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anotherbeingsworld · 3 years

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Dreams Come True

Pairing: Shane Parker x MC (Layla Greene @ Cadence Dorian)

Book: Platinum

Rating: G

Word Count: 1021 words

A/N: Hii! This is my (late) submission for Day 3 of @platinumweekend , with a fic for Shane x MC! I didn’t get a chance to edit, but I manage to whip up this fic which will be related with my Day 4 of the event! This is my first time writing other pairing than Bryce x MC (I hope it came out just right aaaaaaaa, I’m nervous! ) and I hope all of you enjoy it! <3 // Also, I’m sorry for not writing much, but uni been busting me, and I will try to post more soon! Thank you for understanding *pleading face emoji*

Tagging: @platinumweekend , @choicesficwriterscreations

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10 years ago.

The dark sky was decorated with stars, as Shane and Layla be seen laying on the grass overlooking the sky above. It has been a tradition for them to hang out the night before school starts, and it’s the last night before their senior year began.

The sound of the waters filled their ears, as they lay down in sync eyes following the skies above; a game of searching the constellations was created during the years.

“Hey, maybe if we’re lucky the shooting stars are going to happen tonight.” Shane’s words flow through followed by the sounds of airplanes from above.

Layla lets out a laugh before answering,

“You said that every year Shane, there is no shooting star here, unfortunately.”

He lets out a small chuckle as he sat up from his position,

“No negative talks Layla, maybe tonight will be different; who knows?”

Layla follows as they sat cross-legged on the grass after a while of star-gazing. There was a silence followed, a comforting one.

“We been here for the last few years Shane, and tomorrow it’s the start of our senior year. How did time fly by so quickly?” She wonders looking at him somehow searching for an answer.

His expression formed into a small smile, “We grew up, and…next we are going to go our separate ways. You will be the number one singer in the whole damn world, while I’ll be in LA for school. We are going to be adults with….”

He cringes a bit, “…responsibilities.”

Layla lets out a laugh at the response,

“You are going to nail it as a director Shane, I knew you had it in you when you manage to overcome my panic of not being able to use iMovie!” She replies with full enthusiasm.

His smile as wide as he could, somewhat feeling speechless as he pulls her into a hug. She was taken aback by it but accepts it wholeheartedly.

“You’ll be amazing too, I remember you been talking about being the next superstar; the music sheets scattered on the floor… or the time that you accidentally submitted your lyrics sheet for our chemistry assignment.” He snickers as Layla cringes at the memory.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I still got flashbacks from that day, and thank goodness I wasn’t suspended or anything.” Layla replies still shuddering from the memory beforehand, but they both ended up laughing at the memory once more.

After a moment of laughter, Shane went quiet as his eyes darted above them…a shooting star.

Both of them held each other’s hands, as they wished upon the star; all their dreams and wishes were bundled into one. Moments later, they exchange a look between them as they sealed the promise that both of them to reach their dreams as they cheered for each other in both the dark and good times.

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10 years later.

“…and the winner for Album of The Year is, Cadence Dorian with Stars Behind My Scars.” The announcer stated earning a round of applause from the audience, as Shane pull her into a tight hug leaving a kiss on her face.

As she walks up to the stage, the mix of shock, overwhelmed, and happiness was written all over her face as she held her Vinyl award for the first time after all these years dreaming of it. Shane stood up proudly applauding for his girlfriend, followed by her friends cheering her from below. The shouts made her flush, as she presented her speech for the win.

“I… am very surprised for this win, and I can’t stop smiling tonight. I want to say thank you to the other nominees for inspiring me every day….and, gosh I don’t even know where to begin…”

Shane signals her to take deep breaths, as she follows in order to calm herself down. It worked as she resumes her speech once more.

“First of all, I want to thank my producer Ozone for making this a reality, as we worked our butts in the booth every night to make it perfect. I want to thank my friends and family for supporting me from afar and taking their precious time to be apart of this project. And, I wanted to thank my fans as well; all of you have been supporting me after all these years, and I love each and every one of you.” She paused, as her eyes fall onto Shane who smiles as wide as he could with a proud expression written over his face.

“…and, I want to say thank you to one of the best people I ever met, that I had the pleasure of meeting more than a decade ago. I remember we made a promise to never give up on our dreams, and it's been a sole reminder as I wake up every day. And, standing here today I want to assure you that… Dreams can indeed come true, and sometimes a wish upon a star really can make a huge difference…”

There was a pause once more, as they locked onto each other gaze before she was taken back to reality once again, “Thank you again.”

As she walked backstage, she was crushed into a hug as the show went into commercial. It was none other than Shane himself, as they were caught upon an embrace.

“I knew you could do it.” He whispers into her air, as a tear finally escaped her eyes for the first time that night.

“We did it, together.” She corrects him, as they both smile with happiness, she won her vinyl, as his movie got nominated for an award show, the best ending that one could ever asked for. The stars above were shining brightly that night for the two of them, as their wish had come true.

“It was a metaphor for the ones with an empty heart, the stars above will heal the scars within as it leaves something special behind. It is the stars behind my scars that shined brightly during the dark times, as you stood beside me through it all.” – Stars Behind My Scars.

THE END

#playchoices #platinum #shane parker #shane x mc #platinumweekend #anotherbeingsworldwrites #alya writes #I HOPE I FULFILL THE CHARACTERISTICS FOR SHANE AAAAAAA

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tevinter-pariah · 3 years

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okay so remember the Trans Dorian Boom? it was a fantastic time for my lovely trans brain that also never stops thinking about Dorian. Dorian being trans is fucking amazing, but since I'm transman and a lot of people were like transman Dorian (not enough Trans woman Dorian in my opinion or Enby Dorian. My solution to this is a giant transgenderifcation beam with multiple settings) because Dorian is a man in canon. well I couldn't stop thinking about Halward and his potentially shittiest grand plan ever. The problem never was that Dorian was into men, there's nothing wrong with that (personally I think Halward is also gay but that's an anon for another time) the problem was that Dorian refused to marry a woman, pretend they loved each other deeply, and raise a child to just restart the cycle. Dorian didn't want to fake love and frankly I think he's terrified of not being a better father even though that bar is a tripping hazard in hell. If Dorian is a gay trans man, then Halward will probably support him, like Maeveris's father did. I don't know if I spelled her name correctly but I need you to know I love her. There will be no need for blood magic. Dorian can have children and marry whoever he wants because there's a lot of cis men. So like a significant chunk of Halward's shitty parenting is gone. I'm talking almost healthy relationship and communication levels. Dorian might not even be in Inquisition because he has no reason to leave. But if he did leave, it wouldn't be because he had to escape potential lobotomy and Felix was here. I think he'd leave to support Felix and stop Alexius from tearing open reality, and there's a good chance he'll probably send his father letters. "Hey, Father, I got attacked by a dragon and the original darkspawn magister and Haven is under a mountain of snow, so I got a new address and scar" If Dorian romances Bull, I am positive Halward will have a heart attack.

Thank you so much Anon for your long and detailed ask ahhhh!! I’m always intrigued by people’s DA takes, and these were no different. I personally was not really around the DA fandom space for the Trans!Dorian boom, as I’ve been in and out of the space for the past five years and mainly kind of only stick to creators I love and trust for Dorian content because he is so so close to my heart.

I personally don’t know if I believe that Halward would support Dorian if he was a gay trans man just because it’s assuming that Dorian will fully comply to his father’s wishes about bearing children. While I know some trans men are fine with the thought of it, some people find it inherently dysphoric (like myself). It also kind of forces Schrödinger’s straight on gay trans people (where you’re dating a man and having kids so you’re gay, but society/family also sees your role as straight and doesn’t acknowledge your gender identity). Dorian, to me, doesn’t seem like someone who would want to be put in that position, based off what we see of him in canon.

This is also assuming that Halward, and

his exceedingly questionable parenting, would be fine accepting a trans child within larger Tevinter high society. It’s kind of unclear as of now if and how deep transphobia runs in Tevinter society and amongst classes, because whereas Maevaris does well for herself Krem is forced out into eventual exile due to falsifying medical records associated with being trans, showing its potentially a more layered class issue in a society steeped in traditional patriarchal notions. Halward is just so exceedingly worried about legacy, bloodlines, and familial reputation in society’s upper echelons that I would hazard he would see any departure from the “norm” as a problem worth fixing.

Maevaris is also one of the few female Magisters we are aware of, as the Magisterium is likely still heavily dominated by men by numbers and names in canon alone. I would argue because Tevinter high society is likely aware of her designated gender at birth, they might give her more credence because of that alone, than say they would an AFAB trans man. If people see her for the AMAB component of her trans identity, when combined with her family’s wealth and influence, it would likely not be so discursive as the reverse in a seemingly sexist society that might not be as accepting of AFAB trans masc heirs. This is, of course, still all conjecture based on my readings of lore and just historian™️ brain.

I do think that even if his father was accepting, it is likely he still would have left to assist Felix and eventually end up with the Inquisition in the end. Even if he didn’t end up working with Alexius after finding him at the rock bottom of his more rebellious youth as addiction, I believe they would have found one another in the Circle and worked in that same mentor-student fashion just because their research areas so closely intersect and that’s just kind of how academia works in that regard. Dorian’s timeline aside, Felix and Livia will both be attacked by Darkspawn to respectively slowly die and perish, leading Alexius’ descent into madness. From my surmising, Dorian sees Felix as a brother and Alexius as a father figure, so I doubt he would leave them behind especially when he himself has a very broken home and they were the closest thing to normality and stability.

I definitely can see where a lot of your thoughts are coming from, but still think it’s hard with what little we know of the Tevinter Imperium’s socio-political life to make a call either way. It’s why I’m so hype for DA4 as my entire niche in the fandom is being a slut for all things Tevinter (while also wishing to beat up and reform all things Tevinter. It needs so much help, Dear Maker) cause I think we’ll be able to just get so much more grounding to base and theorize with!! Thank you so much again for giving me so much to think about with your ask and sharing and feel free to always talk with me more.

#thank you so much again anon for this it gave me a lot to think about ahhhh please come again soon #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #long post #dragon age meta #Dorian Pavus #halward pavus #maevaris tilani #you are doing great questions right now and i am hearing all of them.#emry eloquates #felix alexius #gereon alexius #cremissius aclassi #the tevinter imperium

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sakurasangcl · 4 years

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Comfort, Interrupted

so this is a little rp kind of thing I wrote for my pathfinder character, Reyna Wolffe. this was her day before she met up with her party. I’ll include a bit of background info, and under the cut is about 1.5k of it!

Reyna Wolffe- Halfing cavalier, a former slave to Dorian, head of the Mafia in Glinthelm. She was the Hounds Master for his dogs in the dog fighting arena. She escaped out of luck, when Snowflake was fighting the strongest dog and took out his eye. In the panic a fire started, and she and him escaped, stealing her free person papers.

