sex life. You’d almost think none of them were getting any themselves. Some of the things I’ve heard about what we supposedly get up to.”

“Did you hear about the in front of the fireplace?”

“That seems to be the popular one. I’m blaming Dorian or Sera for starting it.”

“It was definitely Sera.”

The two of them started laughing after a moment, and Tiadith finally felt himself at ease again, the memory of the Wardens pushed back aside, although, the memories he had of his father still lingered, as he had been since they learned of the Grey Warden’s involvement.

“Bull?”

“Hmmm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #the iron bull #iron bull #the iron bull x male inquisitor #the iron bull x dwarf inquisitor #the iron bull x m!dwarf inquisitor #iron bull x male inquisitor #iron bull x dwarf inquisitor #iron bull x m!dwarf inquisitor #the iron bull x inquisitor #iron bull x inquisitor

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sugarandspace · 5 years ago

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Hi! I love your writing so so much. Could you do one where Alec hadn't self harmed in a really long time but then relapses?

Thank you for your kind words!! I hope you like this!!

Stronger for it

AO3

Alec cuts the tomatoes and lifts the cutting board to slide them into the salad bowl, the rest of their dinner simmering on the stove next to him. Alec’s right hand protests as he lifts the heavy wooden board, as the movement stretches the broken skin on his hand.

He’s going to heal it. He just hasn’t gotten around to it yet.

Magnus and the boys are out visiting Catarina, and Alec had promised to be home from work early enough to prepare them dinner before they come home. He had nearly forgotten, when a long-needed stress relief in the form of archery had stretched on and he had lost the sense of time.

Maybe he had forgotten to wear gloves. Maybe he had pushed himself for longer than was needed. It didn’t need to mean anything. It has just been a stressful week, a stressful month really, and the opportunity to focus on a single thing for an hour had been a long-needed relief. It made sense that he wouldn’t have realised the state of his hand before he eventually had to stop when he saw the clock on the wall of the training room.

That’s what Alec kept repeating to himself, but it did little to push away the feelings of guilt and failure.

It has been a long time since he’s done anything similar. He can’t remember exactly how long, but he remembers that the last time was before they had the boys. It feels stupid to have fallen back to it now, when everything is so good in his life.

He has Magnus, the boys, and his job as an Inquisitor. He has everything he ever dreamed and everything he didn’t even dare dream about. Alec feels there must be something really wrong with him to want this now.

He knows he should have used an iratze as soon as he noticed, but with the mistake already made, what’s a little more? He feels like he deserves the pain as a punishment for what he’s done, but at the same time he knows it’s not really a punishment if deep down he craves it. There’s a part of Alec that’s missed this, the sharp focus brought on by split skin. Something so strong and clear when his mind feels anything but.

But this time is different.

The guilt is stronger than before, the shame almost physically making him sick. He knows what he did is wrong and he wonders what it means, if it will erase all the progress he’s made and if he’ll fall back to it again. It’s a slippery slope and he’ll need a hand to help keep himself from falling, but reaching for help means admitting failure and it means bringing that sad smile back to Magnus’ face when it’s been so long since he last put it there.

He feels it all - the pain, the guilt, the shame - when he lifts the board again and slides the pieces of cucumber into the bowl. It’s no longer grounding, but instead fills his mind with too many thoughts, too many emotions, and too much noise.

It all cuts off suddenly when Alec hears a portal in the living room.

He feels blood rush in his ears at the possibility of being caught, and reaches for his pocket to pull out his stele so he can heal his hand. Only to remember that it’s still in the bedroom, where he had left it when he showered after work.

He doesn’t have time to get it before the boys are running to the kitchen.

“Dad, you’re home!” Rafael screams when he sees him and Alec barely has time to turn around to face them before the six-year-old is crashing to his legs. Alec crouches down to return the hug with his left arm, hiding the injured hand behind his back. It doesn’t take long before Max joins his brother, and Alec is grateful the boys are still so small he can hug them both with just one arm.

He’s nervous but he hopes the boys don’t notice it as he greets them.

“Hey, did you have fun with aunt Cat?”

Magnus walks into the room slightly behind the kids and smiles at the sight he sees. That is before his eyes lock to Alec’s, and his eyebrows furrow at what he can see in them. Alec tries to give him a reassuring smile over the boys’ shoulders as they ramble on about all the things they did at Catarina’s.

Magnus doesn’t buy the smile.

“Boys,” he starts. “Could you go play in your room for a while? It looks like dinner isn’t quite done yet.”

Alec stands up when the boys leave, and the hand behind his back feels ten times heavier. He knows what’s coming and he doesn’t know how he’s going to handle the conversation.

“Magnus-” he starts, but doesn’t quite know how to continue.

Magnus walks so he’s standing right in front of Alec, and cups his face with one of his hands. Alec doesn’t think he deserves all the care he sees in his husband's eyes, not after what he’s done.

“What’s wrong, love?” Magnus asks.

Alec shakes his head with a pleading look in his eyes and looks towards the kitchen door. He doesn’t want to lie to Magnus, but he can’t have this conversation when their kids could run into the room any minute.

Max and Rafael both think he’s strong, and he doesn’t want them to see a clear proof of how he’s not. They are children and they don’t need to see this part of their father. It’s bad enough Magnus has to witness it.

Magnus must understand what Alec means, as he waves his hands and a soft blue glow sinks to the walls of the kitchen.

Alec looks back at Magnus and he explains.

“The room is warded,” he says. “We can hear what’s happening in the loft but the boys can’t hear a word that’s being said in this room. The wards will also keep them out of the room, distracting them if they try to approach the doorway.”

Alec is about to object before Magnus continues, “We will hear if something is wrong and they really need us.”

Alec nods. He doesn’t know if he’s happy with Magnus’ solution or anxious that he has to face the conversation now.

“Can you-” Alec starts before he has to clear his throat against the pressure he feels there. “Can you summon my stele from our bedroom?”

Magnus furrows his brows but does as Alec asked, and in a flash of blue he’s holding Alec’s stele. He offers it to Alec who takes it with his left hand.

“Thank you,” Alec says.

“Of course,” Magnus answers, still looking a mix of confused and worried. Alec hates that he can only erase one of those emotions from Magnus’ face.

He looks at Magnus for a long while, unsure of how to start the conversation. Then he realises that there’s no pretty way to put this, no words he can use to make it sound less serious or worrying than it is.

“I did something stupid today,” he admits and brings his right hand out of hiding. He sees Magnus look down at it and Alec is about to bring his stele to it to heal the damage when Magnus grabs his wrist gently and lifts the injured hand up, studying it with a sad look on his face.

“Oh, Alexander.”

Alec shakes Magnus’ hold away and draws the rune on the back of his hand, not bearing to look at it anymore. The wounds don’t bring comfort like they did at first and he wants them gone. They disappear quickly, the skin knitting itself back together and soon it’s like nothing happened, like Alec didn’t do a huge mistake. Sadly there isn’t a rune that could erase the emotions he feels. He thinks that those must be the real punishment for what he did. He doesn’t deserve to have them erased.

That’s why it feels wrong to hear Magnus’ words.

“It’s okay,” he says and brings Alec’s hand up, placing a soft kiss to the rune before lowering the hand back down and holding it between both of his own. The touch feels grounding and warm, like everything Alec wants at the moment but that he can’t convince himself to deserve.

Yet he’s not strong enough to pull the hand away.

Alec wants to know how Magnus can be so patient and understanding, when he feels like he let himself down and like Magnus shouldn’t be dealing with this again. Alec feels selfish for craving the comfort after something he caused for himself.

“I can practically hear the thoughts in your head, Alexander,” Magnus tells him and Alec looks up and into his eyes. “And I need you to stop. Healing isn’t linear. Setbacks happen. What matters is what you take out of them.”

Alec still feels like he failed but he guesses Magnus has a point. There was a time when healing the injury felt disappointing, when shame and guilt were weaker and the relief gained from pain was stronger. He’s not back at the same place where he was last time.

Magnus’ face grows hesitant before he asks, “Has this happened before? I mean recently?”

Alec shakes his head.

“No.”

“I’m grateful you told me now,” Magnus says genuinely.

“I’m sorry,” Alec feels the need to say. He sees that Magnus is about to say something so he continues before his husband has a chance to interrupt him. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this again.”

“I’m here for you for whatever you need,” Magnus says. He lets go of Alec’s hand and puts both of his hands to Alec’s shoulders, squeezing them gently. “I wish you didn’t need to go through this. But only because I see how much it hurts you. Never because I ‘don’t want to deal with it’, as you put it. I will always be here, reminding you of how strong you are and how far you’ve come. I will do it gladly, because it’s what you deserve.”

“I’m sorry I can’t always believe it,” Alec says sadly.

“It’s okay,” Magnus says and pulls him into a hug. “Now stop apologising when there’s nothing you need to apologise for.”

There’s still a nagging voice in Alec’s head that reminds him that Magnus shouldn’t have to deal with this, and he still feels weak and ashamed. But the voice is quieter now, and he lets himself believe what Magnus so honestly told him. He knows that if the situation was reversed, he’d want nothing more but to hold Magnus. So he lets himself be held, and soaks up the comfort it brings.

“Do you want to take a moment before we eat dinner?” Magnus says after a while. The words are whispered against Alec’s neck since Magnus makes no move to let go.

“Everyone must be hungry,” Alec says.

“You know how Cat is, she spoiled the boys with some treats,” Magnus says. “We can take a moment.”

Alec nods, “I’d really like to.”

They pull apart and Magnus turns the stove off, putting a spell over the finished food that puts it in stasis, ready to be served once they feel ready for it. Then he takes Alec’s hand and Alec follows him as he leads them to their bedroom.

Magnus lays down first, snapping his fingers to change to more comfortable clothes. When he opens his arms for Alec to settle into, Alec is powerless to resist.

Neither of them falls asleep, but Alec lets himself soak up the comfort Magnus seems to be more than happy to provide. He still feels a bit thrown after the day he’s had, but hearing Magnus’ steady heartbeat close to his ear helps Alec calm down and grounds him into the moment better than anything else he could imagine.

The moment of calm is truly needed before he can put on a smile for his children.

-.-.-

“Dad, why do you have a healing rune on your hand?” Rafael asks not even five minutes into the dinner. He’s been really interested in runes lately, and Alec and Magnus have tried to encourage it by teaching him some of the more basic ones. Ever since then he’s liked to spot them and tell that he knows what they are for.

Alec’s proud of how quickly he seems to be picking them up, but in that moment he wishes his son wasn’t quite as observant. Alec chews on his food for a little longer to buy himself time to reply, but Magnus beats him to it.

“He cut his hand while cooking,” Magnus says easily. “Remember how we always say that you shouldn’t touch knives? That they are dangerous?”

Rafael frowns at the reply, clearly feeling bad for his father.

Max - who is sitting at the head of the table on Alec’s right - leans down to leave a kiss to Alec’s hand. Alec’s heart skips a beat and he can’t find himself minding about the smear of sauce it leaves behind.

“I kissed it better,” Max announces proudly and Alec blinks a few times to fight the sudden tears back.

“Yeah you did,” Alec says quietly, afraid to speak at a normal volume for his voice might crack. He brushes some of Max’s curls out of his forehead. “Thank you.”

His eyes lock with Magnus’ who’s sitting on the other side of the table, and they share a small smile. Alec feels a touch against his shin and realises that it’s Magnus, touching him with his foot, reminding him that he’s there for him.

Alec smiles a little wider, and the smile is fully genuine.

#malec #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec fic #my writing #ask #prompt #this was unusually fast response to a prompt #but i saw your message and immediately knew what i wanted to write!#thank you for the prompt and i hope you see this!!#long post #(in case 'keep reading' fails me again)#Anonymous

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potatowitch · 5 years ago

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Sera Approval Guide

aka: how to minimise Sera disapproval when you’re a Solas-romancing, pro-mage, proud Dalish elfy elf

Credit for the info in this guide goes to the Dragon Age Wikis here, here and here.

Acceptable Losses (IMO) - Disapproval when I allied with the mages instead of conscripting them - Disapproval when I exiled the Wardens (no, I didn't just do this for the Solas approval but it CERTAINLY HELPED) - Disapproval when I let Celene die so I could support Briala at the Winter Palace - Disapproval when I allied with Abelas and the Sentinels

Haven First conversation (I thought it'd be bigger) "They're too busy to look up where the real questions are". - You think it should be easy. (Slightly Approves) "Sound good to you, all touched Lady Herald?" - We'll succeed. We have to. (Slightly Approves) - Sounds good to me. (Slightly Approves) - I only care about stopping it. (Slightly Approves)

Becoming Inquisitor When you're making a speech directly after becoming Inquisitor, Sera will approve if you say: - Because it's right. - Corypheus must be stopped. - Lead them to vengeance. She will disapprove if you say "an elf will stand for us all". Love that internalised racism, Sera.

Immediately After Reaching Skyhold Make sure to speak to Sera in Haven at least once after recruiting her. You will get disapproval if you recruit her and then don't speak to her until Skyhold. Do not leave Skyhold after reaching it before speaking to her either. What'd I step in? - Don't say "Andraste? Not an elven god?" (Slightly Disapproves if you do) - Ask "Do you believe or not?" - I need doubters like you. (Slightly Approves)

First Time Leaving and Returning to Skyhold Asking "why did you really join me?", she will reply "What do you mean? To help people." - Seems like there's more to it. (Slightly Approves)

Red Jenny Stashes and The Winter Palace Make sure to bring Sera to the Winter Palace with you. If you use the Halla statues to unlock the door to Celene's bedroom where a soldier is naked and tied up, then choose to leave him there after your conversation, Sera will Slightly Approve. You will also gain access to Red Jenny's Stashes. These WILL NOT show up as a blip when you use the search function. Sera must be in the party for them to appear. There are three in the Winter Palace - one in the Guest Wing Garden (in the room near where you eavesdrop on the nobles), one in the Servant's Quarters' Garden (south western most corner, near some embrium) and in the Lower Garden (behind the vine fence opposite the three Council members). Sera Approves for each stash you open.