Snowflake- a wolfdog who serves as her mount. He is pure white, but while in Glinthelm she had him roll around in coal to turn his coat gray to disguise him. He also acts as a service dog for her at times.

Faali’el- a half elf they brought to Glinthelm after a battle in his town against his father and a necromancer, his half sister. He is in a wheelchair he made, and is a gifted alchemist. Disabled people are uncommon, but also often have a slave companion to help. He opened Staves and Salves once they reached Glinthelm with the help of Otto.

Otto- a former slave, freed totally legally. He owned the building Staves and Salves, and now helps Faali’el there.

Dorian- Reyna’s former owner and head of the Haven Mafia in Glinthelm. He is in charge of the dog fights.

Rowan- a party member who is a kitsune psychic mage who spent ~25 years trying to figure out their “curse” and how they are an abomination

Nivrath- another party member. a elf/half elf druid who is more or less a host for mushrooms. its pretty interesting.

Maya- a part member, a dhampir noblewoman vigilante who has a halfling servant named Sophie.

Sweet Mable- the dog Reyna chose to be Faali’el’s service dog.

the Jamesons- the noble family of Glinthelm, former slaves who led a slave revolt. They are in charge of an organization of more or less bounty hunters.

Reyna knew immediately when Snowflake began helping Faali'el that she needed to get him his own dog. Perhaps it was selfish of her to get him a female, but she had a critical eye with the dogs. If this is where a noble would get a best dog, it was where she would get and train Faali'el's.

The markets were never something she enjoyed, and was only steadied by the presence of Snow. Remembering the directions the Jamesons’ gave her, she found herself where the hounds were. The noise was overwhelming; barking, yapping, growling. The scents were the same, only the tiniest better than the kennels. These dogs needed to look presentable. Reyna found herself gripping tighter onto Snow’s lead thankful for her vantage point from her saddle.

Reyna knew what she was looking for. She wasn't getting a pup for a lady, nor a hunting hound. She definitely wasn't there for a fighting dog. Something potty trained and with basic manners would suffice; she could do the rest. She really just needed a dog with alert and sharp eyes, clean teeth, a sturdy frame, and the correct demeanor.

Sweet Mable was the name of that dog. She seemed to be bored, and a likely candidate for breeding. Reyna knew how miserable that could be from experience. She took a deep breath of the stench surrounding her, grounding herself and pushing *hat out of her mind. Sweet Mable was bored just laying there tied up. When Reyna approached her, she didn’t mind the person at the stall until she could properly assess Sweet Mable.

She would be perfect for Faali'el, especially because Reyna intended to get him only the best. Mable was smaller than Snow, but a beautiful brown in color. Her eyes were like caramel and her nose wet and healthy. After a bit of tension between the Snow and Mable, they got along well. Reyna knew Snow wouldn’t fight her on his own, and Mable seemed more curious of him. It made sense, seeing as he was half wolf. Snow easily asserted his dominance due to his size and demeanor, a relief to Reyna.

The awkward part for Reyna was buying the dog. She used to be able to get away with being gruff or short with these people. After all, it used to be Dorian backing her up. But with her new friends, she was learning and becoming better mannered. She knew how to interact with people differently. In this instance, she needed to be polite but firm. Reyna wasn’t one to overpay for a dog, and wasn’t about to start. She was a bit anxious about the interaction. Reyna hadn’t met this person all those years ago, but that didn’t calm her anxiety about being seen. So, she bartered and quickly paid, trying her best to avoid many questions or too many eyes.

Reyna quickly tied Mable together with Snow, so she had to come with them without Reyna worrying about holding the leash and reins. Snow was bigger anyways, so he could easily pull Mable in the right direction, back to Staves and Salves. Once she was there, she unsaddled Snow, knowing that he deserved a bit of a break himself. He wasn’t unsettled the way she was, but she inflected her emotions onto him unknowingly, thinking it was him who needed the break rather than her.

Reyna took them all inside, putting Snow's tack away with her bedroll before patiently waiting for Faali'el to finish with customers. Reyna was nervous again, playing with the hem of her shirt. If he didn't approve, she did a major fuck up. She took another deep breath, gently stroking the fur on Mable's back. Reyna needed to have more confidence in her ability. This was her area of expertise. She knew what she was doing, and still does.

Reyna then waited to speak to the two, Mable sitting patiently next to her. When the customer leaves, and Reyna is given a chance to speak, she says, "This is Sweet Mable, or just Mable for short. I think she will do great for when Snow and I aren't here…” Reyna pauses, uncertain what else to say. “I’ll train her well, so just let me know what you would want and need her to do, so I can teach her how.”

Then, as an afterthought, she adds, “And if you don’t like that name, you can give her a new one.”

While Reyna may not be smart in the conventional sense such as Rowan, Reyna knew what she was doing. Mable greets Faali'el with a wagging tail, and she can tell that the two bond. A bit of tension leaves Reyna's body, but most remains. It would continue to remain until they left Glinthelm and Dorian was strictly in the past, no longer looming over her future like storm clouds waiting to pour.

With the greeting over, Reyna starts training Mable. She had forgotten how much she missed training dogs, and was beginning to feel almost happy that she had the ability to train a dog in this way. Mable would have a beneficial purpose in her life. Reyna preferred teaching her how to help Faali'el than to fight or hurt someone. Rather than destructive purposes, Reyna was creating.

Praising good behavior and redirecting bad behavior worked wonders, as usual. This made Reyna wonder...

Why do people think it works well to threaten or hurt them for bad behavior? It just makes them scared of you and eventually they’ll retaliate. Those are the worst kind of people. The way you treat dogs shows a lot about a person. If they take out their anger on them, they’ll do it on their spouse and kids… And slaves.

Reyna begins to dissociate at the thought, backing up against the wall as she panics. Her reaction isn’t noticeable; this hasn't happened in a while. And never in front of other people. Thankfully, Snowflake picks it up immediately. He starts licking her face and tugging lightly on her shirt, letting out little playful growls and a sneeze. Reyna immediately snaps back into reality, giving him a hug. Snowflake’s tail wags as she does, and a curious Mable comes over and nudges her for attention, licking at her hand.

No matter what, slavery is wrong. If Halflings are being treated properly, like Otto and Sophie, they stay because they want to. They’re paid and treated like equals. In a situation where I was powerless, I took power in the chance I was given. Perhaps Desna gave me that opportunity… but it shouldn’t just be me. My situation was worse than death, and I know it is that way for others as well. If given the opportunity, we can all be equal… but not everyone wants to give up the power that they have over others. I wonder if Rowan knows a word for that?

Reyna is interrupted from her thoughts as another customer enters. She quickly goes back to training Mable in how to react with new people, instructing Snow to go lay down out of the way. Reyna knew she had to play the part of a good slave while she was there, but it wasn’t intolerable. Reyna carried the weight of his father’s death upon her. Yes, it was in self defense by Snowflake, but it was still his father, no matter how terrible of a person he was. But after the week of traveling to Glinthelm with Faali’el, she had gotten used to his company in the way that she was comfortable with Rowan, Nivrath, Maya, and Sophie. Reyna valued and respected him, so if she had to pretend to work for him, that was okay with her. She wanted to help people she cared about, even if it was simple or seemed to be necessary. Reyna had a sense of companionship and camaraderie with Faali’el and now Otto as well. There was deep value in these bonds for Reyna, so she expressed how she felt for them in the only way she knew how. By helping them freely, just because she can. Reyna expects nothing in return, but seeing as she knows they are working on a magic item to help hide her scarring, she works harder and goes out of her way to get Mable and train her into the proper dog that Faali’el needed.

Reyna hoped that her… dare she call them friends? felt the same way as she did. Reyna only had experience feeling this way with Snowflake. She never let herself be close to anyone. But with the shared experiences they’ve had, how could she not? Do you ask someone if you are friends? Or are you supposed to know somehow? Reyna was uncertain, but knew enough to know that they were… relatively good. Or perhaps accountable and consistent, especially within their individual inconsistencies. Reyna wanted to ask someone, but who do you ask these kinds of questions? Her head pounded at the thoughts. They were deep thoughts; something Reyna was not accustomed to. She easily pushed them away, as she does with most thoughts, and focuses on training.

#julia writes #pathfinder #dnd #d&d #pathfinder oc #dnd oc

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everestv-themuse · 4 years

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Thanks for the prompts! This is something of a sequel to my last ficlet, since it mentions a injury from it, but it’s not set directly afterwards. For @littleblue-eyedbirdchirps @tevivinter @dadrunkwriting

Sera would be lying if she said she hadn’t noticed Shaelin’s eyes watching every move she made. Not that the dwarf said anything to justify the close supervision. But Sera didn’t need the verbal confirmation. The second she knocked back that arrow too quickly, the second her shoulder twinged and she had to hesitate before the shot, the very moment she let a grimace slip across her lips, she knew that Shaelin noticed.

To say the dwarf was more aware of her on the battlefield would be an understatement. She practically watched Sera like a hunter stalking its prey. She would get that look in her eye that always came before she slipped into stealth to track her target.

It even got to the point where Shaelin was making easy mistakes during fights. Whether it was not watching her back closely enough or leaving herself too open or only parrying a blow at the last possible second, Shaelin’s focus was never fully trained on her own actions. And it wasn’t just Sera who noticed. Dorian and Iron Bull, who were forced to pick up the slack on covering the Inquisitor when she refused to do it herself, couldn’t help but be aware of the situation.

Not that anyone would admonish her for it. Not out on the field. If Cassandra knew, she wouldn’t hesitate to give the dwarf a talking to, leader of the Inquisition or not. But back at Skyhold, in the training ring, there wasn’t an elf inadvertently drawing her focus away, and the Seeker never got a chance to see Shaelin’s recent bouts of recklessness in action.

That’s why when the group finally got back to camp, Sera was surprised there was no quiet follow-up on exactly why the archer was rolling her shoulder so much. In fact, Shaelin hadn’t said so much as a word to her since that last fight. The second they got to the campground, the Inquisitor made a beeline to Maker knows where and Sera was forced to retire to their tent alone.

She dropped her pack with a sigh, barely restraining herself from throwing her bow and quiver of arrows in its wake. At least being left alone had some advantages. This way, she could do her shoulder exercises in peace without having to worry about Shaelin worrying every time she would flinch at an ache or twinge. It had been long enough since that darkspawn fight, the gaping hole in her shoulder had long since healed and scarred over. But every now and then, if her movements were just a bit too fast or she jerked into action just a touch too much, she swore the pain felt like the day she got the injury.

Not that she would have time to stretch out the joint properly anyway. Just as she was moving on to her second set of exercises, Shaelin burst into the tent with a bowl of some sort of green gunk in her hands. The dwarf looked her up and down expressionlessly.

“Take off your shirt,”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that’s where this is going? Have to say, kinda miss the little ‘please’ you do, but I’m all for switching it up.”