Red Jenny Caches - Out In The World Again, these will not show up as a blip on the search function and you must have Sera in the party for them to appear. You can, however, access these before Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts. Finding each one nets you a Slightly Approves from Sera. Their locations can be found here

After the Winter Palace "Ugh, that place. Should have just thrown in some bees and slammed the doors." - Earwigs. That'd stop a ball. (Slightly Approves) - Their mistakes made it worse. (Approves)

After Here Lies the Abyss Sera disapproves if you exile the Wardens, but you gain that approval back if you allow Blackwall to stay. "Heard what went on in that Fade thing. What you think went on. Can't even start to believe that business." - A difficult time for everyone. (Slightly Approves) - All I know is we lost people. (Slightly Approves) "They're the good thing that means a bad thing is about to happen. Like in Denerim, when the Blight ended." - What do you remember?/What was the Blight like? (Approves)

The Verchiel March (Personal Quest) - Let her kill the noble or if you have the perk Nobility Knowledge, get him to serve the inquisition (Approves) After getting back to Skyhold, you'll get one of five opening lines. Respond with the option: - You're right/Unpredictable, but worth it. (Greatly Approves) "Right, what do you mean, because I am really not used to that ... acceptance thing you're doing right there." - I want us to be friends. (Slightly Approves)

After Verchiel - Speaking With Her Again - Do not say "you pretend that's moral?" (She slightly disapproves) After you say "I expected people from you" - Well, as long as it works. (Slightly Approves) After you say "do your pranks achieve much?" and she replies "It's inspiring. Even if it sometimes goes tits up and they take a hit back. You know, like Haven?" - That's actually a fair point. (Slightly Approves)

Pranks - unlocks at +35 approval, must have completed Verchiel March and spoken to the Warden in Crestwood. Accept doing the pranks, do all of them for maximum approval. - Anything to keep us inspired. (Slightly Approves)

After What Pride Had Wrought - Sera will disapprove if you drank from the Well. I never do because I tried it once and not only did Sera yell at me but Solas did too and it made me sad so I reloaded lmao - I always disagree with her when she says everything at the Temple was lies. This nets you disapproval and triggers the following: "You're the frigging Herald of Andraste! Every time you open your mouth, you'll sound like an idiot." - It wouldn't be the first time OR That hasn't stopped you. (Approves)

Wedding in Val Royeaux If you complete the Alliances: From The Heart war table mission with Josephine and attend the wedding in Val Royeaux, make sure to bring Sera, and when you're making a speech: - Spend your new wealth on joy. - Live life to the fullest/You've a duty to yourselves/Who cares what anyone thinks?. (Approves)

In The Field Completing the following quests in the Hinterlands will net you a Slightly Approves from Sera. (Solas also approves of some of them too, so take him with as well): - A Healing Hand (Redcliffe Village) - Agrarian Apostate - Hunger Pangs - In The Elements - Shallow Breaths If you've brought Sera with you to the Western Approach when you meet Erimond for the first time, telling him to let the Grey Wardens go will net you a Slightly Approves. You will get approval for killing the nugs in the Flooded Cave in Crestwood but at what cost? Don't kill the nugs. You'll make Cole sad. If you bring Sera with you to the Temple of Mythal (I don't recommend, because she will disapprove if you ally with the Sentinels), she does Slightly Approve if you destroy Samson's armor.

Sit In Judgement Avvar Tribesman (after The Fallow Mire) - Arm and banish him to Tevinter. (You get approval from everyone but Varric and Cassandra for this one - those two don't have any approval changes for this option) Alexius - He'll serve Redcliffe's mages. (Will net you disapproval with Sera, but approval from Solas, Iron Bull, Blackwall and Cole) - I want him researching magic. (Requires perk Arcane Knowledge) (Will net you disapproval from both Sera and Cassandra, but approval from Solas, Bull, Vivienne and Cole, and will open a War Table mission) - I'm executing him myself. (Will net you approval with Sera, Bull and Cole, but disapproval with Solas and Varric. Dorian will also be sad in some dialogue you can have with him afterwards) Servis (Western Approach) - Give him back to Corypheus. (Approval with Solas, Bull and Sera. Disapproval with Dorian, Blackwall, Varric and Cole.) - An informant. On probation. (Opens War Table mission) (Disapproval with Sera and Cole, approval with Solas, Bull, Blackwall and Vivienne) - I want him as a smuggler (Requires Underworld Knowledge perk) (Recruits him as an agent) (Disapproval with Cassandra, Sera and Cole, approval with Solas, Dorian, Bull and Varric) Mayor Dedrick (Crestwood) - I'll give him a clean death. (Nets approval with Bull, Sera and Cole but disapproval with Solas) - The best I can do is exile. (Disapproval from Bull, Sera and Cole but approval from Solas) - Ferelden can lock him up. (No reaction from Sera or Solas, disapproval from Cole, approval from Bull, Varric and Vivienne) Erimond (Adamant) - Give him to the Wardens (approval from Bull, Blackwall, Sera and Cole, disapproval from Solas) - Imprison him (Approval from Varric, Dorian, Vivienne, Blackwall and Sera, disapproval from Solas and Cole) - Execute him (Approval from Solas, Bull, Sera and Cole) (PICK THIS ONE) Ser Ruth (Adamant) - I won't judge a Warden (Approval from Sera and Blackwall, disapproval from Solas, Cassandra, Cole and Vivienne) - Go to the Deep Roads (Unlocks operation) (Approval from Sera, Cole and Varric, disapproval from Solas) - Public humiliation, then (Disapproval from Blackwall, Sera and Cole, approval from Solas and Vivienne) Florianne, Dead (Halamshiral) - Ha! Community service! (Gain an agent, unlock war table mission) (Disapproval from Cassandra and Cole, approval from Sera) Thom Rainier - You're free, if you atone (Higher approval from Sera) - The Wardens will decide (slightly lower approval from Sera) Mistress Poulin (Emprise du Lion) - You're free to go. (Approval from Solas, Blackwall, Varric and Cole, disapproval from Bull and Sera) - Put her to work. (Approval from everyone except Dorian and Vivienne) - Have her rebuild the town. (Approval from Varric, Sera and Vivienne, disapproval from Blackwall and Bull) Samson - Cullen will question you. (Only available if you completed Before The Dawn and chose "Maddox respected you" as a previous dialogue option) (Approval from Solas, Vivienne and Bull) - Let Kirkwall have you. (Approval from Sera and Varric)

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #sera #sera approval #approval guide

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fancytrinkets · 4 years ago

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Reunion (past Dorian/Rilienus)

scene from Minrathous, Dorian POV fic about his pre-Trespasser visit home

In Dorian’s lap is a very old manuscript, bound together with other documents to form the substance of a book called Philosophies, Miscellaneous and Sundry. It's the sort of rare, unique item that an altus can't acquire without searching for it in private libraries, provided he's got the connections to make that happen. And, as it turns out, Dorian does still have some connections. He hasn't burned every bridge behind him. And of the bridges he did burn — some of them rather spectacularly — a few have been miraculously rebuilt, thanks to his close association with the Inquisition and the power it wields.

The manuscript itself is called A Treatise on the Topic of Slavery and the Moral Imperative of the Banishment Thereof. So, yes. He's here for a month with no Lord Inquisitor Trevelyan around to keep him delightfully occupied in the ars erotica, and instead he's been diving into some fun, light reading.

That's a joke, of course — his own delightfully sardonic sense of humor, at it again. It's dense and terribly boring reading, in fact, but it's necessary. He intends to school himself in the history of Tevinter's several failed anti-slavery movements — the records of which are now mostly lost and destroyed. But it's possible to find a few writings here and there if you're diligent. And Dorian has been diligent. He knows he'll be wise to learn the history if he wants to avoid the mistakes of the past and start an abolition movement that can actually succeed. And that is what he wants. Real change around here. Not more of the same. If he has to start agitating for change from afar — while remaining comfortably ensconced in the south at Trevelyan's side — then that's precisely what he'll do.

This particular volume came to him by way of Rilienus — well, Rilienus' wife, actually. Because he has one of those now, and she's lovely — a clever, forthright woman, who above all else wants a pleasing life for herself and her husband — which means they've been supportive friends to each other, all the while taking lovers of the gender they each prefer. To assuage the rest of their elite social circle, she's been fabricating all sorts of medical excuses for why she hasn't yet fallen pregnant.

"The healers aren't sure what's wrong with me. But we still have hope."

That's how she put it last week, when she and Rilienus ushered him into the beautiful library that used to belong to her parents. She sounded every bit the contrite, beleaguered wife, but she exchanged a knowing smile with her husband, and it was abundantly clear that they'd never touched each other — not in any way that would disgust them both. Good for them, of course — defying a marriage consummation that neither of them wanted — and yet it worried Dorian to hear it.

"Dangerous gambit, if you're caught."

"We couldn't all leave Tevinter to find safety in the south," Rilienus said, looking wistful for a moment, then hiding it away again. "Speaking of which, what's he like, this Inquisitor of yours?"

"Heard the rumors, have you?"

"Just a few," Rilienus said, but then he grinned, bold and wolfish, suggesting that yes, in fact, he'd heard quite a lot of them.

And Dorian knew just the sort of answer he was looking for.

"He's a southern mage, so you know what that means — woefully under-educated in advanced theoretical magic. Spectacular with battlemagic, though, I'll give him that. And he spent many years enjoying the company of men in his Circle of Magi — a permissive one, I'm told, for the south. So he knows what he's doing in the bedroom, at least."

"Good for you, then."

"Yes," Dorian said, "it's been very good for both of us."

That was all Rilienus wanted — the answer to the politely-left-unspoken question 'how's the sex?' And Dorian didn't mind telling him enough to satisfy that base curiosity. The rest of it, he kept to himself. It would serve no purpose — except a hurtful one — if he were to talk about the depth of his feelings for Trevelyan — the respect and regard between them, the love and affection. Not to mention Dorian's easy use of that treasured word, 'amatus,' which no altus living in Tevinter would ever dare to speak the way he speaks it: lovingly, one man to another.

As the hour grew late and his wife retired with her lady friend, Rilienus made it clear he wasn't expecting any visitors of his own.

"Can I tempt you to stay the night?"

"No," Dorian said, without giving it a second thought. "Not anymore. But thank you for the offer."

And for the second time that evening, Rilienus looked wistful, though he banished it promptly with a friendly smile.

"Well, you're always welcome to call on me. And so is your Trevelyan if ever he's here with you. I'd love to meet him."

"Yes." Dorian chuckled. "I bet you would."

Before opening the door to go, he turned and reached out to clasp Rilienus' hand, squeezing it once and then letting go.

"Look out for yourself, please," he said. "I don't have enough old friends that I can afford to lose any."

And then he left, taking only the book with him and returning all alone to his fancy rented townhouse, easily paid for by the Inquisition's coffers.

#dorian pavus #rilienus #dragon age inquisition fanfic #my writing #a scene i really like

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rhetoricalrogue · 4 years ago

Note

“Undress” for Roz and Vincent pls and thanks ❤️

And another one that’s been sitting in my inbox for three whole years! I went with the Witch of the Wilds AU where Vincent is an Amell and Roz is Morrigan’s adopted sister. This is a direct sequel to this piece and this piece I wrote some time ago.

Rated M for some bathtub friskiness.

“Tell me another story, Papa, please?” Vincent sat at the edge of his daughter’s bed, his hand stroking her hair.

“That’s four extra bedtime stories already,” he laughed, leaning over her to kiss her forehead. “I think that’s more than enough for you to go to sleep with, my little Sprout.”

Bryony’s forehead crinkled as she frowned at him. “But…”

“Yes?”

“Will you be here tomorrow when I wake up?” she asked, looking far more worried than a little girl should ever be. “Or are you going away again?”

Vincent’s heart broke. “Oh, my love,” he told her, gathering her up in his arms and gently rocking back and forth like he used to when she was a baby. “I am not going anywhere, not without you or your mother, for a very long time.”

“You found what you were looking for?”

He tapped her nose with his finger. “I did. And now that I found it, I can stay at home with you forever.”

Bryony snuggled into his chest, her head resting in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Do you miss it, the singing? Grandmother took the songs and the voices away and it’s been ever so lonely since.”

Vincent was thoughtful. “Sometimes,” he confessed. “Though now I’m looking forward to all the adventures we’ll have as a family.”

She looked up at him. “Aunt Morrigan too?”

He smiled. “Yes, even Aunt Morrigan. Now,” he scooted her back into bed and tucked her in under the blankets. “I think it’s time for you to go to sleep. You’ll need to be fully rested so you can show me all the wonderful things you’ve been up to while I’ve been away, yes?”

“Okay. And we can have pancakes for breakfast? Like we did before?”

Vincent chuckled and kissed the crown of her head. “I’ll see what I can do.” With that, he stood from her bedside and went to the door, a flick of his wrist extinguishing the candles in the room.

“She worries,” Morrigan told him from where she was leaning against the wall nearby. “A bit too excessively for a little girl, but I guess it’s not every day her father comes back into her life after a two year absence.”

“An absence I hope she never has to bear again,” Vincent replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So, it’s truly gone? You are a Warden no longer?”

He nodded. “In name only. It feels...strange.”

“How so?”

“I’ve lived with the presence of darkspawn and the nights of nightmares for so long as Warden Amell, going back to being Enchanter Amell who can sleep through the night will take some getting used to.”

She snorted. “More like Apostate Amell, seeing as the Circles are no more.” She pushed herself off the wall and began to walk down the short corridor towards another set of rooms nearby. “And what of your former comrades in arms? What will you do, if they try to summon you to Weisshaupt to explain exactly how you rid yourself of the Taint?”

He frowned. “I would like to see them try. I’ve avoided them for a decade, I believe I can do the same for several more.”

She arched an elegant eyebrow. “For the sake of your family, I hope that is the case.” They stopped before a door. “Rosalind...she has missed you.”

“And I have missed her.” He fiddled with the rosewood ring he wore. “I’ve missed her more than words can express.”

“She worries as well. Life in Orlais wasn’t always as...kind to her as it was to me. She fears that you won’t find her as desirable as you once did.”

His eyes went wide. “That’s ridiculous! I love her, no matter what she looks like.”

“Try telling that to her. Some women need to hear the words.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “I am glad you’re back.”

He smiled. “I knew you’d miss me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I never said that. Though I am glad that Bryony has her father and Rosalind her lover again.” She turned on her heel and headed back in the direction they came. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, I’ll take care of my niece so that you and Roz can have a late morning...reuniting.”