“Cute,” Shaelin rolled her eyes before turning to wait expectantly. Sera just huffed but scrambled to comply. Before long, she stood bare-chested before Shaelin who only nodded in a neutral kind of approval. “Now lie down on the bedroll. No, no, on your stomach.”

“Not my first choice but hey,” Sera did as she was told and rested her chin in the crook of her crossed arms. “I’m not the one making the rules, obviously.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, it’s not like that.” Shaelin moved to straddle Sera’s lower back and place the bowl on the ground beside her. “I’m giving you a massage.”

Sera glanced back at her. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” the dwarf said simply and began rubbing the contents of the bowl into her hands. “I noticed your shoulder was acting up again. I went to ask the healer what she could suggest and she gave me this poultice and taught me some simple massaging techniques. Now stop looking at me like that and relax.”

“I can’t help giving you my signature doe eyes with you being all smushy like that!”

“Smushy? I’m just looking out for—”

“Exactly, Tadwinks!” Sera trilled out a laugh as she settled into the soft bedroll beneath her and readied herself for the dwarf’s warm touch. “You wasted no time once we got back to camp. Just goes to show you were thinking of me. The definition of smush.”

“Yeah, well,” Shaelin smiled a bit, even through her grumbling. “I think about you all the time. It’s friggin’ annoying.”

Sera could feel the flush slowly spread across her cheeks, immediately burying her face to hide it but knowing that it would just spread to the tips of her ears anyway. “Yeah. I noticed. We’ve all noticed. It’s not what I...not that I don’t like it...you thinking of me...it’s just...I don’t want...”

“I know. I’m bringing the team down.” Shaelin’s voice was flat, emotionless and matter-of-fact, just like she had been trained to have in the Carta. Sera’s heart sunk just a bit. “I’ve been stupid, fighting like an amateur. I’ll make it up to you guys, I’ll train harder, I’ll—”

“Or you could lay off me a bit?” Sera offered quietly. “I know you’re worried. But I don’t want to worry you. If we just go back to before, taking care of ourselves, watching each other’s backs when we can, things will go back to normal.”

“Yeah? Because things turned out so great before? I took my eyes off you for one second during that fight, just one, and then you got...I mean, what? You want me to stop caring about you?”

“I just want you to trust me, idiot,” Sera murmured, glancing back again to meet Shaelin’s gaze, her ice blue eyes slowly melting in the warmth of Sera’s misty ones. “Now start rubbing me, I’m getting cold.”

“Right, right, sorry.” Shaelin blinked and got to work, slowly kneading her thumbs into Sera’s lower back muscles before trailing upwards, spreading the poultice across her skin. “The healer said this stuff has a little bit of magical properties. She said it starts off warm, like I’m sure you feel right now, and then it turns cold like ice, and then it switches back and—”

Sera couldn’t help the low moan that escaped her lips as Shaelin finally got to her shoulders, tracing slow circles across scarred skin as a full-body shiver ran through her veins. Shaelin froze and Sera’s eyes blinked wide.

“What?” The dwarf asked softly, voice slowly drawing out until the smirk in her words was undeniable. “Does that feel good?”

Sera let out a breath. “Don’t tease me, not now. Just keep going.”

#littleblue-eyedbird #sorry idk why it wouldn't let me tag that blog?#tevivinter #frantic typing #Admin Posts #Shaelin Cadash #dadwc #da drunk writing circle

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dafheannaig13-blog · 5 years

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About the Muse

i snatched it off @heraldofwho who is very cool! 😃

Your muse’s name:

Maxwell Seumas Trevelyan, but he prefers Max

A favourite picture / faceclaim of your muse:

*casually drops a cropped version of an older drawing bc i have nothing better at the moment*

Two headcanons you have for your muse:

-Max absolutely despises templars and would happily slaughter the lot of them rrgh fuCKING CULLEN, because he has Issues. The most he ever killed by himself in one go? Fourteen templars in the Ostwick circle, after he found out what they did to his sister. The pent-up rage and despair and feelings of helplessness of the twenty-one years leading up to that point caused him to snap. Max went into a berserker-like state and slew fourteen templars, including the knight-captain, and nearly the first enchanter as well. After that, he began training as a proper reaver, because he knew that he needed to learn to control and direct his emotions, or else they'd overtake him.

Max does not regret his actions, though. He’s not proud of it, or that he escaped the gallows due to his family name, and he doesn’t talk about it. But he would do it again. He doesn't care what that says about him.

- Max knows how to juggle. He has a flask of whisky in a not-so-secret pocket at all times, and carries several knives concealed about his person for the purposes of eating, stabbing, throwing, etc. He abhors the chantry and frequently insults it, so he and Cassandra fight like cats and dogs. He’s actually fond of her, though. She probably hates him, bc when she and Leliana first called Max the ‘herald of Andraste’, Max laughed so hard he nearly pissed himself. He almost caused a Diplomatic Incident bc he refuses to bow to anyone--even the Empress of Orlais. Max hates being called the herald or ‘your worship’ etc and fucks with the boot-lickers who try and curry favour with him. Dorian finds it hilarious. The only time he ever used his position to get his way was with that prick who had Dorian’s amulet--and it was a good fucking bluff, bc he’s not of the main family, just a branch of ‘impoverished gentry’ (like, they have land, but the family home is in a right state and the vault is...empty. And they’ve no staff. And Bann Trevelyan is a special individual.)

Three things that your muse likes doing in their free time:

-Music! Max is made of music (mostly bagpipes), he loves singing and knows how to play the lute. Sometimes he steals the one from Dorian's nook and uses it to ~serenade~ him. (Max knows SO MANY sappy love songs and laments.) He has also been known to provide lullabies to the dying, even out in the field (bc how are these people dying for this cause he’s not sure he’s even on board with, they fucking die in his name how is he ever going to live with himself if he isn’t killed horribly by Coryphe-tits), to perform classic Free Marches tavern songs with Blackwall, and even occasionally rope the entirety of the Herald's Rest (or just the travelling party) into waulking songs (u know the ones they used to do when they were waulking wool, and one person sings the verses and everyone joins in the bit with just nonsense words or whatever?? Chuir m'athair mise dhan taigh charraideach, or hè mo leannan, hò mo leannan, ones like that?? good shite, cracking songs).

Only when he's drunk, though.

(He's drunk a lot.)

-Max has a soft spot for children. Having spent so much time in the role of caregiver, it's only too easy to fall back into old habits, especially with the number of orphans the inquisition...acquired after Haven. He plays with the kids when he gets the chance, and can often be found making them laugh by sassing the chantry sisters and shouting various obscenities.

-Max is an excellent horseman. He took to riding like a duck to water, and has always had a way with horses. The only horse he's ever met that didn't like him is the Ferelden Forder he got from Master Dennet--and he suspects it's because the horse somehow knows that Max was a jerk to its master. As revenge, Max calls the horse 'Sweet Roll'; as revenge for that, Sweet Roll has eaten several of Max's gloves and bitten a hole in more than one pair of Max's trousers. The cycle of vengeance is never-ending. (Let it be known that his own horse at home, Rowan, is a sturdy Free Marches Ranger that loves him and doesn't eat his clothes.)

Seven people your muse loves / likes:

-Elinor, nicknamed Eilidh (u say it like 'ae-lee') -- She is Max's middle sister, about five years younger than he is. She has dark hair and blue eyes like her brother, but she is slight whilst he is tall. Elinor was a mage, made tranquil at the age of sixteen under suspicious circumstances. She was very shy and quiet, but also very compassionate, as well as the best musician in the family before she was magically castrated. Since returning home, she has cultivated a large garden which she tends devotedly, and also has a small army of cats. They are all named after berries. Max fought like a wild-cat to protect her when the templars came to take Elinor away to the circle, even tried shielding her with his body, which is how he got the scar on his face. He adores her and would do anything for her.

-Catrìona, nicknamed Ceit (sounds just like 'Kate') is Max's youngest sister. She is ten years his junior, so he more or less raised her, even tutoring her in swordsmanship, horsemanship, archery (though she's a better shot), etc. She is a sprightly ginger-haired lass with blue eyes and loads of freckles, who talks very loudly and laughs very loudly and wILL CHALLENGE U TO A FIGHT IF U INSULT HER BROTHER OR SISTER, THANKS! She's nearly fearless, very kind, and her best friend is her own horse, an ornery beast called Storm. (Storm bites. So does Ceit.) She and Max play-fight and jokingly call each other names, but they adore each other.

So basically she's sort of Merida. I REGRET NOTHING FIGHT MEEEEEE

-Blackwall! Max is very fond of Blackwall. Top lad. Good set of pipes on him, right good for tavern songs. U know what they call an Ostwick tavern? Taigh-seinnse.

-Varric! Max is convinced that Varric is one of the best people to ever exist. If Varric knew how sincerely he means that, he would laugh. Also maybe cry.

-Dorian! Max is completely and utterly in love with Dorian. They’re both hopeless romantics and also bad at emotions, so it’s a mess. But a good mess? 😃

-Josephine! She is the source of all goodness in the universe, and probably the actual leader of the entire inquisition. She does all the real work, anyway. Max just kills shite. And rescues lost animals.

-Sera! They pull pranks together. She reminds him a bit of Ceit, as well, so he loves her.

-Honourable mentions: Solas (he knows so much, and talks about his Fade Travels in that lovely story-teller voice), Harritt (best. blacksmith. evER.), Dagna (she’s fucking delightful), Master Dennet (adorably grumpy old bastard), Helisma (reminds him of Elinor, he looks out for her in case anyone gives her trouble), Fiona (a bad-ass motherfucker if there ever was one), Krem (fun to spar with), Cassandra (fun to spar with), and Grim (a good listener)

Phobia (well, fear, anyway) your muse has:

Himself. After what he did at the Ostwick circle, Max knows that he is capable not just of killing, but of slaughter. He does not regret his actions there (justified or not, right or wrong, he doesn't give a shite, he will sacrifice anything for his sisters) but he does worry that one day, the rage will overtake him. That he'll hurt somebody he loves, that he might lose his friends, his family, his lover. That he might lose himself. Being the only son, the eldest, he was supposed to look after the girls. He'd promised his mother--his dying mother--that he'd always protect them and look after them and just look at how that ended. Look what he's done--look what he's let happen. This is what happens when anyone trusts him to do anything--he fucks it up, because he's a selfish, lazy coward who can't do anything right. He wants so badly to be good, but he's fucking terrible at it, so he mostly stopped trying--enough that everyone else thinks he has a devil-a-bit-do-I-care attitude, that he's loud and irreverent and brash and impulsive and angry and mercurial and careless.

But he does care. He cares too much.

That’s his downfall. Every single time.

Tags:

I TAG YOU! u know who u are

also @m1lkcl0uds come onnn show off Persephone, she’s adorable ❤

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aelin-and-feyre · 6 years

Text

When We’re Married - Chapter 8

Rowealin Arranged Marriage AU - Fic Masterlist

Trigger warning: Next two chapters are going to deal with kidnapping and torture

Thank you @edmundisthebestone for helping me with this! Love you!