Vincent turned his face so she wouldn’t see the blush that bloomed across his cheeks, but she laughed nonetheless, raising her hand in a parting wave as she walked away. Alone in the hall, he stared at the door in front of him and felt a bolt of anxiety streak through him. Roz may have fears that he wouldn’t find her desirable any longer, but Vincent had the same fears as well. The two years he had spent apart from his family hadn’t been peaceful ones. Scars littered his body, most noticeably across his face. Would she find them ugly, as many others had? He’d grown accustomed to using a hood or his hair to hide that side of his face from passersby, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do the same for the woman who held his heart in her hands. Taking a bolstering breath, he raised his knuckles to the wood and knocked.

Inside her bedroom, Roz had lit only a few candles at the bedside, opting to illuminate the room with floating wisps, globules of light glowing amber above a copper tub on the far side of the room.

“You haven’t had a chance to bathe since arriving,” she explained, standing next to the tub, the steam coming off it making her look hazy, as if she were a figment of a long-remembered dream. “I thought a soak would be nice.”

Vincent noticed the way she held her hands tightly in front of her, fingers worrying the matching rosewood ring she wore. “That would be nice. Thank you for thinking of me.” He’d taken off his traveling cloak, gear, and armor earlier, and he noted that it hung neatly by the fireplace. “This is a nice room.”

Roz nodded. “The Inquisitor spared no luxury for their arcane advisors.” She reached down and fussed with the cakes of soaps and towels sitting on a stool she’d put by the tub. “I’m grateful they put Bryony in her own room nearby.” Moving away from the tub, she held out her hands and guided him to sit at a chair so he could remove his boots.

“We’ve never had any problem filling the silences,” he told her, wiggling his toes against the plush rug as his socks followed his boots.

Roz bit her lip. “Then why does it feel like we’re back at the start?”

Vincent rose from his seat and came up to her, hands cupping her shoulders. “You know me, my love. Just as I know you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Things have changed since we last saw the other.” There was a slight tremble to her lip and she took a sharp breath through her nose to try to still it.

“Yes, I’ve noticed.” His fingers trailed over the silk robe she wore. “Silks instead of wool.” He swayed forward until his face was buried in her hair. “Roses instead of herbs. Though you know what hasn’t changed?”

“What?”

Vincent’s palms slid upwards, past her shoulders, over the column of her throat, until he cradled her cheeks in his hands. “The fact that you look absolutely beautiful to me, no matter what you wear.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “Although I will say that I prefer you wearing nothing at all.”

She let out a watery sounding laugh, her hands trembling as she smoothed them over his chest. “I feel the same way.” Her fingers moved to the laces of his shirt. “May I?”

Vincent tensed when she helped him lift his tunic over his head, muscles still sore from a skirmish the day before. Before she could get a good look at the slashing scars across his ribs, he took her face in his hands again and kissed her, making sure to pour the years of longing and loneliness into it, silently telling her how much he had missed her.

“What about the bath?” she asked, laughing against his mouth.

“Sod the bath,” he mumbled, hands moving to remove her robe.

“Ah ah ah,” Roz reluctantly broke away. “Those sheets are clean and you, while I very much like the look of you as is, are definitely not.”

“I can’t even tempt you?” His hands went to the ties of his pants and for once, the way she looked at him broke through his self-consciousness and he gave her a toothy grin as he made a show of unlacing them.

“You know I find you irresistible,” she countered, eyes roving across his naked body. “But in.”

“As my lady commands.” After shedding the last of his clothes, Vincent sank into the water, groaning at the way the heat seemed to sink all the way down into his bones. “I will say,” he told her, resting his arms on the rim and tilting his head back, “I haven’t had this sort of luxury in a while.”

“Oh? No fine inns or other places on your travels?”

He snorted, dunking his head and coming back up, hands sluicing water from his face. “I’m afraid not. At worst, I’ve had a frozen stream to scrub my arms and face in and at best, a pitcher and a rag with a cake of soap that was gone far before I was finished using it to scrub off the grime.”

“Well then,” Roz bent and swished her hands in the water to lather up a bar of soap that smelled of spices and myrrh. “Let’s see if I can do one better.”

Vincent groaned as her fingers slid through his hair and massaged his scalp. “I’ve definitely not had this sort of treatment while away.”

“I should hope not,” she laughed, playfully tugging at his hair as she finished scrubbing it, taking a cup and running water over his head to rinse his hair. “Sit up, I’ll wash your back for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Vincent mumbled, taking another towel and lathering it up so he could scrub at his arms and chest.

“I know, but I want to.” She watched as the suds covered his shoulders, obscuring various freckles and scars, both old and unfamiliar to her. “Where did this one come from?” she asked, finger tracing what looked like a partially healed over bite mark.

“Wolf attack after dealing with a group of genlocks. I ran out of lyrium potions and magic to heal it completely or else it most likely wouldn’t have scarred.”

“And this one?”

Vincent looked down to where her hands had rounded his shoulder to trace over his collarbone. “Thief who thought he could mug me and take whatever I had off my body in Orlais. Suffice to say, he’s not around to do the same to others.” He grunted as he reached down to scrub at his legs and feet, his knee rising up over the surface of the water, the wounds still fresh looking and healing.

“This is why you were limping, isn’t it?” Roz moved so she could put her hand over the injury and Vincent inhaled sharply, goosebumps breaking out over his arms at the familiar and long-missed feel of her magic settling over him like a warm, comforting blanket. Almost immediately, the low, throbbing ache that had kept him company was silenced.

“I ran into a small pocket of those Red Templars you’d spoken about earlier. One of them was quick with a knife, but not quick enough to dodge a bolt of lighting.”

Roz kept a hand on his knee, feeling the skin knit under her palm, and raised the other towards his face. “And -”

He stiffened. On reflex, he tilted his head down, trying to hide behind hair that was unfortunately slicked back from his face. “The Deep Roads,” he said, reaching out and holding onto her hand. It happened about six months ago, right while I was at the end of looking for answers.”

“Vincent.” Her hand tightened on his knee. “Please, don’t hide from me.”

“It’s ugly.”

She wiggled her hand out of his grasp and moved to lean her hip on the rim of the tub. “The injury may be, but the man beneath them isn’t.” She reached out again and although he tensed under her fingers, he allowed her to gently turn his face towards the light the wisps gave off. “How did it happen?”

He closed his eyes tightly as the pads of her fingers traced the long tracks that went from his temple all the way down to his chin. “Shriek ambush. I was with a few fellow Wardens I’d met on my travels and one of the creatures got too close to me.” He leaned against her hand as she moved over the deep, jagged marks across his eyebrow. “I was lucky that I didn’t lose the eye.”

“And the others?”

He shook his head. “As I said, I was lucky. After burying the others as best as I could, I spent that last leg of the journey alone.” It had been painful: out of healing potions, out of lyrum, out of magic energy, Vincent had bandaged himself as much as he could to try and stop the bleeding, the pain of sweat and blood and various darkspawn ichor seeping into open wounds nearly unbearable.

“I wish that it hadn’t happened to you,” she murmured, her fingers tracing along his jaw and chin before catching on the corner of his mouth that had also been split by shriek talons. “But I’m so grateful that you were able to return to me.”

“Honestly, when I was at the point where I felt most alone, my thoughts would always go to you.” He circled her wrist with his hand and leaned his face against her palm. “Thank you for being there with me when I needed you the most.”

Roz let out a cry as she threw herself into his arms, not caring if she managed to get most of her robe wet in the process. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

He held her tightly. “I’ve missed you too. You have no idea how many nights I spent imagining you next to me, the way the light of the campfires would catch on your hair or how just your very presence would throw a sense of calm over me when nightmares would wake me from a few hours’ rest.”

“Probably the same amount of nights I spent wishing you were here beside me,” she answered, standing and moving close to his shoulders so she could bend over him and kiss him passionately. She grinned at his crestfallen expression when she moved away, nipping his bottom lip as she moved towards the opposite end of the tub. “I don’t think we finished your bath, my dear,” she teased, kneeling to fish the abandoned cake of soap out of the water near his feet. She winked at him before moving back up his body, sudsy hands submerging in the cooling bathwater to stroke at his hips, then lower, her motions making Vincent grasp at the sides of the tub with white knuckles while he bucked under her touch.

“Enough,” he rasped, standing from the tub, water sloshing onto the floor and dripping off his body. “Please, my love. My wife. I need you.”

Roz didn’t know who moved first, but her robe was off her shoulders and flung somewhere behind her, leaving her as bare as he was. “Hand me a towel,” he requested, hands already roving over her body to press her as close to him as she could get. “I don’t want to get your nice sheets wet.”

“Sod the sheets,” Rosalind all but growled against his mouth, hands moving across his back as she walked backwards towards the bed.

She let out a muffled shriek as Vincent gathered her in his arms and lifted her off her feet, carrying her the remainder of the way until he could lay her in the bed. “As you wish.” His hair dripped water onto her body, rolling coolly down the valley of her breasts, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

They were together again.

#witch of the wilds au #otp: sometimes home has a heartbeat #alittlestarling

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maleficar-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Of Unicorns, Virgins, and Other Such Things

Pairing: Female Lavellan/Solas

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Only partially crack

Summary: A noble attempting to curry favor with the Inquisition gives Inquisitor Lavellan a unicorn. It gets in the way. A lot.

On AO3: Link

“But what is it?” the Inquisitor asked, ears flicking with annoyance as she peered at the massive white beast stomping around her courtyard, nickering nastily at everyone who wasn’t Cole. It was quite pretty, with a flowing mane and tail that shimmered like starlight. Its hooves and horn glimmered gold in the brilliant light of early afternoon.

“A gift,” Josephine said, a bit too cheerfully. “From a noble who seeks to curry your favor. It is a rare, almost mythical unicorn.”

The Inquisitor peered at it. “It doesn’t have a sword through its face like the other one.”

“Because this is a natural unicorn,” Josephine said with infinite patience.

The Inquisitor’s right ear twitched, her expression flattening. “You said mythical.”

“I said almost mythical.”

“And this from you,” Varric interjected, leaning against a wooden post and giving the Inquisitor one of those shit-eating grins. Her ears twitched again. “The woman who does at least ten impossible things before breakfast.”

She pulled her lips back and gave him a snarl. Any normal person would have seen that expression and pissed themselves, but Varric just laughed like this was all good fun. It was infuriating how she was supposed to be the most deadly person in Thedas – though, probably, the Hero of Ferelden was more so – but none of her companions seemed to treat her with the respect deadly people deserved. Actually, now that she thought about it, no one did. It was always Inquisitor, fetch this thing or Inquisitor, take this other thing to the place with the people or even Inquisitor, my wife is dying and my son knows how to cure her so please go to him but, oh, no, he won’t come back with the potion or even given you the recipe he’ll just give you the potion to bring back to me necessitating you making future trips to bolster the Inquisition’s reputation. Not that she had strong feelings about this.

“Also this unicorn is not dead.”

“Fluffy,” the Inquisitor said with sharp enunciating, “is not dead. She is respirationally challenged. More importantly, why doesn’t this one like anyone except Cole?”

Solas, who had been hovering at the edge of the courtyard with a studious expression on his face, swung toward her at the question. “Lore surrounding unicorns posits they prefer the company of virgins and will defend a virgin quite violently.”

The Inquisitor went still. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Oh,” she finally managed.

“Indeed.” Solas slipped closer to her. “Given the unicorn’s nature, it might be best to have—”

He broke off as the unicorn, with a whiny loud enough to burst eardrums, rounded on them and charged. He threw himself to the side, snapping a barrier into place around himself, Josie, the Inquisitor, and Varric, and stumbled. He righted himself only with Josie’s help.

“Oh,” the Inquisitor said as the unicorn paced in a circle around her. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of being a virgin. That didn’t bother her at all. It was just that a four-legged beast with a spike growing out its head was telling everyone in Skyhold that she’d never gotten laid.

Twenty-four years old, leading one of the most powerful political forces in the world, surrounded by men and women who pretty much oozed sex appeal, and she’d never had sex.

This was her life.

She dragged a hand down her face as Varric made a noise of pure delight. “Inquisitor, he seems to like you.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she muttered.

The unicorn’s muzzle rubbed against her face. It lipped her ear. With a shriek, she bolted away from it.

“He really seems to like you!” Varric called after her as she tore across the courtyard, the unicorn prancing happily after her.

She tried hiding in the great hall. She tried hiding in the tavern. She climbed the ladder to Cullen’s Blighted bedroom and crawled under his bed – much to his sputtering horror – and the damn thing somehow managed to follow her everywhere. When she decided to go out on missions, it was waiting in the stables, somehow saddled, looking at her with huge, watery eyes that seemed to say Ride me, beautiful virgin, and she’d go red to her ears.

Passing judgments was next to impossible. The Tevinter shem who had led the Wardens astray had taken one look at the unicorn standing proudly beside her throne and dissolved into giggles. Ser Ruth, who had turned herself in around the same time the Tevinter mage was brought before her, took one look at the unicorn and started choking. Ostensibly on laughter, but the Inquisitor hoped the woman swallowed her tongue.

“You can’t follow me everywhere,” she told the damn beast as it followed her across one of the ramparts. She and Cole kept putting him in the stables. He kept escaping. Somehow.

Vivienne thought he was possessed, and Bull tended to agree, but everything was demons and despair with those two anyway.

“You need to let me do my job.” He stared at her with watery eyes. She attempted to remain unmoved. “You need a name, too.”

He pranced, hopping from hoof to hoof as if he understood. In the back of her head, she heard Solas intoning, Unicorns are widely believed to be incredibly intelligent creatures. Do your best to be polite. That horn isn’t for show.

“Pokey?” she suggested.

The unicorn gave her a look that pretty clearly said, You’re shitting me.

“Fine, fair, I agree, it was a bad idea.” She was bad at naming things, though. The other day, she’d scraped together enough lambswool to make a new set of robes for Solas, and when asked by Dagna and Harritt to give the coat some kind of identifier, she’d just said, “Sheep’s Clothing.” They’d looked at her like she’d grown two heads before declaring it Resisting Magical Something or Another.

She had told Solas about the incident. He hadn’t approved, though she couldn’t fathom why.

Tugging on one of her braids, she gave the unicorn an assessing look. “You kind of look like a Bob to me.”

He blinked at her and that blink somehow managed to convey his dripping disdain.