Aelin brushes crumbs off her skirt and glances at Rowan for the hundredth time this afternoon. He is poring over various papers, memorizing dignitaries’ names before tonight. They took lunch in the cozy parlor room, mostly because Aelin wanted to watch out the huge bay window as gilded carriages rolled up to the palace to deposit their royal occupants. She and Rowan will officially greet them all at the ball tonight, but she has been surreptitiously peeking at them over the windowsill all day. So far, she’s seen Fenharrow, Melisande, Antica, and the Wastes. No sign of Adarlan yet.

An odd mix of excitement and nervousness roils in Aelin’s stomach, the same feeling that resurfaces overtime a new plan is about to take effect. From this day on, according to all of Erilea, she is in love with Rowan Whitethorn. It’s not a far stretch—though she does not deign to admit that to herself yet—especially after yesterday and the realizations in the lysvila. She can now feel the bond tying them together. It’s new and tight and is tugging on her gut at this very moment though she is sitting on the couch adjacent to the male in question.

Carranam, that’s what they are. Partners in both battle and magic, sharers of power and will. They will fight alongside forever, though the bond between them is urging her to jump his bones. She pushes the thought out of her head. There cannot be any needless distractions today, not with so many important people coming that need to get the right impression. Although, the impression that she wants Rowan Whitethorn in her bed at this very second is not a bad way to convince people that they are madly in love.

Aelin is not worried about Rowan completing the plan she laid out a week ago. He thrives in situations of stress and strategy. She’s sure he’s been thinking up all the ways he will manipulate their guests into believing their deceit. He will keep them guessing, witnessing, gossiping until everyone in the continent is confident that the future King and Queen of Terrasen are wholly and irrevocably in love. And, if Aelin is being honest with herself, she will not mind one bit. She will be proud of her plan well-executed and giddy the entire time from the attention and questions she is bound to receive.

She glances out the window again, but there is still no sign of the gold and red carriage or the Adarlanian flag peeking over the treetops. Aelin is very excited to see Dorian again. The young king has been her friend since they were seven and his father brought him for a diplomatic visit. And Chaol—he is another friendly face she is looking forward to seeing. Four summers prior, she’d had a fling with both of them, events that nearly drove them all apart. But they’d been with her the weeks following the incident with Sam, mending both their friendship and Aelin herself. She still misses them terribly.

An irritated growl escapes Aelin’s lips when her eyes stray to the window again habitually. She needs a distraction. Rowan looks up from his papers, worried by her outburst. Aelin sighs. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing, I’m just wound a little tightly.”

Rowan gives her a wry smile. “Do you want to go outside and spar? I’m sure our visitors would love the chance to see the legendary Rowan Whitethorn in action when they get here.” A pillow embroidered with kingsbloom finds its way into Rowan’s face.

“Your ego is so big I can’t believe your head fit through the doorway,” Aelin says, snickering.

The prince sets down his papers and holds the throw pillow in his lap, his left eyebrow raised. “I’m sure they would enjoy seeing fabled Aelin Ashryver Galathynius kick Rowan Whitethorn’s ass just as much.”

A true smile stretches across Aelin’s face. She glances down at her clothes. Maybe a fight would be good for her nerves. Except Phillipa spent an hour on her hair today, getting a head start on the ball preparations, and she would hate to ruin her handiwork. Instead, Aelin’s gaze caught on the pianoforte on the other side of the room.

Rowan followed her line of sight. “Do you play?”

“Very much so, yes,” she says, “When I was little, I wanted to be a composer. I wanted to play for crowds of thousands in the grandest theatres imaginable. For a while, I was angry with my title as Crown Princess because I knew that I would never fulfill that dream.”

Rowan’s long, tattooed fingers trace the outline of the fire flower on the pillow. “What changed?”

“My parents showed me that I could do both. When I was twelve, I performed with the Terrasen orchestra at the Grand Orynth Pavilion, thousands of our citizens in attendance. I got a standing ovation.” She smiles fondly at the memory.

“What song did you play?” he asks.

“I worked with one of the most famous composers in Adarlan to write my own piece.”

Rowan stands, setting the pillow on the chair and stepping toward her. The aching in her stomach gets worse the closer he comes, but it’s a welcome tug. His hand extends down to hers, a white scar arching across his palm from the forming of their bond yesterday. Rowan’s voice is soft when he says, “Would you play it for me?”

With a small smile and half-nod, Aelin places her hand in his, allows him to help her up, and they both walk to the pianoforte together. The bench is big enough for two so they sit side by side, their hips touching. She doesn’t need sheet music or a tempo clock. This song is ingrained in her bones, her soul, and the muscles of her fingers know it by heart.

Rowan’s eyes flicker between her fingers and her face as she plays. He watches her intently, thoughtfully, with the same pensive expression that Aelin has come to recognize as genuine respect and awe. He examines her movements with the same intensity that he would a battle plan. And Aelin loves the feeling that shoots through her spine at his undivided attention.

A broad hand drifts to rest on her thigh. His warmth soaks through her skirt and she can feel the pulsing of the connection between them like a brand. Her fingers stumble over each other for a moment, interrupting the song, and Rowan gives her leg a light squeeze of encouragement. “It’s so beautiful,” he murmurs in her ear. Her fingers continue to dance across the keys.“You’re so beautiful.”

Any response Aelin might have uttered is cut off as the doors to the parlor burst open and King Dorian Havilliard saunters in.

...

“I’d know that song anywhere!” The man announces as he enters the peaceful parlor room. Aelin’s music stops immediately and she is standing from the bench the next instant. Then the princess is sprinting across the room and into the waiting arms of the black-haired, blue-eyed man. Dorian Havilliard, Rowan concludes.

He stands from the bench as well, straightening his jacket. Showtime.

Aelin’s arms are wrapped tightly around the king’s neck and his arms are secured around her waist, both of them holding so tightly, Rowan’s surprised that they can breathe. After the song and the nerves of today and the hold another male has around his ma- fiancée, Rowan is having a hard time breathing himself.

They break apart after a few moments, both smiling hugely at each other. Another man—taller and a bit older than the king—steps into the room. Aelin squeal and throws herself into this male’s arms too. Rowan swallows his growl and smiles, stepping forward and offering his hand to the king. “Your Majesty,” he nods his respect as Dorian takes the proffered hand. “I am Rowan Whitethorn.”

The king’s sapphire eyes are wide and excited, his smile seeming almost to the point of painful. He bows his own head as well. Rowan is already liking him better. “It is a pleasure to meet the man who is making my best friend an honest female. Please, call me Dorian.”

Rowan’s eyes crinkle as he smiles again. Aelin detaches from the second man and pulls him farther into the room. “Chaol,” she says to the man, “this is my soon-to-be-husband, Rowan. Rowan, Chaol Westfall—Hand of the King of Adarlan.”

Rowan shakes this man’s hand as well, his gaze pinpointing the weapons and the security measures. He must’ve gotten a promotion from Captain of the Guard but he still takes precautions to protect his king. Good man.

Aelin slips back to his side and Rowan takes the opportunity to slide his arm around her waist. The contact is enough to temper his roaring, ridiculous instincts and he relaxes exponentially. The two other males track the movement. The animalistic side of him preens at the acknowledgment in their eyes. Aelin might’ve been theirs at some point but he stands by her side now. He is hers and she is his.

Aelin gestures for them to sit down and they accept gratefully. “It is a crime how far away Orynth is from Rifthold, Aelin. We must do something about that,” Dorian complains. Rowan and Aelin sit together, situated so Rowan’s arm drapes across her shoulders.

The princess nods sagely. “Ah, yes, I’ll just ask the Great Goddess to rearrange the geography of our countries so we don’t need to suffer such a long trip.” Dorian’s resounding laugh echoes through the room and Aelin beams with happiness. Her face lights up, shining with more beauty than any of her flames could and Rowan can’t resist. He presses a loving kiss to her temple, a smile of his own stretching his cheeks.

Aelin’s shoulders tense beneath his arm and while the men fill cups with tea, she shoots him a surprised glance. What? he asks her silently. We’re in love, remember? He doesn’t understand why she’s shocked—they have to make it believable.

Oh, I see. Her smile is mischievous and light. I just accept all your doting kisses and you get all the glory for loving me the most?

Rowan purses his lips. I don’t think it would hurt if you showed me affection in return. Not to mention that his body is screaming for her touch.

Care for a wager, Buzzard? Rowan almost laughs out loud. Of course, she would want to turn their plan into a competition. Shall we see who can be more in love?

The prince raises a brow, something he’d quickly learned sets Aelin on edge in the best way possible. What do I get when I win?

“What are you doing?” Chaol asks and both Aelin and Rowan’s heads turn to look at the men, realizing they’d been caught. Aelin’s cheeks flame red but Rowan just pinches her side playfully.

“My love was just reminding me of something I meant to do. Would you two care to join me tomorrow for a game of cards and a few drinks? Aelin has a dress fitting and I get dreadfully lonely without her.” The words were a challenge and a confirmation. He is willing to play her game. And he’s gonna win.

...

Rowan is waiting for Aelin at the bottom of the grand staircase when it is finally time to greet the rest of their guests. She had only seen Dorian and Chaol so far, and they’d only talked in the parlor for an hour before they all had to get ready for the ball. Both of her friends gave her tight hugs once more—Dorian whispering in her ear, “I’m so happy for you”—before they’d parted ways.

She’d been needlessly surprised by Rowan’s actions earlier. They’d both agreed to this plan a week ago. But his movements—his kiss—had seemed so tender, genuine, and in the moment, that Aelin thought maybe he meant it. Then, when he’d insisted it was part of the plan, she’d selfishly decided to strike a competition with him, if only so she could feel that shiver of pleasure that accompanied his kiss one more time.

And now, here he is, his hand reaching up to help her down the last few steps. His dark green attire enhances his eyes and allows everyone in the room to see how lovingly he’s looking at her. Just as his fingers close around her own and she steps onto the ballroom floor, the head steward announces, “Her Royal Highness, Crown Princess Aelin Ashryver Galathynius and His Highness, Prince Rowan Whitethorn.”

The room erupts into applause, joyous and congratulatory. Rowan grins widely beside her, nodding his head to the various people throughout the room. Aelin smiles as well but looks instead at her fiancé. Pride, joy, happiness, and love shine in her expression and she knows it. There’s no way she is going to lose this bet.

When the applause dies, the people come swarming in. Dignitaries from all across Erilea, like vultures, come forward to shake their hands and ask them questions. Both Aelin and Rowan, trained in the art of royal courts, answer readily, smile pleasantly, and shake hands with each and every person that approaches them.

However, eventually the ball has to begin, and the happy couple is expected to share the first dance. Smoothly, Rowan raises his voice above the tittering nobles. “Pardon me, everyone, thank you so much for joining us. If you please excuse me and my fiancée for a moment, I gather its time to get this celebration started.”

The crowd parts eagerly and the orchestra readies their instruments as Rowan guides Aelin to the center of the ballroom. The princess catches the eye of her friends standing on the sidelines—she makes a mental note to greet Nehemia and Ansel as soon as possible. They look wistful, and Aelin realizes for the first time that she is the first one among this generation of royals to be getting married.

All thoughts, however, dash from her mind as Rowan bows. He takes her hand and instead of kissing his knuckle, turns it over to place his lips upon her palm—right over their carranam scar. A shiver wracks her body as she curtsies. And then the music starts. Rowan’s hand goes to her waist and the other curls around her fingers. She grips his shoulder and they’re off.

He is an absolutely fine dancer. He does not remove his gaze from her face and his green eyes remind her of the grass in the clearing last night. After a few moments, it feels as if they’re back in the lysvila. Instead of the tight heels on her feet, Aelin is barefoot, twirling through the soft grass. The air is not crowded with the hot breaths of foreign ambassadors but fresh oxygen fills her lungs, smelling of lilacs and fairy dust. And rather than the peaceful moaning of a violin solo, the song of the Little Folk fills her mind.

Rowan does not look away from her for the entirety of the dance. They move as if fluid through the lilting melody. With each pass, he pulls her a little closer, her skirts brushing his legs. She is mesmerized by him and the bond between them sings a tune sweeter than any that can be made by mortal strings. As the song comes to a close, Rowan slows their movements and leans down to rest his forehead against her own. His breath ghosts over her lips. Clapping once against fills the air but it does not break the spell between them. Aelin forgets how to fill her lungs with breath. And then Rowan is tilting to meet her mouth and a single word escapes her throat. “No.”

He changes course immediately, pecking her nose and then straightening, a broad, satisfied smile on his face. As soon as the applause lessens, a new song is underway and more couples make their way to the dance floor. Rowan’s hand travels from her waist to brush lovingly against her cheek. I understand, he seems to say, its alright.

“I have some more people I want you to meet,” Aelin murmurs and the prince nods, his hand tightening around her own.

“Lead the way, my love.”

...

The rest of the night was quite honestly a blur. Mostly because Ansel kept slipping her drinks like a true friend. Rowan met everyone graciously (still exhibiting his warrior restraint), chatted with practically every noble (but not too long), smiled at ever courtier (but not too enticingly). At some point, she introduced Fenrys to her friends, touched base with Elide and Lorcan—they are getting along very well—and even convinced the blond Fae to dance with her. Fenrys certainly was not as light on his feet as her fiancé, but he danced well enough.

Aelin had a turn around the ballroom with Aedion, Dorian, Chaol, and a prince from the Southern Continent with long hair and a kind smile. She and Rowan waltz another half dozen times, each more playful and carefree than the next.

She doesn’t remember much of their flirtations. She remember’s Rowan tucking strands of her hair back into place, can feel where his hand was placed against her waist for most of the night, and knows he was never farther than a few steps away from her the entire night. Aelin remembers her hand curling around his bicep, figures that at some point she buried her head in his chest, and recalls running her fingers through his hair once or twice—or a dozen times.

They’d been the picture of the lovesick couple, that she remembers. And now, many hours after the clock tower struck midnight, Aelin stumbles with her prince toward their rooms. It took them way too long to get up the four flights of stairs. The princess is not a lightweight so she must be drunk on life because she keeps collapsing against the walls in fits of laughter only to try and sober up with hurried shushes and stifled giggles. Eventually, Rowan just scoops her into his arms and carries her the rest of the way.

When they get to her room, her ladies have already gone to bed so Rowan carefully sets her on the bed and begins the task of taking off her shoes. He’s kneeling on the floor in front of her and for some reason, Aelin finds that very funny, another outburst of snickers escaping past her lips. Rowan looks up at her, eyes shining with spirits and pure happiness. He stills his hands on her ankles.

“So you won’t let me kiss your mouth,” he says. It’s not a question and there is no judgment in his voice. Aelin nods vigorously then gets dizzy and stops.

“There are boundaries in this plan. Guidelines in our competition,” she instructs, twisting her face into seriousness. “I know it makes me sound like a hopeless romantic but I do not want our first kiss to be an act for others to see.” She sees the intent in Rowan’s eyes and adds, “And I don’t want you to kiss me now just because we’re alone. I want it to be natural.”

The prince thinks for a second. “Fair enough, so I cannot ravish your mouth,” heat rushes to her cheeks at the words, “but could I kiss you here?” Rowan’s mouth presses against the inside of her ankle with the reverence of a devout man to his goddess. Aelin’s head nods numbly. “And here?” He kisses her palm, right over that scar she made yesterday, soothing the hurt he’d felt inflicted there. Her chin bobs. Rowan rises from his knees to sit on the bed next to her. With one smooth motion, he slides her sideways into his lap. His lips meet her cheek, “What about here?” her temple, “Over here?” her neck, “Please, let me kiss you here.”

Finally, his canines graze over the tip of her ear and Aelin trembles with the restraint her muddled brain exerts in order to not to push him back on the bed. Instead, she whispers, “Yes, all those places are good.”

...

Rowan chuckles, his skin on fire as he helps Aelin pull off her various jewelry. He remembers that he still needs to give her their engagement ring. Soon, he promises himself. The night was hectic and long and tiring but the female on his lap is making his heart race and his blood boil in the best way. Her eyes begin to slip closed and Rowan shakes her gently. “Not yet, Aelin. We gotta get you out of these clothes.” Perverted laughter bubbles past her lips. She pushes off of his lap and her knees give out beneath her. He catches her before she can crash to the ground.

“Thank you, Buzzard,” Aelin smiles sweetly at him. She leans down to kiss his cheek. “You go to your room, I can get myself to sleep in my sleep!” The metaphor doesn’t make any sense, only strengthening his desire to stay. He feels like he should make sure she doesn’t sleep curled up on the floor, but he knows this is already all too improper.

Rowan stands, kisses the top of Aelin’s head as she struggles with the ties on her dress, and makes for the balcony. He’s almost to the door when he hears Aelin squeak in surprise. Against his better judgment, he turns for a moment to check that she’s alright. He wishes he hadn’t.

Aelin’s dress pools at her feet, a button having popped off and startling the princess, and her back is toward him. Rowan crumples to his knees at the sight of her ravaged back. Long, wicked scars drag down the length of it, with dozens of smaller ones crisscrossing them. It must have been absolutely excruciating if her magic hadn’t been able to heal her. They looked a couple years old but pain like that would be fresh in anyone’s mind. How his princess found the courage to get out of bed each day, he had no idea. How had she survived?

Another part of his mind rages at the question of who had done this to her. Who had allowed this to happen to the Crown Princess of Terrasen?

It takes Rowan too long to find his voice and in that time, Aelin turns to look at him. Her undergarments cover enough that Rowan can’t see anything impudent, but that is the farthest thing from his mind. Aelin doesn’t share those thoughts. She scampers toward her wardrobe and pulls on the first nightgown she can find. Then she turns to him with an accusatory glare, her hands tucked under her armpits.

“Aelin,” Rowan croaks, finally discovering words. “What happened to your back?” Every breath is a labor, every word is a struggle.

“Um,” Aelin shuffles toward her bed self-consciously, still half-asleep and very drunk. “I was kidnapped for a week a couple of summers ago.” She doesn’t say anything more as she slips under the covers. Rowan can’t find the strength to stand. A couple minutes pass and then Aelin’s sad, exhausted voice sounds through the silence. “Can we talk about this more in the morning, please? You can stay here if you’d like, but I want to go to sleep.” She sounds miserable.

The prince forces the words, “Sleep, Aelin,” from his mouth and a few moments later, her breathing evens.

Rowan does not leave. He sits on the floor for a while. Words and emotions race through his mind from the past week that hinted at this truth. ‘Mostly because I wasn’t expecting to ever be back, but it was because of my negligence that it took them so long to find us, because they didn’t even know where to begin to look.’ ‘Some things are too painful to repeat too many times.’ She had jerked away from him when he’d playfully squeezed her in the library. He’d accidentally hurt her because those scars held phantom wounds that would never be erased.

No, Rowan does not leave Aelin. His whole body is screaming at him to protect, to cherish, to hold. So with newfound strength, he gets up off the floor. He shucks off his jacket and shirt and climbs into the bed next to her. In her sleep, the princess senses his presence and immediately snuggles into him. Rowan holds Aelin. It calms his racing heart and brings reason to his scattered mind. He knows that this is not how she would’ve liked to tell him so he promises himself to still let her take her time. He will not push her. He will not demand answers.

He will protect her. From everything.

And if the bastard who did this is not six feet under yet, they will be soon.

No one messes with his wife.

Rowan Whitethorn vows to hold Aelin for the rest of his life. He does not leave her room, because this princess is still healing, and he will be with her through it all. And not just because she might be his mate. But because he really might be in love with her.

Masterlist

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#rowaelin #tog #throne of glass fanfic #rowaelin fanfic #tog fanfic #throne of glass #rowaelin arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #carranam #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #my writing #wwm #when we're married #dorian #chaol #fenrys #aelin #rowan

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avaquet · 6 years

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TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OC: COMPANION EDITION

Rules:

Describe your OC as they are described by their companions.

Show us what they look like!

Tag at least 5 (or more) followers and 5 blogs you follow! :)

Enjoy writing!

Thank you so much @dirthara-mama ! This was a nice writing exercise for me! Also every response is pretty long and sorta encompasses what Evelyn did throughout the Inquisition, but I thought it easier to have them sorta react to the choices she made? Idk! And sorry if any sound OOC! This is the first time I’ve posted dialogue from anyone in the DA universe :D (excitingly scary I might add lol!)

Tagging: Oof, idk who’s already done this, and of course no obligation! @ironbullsmissingeye @underthedreadwolfsgaze @felorinbailenshield2 @nemichen and @wardenofmyheart !

I put things under the cut cause it be long

How the Inner Circle views Evelyn Lavellan!

(Real quick! There’s mentions of a character named Veil, she is my qunari OC that I HC in my canon that she’s part of the inner circle, though I do not do a reaction from her because well yeah) (I also pictured this as the characters telling a close friend about Ev, and not like a strange interviewer or something)

Blackwall: “Despite the lie I lived, she brought me back and made me a proper Grey Warden. That girl gave me a second chance I never asked for, but perhaps the one I needed. I feel stronger for having joined the Inquisition, came out a better man. I’m not the only one with that story here, she has that kind of influence on a person. I’ve been present for every judgement she judged and she had found a way to make the prisoner work for us or sent them off for a second chance. Like that one Avaar that threw goats at our walls, Maker that one was the first person she judged and he walked out a happy man! Exiled to hunt Venatori, then a while later his tribe got their own land and didn’t become bandits! (chuckles) Like I said, that girls leaves you a better person. I wish she’s see how helpful she’s been. Evelyn never feels like she’s done enough. But I’m grateful to her.”