“Not Pokey. Not Bob.” She chewed on her lower lip, and the unicorn made a sound that might have been horsey delight. It disturbed her. Deeply. She stopped chewing on her lip. “We could go with something noble. Charger?” He shook his head. Or ruffled his mane. Or something. She took it to be a no. “Dasher? Dancer? Prancer?” She paused. “Now that’s just ridiculous. You’re not making this easy, you know.”

He shuffled up to her and rubbed his nose against her shoulder. She, meanwhile, eyed the exceptionally sharp tip of his horn as it bobbed next to her face. Tentatively, she stroked the unicorn’s neck. “What about Hanal’ghilan? You’re not a halla, but it’s a noble name.”

He whickered and caught her ear with his lips. With an indignant shriek, she tore across the parapets.

In a rare moment of unicorn-free time later that afternoon, she slipped into Solas’s room to study the murals he was painting. And possibly to snuggle up to him and make him incredibly uncomfortable. There was something to be said for flustering him, and it was so delightfully easy that even a virgin could do it.

In her defense, she wasn’t much of a virgin. The unicorn might count her as one, but she’d done more than her fair share of playing poke and tickle with some of the other youths in her clan. She’d just never gone far enough to jeopardize her position.

“Solas,” she greeted cheerfully.

His head snapped up, his eyes darting all around her. Then he relaxed. “I see you’re without your stalwart protector.”

She slipped up to him. He wasn’t painting, was standing beside his table with a book in one hand. His fingers, long and lithe and delightfully wicked, were splayed across the pages of a book that lay open on the table before him.

Dancing her fingers up his tunic, she drew closer to him. “Stolen moments are so rare,” she purred, watching with delight as his eyes widened slightly.

“Inquisitor, I—”

“You?” she asked, rising onto her toes to brush her lips against his. It wasn’t even close to a kiss, but it was enough to get her a little tingly and a lot interested in actual kissing. She wanted real kisses, the fiery, passionate, he-shoves-his-hands-in-her-hair kinds of kisses. Kisses that involved tongue, but not Fade tongue. Fade tongue only got a girl so far.

He swallowed and made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t think…”

“Oh, but you do,” she murmured. “Entirely too much.” She canted her head to the side, sliding one arm about his neck. His book tumbled to the ground as his arm went around her waist, tugging her flush against him.

Their mouths were so close, his eyes so intent and filled with burning, desperate wanting.

From above them came a mighty crash.

“Confounded creature!” Dorian shouted. He followed that shout with many more, none of them understandable, all of them Tevene.

Solas all but shoved her away from him, throwing himself at the scaffolding to the side of the room as she heaved a heavy, beleaguered sigh and Hanal’ghilan tore into the room looking like a demon. He snorted, chest heaving, head lowered, and charged straight at Solas.

His horn missed Solas’s butt – and what a tight, sexy butt it was, she thought as he scrambled up the ladder – by inches.

Hanal’ghilan skidded to a stop between her and Solas, scratching the stone floor fiercely with his hooves. He huffed, dragging one hoof over the stone as if readying to charge, and she sighed heavily. “We need to discuss personal boundaries,” she said to him, patting him on the back.

It took her and Cole promising Hana’ghilan the best oats and a stupid amount of sugar cubes to get him to leave Solas’s rotunda. It took even longer to get the unicorn back to the stables, where the Inquisitor assured him up and down that she wouldn’t go anywhere near Solas ever again and he needn’t worry about her losing her virginity in the near to immediate future. He snorted, clearly not believing her, which was pretty much the right response because that night, Solas barged into her dreams with all the subtly of a charging druffalo.

He caught her face in his hands and kissed her, and she threw her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist and forcing him to hold her. They stumbled until her back pressed against a wall, and his tongue was in her mouth, tasting her, and it was so good.

Except for the part where it wasn’t real.

“I’m going to kill that creature,” Solas growled against her mouth, working his hands under her tunic to cup her breasts. That was also good. It was better than good. Heat lanced through her, and she dragged his mouth back to hers for more kisses.

She’d done a lot of kissing in twenty four years. Well, to be fair, it wasn’t as though she’d popped out of the womb and started kissing people. Maybe it was more like twelve years, unless she counted that time she kissed Theron when she was six. It hadn’t been a good kiss. She decided not to count it.

“I’m going to kill you,” she growled back, tugging at his clothes, wondering why he bothered with them in the Fade at all.

Probably because they never got much further than kissing shirtless. He always balked at that point.

“What have I done?” he asked as he caught her lower lip in his teeth, tugging gently.

She responded by grinding her hips against his, making him gasp with pleasure and shock and, really, he should be used to her doing this like this by now. “Nothing, hahren,” she replied in a throaty murmur, and he pressed closer to her, his eyes flickering with lust. “And that’s the problem.”

She heard something crash. It was a splintery sound. Rather like what wood might sound like when it shattered. She went stiff in his arms, and he noticed immediately. “Vhenan?” he asked, drawing his hands down her sides.

“Oh, by the Dread Wolf’s hairy ball—” The Fade dream fractured as a very large something pounded up her stairs and neighed loud enough to wake the dead. She bolted upright from her nest on the floor – she still wasn’t used to the concept of shem beds – and hurled her pillow at Hanal’ghilan’s face.

It hit his horn and stuck.

As he shook his head wildly, trying to dislodge the pillow, she threw another one. “It was a dream!” she shouted, hurling a third pillow. “It was just a dream, I was dreaming, and how did you even get in here?”

In the end, her pillow went flying off Hanal’ghilan’s horn and straight out her open window. It soared over her balcony and disappeared into the snowy mountains. Hanal’ghilan had the good sense to bow his head and give her those sad, watery eyes that were almost as guilt-inducing as puppy eyes.

“I’m still mad at you,” she groused as she patted a spot next to her pile of blankets. Hanal’ghilan happily settled there, and, after a moment, she dropped a pillow on his side and curled up against him. It wasn’t so different from sleeping with a halla.

The next morning, she stumbled into the tavern for breakfast with Hanal’ghilan on her heels, and Varric, who was always obscenely cheerful at all hours, saluted her with a mug of that wonderfully bitter, disgustingly perfect drink the shems called coffee. She made grabby hands at it and he surrendered it to her. “Looks like you’ve still got your unicorn chastity belt,” he said and she dragged her hands down her face, pushing the coffee aside and leaning across the table.

“All I want,” she hissed, “is to kiss him.”

“Who, the unicorn or Chuckles?” Varric asked, waving a serving girl over for another cup of coffee.

She pinned Varric with a glare that could probably melt silverite. At the very least, it should have seared the flesh off his bones.

Varric, however, was immune to such looks. She knew this. She still tried to employ them. They always failed. “My hahren—”

“That’s what the kids are calling it these days?” He rubbed his chin. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“That,” she sputtered, “is a term of respect for an elder and not some – some—” She broke off, still sputtering.

“Some salacious pet name?” he supplied.

Dorian dropped into the seat next to her. Aside from Cole, Dorian was the only man Hanal’ghilan let touch her. “Who are we giving salacious pet names to? Can I be next?”

She dropped her head to the table with an audible thunk. “It’s bad enough everyone knows I’ve never had sex with anyone,” she complained into the wood.

“And all you want is for Solas to throw you down and have his wicked way with you, but you have one very large, very white, very horny problem,” Dorian said with far too much cheer for the time of morning.

There was a beat of silence. Then he and Varric broke into laughter so loud it probably reached the Creator’s in the Beyond. She wanted to claw their faces off, but that wasn’t what civilized Inquisitors did.

The door to the tavern banged open, and she turned her head to see a very surly Solas in the doorway. He stopped there. Saw Hanal’ghilan. Hanal’ghilan saw him.

Some kind of energy snapped between the two of them, Hanal’ghilan pawing at the hardwood floor as she hissed at him to behave. Solas spun about on his heel and left. With a cheerful whicker of pleasure, Hanal’ghilan nuzzled against her shoulder.

“I’m going to die a virgin,” she groaned.

“Was this even an issue before our friend showed up?” Dorian asked. He had tried to pronounce Hanal’ghilan’s name once. She had told him if he ever tried again, she would burn all his silky robes and force him to wear cotton. The horror on his face had been priceless.

“No,” she moaned, reaching blindly for her coffee.

One of them, Creators bless them, pushed the mug into her hands. She picked her face off the table and hunkered over the steaming mug, taking small sips of the still too hot drink. It was black and bitter – as bleak as her sex life. She pointed to the mug. “This coffee is my sex life.”

“Hot and steamy?” Varric asked.

“Bitter and black and awful.”

“I thought you liked coffee,” Varric said.

“I don’t. I hate it.” She drank it anyway. “It’s just a good kick in the ass in the morning so I’m awake enough to wrangle all of you. Like whiny little halla who don’t want to go in their pens.”

“We have pens now?” Dorian asked. “That’s rather deviant, Inquisitor.”

“I hate you,” she muttered, throwing back the rest of the coffee in a single gulp.

She began to plan. She went to Cole, because Cole was the only one in Skyhold other than her, apparently, who was a virgin. It was awful. It was terrible. Because of Hanal’ghilan, she knew more about the sex lives of everyone in the Inquisition that she ever wanted or needed to know. The reverse, of course, was also true, and the only one who didn’t seem to care was Cole. Everyone else teased her mercilessly.

“Still have your white shadow,” Leliana had said idly in the War Room two days ago while Hanal’ghilan had lowered his horn at Cullen and proceeded to push the Commander around the room – the Inquisitor had not wanted to consider why.

Just yesterday, Sera had gone on at some length to Blackwall about being elbow deep in circumstances. And had asked the Inquisitor how her circumstances were. They’d both howled with laughter. The Inquisitor had wanted to die.

Or to stick them with something pointy.

Hanal’ghilan was off harassing someone else, so she was planning. With Cole. Planning with Cole was more like trying to herd cats than halla. He kept wandering off in his mind, and she kept having to refocus him. She understood the drifting; they were in the tavern, and there were lots of thoughts constantly brushing up on him. “We should have gone to one of the empty towers,” she said after two hours of getting nothing done.

“I can lead him away for a while,” Cole said abruptly. “We can make crowns of flowers and give them to you when it’s done.”

Her head hit the table with an audible thunk. “Couldn’t we have come to this conclusion at least an hour and a half ago, Cole?”

“Maybe,” he said. He tilted his head to the side. “But you weren’t ready then. You are now. Don’t worry, Solas burns, too. Heated, hot, heavy hands on his—”

Squeaking, she flailed, shushing him. “That’s private, Cole!”

“But he thinks it so loud.” Cole blinked at her with those huge eyes of his. “So do you. You think about him pushing, pressing, pinning. Holding you down and—”

She sputtered, pressing her face into her hands. “Private,” she groaned. When her face stopped flaming, she lowered her hands. “Let’s do it, then. You lead him away. Do the flower thing. And I…”

“Will have and be had,” Cole supplied.

“Yes, that,” she agreed.

So Cole left, and she watched him go to the stables. She watched him lead Hanal’ghilan to the gates. She watched him lead the unicorn out. And then she ran for Solas.

He was pouring over some book she was sure was very interesting, but it couldn’t be more interesting than him bending her over something and—well. She really didn’t know where to go from there, she’d just heard Dorian talk about being bent over things. Presumably, it worked the same way as everything else, but she just didn’t know.

“Hahren,” she said breathlessly, stumbling to a halt just in front of him.

He looked up at her with interest, but not interest.

“Forgive me, but I—”

“Cole took Hanal’ghilan out of Skyhold,” she said, and there was the interest she was looking for. She held out her hand. “Come with me?”

Creators, it suddenly occurred to her that he might say no. That he might gently rebuff her. He had hinted, on more than one occasion, that she was too young for him, that it was inappropriate for him as her hahren to act on any feelings for her. She would strangle him, she decided, if he told her no.

He shot to his feet, taking her hand. “You deserve better than what is sure to be a quick tumble,” he said as she all but dragged him out of the rotunda and hauled him across the great hall.

Behind them, Varric called out, “Unicorn chastity belt, Inquisitor!”

“I’m going to stick you on a spit and roast you, Varric,” she shouted back just before she pushed open her door.

She and Solas tumbled through the door and scrambled as quickly as possible around the tower to the actual door to her room. Then they were through it, and his hands were in her hair, dragging her mouth to his as he pressed her against the side of the stairwell and kissed her. Creators, it was a kiss. His nails scraped against her scalp as his tongue swept into her mouth. It was real and visceral and it flooded her with heat.

“Bed,” he said against her mouth, and he started to draw away.

“The wall is fine,” she protested, pulling him back.

His teeth found her lip, biting and tugging, and she whimpered softly before pressing another hot kiss to his mouth. “Not for your first time,” he said.

“Solas, you could fuck me in the dirt in the woods, and it would be fine,” she snapped, thrusting her hand into his breeches to find him achingly hard.

He swore, cleverly and creatively in Elvish, as she closed her fist around him and stroked. Creators, he was big. She’d stroked boys in her clan until they spilled in her hand, but they were boys and Solas was a man, and the idea of having this part of him inside of her was turning her brain to goo. Her smalls were a mess. She was a mess.

“Fuck me here, hahren,” she breathed, squeezing his cock. He gasped, his breath fanning across her lips. “Up against the wall, just like this.” She rubbed her thumb over his tip, rolling her hips against his thigh.

“Vhenan,” he said, strangled.

“The more you protest, the more time you waste,” she pointed out, taking his hand and guiding it between her legs.

He hissed, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit, rubbing her through the fabric of her trousers, and her mind went blank. She rocked against him, grinding herself on him in a rhythm that practically had her soaking through the fabric. Words escaped her. All she could do was gasp and moan, mewling for more as she worked herself over his hand, hers still stroking him.

Yanking his hand back, he deftly unlaced her trousers. Pushed them down her hips. They caught on her boots, but that didn’t deter them. He stepped between her legs, and she lifted them, trapped as they were, around his hips. His fingers pressed against her wet cunt, one sliding easily into her, and he groaned. “I should do more for you,” he said.

“Fuck me,” she demanded, sliding the fingers of her free hand behind his head. She urged him closer, feigning a kiss, then went straight for his ear. Her lips closed around the delicately pointed tip and he snapped.

He tore at the laces of his breeches, knocking her hand aside in his efforts to free himself. She kept sucking him, pulling broken groans from him with every drag of her tongue along the shell of his ear. And then his cock was free of his pants, and he was pressing it into her, and she had to release his ear so she could let her head fall back against the stone.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she hissed, clawing at his shoulders as he worked himself inside her.