Cassandra: “Evelyn as the Inquisitor has been...interesting to say the least. I know she means well, I just don’t know if it’s really the right choice she’s made at times. I’m thankful that everything worked out the way it did, though. She convinced me to rebuild the Seekers, she...ugh, she helped get Varric’s next book for me. She knew I liked his series, and I’m flattered. Evelyn has told me that she admires the energy I emit and asked how I do it. (chuckles) I asked her how she made the hard choices, and we both responded to our questions as we just improvise. She’s definitely grown on me, I’m sure of it. Evelyn’s been, thankfully, respectful of everyone’s beliefs. Well, except believing that she is the Herald, that time was frustrating for all of us to say the least. But, she doesn’t believe in either the Maker or the Elvhen gods as gods, which surprised me, but I...(sighs) she doesn’t need my judgement. Evelyn’s a good person, a good friend.”

Cole: “Screams that aren’t heard. She keeps screaming but nothing comes out. Hushed whispers from invisible scars haunt her. A weight no one sees. ‘Help me. Please.’ whispered into the pillow. Once petrified by dreams but in wake is more terrifying. She escapes, only coming back to help. Like me. I cannot make her forget, or anyone, but I feel more. She likes knowing someone wants to help. Smiles more now, genuine. Her friends finally heard her screams. A warm embrace fills her, the urge to yell dies down like a starving flame. Safe. More confident, she helps more, wants others to feel the same calm. I’m more human because of her. We like to garden and feel the earth beneath our feet and against our hands. Too busy to think of bad thoughts. It helps.”

Cullen: “The Inquisitor can change her mind too quickly in my opinion. Though, she’s hardened over time. She did help me overcome my lyrium addiction and support me through the process. I could feel she felt nervous around me at times, maybe it was because I’m an ex-Templar and she’s a mage. Which is why it surprised me that she was supportive during my recovery and how many chess matches she partook with me. We’re either matched at wits, or she just lengthens the game to keep me on edge, which, she’s always won. I wish I could’ve gotten to know her better, though, and despite my advice she would always use the Inquisitions forces as a last resort which I hardly agreed with. But, what’s done is done. Might I add, she has a companion dragon? Do you know how nervous that made me? A dragon!”

Dorian: “Evelyn? She’s one of the truest friends I’ve ever had. At first I was wary since she conscripted the mages. But she changed for the better, no doubt under my influence. I question her taste in literature, but I dare say she reads more than I do. How she can find time like that baffles me. She gets extraordinarily excited to fight dragons mind you, despite my protests. I...I think her and Bull consider it to be a date? Hardly romantic, maybe she got the idea from reading Varric’s books (scoffs). Ev told me about the meeting with my father and accompanied me to Redcliffe. She didn’t have to, she could’ve ignored it, she made time to help me personally. Though, she’s helped everyone personally, but my situation wasn’t dealing with a qunari alliance or a certain dwarf’s girlfriend from leaking red lyrium to Corypheus. I...I’m (sigh) grateful to call Evelyn Lavellan a friend. She’s kind and accepting and treats everyone with a kind of equity that is so rare.”

(slight nsfw in this one) The Iron Bull: “On the field, it’s like having a raging lightning storm with a fire tornado working with you. The look of determination and concentration on her face during battle is just so...(grunts). She’s my Kadan, beautiful, strong, intelligent, and I’m proud to be her Vhenan. We’ve shared many moments of all kinds together, helped me in many ways, realize things, helped me become the best I can be. I only hope I’ve helped her in the same way. The Chargers have already considered her a part of us with how much she hangs around, and fuck, if it wasn’t for the Inquisition, I’d ask her to join. Ev’s always fun to be around, she’s got the best jokes, Krem groans ‘cause she’s strengthened my pun game. And damn, does she have a fantastic body, and I get to see it in all its glory almost daily. The scars, her tits, the faces she makes when we go rough, yeah, she’s great. We’re great.”

Josephine: “Madame de Fer and I have to constantly remind her about her presentation to the world. Oh, I remember the stress at the Ball and having to watch over everyone almost like children. It’s also surprised me on how much culture she had not experienced before. Did you know, she’s never been to a full theater performance before? I made sure to change that as quickly as I could. I feel honored to be the first to introduce her to a variety of customs, she did help me annul the contract on my family after all. And on top of that, she respected my choice to doing it my way. She’s been amazing and got to witness me annihilate Cullen at Wicked Grace, and applauded me for doing so! I adore her and love the challenge she gave me during our time in the Inquisition. She came to me a lot for my use in diplomacy which, obviously, is something I respect. Even if...even if it didn’t save her clan, I thought she would hate me for failing, but she didn’t. I still feel awful and I apologize whenever it comes up, but she’s the one reassuring me? Don’t get me wrong, she avoided me for a bit after I told her, well, no one saw her for the rest of the night...but...oh, that got sad, I am thankful for her kindness.”

Leliana: “I won’t lie, at first I thought her compassion and mercy were a weakness, but she taught me otherwise. Ever since the death of her clan, I’ve been trying to get information on any survivors, she doesn’t deserve such a devastating loss, especially when it was during the middle of the Inquisition. She was always keen on listening to my suggestions at the war table and used my forces whenever possible. I think she was interested in adopting a nug from me before she started to raise a dragon! We all kept eyes on Elyana the dragon but somehow things just worked out. (chuckles) She did ask me to train her in becoming a bard, though I think she’s much more interested in what Maryden does than being a spy. Evelyn reminds me so much of the Hero of Ferelden. It took some convincing to get her to realize the severity of the oppression of mages and annulled the conscription. She was quite sheltered from the rest of the world in her clan and didn’t know much about the mage-templar situation. I think that’s why she listened to both Vivienne and I like mentors and (chuckles) parental figures as she’s called Vivienne mom a few times. All in all, Evelyn is precious and great, and I’m glad to have known her.”

Sera: “Oh her? Yeah, she’s fun to be around ‘n stuff. Elf, though, yeah. Not too elfy, so that’s good. Got too into her own glow, though. Rift mage or whatever, that’s too mage-y with that weird magic shite. And it’s a bit unnervin’ innit? I mean, she’s good, helps stick it to nobles in the best friggin’ way. (giggles) And we got to prank her whole lot, she don’t mind my cookies of shite on the roof either. Ev wants to be like people people, I can tell she’s different that way, but Viv keeps makin’ her wear that friggin’ sash and shite. Makes her, Ev, not seem like people, right. I like her and I don’t at the same time, yeah? Isn’t too elfy, good, but she’s too mage-y. Fun ‘n funny but can’t seem to make up her mind for shite. Like, listenin’ to Viv but also pieing nobles in the face. Look, she’s nice an’ all and she’s gettin’ there, but I think she needs a bit more pies to the face, yeah? (giggles) Or Bull to set her right when her arse needs it. (giggles) Get it? Eugh, never mind.”

Solas: “It took time to warm up to the Inquisitor, for she always kept people at a distance. For a time I thought...no. Perhaps she changed her mind. It was for the best anyways, I’m partially grateful that things did not escalate further. I got to train her in the ways of the Rift Mage, and in doing so I learned just how wise her spirit is. How adaptable and intelligent, it made me rethink about the Dalish, but she assured me it wasn’t them that made her that way. She has a tendancy to infuriate me, but I respect her will to listen as to why it does. Evelyn still has much to learn, and it’s been interesting to see her grow from her experiences. I know she abhors the Vallaslin on her face as she did not wish to partake in that tradition. Maybe...hopefully in time, there will be a way to safely remove it. As for the choices she has made, there are a few I have questioned. Thankfully, she took my advice on how to proceed with the Vir Abelasan. Evelyn Lavellan is young and ignorant, but I hold her to a high respect for her willingness to learn, help, restore, and fix her mistakes.”

Varric: “Blossom has been through a ton of shit. Made a lot of choices that she regretted. When Hawke came by, she talked Blossom into rethinking on her choice to deal with the mages and went back on the conscription, letting the mages be free within the Inquisition. I know Hawke’s been keeping in contact with her and they’re friends. Which is great! I taught her how to play Wicked Grace, heh, she’s not very good at it but she plays hard. Well, as in, she bets a lot and usually loses it all but weirdly, she doesn’t mind and is very enjoyable company. Her, Veil, Buttercup, Tiny, and I play cards regularly together. We all exchange stories, chuckle at her and Veil’s bickering and shitty pun wars with Tiny. Best parts of those are when Buttercup groans and usually leaves at that point. I feel bad for Blossom because she’s so nice, merciful, forgiving, and caring an this damn world of events keep forcing her through tough and impossible shit, and it’s broken her a few times. We helped pick up her pieces and continue on. She’s young and inexperienced. Shit, before the Inquisition, she’d never killed a person before. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to have a hero in this mess, I just think Andraste or luck or whatever chose unfairly. Or maybe her kind heart is exactly what we all need. That part about her hasn’t changed despite everything and I respect that deeply. I hope she’s able to live a happy life after all this.”

Vivienne: “Oh, Evelyn is a dear, very sweet and respectful. She listened to my teachings very well, especially on etiquette and it surprised me how much she already did out of habit considering she was raised in a Dalish clan on different customs. Though, she did say she didn’t follow Dalish traditions. We share many evenings together and hold conversations while she lets me braid her hair. I found it amusing when I helped her get ready for the Halamshiral Ball and had to teach not only her, but Iron Bull as well, on how to dance. Evelyn was easier to teach because she knows how to dance solo, but never had a partner. I remember she hated the Ball because she had to fight in a dress, with tight braids in her hair, makeup, and various accessories without messing any of it up lest she becomes suspicious or scandalous to the guests. Sadly, she despises The Game, though she’s very good at it. It was glorious. At the Winter Palace she went from being seen like a glorified servant to being on top and holding everyone at the court on strings like puppets along with their respect. Oh, a great sense of fashion and a good eye for decorations, though she dislikes constantly looking and dressing as nobility and I must remind her consistently on why it’s important. I do enjoy her company and I wish we saw more eye to eye on the subject on Circles and mages. At first we did, but as time went on she started agreeing more and more with our dear Spymaster.”

lol all in all, Ev is kind, caring, and smart. She got along with basically everyone, even if they didn’t see eye to eye on everything. Though other than Bull, I think she’s closest with Vivienne, Varric, and Dorian ( and my OC Veil, but I don’t post about her often)

#tag game #evelyn lavellan #oc lavellan #oc inquisitor #oc tag game #thank you for tagging me once again!!!

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theladyofdeath · 7 years

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Kings and Queens {ch 12}

Summary: A Throne of Glass AU inspired by the Breakfast Club (1985). Five students come together for Saturday detention, and realize they are not all that different. You can read previous chapters here.

Author’s Note: WARNING: this chapter includes sensitive content, including references to drugs, abuse, and depression. The reason I started this fanfic, and the reason I love the Breakfast Club, is because it deals with real life shit. I have dealt with all that is listed above, so if you are hurting and you need someone to talk to, I am here for you.

You are loved, and you are important.

Enjoy. <3

Aelin

11:45 a.m.

I knew that Rowan and Maeve did not get along. It was not difficult to see, although the two rarely interacted. He had told me that story, before Sophomore year, about how Maeve and his mother didn’t get along, about how his mother despised her elder sister.

I hadn’t realized, however, how much built up anger he had towards the bitch. But, as he turned toward the four of us, and a deadly, incredibly attractive, smile spread across his soft, pink lips….I knew a burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

He had let out anger toward Maeve, yes, but also anger over everything else he had endured.

A soft round of laughter erupted from our unconventional circle. Well, from everyone except Dorian.

“Are you okay?” I asked, causing his eyes to instantly connect with my own. He hadn’t realized he had been lost in thought. “Still feeling uneasy?”

I don’t know what Dorian had done in his time away from us, but he looked like a disheveled mess.

“I…” he trailed off, then squared back his shoulders as he faced Rowan. “Is it true?”

Rowan’s smile faltered at his question. “Is what true?”

“That you’re a bully. That you’re as bad as they say you are,” Dorian shook his head. “That you pick on your peers to feel better about yourself.”

A criminal.

I blinked at Dorian, who I did not think would ever have the guts to ask what he just did to someone with a social status like Rowan’s. I respected him a little more than before at the small show of bravery.

Rowan Whitethorn crossed his arms, and when he did, Dorian instantly looked as if he regretted opening his mouth in the first place. He carefully considered his words before he replied, “Would you like to know what I did to get in here?”

Dorian hesitated. “I – “

Rowan smiled, wistfully, as his head tilted slightly to the left. “It’s okay. I am not ashamed.”

I had to admit I was equally as curious.

During our conversation earlier, it was the only thing we hadn’t covered.

Dorian, I am sure, had stopped breathing.

A deep, shaky sigh escaped Ro as he looked at me. “I have done things that I am ashamed of. I won’t pretend like I’m perfect when I very well know that I am not. At first, when I started here Sophomore year, I did react out of anger, and malice. I was pissed at the world, and I felt alone.”

Guilt and regret hit me like a punch to the gut as his eyes drifted from mine to Dorian’s. What had occurred two years ago was not instantly forgotten with our conversation earlier. There would be hurt for a while, and we would both be traveling down a long road of trust and forgiveness.

“One night, I looked in the mirror, at the cuts and bruises on my face, just after my parents had told me how disappointed they were in me, in my current behavior….” He paused, and shook his head. “It was the night before they left to go on the business trip that they didn’t –“

Pain. There was pain flooding those beautiful, green eyes. It was the night before they left for the business trip that they hadn’t returned from.

“I told them I would change,” he continued. “I promised that I would return to my true self, if I could remember who that was. That was the last conversation that I had with my parents.”

Your mother would be so disappointed in you, Maeve’s words from earlier repeated in my mind as I listened, silently. She meant it as a threat. She knew what would hurt him the most.

“A few days later, when I got the hospital call from Fenharrow, saying that there had been an accident…..That there was nothing that I could do, that it was too late…..That anger returned. And, if I’m being honest with you, it never left.”

I glanced at Dorian, to find something in his eyes had vanished and been replaced with sorrow.

Rowan shook his head. “You don’t need to feel sorry for me. Death is a part of life, unfortunately. Which is why, although my anger had once again settled, it was different. As I walked through the halls of Havilliard High, I saw kids picking on others half their size, or for what they liked, or who they believed in, or because they looked different….and that…..that is what made me mad. From that day forward, I took it upon myself to stand up for the outcasts.”

“You bullied the bullies?” Lysandra’s eyebrows raised.

Rowan chuckled, softly, as his hands folded in his lap. “To receive this invitation to detention, I had punched Archer Finn in the nose. It broke, to say the least.”

My head snapped up, eyes narrowing as the next word escaped my lips. “Why?”

He looked at me again, those perfectly sculpted, soft lips fallen into a suppressed grin. “I had overheard that he was harassing someone that I used to know. He was not treating her as she, or any woman, deserves to be treated. I thought he should know.”

Memories of his hands on my ass, sliding up my sides toward my breasts, as he pressed me up against my locker after school ran through my mind. I hated Archer Finn. He had been absent the day before, which I was grateful for, but unsure why of.

It was because Rowan had broken his nose, and Archer was too much of a pretty boy to be seen in any state less than perfect.

Two years. Two years, we hadn’t spoken, and he was still protecting me. He protected me against Arobynn, and Archer, too.

And he would have been okay if I had never found out.

I was speechless, my jaw hanging open, limply, as I took it all in.

“The people here may think I’m a criminal, and I’m okay with that,” Rowan shrugged, brushing it off. “They made up their minds about me a long time ago, and in that time, I have learned not to care what others think.”

Dorian was watching Rowan as if everything he had ever thought and believed was being put to the test. In a way, perhaps, it was.

“I’m sorry,” he said, then. “About your parents. Good people do not deserve to die young. My mother died when I was three, and I do not remember much about her, but my father….” He shook his head, trying to find his words. “If I had the choice to end his life, if it would bring your parents back, I would.”

It was a bold statement. One that forced our attention from Rowan, to Dorian. Rowan nodded his head in thanks, and appreciation, as Dorian realized he needed to expand on his words. He took a deep breath, then stared at the floor. “I do not have one happy memory with my father in it. Every memory of my father involves pain, in some form.”

We were all silent before Aedion had the courage to ask, “Why?”

“His expectations are too high,” he said, softly, staring at his twiddling thumbs. “They always have been. I was not able to hang out with friends, or go on field trips, or play outside. I have been forced to read thousands of books about nothing that interests me, only to be tested in the end. If my grades are not perfect, I get punished. If I tell my father no, I get punished. If I stray from the path he has set before me, I get punished.”

“What path it that?” Aedion asked, once more. His father was absent, and had been since the time he was young. His mother, my aunt, was an alcoholic. He knew what it was like to have parents that were not ideal.

We all did.

Dorian took yet another deep breath before connecting eyes with my cousin. “Have you heard of David Havilliard?”

“The guy who’s, what, second in line for the throne?” Lysandra asked, glancing at Aedion for confirmation. “Doesn’t he serve on the King’s council?”

Dorian nodded and realization swept over me. Before I could ask, Rowan did. “He’s your father?”

“He is,” Dorian whispered, waiting for us to respond.

We didn’t.

We simply looked from him, to the statues behind us, the statues of his ancestors.

“You’re a Havilliard?”

His cheeks reddened as he nodded in response to my question, before simply stating, “Now you know why he must punish me when I am less than perfection. I am longer down the line, and the chances of me ever sitting on the throne is less than miniscule, but still…..”

He drifted off as I rose to my feet, and placed my hand gingerly on top of his. He did not cower, he was not shocked, he only gave me a soft smile of gratitude as I said, “That does not mean he should punish you. You deserve better than that.”

It was then that I noticed the bruises, the scars, on his arms, and I knew those markings far too well. He noticed my staring, and withdrew his hand, but my eyes stared firmly into his. “I, too, get punished when I do not meet standards.”

We watched one another, Dorian Havilliard and I, as our souls connected on a strange, unknown level.

“Is it because of him that you’re here?” Aedion asked, if only to break the silence. “In detention?”

Dorian Havilliard grinned, a sultry gesture that suited him, as I seated myself back down next to Aedion. “Somewhat.”

Aedion cleared his throat as Dorian continued to grin foolishly at himself before he finally indulged us. “I got caught smoking weed in the restroom before school.”

“What?” Rowan whooped, causing Dorian to glance at him sheepishly. “Who caught you?”

“Maeve.”

“She caught you herself? I’m surprised you’re still alive,” Rowan mumbled, before shaking his head.

“I was so terrified that she must have taken pity on me,” Dorian sighed, his eyes losing focus as he remembered. “I was so anxious though. I had a test that my dad was….Well, anyway, I was anxious. I needed something to calm me down. Chaol – I mean, a friend of mine –“

“Chaol Westfall is a pothead?” Lysandra interrupted, a sly grin of her own forming. “Who would have known.”

Dorian began to panic. “Don’t tell. I mean – if word got out that he has –“

“Relax,” Lysandra assured him. “Safe to say what is being said in this room will stay in this room.”

He nodded, his shoulders loosening before he met her gaze once more. “What did you do to get in here?”

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“There had to have been something,” Rowan urged. “No one gets sentenced by Maeve for existing. Well, with the exception of me, maybe.”

Lysandra smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. “No, I mean, I’m here by choice. Maeve did give me detention, but I did it on purpose.”

I felt my eyebrows lift into my hairline. “I don’t understand.”

“I told Mr. Perrington to fuck off,” she said, “just because this – “ she gestured around her, “was a better alternative.”

“To what?” Dorian dared to ask.

Lysandra’s eyes went misty as she replied, “To being home.”

Dorian nodded, understandingly. He watched her as she collected her thoughts.

“They’ve never laid their hands on me,” she answered his unspoken question. “They don’t pretend I exist long enough to do that, or anything else.”

None of us knew what to say, so we remained quiet while a slow tear slid down her cheek. “They ignore me. They never wanted a child, so they pretend like they don’t have one.”

Aedion scooted his chair closer to hers, and laid a gentle hand on her lap. She gladly accepted it, her fingers quickly intertwining with his.

As soon as I got a minute alone with him, I was going to ask him a million questions about that.

“I understand that,” I told her, but she was not impressed.

“What do you know about feeling ignored?” she snapped, and I supposed I deserved it.

I didn’t want to tell them why I was there. I was not proud of it, and no one knew why. Well, I suppose everyone knew why, but they didn’t know the truth beneath it.

“More than you’d think,” I assured her, but she only scoffed.

“Please,” she rolled her eyes, as she dried them with the sleeves of her baggy cardigan. “People in this school praise you when you breathe.”

Having to convince myself not to get mad, I only nodded. “Okay. Fine. Perhaps Aedion can convince you then that the spotlight is not a glorious place to be.”

Aedion looked uncomfortable. I had put him on the spot. I had challenged him: her, or me, your family and best friend.

Something in Lysandra changed, though, because her hate and anger had dissipated as she looked behind her, to Aedion. She knew more about him than I thought she did.

“Rowan and I have something in common, it seems.”

Rowan just glanced at my cousin, a curious expression lightening the hard lines on his face.

“I also threw my fair share of punches to get in here.”

I had heard the rumors, but when I has asked him about the incident the night before, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“There had been rumors floating around, which I’m sure some of you have heard,” Aedion began, scratching the back of his head, “about my sexuality. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never been ashamed of who I am. I’m not very outspoken about where I stand, but I’ve never denied it. I have been with both boys and girls, I am attracted to both……..on Wednesday, I went to the locker room after school to change for conditioning, and every one stopped. The guys started hiding their chests, and scurrying out of the showers…..Everyone went quiet, watching me. When I had asked Galan why, he had said that there have been rumors spreading. People were saying I was gay. I addressed it, of course, and told them all the truth. When I was done, Cain pushed me against my locker, called me a….a slur that I will not repeat.” Aedion stopped, and faced Rowan. “I did a little bit more than break his nose.”