He murmured something in Elvish she couldn’t understand – he was always doing that, speaking far more of their language than any elvhen had a right to – and then he was all the way inside her. “Vhenan.” He sounded strangled.

She brought his lips to hers. “Doesn’t hurt,” she told him. “Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t,” he ground out, and she ground against him, rocking her hips over his. They both gasped at the same time.

“Lucky me,” she said on a soft exhale. “Now, won’t you shut up and fuck me?”

He did. Creators, he did. He wasn’t tender or gentle. He was demanding, taking what he wanted with brisk thrusts that had her moaning his name every time he pushed into her. One hand curved around her ass to support her, to give her more leverage, while the other worked between their bodies to stroke her clit.

That was a revelation. Having a man inside her as he played with her? She could hardly breathe for how good it felt. Some demented part of her thought it felt so good in part because it was petty revenge on an obnoxious unicorn, too.

Then she was lost to thought, drowning in the feel of him. He made her cry out, made her quiver and shake in his arms, until finally, finally, her body clenched around his cock. It was the strangest, most delightful sensation she’d ever experienced, the orgasm somehow more intense for having him inside her. She swore – something about the Dread Wolf’s balls – and Solas swore – something about Mythal’s tits – and then he was coming, too, with jerky, abbreviated thrusts and a look of ecstasy on his face.

They slumped against each other, gasping.

“Vhenan,” he began, but she cut him off with bright, wicked laughter, peppering his face with kisses.

“Finally,” she crowed, laughing, kissing him, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders and just hugging him. “Finally, finally, finally!” She pulled back, eyes widening with delight. “You know what this means?”

“I’m damned for all eternity for despoiling you?” he asked mildly.

She knew her expression was demented from the way his brows rose slowly. “That Blighted unicorn is going to hate me now!”

An hour or so later, Hanal’ghilan came screaming into the great hall, flowers braided into his mane. He slid to a halt before the Inquisitor’s throne, where she sat idly drinking coffee. He approached slowly, his nostrils flaring, and then recoiled from her. There was, interestingly enough, no condemnation in his eyes. Just quiet acceptance. He trotted away.

“I almost feel bad,” she said, taking a noisy sip of her coffee, as Solas drifted through the great hall toward her, a predatory look in his eyes.

At her side, Varric said, “Do you really?”

“Mmm. A little. A very little.” She sighed happily. “My sex life is still like my coffee, though.”

“Bitter and black?”

She gave him a wicked smile. “Hot and steamy.”

“More than I needed to know, Inquisitor,” he said, and he fled as Solas gained the dais.

“I believe I owe you hours of leisurely lovemaking, vhenan,” he said.

She tossed back the rest of her coffee and set the mug aside. “Let’s see if you can keep up, old man.” He did. But so did she, and it was wonderful.

#solas #solavellan #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #fanfic #dai

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kita-lavellan · 5 years ago

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Beyond The Veil OC Question Time September-October

QUESTION TIME for September 25th - October 25th

Within our Dragon Age discord Beyond the Veil, we have a place dedicated to original character development and OC questions – so we figured we’d bring QUESTION TIME to tumblr too, for both our members & whoever may wish to join in with us!

HOW IT WORKS Feel free to answer/use the question-list in this post however you please, though the idea is that you send at least one question to the askbox of each member on the pinglist as and when you can, creating a hub of OC talk and activity. That way, everyone is able to answer questions and share their Dragon Age characters with the fandom community. Feel free to keep the question train going for as long as you like! Answer for one or all of your OCs – answer as simply or as detailed as you feel! Most of all, enjoy and have fun!

To be added to the pinglist for next month, drop me a message or check out the pinned googledoc in the OC-Question-Time channel in the Beyond The Veil Discord.

PINGLIST for this month:

Some users are also willing to be contacted via Discord DM. Please check the pinned spreadsheet in the OC Question Time Channel for these users. ~

ORIGINAL CHARACTER QUESTIONS

Between your character, and their Love Interest, which of them can't seem to keep their hands to themselves?

Describe their ideal bedroom.

Describe your characters perfect home, if they were to build and design it themselves.

Do your character and their Love Interest have pet names/nicknames for each other?

Does your character care what strangers think of them or do they not place any value on strangers opinions? Does this change when it comes to the opinions of their friends?

Does your character enjoy hugs?

Does your character have an tattoo's? (Other than Vallaslin)

Does your character have any distinguishing physical features?

Does your character have any scars? How did they get them?

Does your character know how to dance? Are they a good dancer?

Does your character prefer sunrises or sunsets?

Has your character ever had their heart broken?

How does your character deal with emotional pain?

How does your character feel about marriage? Is it something they want for themselves?

How does your character react to thunderstorms?

How well does your character accept help and assistance from others?

How would your character describe their Love Interest?

How would your character react to their Love Interest resting their hand on your characters thigh/gently stroking their inner thigh, under the table at a formal dinner? Would they be able to keep their cool, or would they be blushing and stumbling over their words?

If your character could be remembered for something, what do they want the history books to remember them for?

Is there something in their past that they would change no matter what? Even if the consequences on the timeline were unknowable/unpredictable?

Is your character more likely to hide an injury, or let people know they need healing? Why? If they are hiding an injury, do they have any tells that their friends might be able to pick up on?

It's early morning. The sun is just beginning to slide rays of light through the windows of your characters bedroom. What are they doing/what is their reaction?

Tell me about your characters favourite childhood memory.

Tell me something that is guaranteed to make your character angry?

What about your character makes them most memorable to other people?

What are some of your characters favourite things? Tell me as many as you can think of, and why!

What are your characters emotional or moral weak points?

What does your character do as a sign of affection amongst their friends? Their family? Their Love Interest?

What is your character's drink of choice?

What is your character's least favourite weather?

Dealer's Choice; Pick your favourite question that no one has asked you yet, and answer it for me!

#Beyond the Veil #Beyond The Veil Discord #BTV #BTV Discord #OC Questions #OC Question Time #Original Character Questions #OC Asks #Original Character Asks #Beyond The Veil OC Question Time #Beyond The Veil Original Character Question Time #BTV OC Asks #Beyond The Veil Original Character Asks #Dragon Age #Dragon Age Discord

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another-rogue-trevelyan · 4 years ago

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Five favorite writing bits from 2020

I was tagged by @kunstpause and @potatowitch thank you so much for this tag! It was fun to reflect on my writing from this year. I only really started in July, so I’m looking forward to things to come!

Mostly, this will be passages from my Cullen/Trevelyan fic, but there is a Greedfall excerpt that I technically think I wrote last year???

Under the cut because this got long

Sides of the Coin (unpublished as of 1/21)

“Kurt, clearly I’m useless today. Perhaps we should try again tomorrow. I’m sure I have enough bruises for one day.”

“Anyone who wants you dead won’t care if you’re distracted and bruised. I’m not letting you get yourself killed because you’re having an off day. I can’t always be there to watch your back. You need to be able to save yourself. Now raise your blade and try it again.”

She lunged toward him, but he easily parried the strike, which had been performed more in irritation than any thought that it may be a good idea.

“Still sloppy.” He advanced on her, and Corinne barely managed to swat away his strikes with her blade, stumbling backward on exhausted legs.

“Kurt…”

“Come on Green Blood, defend yourself! I know I taught you better than this! What would your uncle think of this performance?”

She swung hard, meeting Kurt’s blade with unexpected force and pushing him back. She advanced on the offensive, landing blow after blow as he frantically parried aggressive strikes.

“Corinne-“

His unusual use of her name did nothing to dissuade her assault as she hailed down upon him. She was an indomitable storm, striking mercilessly as Kurt did his best to block without harming her.

“Corinne, what are you-“

“Stop… treating me…. like a…. child!” she panted through her onslaught.

“I’m not!” Kurt yelled as their blades clashed. They pushed against one another, eyes meeting across the steel. “I’m treating you like someone I don’t want getting killed!”

“You’re talking to me the same way you did when I was fifteen! What are you going to do, tell on me to my uncle? Go ahead! He’s months away by sea!”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” Kurt shoved hard, both of their blades swinging wildly to the side as they both stumbled backward. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry!”

“Because I am a grown woman, Legate of the Congregation of Merchants, and the only reason Constantin hasn’t destroyed the colony yet, and you’re talking to me like a teenager with her first blade!”

“Because you’re fighting like a teenager with her first blade!”

Hearts Like Lions, Chapter 18

“I’ve been told you were romantically involved with the Empress.”

“I didn’t take you for a gossipmonger, Inquisitor,” Briala said, smiling sadly.

“Is it true?”

“Would it be so terrible if it was? It is lonely at the top, Your Worship - something it seems you know well. Is your own Commander not warming your bed?”

“My personal affairs are not threatening Empires.”

“Aren’t they?”

Hearts Like Lions, Chapter 17

Evelyn looked him over, sensing the dread that filled him. Though he insisted otherwise, the group that had accosted him had shaken him. If she could help it, it wouldn’t happen again.

“Cullen, what if I told you there was a way to keep them off of you?” She looked up at him nervously, and Cullen’s brows knit together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

Evelyn pulled the silken kerchief from her breast pocket, running her thumb over the embroidered lettering.

E.T. Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed.

Bold, indeed.

Hearts Like Lions, Chapter 3

Cullen hastily took the reports from the scout and set about finding a quiet corner of the Chantry to work in. Ordinarily he’d prefer to work outside, but he had been waiting for the reports from the Hinterlands since the Herald… no, Evelyn... and her team had left weeks ago, and their importance required a focus only a quiet room could provide.

Cassandra’s was on top. Unsurprisingly, her reports were clean and concise, detailing their endeavors and findings in the form of an organized list. Her information was useful, and Cullen took note of anything he may need to pass on to Josephine and Leliana. As he copied down the details, he noticed Cassandra’s final entry, written below her other notes.

Our arrival at the Crossroads was met with resistance from rebel mages and Templars. The Herald was pinned beneath a Templar and held by the neck. I was able to stop the Templar, but the Herald suffered minor bruising. After a week of fighting beside her, I have determined her lost footing was not a mistake. The Herald is an extremely well-trained rogue.

Cullen stared at the report, as though his gaze could bring further explanation. One of the first rules of combat training was to never let your enemy take you to the ground, especially for rogue fighters, who often wore lighter armor. He pulled out the next report, hoping it would contain more information.

The next came from Solas, who had thoroughly described the area, citing historical sites, locations of natural materials, and possible locations to camp. It was actually quite useful, but didn’t answer his question about the incident with the Templar. That was until he realized the pages had stuck, and there was one more note on the final page.

Evelyn suffered a minor injury to the neck caused by an altercation with a rebel Templar. Though she claimed to not be bothered by it, she moved her head tenderly, and the discoloration turned to dark bruising. I applied an elfroot salve to the affected area that evening, but there was not much that could be done for it. It has been healing well on its own.

Solas

Cullen flipped immediately to the next report, hoping to find something else.

Curly,

Have I mentioned that I hate the wilderness? The Ferelden cold bites as harshly as its war dogs. It has been two weeks since we parted with civilization. Since then, it has been nothing but hastily made camps. Rams feed on the grasses of rolling hills, while their predators lurk in hidden caves beyond view…

Cullen groaned. Varric’s report was far thicker than the others. His clean yet elaborate scrawl continued for pages. While entertaining, it made it difficult to find the information he needed. He skimmed through until he found what he was searching for.

When we arrived at the Crossroads, we were attacked from both sides by mages and Templars alike. Our team was caught in the middle, and neither group cared to differentiate between us and the enemy. They even went so far as to turn hostile against Inquisition soldiers and refugees. A Templar almost killed a refugee woman, but Evelyn tackled him to the ground at the last moment, giving her enough time to escape and saving her life. Unfortunately, once on the ground, the Templar was able to pin Evelyn down by the throat. The Seeker managed to pull him off and kill him before things could get worse, but the Herald was bruised for days. Trust me when I say we need to watch her, Curly. I’ve seen firsthand what this world does to heroes.

Hearts Like Lions, Chapter 10

“Of course,” Evelyn said, intently picking lint from her sleeve. “I’ll be down in just a moment.” Once they were gone, Evelyn looked toward the floor, appearing far more sullen than she had just moments prior.

“Is something wrong?” Cullen asked. Evelyn sighed.

“It’s Alexius’s judgement. It’s one thing in the field, when someone attacks you - when you know it’s you or them. But to sit on a throne and condemn… What Alexius did was terrible, but he only wanted to save his son. I can’t say I don’t understand. Sometimes I wonder if I’d have done the same, in his place. But then I remember that future…” she placed her hands on her hips, biting her lower lip and trembling with rage. “It was horrible, Cullen. They imprisoned our friends - used their bodies to mine red lyrium. It infected everything! Then they tortured Leliana, destroyed the Inquisition, and I didn’t know what happened to my family, or what happened to you, and I… Dammit!” As she dabbed a tear away with her glove, Cullen impulsively wrapped his arms around her. He did so awkwardly, at first, but then he relaxed, resting his chin atop her head as Evelyn eased into him.

“Why didn’t he attack me? Why couldn’t I have killed him then, in the heat of battle, without having to worry about whether or not it was right? And now I don’t know if I can…”

“You can,” Cullen said softly. “I know it won’t be easy, but you can.” Evelyn breathed deeply, allowing the comforting scent of oakmoss to calm her.

“I’m sorry,” she said when she finally pulled back, immediately missing the comfort his arms had brought. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

“Don’t be sorry, Evelyn. It’d be more concerning if nothing troubled you.”

“Tell that to my parents,” she said sadly, gazing at her boots. Cullen gently tilted her chin upward with his hand, guiding her eyes to him.

“You can do this. I’ll support whatever you decide. And I heard from a reliable source that the kitchen staff have been baking cakes all afternoon, so when it’s all over we’ll get you a slice of cake and a glass of that wine Josephine hid in here. Alright?” He slid his hand through her hair and Evelyn laughed, sniffling a bit.

“I do love cake. But no more than one glass of wine. I’m a bloody lightweight.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Thank you, Cullen.” Evelyn smiled up at him, feeling a bit better. The gaze changed when she realized just how close they were, his hand resting on the back of her neck, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering to the scar on his lip. Her heart pounded as she realized he had done the same, and the desire to feel his lips on hers consumed her.

Then she remembered where they were.

How long had it been since she last had a man in her bedroom? Alone? And this was not just any man. It was Cullen. Cullen, who she looked forward to seeing each day, who she thought of frequently in the field, who had cared for her after the fall of Haven, who she worried for at night. There was no denying she cared for him, and if the look in his eyes was any indication...

The thought made her nervous, and she glanced toward the bed and back to him, cursing herself as he followed her glance. He blushed furiously when he realized where she had looked, and Evelyn felt the heat rising in her own cheeks as they pulled away.

“Perhaps… we should…” Cullen spluttered.

“I… should get down there,” Evelyn managed.

“Of course.” Evelyn started toward the door, then turned to find Cullen still looking after her.

“You should come.”

“Right,” Cullen said, quickly following.

Tagging @kemvee @noire-pandora @hawkeish @musetta3 and anyone else who wants to!

#tags #another rogue trevelyan fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfiction #Greedfall #inquisitor x cullen #cullen x trevelyan #cullen rutherford #commander cullen

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theheartsmistakes · 4 years ago

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Any Other Name: Chapter 2

“Cordelia!” Her mother called up the stairs in a fake, chipper voice that held undercurrents of irritation Cordelia knew had nothing to do with her and everything to do with their company. “Our guests are here. Why don’t you come down and help me set the table for dinner?”

If she took to yelling up the stairs at her rather than walking the staircase or sending her father to come and retrieve her, she must be considerably uncomfortable.

“I’m coming!” said Cordelia so no one could come after her and find her kneeling on the floor over a removed floorboard with a secret letter in her hands.

Quickly, she folded the paper, stuck it back under the floorboard, and pushed the wood plank back into its place before pushing herself to her feet and brushed the dust off of her hands. She grabbed her black cardigan from off the bed and threw it on as she twisted the knob and opened the door and nearly walked right into Augustus Pounceby.

A small shriek escaped her as she fell back against the door frame, cursing in Persian, and clutched her chest.

Augustus smirked. The last time she’d seen him he had an impossibly round face, buck teeth, and a lisp that made it difficult to understand him. They’d been twelve years old at the time, but she didn’t think people could change so much in five years. He’d lost the roundness of his youth, grew several inches, and his teeth were a normal size. His dirty blond hair was cut short at the sides, long on the top, and perfectly coifed with products. He wore a black button-up t-shirt with the buttons done up to his neck, over dark denim jeans, and a pair of black and white trainers.

His smirk turned lascivious as his eyes roved over the length of her body, lingering on the bits her dress left exposed. She fought against the urge to close her cardigan around her.

“Pounceby,” said Cordelia by way of greeting. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude and a bit creepy to lurk outside of someone’s bedroom door?”

“I was sent to fetch you,” he said, glancing over her shoulder into Lucie’s bedroom. “Your mother said that you’d give me a tour. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the infamous London Institute.”

Cordelia unceremoniously closed the bedroom door behind her with a bit more force than necessary. Unfortunately, the movement made her step closer to Augustus. “No one’s ever invited you in before?”

“It wasn’t a matter of being invited,” said Augustus, not moving an inch to provide some space between them. “I wouldn’t have stepped one foot inside of this place with those demon-blooded Herondale’s living here. You can still smell their taint all over this place.”

Cordelia shoved her shoulder into his chest as she moved around him, fighting against the urge to also knee him in the solar plexus while simultaneously breaking his nose with her elbow. Her father probably wouldn’t appreciate her getting Pounceby’s blood all over the floor and he’d most likely make her clean it up, so she decided against bloodshed for tonight and keep things— cordial.

“Allow me to give you a tour then,” said Cordelia pointing to the walls as she walked towards the stairs. "This is the hallway and these are the--" She looked over her shoulder and realized Augustus wasn’t following her.

“What’s down this way?” He asked, nodding towards the other end of the hall.

She hadn’t bothered to wander farther than Lucie’s old bedroom. It felt wrong like she needed an invitation to go farther. There were two more doors at the end. One used to be a study and the other had been James’s bedroom.

She’d only ever been in there once the last time her family came to London for a visit. Lucie had gone on a trip to Paris with her Aunt Cecily, but James stayed home due to some punishment after an incident that happened at the Academy. James never told her and she never asked. Not that she could have, from a young age she was so enamored by James that she often found it difficult to form coherent sentences when she was around him. He was the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen. With his raven black hair, always unruly and curling at all ends like it’d been worked and shaped by the wind and his eyes, like golden flecks of sunlight framed by thick dark lashes. She remembered how they would crinkle at the edges when he smiled, and he always smiled at her.

They spent that entire week reading, wandering around the Institute, pretending to battle each other with the baguettes Tessa brought home for dinner. It'd started as the worst summer of her existence and ended as one she would never forget.

Warmth spread up her neck and into her cheeks at the memory of it. “There’s nothing down there. Come on, they’ll be wanting to eat soon.”

“The men are talking in the old, stuffy drawing room,” said Augustus as he turned on his heel and walked leisurely down the hall. “Come on, Carstairs. It’s your house now, you can do whatever you want in it.”

“I want to go downstairs and help my mum set the table,” said Cordelia, crossing her arms. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait just a moment,” drawled Pounceby. “Isn’t this goat eye's old bedroom?”

Cordelia glared. "Who?"

"James."

Cordelia bristled at the rude name he'd given James. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“My interest is peaked is all.”

“Some infatuation of yours with James, Pounceby?” smirked Cordelia. “I’m sure he’ll be flattered, but somehow I doubt you’re his type.”

Augustus put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it but it wouldn’t move. “It’s locked.”

Relief swept through Cordelia. “That’s settled then. Let’s go to dinner.”

“Why is it locked?” Augustus tried the door again. “What’s in there?”

“How am I supposed to know. I did just tell you I haven't been there." Cordelia dragged her feet as she came beside him to try the door herself. It was, in fact, locked. “I’ll tell my father about it at dinner and he can find the key, or something.”

Augustus narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you hiding something in here?”

Cordelia’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“It was no secret you were a Herondale and downworlder sympathizer,” he said with a sneer that once again made Cordelia want to shove his face into the wall. “Is there a reason you don’t want me going in here?”

Cordelia’s empty hands clenched around the fabric of her cardigan to keep from swinging out against her will. “If you want to look stupid for claiming that my father has anything to hide from the Clave by dragging them away from their drinks to come up here and open a door that’s obviously been locked from the inside, only to find that it is as empty as all the rest?” She stepped aside so there was room for him to go around her. “Please, by all means, be my guest. I was really hoping for quality entertainment tonight and to see the look of disappointment on your father’s face will be well worth the wait.”

Augustus held her gaze for just a moment longer before he released his grip on the door and walked past her, whispering the word ‘bitch’ in a volume that was just loud enough for her to hear.

She’d been called worse.

When he was far enough down the hallway, she gave the doorknob another attempt, but just as before it wouldn’t budge.

Curious, she thought and tucked the anomaly away for a later time.

~ ~ ~

“Ah, there she is!” Her father said as Cordelia descended the stairs. Now with the lights all burning in their sconces from the wall, casting shadows from the chandeliers, they gave the Institute back some semblance of the warmth that Cordelia remembered when she would visit. It still felt odd without any Herondale presence; she half expected Will to come bursting through the door in a rage about the city traffic and Tessa to follow behind him with her genuine smile.

But the front door remained closed, much to Cordelia’s dismay, as she slowly sank from the last step.

“Cordelia, you remember Inquisitor Bridgestock?” said her father with a tight smile.

Cordelia looked to the tall man standing before her. He always reminded her of a toad with his round face, bulbous eyes, and thin mouth. He even had a rather large wart at the start of his right eyebrow.

“Well, Elias, what a beauty your daughter has become,” said the Inquisitor, folding his hands in front of himself, not even bothering to shake hers, because why would he? Perhaps he thought her dainty little hands couldn’t withstand his masculine dynamism.

She fought hard not to roll her eyes at her thoughts and plastered a smile across her face. “Oh yes, I remember him well.”

“And our new Consul, Marcus Pounceby?”

Her eyes shifted to the man standing beside the Inquisitor. He did offer her his hand, and when she placed it into his smooth palm, she could not feel a single callous on his fingers or palm. It made her wonder when the last time he trained, or patrolled, or held a weapon for that matter. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. A European custom and she was in Europe, but it still made her feel uneasy, small. At least, he wasn’t trying to kiss both of her cheeks like the French, which she didn’t mind, it just all depended on the person. Lucie and James’s cousin Anna was privy to that custom and with her, Cordelia didn’t mind it in the least.

“My son wouldn’t stop raving about you when he learned about your arrival,” said the Consul. “He spoke of your bravery, your skill, we are very lucky to have you back in England. He graduated from the Academy with top marks and has shown himself to lead a powerful squadron of Shadowhunters. You should speak to him about going out on raids together. He can show you around town.”

Her eyes flashed to Augustus, standing beside his father, looking rather bumptious. When she didn’t say anything for a good long time, her father nudged her with his elbow. “That would be delightful.”

She’d only used the word delightful possibly twice in her life. It tasted like poison coming out of her mouth, but it did its job. They both looked pleased with her which made it all the more difficult not to vomit on their shiny oxfords.

Only her father, who was attuned to her sarcasm and indifference after being the victim of it for sixteen years, noted the tone of her voice.

“Where is your son?” inquired the Consul.

“He stayed in Tehran to oversee the Institute until the new family moves in,” said her father. “He’ll be joining us just as soon as their settled.”

“Excellent,” said the Inquisitor. “Another student of the academy that succeeded with top marks. We could use him on the streets while this issue with the Downworlders is in effect and in meetings regarding demon and downworlder business. He had some dealing of his own with the Herondale boy, did he not?”

Cordelia looked to her father for an answer. She knew Alastair and James went to the academy at the same time and didn’t necessarily get along. Then some incident happened that resulted in James’ expulsion, but she didn’t know what that had to do with Alastair. He never told her even though she asked him nearly a hundred times.

Elias shifted a step so he stood closer to Cordelia. “Alastair only spoke of how troubled James was.” His eyes flashed to Cordelia. A warning and a plead not to say a word.

“Yes, well, with the filth that runs in that family’s blood it is no wonder he was capable of causing such a disturbance. He shouldn’t have been accepted into the academy in the first place,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock.

Cordelia bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Elias?” asked Bridgestock.

Elias breathed through his nose and straightened his shoulders. “Of course. Now that we’ve all been reacquainted, why don’t we move this discussion into the dining room. Sona has been slaving away in the kitchen for the better part of our move-in day to make this dinner special. Cordelia, please go help your mother.”

Cordelia gave them a half-hearted curtsy and dipped out of the entryway towards the hall that led to the kitchen. Upon noticing her angelic energy, the lights in the sconces along the walls flickered on with several distinct clinks and filled the space with a subtle glow. Cordelia put her hand on the swinging door that led into the kitchen where her mother, with a large ladle in hand, poured some kind of broth over the sliced pork chops lined neatly on a silver platter.

“I can’t do it,” said Cordelia as soon as the door swung shut again. “They are absolutely incorrigible. They called the Herondale’s filthy.”

Sona set the bowl of broth down on the crowded counter and started to pull the leaves off from a sprig of thyme. “You already knew they felt this way, Cordelia. This should not come as a surprise.”

“Yes, but to hear them say it out loud makes my skin crawl.” She picked up the serving fork and stabbed it into a pork chop. “I can’t even say anything to defend them. I just have to nod my head at all of their slurs. I might as well be stabbing my friends in the back.”

Sona wiped her hands on the cloth hanging over her shoulder as she turned to Cordelia. “Your friends know you, they know your truth, and they would want for you to protect yourself. If the situation was reversed and it was our family that had been banished, what would you want from James and Lucie?” After a moment, when Cordelia didn’t answer, Sona continued, “I knew Tessa well. She was a good friend. I know that if the situation was reversed, I would want Tessa to protect her family.”

“She was a good friend?” Cordelia emphasized the second word without looking at her mother. “Maybe I would want James and Lucie to protect themselves and not be banished like me, but I know I wouldn’t want them to stop seeing me as their friend.”

Sona opened her mouth and sighed. “Cordelia—“

“Let’s just feed the monsters so they can leave.” Cordelia picked up the platter of steaming pork chops and started towards the swinging door, leaving her mother to look as dejected as Cordelia felt.

Once in the dining room, still decorated in Tessa’s elegant taste with gold and white herons flying across the wallpaper with holly in their beaks, Cordelia set the platter of pork onto the center of the mighty oak table. The chandelier hung low with sphere-shaped crystals that cast rainbows across the walls when the light from the large arched window at the west side of the room hit them. The table was set for only six people tonight with Elias at the head closest to the window.

Cordelia had no choice but to sit beside Augustus, as all the other spots had been taken.

Sona followed in after her, free now of her emerald green apron and kitchen towels, carrying a plate of scorched rice and another plate of fresh-herb Kuku-- Cordelia’s favorite. A twinge of guilt went through her as she noticed the plates of comfort food her mother had prepared for no one else, but Cordelia.

“Sorry about the wait, gentlemen,” said Sona as she placed the food on the table. “I hope you’re all hungry and wish to expand your palettes. These are all dishes from Tehran. We thought you might like to experience something from our home.”

Augustus looked at the green pie-shaped dish placed directly in front of him as if it might come to life and attack him.

“It’s called Kuku,” said Cordelia, serving herself a large piece before anyone else. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s green,” said Augustus and looked to his father for help.

Consul Pounceby just laughed. “You didn’t have to go out of your way for us. We would have been happy with fish and chips or a nice shepherds pie.” He forked a piece of pork onto his plate with a small helping of scorched rice.

"What kind of pie?" asked Cordelia with a mouth full of Kuku.

“I thought it might be nice to have something from home for our first night here,” said Sona.

“It’s looks wonderful, darling,” said Elias.

The conversation took a small reprieve as everyone ate their meals. Metal forks clinked against plates and ice rattled around in glassware in the silence. Marcus Pounceby chewed with his mouth open and took a particular fondness to the Kuku, though his son took one bite and then refused to acknowledge it again. Inquisitor Bridgestock proceeded to take a drink of his wine after each bite to clear his throat. Cordelia felt a brief sense of satisfaction at the light sheen of sweat that coated his brow after having a piece of pork.

“We’re not used to such flavors here in England,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock, dabbing his face with his napkin. “It’s quite exotic.”

“I may have gone a bit heavy handed on the peppers,” said Sona as she soaked a piece of her pork in the sauce. “Can I get anyone some water or milk, perhaps?”

Cordelia forced herself not to laugh.

“Milk?” inquired Marcus. “Does that help?”

“It does,” said Sona.

“That won’t be necessary.” Bridgestock patted his distended stomach. “I’m quite finished as is. If I drink a glass of milk you’ll have to roll me out the door or call my wife and have her come drive me home.”

“How is Mary Beth?” asked Sona. “It’s a shame she couldn’t come tonight. I did look forward to seeing her again.”

Another easy lie from her mother. The last time Mary Beth and Sona met, Sona couldn’t stop talking about what a deplorable know-it-all with questionable moral Mary Beth was and how the Bridgestock’s may have not been the best family to adopt the young Ariadne girl. To go from such strong feelings towards the Bridgestock's to inquiring about her as if her absence was missed surprised Cordelia. Her mother’s ability to be so languid never ceased to amaze her.

“She’s well. She simply didn’t want to be present for a bunch of Clave talk.” Bridgestock wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Not when she had a previously schedules game of bridge with some of the other wives. You should go sometime, Sona.”

Her mother’s tight smile was all Cordelia needed to know. She’d been invited to a few bridge games and attended one thinking that at least Tessa would be there and she’d have someone to talk to, but when she got home Sona looked exhausted and explained that all the women at the bridge club did was gossip, smoke, and drink expensive wine. There was not one game of bridge to be played. She then went into a rather hilarious impression of the Inquisitor's wife, with her pinched face and animated hands that may have been slightly exaggerated, but had even Alastair snickering.

“Perhaps when things are a bit more settled,” said Sona and took a long drink from her water glass.

“That reminds me,” said Marcus as he placed his napkin on the table, “we’ve interrupted your move in day. We apologize. We’ll get out of your way just as soon as we finish some business with Elias. Should we retire to the study, gentlemen?”

“Yes,” said Bridgestock as he rose from the table. “There is much to discuss regarding this Downworlder business. We’ll need to brief you on some of the changes we’re making regarding the laws and how we are expecting those on patrol to be our inforcers. We’d appreciate your opinion on a few of these matter before we hold the official Clave meeting in two weeks.”

“Uh, yes,” said Elias as he stood from the table too. “Cordelia, would you mind helping your mother with the dishes and then come and join us—“

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said the Inquisitor. “Our talk will just bore her. We can explain everything to her at the official meeting with the rest of the Clave.”

Elias’s grip flexed on his dining room chair. “My daughter will be one of those patrolling the streets of your city. I would like for her to be prepared and understand what is expected of her.”

“Kill demons and any downworlders that dares to step out of line,” whispered Augustus under his breath. “Not much else left to understand.”

Demons can take the shape of many things, she thought. Even privileged, annoying boys.

She might be able to plead her case against the Clave if she were to accidentally stab him.

“It will all be explained at the meeting,” continued Bridgestock. “Until then, Cordelia will not be allowed to patrol alone and will instead train with Augustus.”

Cordelia couldn’t stop the pinched look that took over her face. Her mother nudged her underneath the table before anyone could see her.

The men filed out of the dining room, leaving their half-cleared plates of food for Cordelia and Sona to clean up. They piled the dishes and separated the silverware in silence before carting everything back into the kitchen.

Sona turned on the faucet over the deep bucket sink and held her hand under it waiting for the water to warm while Cordelia continued to bring plates in and set them on the small island.

She glanced at the old grandfather clock that stood in the hallway each time she passed it. Only two more hours and she could find Lucie. Finally, there would be someone she could speak freely about all of this to and not constantly be shut down; told to smile, and bear it.

The large hand steadily clicked on, but not fast enough.

Not nearly fast enough.

A/N:

This chapter does include some artistic license. To make it relative to the times, I changed it from James having to stay home from a Paris trip due to being expelled from school rather than being sick with the Scarlet Fever.

I also made up Augustus's appearance. It is not canon. It's just how he looks in my head.

Also I have no clue what Inquisitor Bridgestock's wife's name is so I'm calling her Mary Beth.

Comments and hearts are ALWAYS appreciated!

Next update comes out in two weeks: May 28

#the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia fanfiction #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #cassandra clare #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #james x cordelia #lucie herondale #matthew fairchild #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #alastair carstairs

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fallenrepublick · 5 years ago

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girl, you triggered me... NSFW alphabet for eighth brother?

Bahaha yeah sure thing

A is for Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s incredibly careful when he’s taking care of you, enough so that it was surprising at first. He prefers that you don’t have to lift even a finger while he cleans you, and after he’s satisfied, he lays beside you, his fingers drifting along your skin until you’re asleep.

B is for Body Part (their favourite body part of their partner or themselves)

He adores your legs. Of course, he loves every part of you, but you notice him taking his time feeling every curve and mark along your thighs and calves. When he’s kissing you, he makes a point to pull your legs around his waist, holding them up as he pulls you as close as possible against him.

C is for Cum (anything to do with cum basically)

He knows that because of his position, he has to be careful of the pregnancy risk. If there’s nothing to worry about, he’ll finish inside of you, but he has to admit, finishing in your mouth is similarly rewarding. And it’s not like you’re complaining. After all, it tastes suspiciously sweet, almost fruity.

D is for Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He can’t help but love when you take control. He’s normally the one who’s dominant, but after being tied down once and ridden mercilessly, it’s become something he wants to happen almost every day. Although, he’d never admit it, and he still wants to make sure you don’t have to put in too much work.

E is for Experienced (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

No, he does not. But that’s not going to stop him. He’s entirely confident that he can figure it out with no trouble, and you have to admit, he’s a fast learner. He learns how rough you like it and where, what speed you like and every kink you may have. One might even call it his new hobby.

F is for Favourite Position (what’s their go-to sex position?)

Against the wall, no question. He loves having your back pressed up to the wall, your legs wrapped around him, holding onto his neck, completely relying on his strength to keep you upright.

G is for Goofy (are they more serious in the moment or are they more humorous?)

He leans more to the serious side of things. Every moment with you is something he treasures completely. His job does worry him, and for this reason, he never knows when the next time he sees you will be his last, so he treats each second with you as if he’ll never see you again.

H is for Hair (how well groomed are they?)

He’s consistently well groomed for you no matter what. It’s something he has time specifically dedicated to on a regular basis, and he wouldn’t be caught dead otherwise.

I is for Intimacy (how do they act during the moment?)

He’s extremely forward with what he wants from you, going so far as to dirty talk you into completely begging for him. But he’s still a romantic at heart, as much as he tries to hide it, and on days when he’s not overly needy, he’ll move slower, more carefully for you. It all depends on the day, really.

J is for Jack Off (Masturbation)

It’s not really his thing. Most of the time, his work keeps him too distracted, so he would never find the time, even if he wanted to. But in actuality, he feels like it would never be enough to replace what it feels like to be with you, and he found himself dissatisfied the one time he tried.

K is for Kinks (one or more of their kinks)

Oh there’s plenty to talk about. The main ones are choking, degradation, and bondage. There’s a tiny hint of a daddy kink in there as well. He loves the look on your face when he calls you all of those names, and paired with you tied down tightly for him, he can’t help but want every inch of you. And don’t think it doesn’t go both ways. Please call him a whore, he loves it.

L is for Location (favourite places to get dirty)

His ship might be his favourite. Don’t ask why, because even he doesn’t know, but it makes him feel powerful to see you all messy and pretty in his tie fighter. When you’re in there, you get a full understanding as to why it’s called the cockpit.

M is for Motivation (what gets them going)

Anything. You could be doing literally anything, and he’ll end up wanting you. Oh but if you tease him, you won’t have to wait long. He doesn’t care where you are or what you’re doing, he will fuck you until you can’t walk the rest of the week. That’s what you get for testing him.

N is for No (something they won’t do in the bedroom, turn offs)

He’s not picky. If you don’t want something, fine, but his job requires flexibility, so that carries over here as well.

O is for Oral (giving, receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s more of a receiver than a giver. He loves seeing your mouth around him and the feeling of your head as he presses you closer to him. He will still give, though, on the rare occasions when you want to be in control. But he isn’t great at it, and even he’s willing to admit that.

P is for Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Fast, fast, fast. He gives you a few moments to adjust, but afterwards you will get no time to breathe. And unless something is different on a particular day, he’s rough, biting you and overstimulating you relentlessly. But sometimes, either one of you may be feeling more sentimental, wanting to take it slow and just enjoy each other. On those days, he’s happy to take care of you as long and as gently as you need.

Q is for Quickie (their opinions of quickies versus proper sex)

He embraces quickies completely. If anything, they happen more often than proper sex. His entire life runs on sudden bursts of energy, and his sex drive isn’t much different. And some days he simply may not have the time to enjoy you as long as he’d like, so he’ll take what he can get, because beggars can’t be choosers. But he knows they’re no replacement for the “real” thing, and he doesn’t pretend like they suffice as much as he would like them to. He also doesn’t like leaving you feeling less than taken care of, so he tries to make time for proper sex as much as he can.

R is for Risks (do they like to take risks and experiment?)

Yes. He loves pushing his luck to see just what he can get away with. It excites him to no end, and he offers to try new things on a regular basis. He’s easily bored and constantly tries to keep things interesting the longer you’re together.

S is for Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

He was built for stamina. His training as an Inquisitor made absolute sure of that, and just by virtue of his species, he has better stamina than most other people. He can go all night if he has the opportunity, and you’ll be left completely exhausted by the morning if you let him.

T is for Toy (do they own toys? Do they use them?)

Oh absolutely. He has an entire collection he started when you first got together, and it’s only grown since then. He has everything from vibrators to handcuffs and he will not hesitate to use them if he thinks you’ve been bad.

U is for Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

More than you would like him to. He’s relentless, and often when he’s tortured you for a whole day, he’ll deny you what you’re begging for most. He begins to seem as if he’ll pleasure you, only to pull away at the last second and drive you mad. He loves seeing you blush feverishly and pleading for him to give you what you want.

V is for Volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

He’s not as loud as you are. Most of what you hear from him are orders or name-calling. He prefers hearing moaning from you, so that he knows that what he’s doing is right and that he’s the only one who can make you feel that way. But when you’re in control, he’s loud, moaning and begging for you constantly. You’re never left wondering.

W is for Wild Card (random dirty headcanon)

He wants others to hear you. He’s territorial and doesn’t trust anyone around you, assuming that their intentions are all horrible. So when you’re having sex, he doesn’t worry about how thin the walls are or who’s asleep next door. He wants them to hear it and know who you belong to without competition.

X is for X-Ray (what they’re packing)

A tad longer than average, though that doesn’t really matter much considering how he uses it.

Y is for Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

There’s never a time when he’s not ready to take you where you stand. He finds every opportunity to be with you, and when he’s away on missions and thinks about you, he swears it’ll be the first thing he does when he walks through the door.

Z is for Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep after)

It actually takes a bit. His energy remains high for a while after, and he likes laying beside you and helping you fall asleep before he does. Watching you doze off relaxes him and allows him to drift off soon after you.

#eighth brother #eighth brother x reader #star wars x reader #star wars x you

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capricornus-rex · 5 years ago

Text

The Haunt of Redemption (8)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Chapter 8: Same Link, Different Mettle | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 | Previous: Chapter 7 | Next: Chapter 9 | Masterlist

8 of ?

Alyon greeted you with black cliffs topped with green patches of grass that rose to the skies, seafoam that’s whiter than bone striped the deep blue seas, and golden patches of sand mingled with the lush green jungles resting at the foot of the mountains.

The Mantis found a nice spot to land on—by the mesa that overlooks the seaside town not bigger than the one in Hoga.

“This place is mesmerizing, [y/n],” Merrin commented.

“It’s not every day we get to beautiful places in the galaxy without the Empire chasing us,” Cere added.

“Yeah, well, hopefully this time—they won’t,” you abruptly stood up from the seat. “I’m gonna take a look around,”

You darted towards the room and got dressed, donning Cal’s Bracca scrapper poncho for the first time. With the Holocron gone, it felt like a load has been lifted from your shoulders—literally and figuratively—as you wore the straps of your bag. BD-1 hopped onto your shoulder as you leave the room.

“I don’t have to tell you again, [y/n],”

“Yes, Cere, I know. Don’t die. Or was it be careful?”

“Both, actually.”

“Gotcha,” she smiled.

It’s a perpetual question in Cere’s mind how you’re able to smile in the midst of all this predicament. Perhaps, it was an indication of your strength. After all that torment you’ve endured in Cal’s absence, you weren’t just back to normal—you’ve changed but for the better.

Compared to your pit stop earlier, trekking through the terrain was a breeze. The sight of the ocean lifted your spirits, the blades of grass tickled your calves, and the sun mildly shone above your head. Along the way, you frolicked in the wild plains—spinning and sprinting around with a child-like innocence—the flaps of your poncho felt like wings as the untamed winds blew to your direction.

There was no sign of the Empire in that seaside town, diverse peoples inhabit the settlement. Yet, the population seemed sparse for a sizable settlement. Your arrival was met with curious stares and vendors’ hollers. There’s no team of armed men marching to your general direction for the welcome wagon—nevertheless, you remained vigilant.

“Stay close, BD,” you muttered.

You approached a fruit stall and browsed; an animal penned inside a stable right next to the stall bleated to get your attention. Ever the curious friend, BD-1 perched onto the fence post and scanned the animal that was chewing on a stalk of hay.

“I knew you’d take a scan of it!” you teased.

BD-1 chirped, you translated it to him saying the animal’s name.

“That, my dear, is a Dimal,”

The fruit stall owner pointed at the tall, woolly animal, its jowls flopped and its rounded upright ears twitched with every chew of the hay stalk. You treated it to a Meiloorun fruit. You brought it close to the Dimal’s mouth, sniffing it first before gobbling it up in its mouth.

“You’re welcome,” you chuckled.

Even with its mouth full, it replied with a muffled grunt and continued gnawing on the large fruit in its seemingly narrow mouth.

“Haven’t seen you in these parts,” the same shop owner blurted, his native dialect was thick.

“I’m a traveler, I just got here,”

After shopping, you headed back to the ship, the old man was kind enough to slip in a few extra berries for the road. You expressed your thanks and went around the town some more—and there was a lively sound coming from up ahead.

Music.

“Do you hear that, BD?”

“Booo!”

“Come on, let’s go take a look,”

You followed the music, colorful notes emitted from the various instruments. A group of dancers performed in perfect synchronization in the middle of the square, their footwork followed the speed of the fifes, the bystanders that circled them clapped to the beat of the drum, and for the finale they cheered once the abrupt strum of all strings of the lute signals the climax of the song.

The dance concluded by a round of applause from the crowd, which you’ve included yourself, you try not to stand out so you immediately vanished from the scene—though it was such a nice sight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen a street performance or festival.

—–

Three days of refuge in Alyon.

For once, things are seeming fine. But you know perfectly well this wouldn’t last, you’re still gripped with the anticipation of the Inquisitor’s arrival now that you’ve engaged with them—Cal, in particular.

You decided to tell your encounter with Cal through the Force with Cere, and you made sure you speak to her about it in great confidence.

“Cere, something strange happened on the day we left Tatooine and headed to Alyon,”

“And what’s that?”

You don’t even know where to begin explaining it.

“Well, it’s… how do I put it? I sort of saw Cal, here in the ship,”

“You mean, in meditation?”

You shake your head, “I wasn’t even meditating! I was doing something on the workbench and then I heard a voice call me, there was like a feeling that I can’t explain. At first, when I turned around there was nothing, so I thought I was just hearing things; but the second time around, I… I find Cal standing inside my bedroom!”

Cere’s head angled to the side, something about her expression alarmed you the same way you alarmed her with your story.

“Could it be…?” she muttered under your breath, though it was still within your earshot.

“Cere, what is it?”

Cere gradually stood up from the couch, “Hold on, I think I have something!”

She retreated to her own quarters where she rummaged through her rucksack. Shortly after, she reappears with a tome with a maroon leather cover, the metal accents along the corners and spines have tarnished, and the edges of the yellowed papers have chipped away due to age. She flipped through the pages looking for one specific section.

“Cordova learned about this phenomenon with the Force many years ago, while I was still his Padawan. Whatever he could find that pertains to it—he wrote it down, drew figures and diagrams, and added his own insights of his research!”

“What’s it called?”

“It’s a Force-Link. Look here,” she scooted closer beside you, pointing at the written paragraph on the page, her finger following the words as she read it out loud. “It’s said a phenomenon when the Force connects two Force-sensitive individuals, regardless of the distance in between, who have forged a dyad.”

In her excitement, Cere beat you to it—though, it felt like she sensed you’d ask about the last word in the paragraph—and flipped over the pages in search of the entry about Force dyads.

“Here,” she pointed at the first paragraph written underneath the header word, and read out loud word-for-word. “A connection that is forged with the Force between two Force-sensitive individuals.”

Cere skipped the longer metaphors and the personal diary entries that Cordova has written. More pages unraveled its mysteries and the woman impulsively read out loud—mostly for her own indulgence.

“Those who are out of the dyad could not see, feel, or hear the other side of the occurrence,”

This explains why the crew couldn’t hear Cal’s voice as you spoke to him during the first Force-Link encounter. Unfortunately, the explanation about manipulating it to either wielder’s whim—such as when will the connection start and when it’ll be severed—appear to be vague.

“Do Force dyads and Force-Links really seldom happen?”

“Yes, it’s quite rare. When I was a Padawan, I never met another Jedi who shared a dyad with another. But now, coming from you, I truly think Cordova was onto something back then. The bond you’ve shared with Cal factored the Force in allowing you to communicate.”

“I wonder if it’s another sign that he can be turned back to the light,” you thought out loud.

Apart from skimming Cordova’s manifests, strolling along the shoreline in barefoot, skimming rocks, seashells, and coral fragments that beached along the sand became a new pastime for you.

You enjoyed this new breed of solitude, but you’re still haunted by that mirage encounter of Cal back inside the Mantis. You find yourself secretly hoping that it would happen again.

On the other side of the galaxy, Cal has been poring page after page for any result about your Force-induced encounter. There were few resources found in his chambers in the command ship, there weren’t any valuable information found in the holotable’s databank either. The whole ordeal irritated him.

“How is it possible not a single manuscript was written about this!?” Cal roared, his mask did little in muffling out the sound, he punched the rim of the holotable in fury.

The last thing he thought of was retracing his steps, but the problem is: where does he even begin?

After all, it only happened abruptly and he had no control over it, because it felt like it came to him naturally. Cal theorized that it might be your own doing, but in reality, it wasn’t. He immediately dismissed that theory and went back to pinning down the Force as the primary culprit—frankly, it was the only logical culprit.

“Deep breaths,” he chanted to himself, doing exactly what he tells himself as he paced back and forth inside his room.

In the most uncanny of timings, that very same sensation returned to him—as if someone tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention—he abruptly turned around, he was surprised to see you standing inside the chambers with him.

“You’re quite elusive,” he initiated.

Your reaction to his appearance was understandable, your shoulders flinched while gaping at him. This is also the first time you saw him wearing a mask which muffled his voice, yet still coherent. Although the first time was docile, you can’t always count on him to be the same in the next.

You didn’t reply. You secretly fiddled the small seashell you’ve hid inside your fist while you conversed.

“I still don’t understand how and why this is happening to us. Can they see me?” he added.

“I don’t know…”

There was a stale air looming between you and the Eleventh Brother; the crashing waves of the sea and the machine hum spoke on each other’s behalf. You pursed your lips and your fist clenched tighter, the thin edge of the seashell dug into the flesh of your palm.

“You seem confident. Confident that I’ll never find you after you fled Cameegon like a coward.”

“I’m no coward! I’m not the one who gave in so easily!” you snarled.

“I take it that you’re not coming in quietly,” when he got the silent treatment from you, he continued. “Alright, then you’ll have to watch another innocent town be reduced into rubble like Cameegon. You wouldn’t want, would you? That’ll be a lot of blood in your hands.”

The Inquisitor noticed you flinch and he took pride in provoking you. He takes one step forward and you ignite your saber, having him at swordpoint.

“Ooh, feisty aren’t we?”

“You’ll never find me,” you hissed softly, although it was still within Cal’s earshot. “You’ll never turn me into what you’ve become!”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. We always find our way to each other, don’t we?”

He spoke the exact same words from his secret projection, a line that you knew too well and caught you off guard; a great thunderclap coming from the horizon startled you—the saber fumbled in your hand and the seashell fell from the other—and he disappeared from where he stood when you looked again.

The same went for the Eleventh Brother. The vibrant apricot seashell clattered on the polished black floor of his chambers. He took the delicate object into his hand and examined it. You unintentionally have given him a clue.

The boy Inquisitor rushed to the command ship’s bridge as fast as he can. His entrance alerted the attending officers; he approached the admiral and held up the shell to his face.

“I want this scanned. Trace its origin planet.”

The officer didn’t have the luxury to ask why and simply obeyed. The admiral took the shell from the young man’s hands and handed it over to one of the computer operators. In less than two minutes, the operator returned the shell along with a small datapad containing the findings.

“Sir, analysis traces it back to Alyon, a tropical planet in the Enca Sector, Ganiv System—it’s in the Outer Rim,” the admiral reported.

“Transmit the coordinates to my ship. Two TIE Fighters and an escort shuttle will come with me.”

“Right away, sir!”

The Eleventh Brother leaves the bridge on the way to the hangar.

“I have you now, [y/n].”

A storm was brewing that evening in Alyon. The thunderclouds have loomed closer to the shore in a dramatic speed. The winds have already picked up, the rain flew in like tiny knives pricking your skin, and the downpour caused the tide to rise earlier than usual. You hurried to getting on higher ground before the water has fully covered the shore.

You pushed through the raging winds, sheltering BD under the flap of your poncho. You blamed yourself for strolling farther from the ship, nightfall has reached you as a consequence, additionally, the town wasn’t any nearer either so it’s not an option.

“No…!” you gasped when the sky had gotten much darker, it doesn’t help with the storm joining in the problem.

The surroundings were all gray and visibility has dropped to zero. You barely see anything in this smokescreen of hail and fog. BD-1’s lights paled in the darkness. You stamped through the damp fields, the harsh winds swayed you farther with every step, but you fought it.

“Almost there, BD-1, hold on!”

Neither you nor BD-1 are safe, not until you’ve set foot into the Mantis. The growing sound of the TIE Fighters’ engine growls signaled their approach and a TIE Interceptor landed at a close distance from you. The hatch opened and out comes Cal, the Eleventh Brother. He stood upright in the midst of the storm, the bright red beam of his lightsaber lit up in the deep grayness.

You’re not going down without a fight.

Cal darted the air towards you, lightsaber at the ready, he found your block weak—it seems the storm has taken its toll on your body. However, he gave credit where it’s due—he admired your fighting spirit. You remained more on the defensive for the greater portion of the fight. The lightning afforded you short bursts of light to see your opponent better—rather, his next attack position.

“There! I see them!” Cere cried, peering through her binoculars and spotting two streaks of light dancing in the fog.

A TIE Fighter sends twin projectiles flying towards the Mantis, barely missing the dorsal fin of the ship but close enough to give it a rumble. Greez started the engine in a panic, Cere ordered him to stay low so they can still pick you up; although, that plan didn’t go so well.

The bitter cold of the wind disoriented you, the angry waves muted the hisses of lightsabers colliding with each other, your head was swirling, the veins on your temple throbbed, and your body had a battle of its own from within. Your lungs struggled as it sucked in cold air, fog wafted through your teeth as you dueled Cal.

The Eleventh Brother watched you charge towards him, ready for a dashed strike, and he prepared himself to time it just right.

Close enough!

You feel your entire body freezing up again, as if an icy gust blew throughout your entire being. The last thing you remember is a hearing a thunderclap mingle with the crash of the ocean, a flash of lightning glowed brightly in your puffy, heavy eyes and then suddenly darkness.

The Eleventh Brother caught you in his arms, carrying you bridal-style, and marched to the escort shuttle that he ordered to be included in his convoy.

“NO!!” Cere cried, a crack of lightning flashed as she witnessed him carry your unconscious body.

Your eyelids blinked the dancing lights away until your eyesight has adjusted to the brightness of the room. You gasped upon waking up, you weren’t sure how long you’ve been, but it felt like a long time. Your arms and legs had limited movement, later discovering that you’re strapped into an interrogation machine. Your heartbeat sped up tenfold, you surveyed across the room starting from the ceiling and then the middle part until you found a Stormtrooper standing beside silhouette across the room.

“Good, you’re awake,” the silhouette spoke, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Do you have any other orders, Eleventh Brother?”

“No, I’ll handle this myself. Leave us and wait for my orders,”

“Yes, Eleventh Brother.”

The Stormtrooper departs, leaving you and the Inquisitor in full privacy.

The red glowing accents of his mask lit up in the shadows, he blended perfect well in the darkness. You don’t know what to say back first, frankly, you don’t know what’s happening and how it came to this.

“Is that what they call you now: Eleventh Brother?”

Your snarky question got no reply from him. He removed his mask and placed it on the nearby podium. With that accessory gone, he massaged his jaw and craned his neck until you heard some bones popping.

“Yeah well, you can still call me Cal,” His roguish grin played along his face.

“Where are Cere and the others?”

“No idea,”

“You lie!”

“I never lie—especially to you,” he calmly said.

The young Inquisitor stepped into the light, revealing himself to you once more. There were a few inches dividing you from him. The white light shone over his hair, revealing the faint redness of his hair past the darker tints. You find that there was no terminal like the one in Nur; it was only him and you strapped into the contraption. Surely, this confused you, at the same time it relieved you that you’re spared of the electrifying torment—for now. No wonder the Stormtrooper was suggesting a better chamber.

“Where am I?”

“In an escort shuttle, en route to Koboth,”

“What is it that you really want, Cal?”

He clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes to the side, and then grinned as he spoke.

“Oh, I think you and I both know that already.”

For every word he said, he took one step closer, “I want the Holocron.”

You smirked, even chuckled, in retaliation. You teased him, inching your face closer just so he’ll hear better.

“I don’t have it.”

The small yet sadistic smile that painted his face melted away. Part of him doesn’t want to believe you, and the other does. With your natural talent for theatrics, it’s hard to decipher you—even for him.

Your smug face and arrogant sniggering was beginning to bother him. So much so that he was starting to think you’re not playing around.

“You’re wasting your time and energy, you know,”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear,” he sighed. He starts to remove his glove.

Preemptively, you know what he’s about to do to you. Your heart pounded in the wildest pace; suddenly, his Force-ability that once fascinated you, now terrifies you. Cal ignored your desperate scrambling in the contraption, but it somewhat satisfied him.

“That’s my poncho,” he cooed and an evil smirked curled at the corner of his lip.

He reached for you, avoiding his touch is futile. His bare hand is now at a fingertip’s reach from the fabric, sinking away into the contraption wasn’t much help for you either. His grip clutched a portion in the middle—your shirt underneath it was caught in his hold as well—and sharp pangs of light jabbed his vision, a hollow rippling warm drummed in his ears.

“Good night, Cal…”

Your memories have ingrained into every thread, a vision plays out in his mind: he sees you snuggling up to the poncho in bed, keeping it close to your face as you slept, the nightly sobbing rung in his ears, and the warmth that the poncho gave you during cold, sleepless nights wrapped over his shoulders.

“This isn’t who you are!”

“All this time… and we never even got a look.”

That sudden shift of emotions startled him, but he kept his grip—physically and mentally. The Inquisitor wanted to extract as much as he can to exploit you. To him, it was a game; for you, it was a mental war. He witnessed your recent memories—he now knows that you opened the Holocron and took a glance of the contents, he heard the festival music from the town in Alyon, and then he saw the waves tugging away from the shoreline.

“You saw what’s inside the Holocron!” he exclaimed. He pushed further into you using his Psychometry. “What did you do with it?”

“GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!”

The boy Inquisitor was surprised to find that you’re able to fight him off—at least, his grip on your mind. When his influence is now absent in your body, your head hung low as you gasp for breath and fight off the throbbing pain in your head. His mischievous grin stretched from ear-to-ear.

“Interesting…”

He nestled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting you upwards so you face him, your head bobbed slightly as you’re weakened by the infliction of his Psychometry. He inched closer to your face, the tips of your noses touched.

“My darling, you never cease to amaze me.” He teased you, the bottom of his lip softly brushed across yours while keeping an open grin, his stubble scratched your chin. Your indifferent expression met his roguish smirk as he pulled back inches away from you. A sadistic snicker hummed from his throat and he gently releases his hold on your face before leaving you in your cell.

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