“An ambulance came.” Dorian blinked, watching Aedion in awe. “You knocked him out.”

Aedion nodded. “I am not proud…..but, I do not regret it either.”

“You shouldn’t,” Rowan spoke up, giving Aedion a clap on his back. “He deserved it. You shouldn’t have to go through that for being who you are. No one should.”

Aedion smiled, genuinely, then looked at me as if to say, Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.

I gave a subtle shake of my head, and an encouraging smile in return. I knew what had happened, I had pieced together enough of the information.

My heart ached for what he had to endure.

Cain was an asshole, though, the whole school knew that.

“The spotlight is not always good,” Aedion agreed with my statement from earlier. “It is not always rewarding. I only wanted to play football, and to hopefully one day get a scholarship, but unfortunately, it came with a whole lot of hell, too.”

“What happened to you, then?” Lysandra asked, and it took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. “Why are you here?”

Four sets of eyes drifted in my direction, and I blatantly stared at the floor.

“You were on the roof,” she said, when I didn’t answer.

I nodded.

“There’s more though, isn’t there?”

It was Dorian who had spoken, but it was not him who I looked at.

It was Rowan.

A soft pain remained lost in those green eyes, as if he had a hunch that something awful was about to be said. Without warning, he brushed back a lock of my hair, and rested it softly behind my ear.

“I was on the roof,” I confirmed, “but it was not because I was painting a penis across the bricks, or whatever it is that they’re saying.”

Aedion’s whisper found me from across the aisle. “Why were you there, then?”

I met his gaze as my voice broke. “I wanted to jump.”

The reality of my words settled the room into a deep silence, and that mist returned to Lysandra’s eyes as she nodded. Not because she was hoping I had, but because she knew. She understood. She had felt the same pain before. “Why?”

It was a simple enough question, but the answer was anything but. Dread and agony filled my soul as I remembered that I had never told anyone any of it before. Not even Aedion, whom I loved more than most.

That’s not true. I had told Rowan, those years before. He knew my life. He knew my pain. He had missed some bits and pieces, but he knew.

It was because of that that his hand rested gingerly on top of mine, and silver lined his eyes as he absorbed my words.

My eyes stayed on Lysandra, though. They did not stray from hers. “I would judge me too, if I were you. I would think I am a bitch, and I am, for some of the things I’ve done. I am not proud of who I am. I am not proud of who I have become. I once had a greater destination than this, than befriending Kaltain and not standing up for myself before I got in too deep. This girl….The girl that roams these halls, though, that is not who I am. It is not who I want to be, and yet, I cannot break ties from her, from that girl. I can’t stop her. I am controlled by the spirit that lives in me within the halls of this place, and I don’t know how to make it stop.” A single tear slid down my cheek as I shoved the words out of my gritted teeth. For the first time in two years, I let my walls down. And as I did, and the salty taste of my broken heart fell through my lips, and I let the tears fall freely, I did not blink or shriek back as I kept my eyes on Lysandra’s. “Then I go home…..I go home, which is a place meant to be my safe haven, and I’m still scared. Although I am free to be me, I can’t concentrate because I’m terrified that he will be in a bad mood, and that he will find something to blame on me.” I felt Dorian’s fingers brush along my other hand. They held me, Rowan and Dorian, as I told my story. They held me up so that I would not crumble, so that I could face my demons, publicly. “Sometimes I hate my parents for dying when I was little, even though they couldn’t control it. Sometimes, though, I just can’t help it. I hate them for giving me this life, for giving me to him.” Arobynn. I couldn’t even force myself to say his name out loud. “I have no excuses for the things that I have done. I have no excuses for being a bitch, none that make up for the pain I have caused, anyway. But, my life is not ideal. I am a fake. I pretend, every day, that I am living the fucking dream……but I walk through these halls, and although everyone knows my name, I feel so damn alone. I feel lost. I feel numb. So, I walked up to the roof. I stood on the edge, at the ground underneath, and debated whether it was a better end. If I would have felt less pain that way…….I couldn’t, though. I got down, my knees and hands shaking, and I collapsed. I remembered the good things, the memories that I have kept within my heart to dwell on in times like that…..and although I am not happy now, that I have scars and pain that I have hidden for far too long, that I pretend to be someone I am not every day….It will not last. I will heal. There are better days ahead of me. There is a light at the end of the tunnel and I will keep going until I reach it. I will not give up. I will not be afraid.”

No one said a word. They didn’t have to, I could read it on their faces. The soft sob that I let fall from me was slowing down, as the weight that I was carrying rose from my shoulders. I felt lighter. I felt safer. My breathing was heavy, as my eyes remained on Lysandra’s, unblinking.

“Perhaps we are not all that different after all, Princess.” She gave me a small smile, in which I returned. “You are worth it. Your life is worth it.”

“So is yours,” I said. Then, “I’m sorry your parents are dicks.”

“That’s what I said,” Aedion said from behind her, easing the tension that had surrounded us.

I began to laugh, and I didn’t know why, but the others joined me. We were five kids who came into this room hating one another….All except for Aedion and myself. We were not all that different, though, and I never would have known. We were too quick to judge.

Yet, as I sat in that circle, in a group of five, with strangers, and those from different lifetimes, I had never felt so at home.

I had never felt so safe.

“So, what now?” Dorian asked.

I looked at Lysandra and smiled. I felt then as if we could be great friends.

She nodded, as if sensing my thought, and leaned back into Aedion. “We make a toast. To self-worth, to the future, and to the light at the end of the tunnel.”

@bigbangt1963 @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @sarah-akhavan@gcarroll@kortanna@nightquart @notjustanyoldfangirl @superhuman-imagines@iwouldtrusthagridwithmylife@callmeladytypewriter@saybell1994@2-bookmaster-2 @eye-of-elena @shadowsinger-fireheart@inejcalmarekaz@viridiantopaz @books-are-friends-not-objects@raven-the-dark-titan@theantisocialbookworm310@whydoyoucareaboutmyusername

#kaq #kinds and queens tog #throne of glass #empire of storms #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #rowaelin #rowan a #aelin #rowan #manon #dorian #chaol #lysandra #aedion #lysaedion

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sparemyocs · 7 years

Text

Space Heater

Dorian wasn’t sure if he was lucky or unlucky that he was at the edge of camp when Cullen and Cassandra returned with the Herald. It was good, of course, that he’d made it out alive. It was one last fat middle finger to that Elder One. It was also nice to know that his late escape with Sera and Cassandra hadn’t been leaving the man to his death. But he was unconscious, all but frozen (how long had he been out in that blizzard?), and injured. Dorian didn’t know enough about healing to say exactly how serious the massive open gash stretching along his lower back was. It didn’t look good, limited as his view was with the elf in Cullen’s arms. As the rest of the camp spotted him, the silence changed. The dark and hollow miasma from before was charging. The mage couldn’t put an exact feeling to it, but it was at least brighter, and sharp at its edges. The Commander was chased off by the healers as soon as he got the Herald to a cot. He, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana promptly gathered near the center of camp. Regrouping and taking a moment to simply be relieved that they hadn’t lost him. Though it didn’t take terribly long for the bickering to start about what had to happen next. As they got started, Dorian took the chance to slip through the healers. They didn’t seem pleased when they initially spotted him, but he offered himself as a spare source of heat and they let his presence go. Having command over fire didn’t always help much in this Maker-be-damned weather, but he was willing to try if it meant helping. He didn’t even question it when his hand was placed over a frostbitten ear (it was better than looking at it, red at best and a shade or two too dark the further out the cartilage went) and he was instructed to slowly heat it back up. Nor did he complain or roll his eyes when he was tasked with heating water. Just one more mage tasked with assisting.

As he worked (it wasn’t terribly demanding work once he got a rhythm), Dorian thought back to his brief time at Haven. The Herald had been surprised he wanted to stay, but then he’d taken it on himself to find a comfortable place for him in the village and introduced him to everyone who hadn’t been at Redcliff, even gave him a tour. When the Herald asked about his life and Tevinter, he’d been respectful and good-natured. He’d also asked for clarification and details and had the slightest forward lean and this tiny smile on his cute face as he listened. Apparently that was all normal for him though, of course. Hanhari was just like that. Friendly and sweet. He also had a pleasant voice and riveting eyes… The Herald of Andraste was an attractive person. If he was anything, he was too considerate for his own good. For the Inquisition however it was an incredibly important trait. So long as they weren’t crushed underfoot they’d be regarded well by history. Maybe. Never let it be said that Thedas treated it’s heroes kindly and the Herald being tied in with a hero that’s best remembered for being betrayed by their husband, set on fire, and ultimately stabbed to death did not bode well for him. Conversely, so far he’d survived: One Breach-opening explosion, trying to seal said Breach without help, a war zone, being thrown through time, successfully closing aforementioned Breach with help, the siege on Haven, whatever caused that gash the healers were closing up, meeting whatever-in-the-Void the Elder One is, an avalanche, and being strained alone and injured in a massive blizzard.

Will wonders never cease?

Even with magic, it seemed that gash would be leaving an ugly scar. Hopefully it’d remind the man he was still mortal. With that healed however, they took the chance to get the Herald into warmer, undamaged armor. Dorian was happy to wait and try and get his hands warmed back up. Tucking them under his armpits, he yawned as he felt the frantic and terrifying evening catching up with him. Dorian kept his focus on his hands when Mother Giselle sat on the opposite side of the Herald’s cot. The only sound for the next little while was from the Herald’s breathing, Dorian rubbing his hands together, and the bickering just outside. Once Dorian had warmed his own up, he reached for one of Hanhari’s hands to give it the same treatment. Just in case the gloves they’d put on him weren’t doing the trick of course. “I don’t know what you think you stand to gain here.” The woman’s stern voice made him lean back smoothly before reaching his goal. The shot of ice it’d sent into his stomach was hopefully not externally apparent. He cleared his throat tersely, “Pardon?” “The Herald is a good man, but I do not know if he has a good sense for people. Many wonder why a Tevinter mage would desire to help our cause.” Her voice was patient, her hands laying in her lap. Dorian took a deep breath and steeled himself, looking out into the night. “You talk as though this wouldn’t effect me if I wasn’t here.” “Is that all?” She wasn’t looking at him either, the lack of the uncomfortable prickling on his right side told him that much. It didn’t stop the warping feeling in his gut however. “And if it wasn’t? If I had something to prove?” “Is this the best way to prove it?” Dorian pressed his lips together tightly. “I can think of nowhere better.” His face felt like stone as he rushed into what he’d wanted to do before. Damn what the woman thought. He was here to help, to show that Tevinter was more than the South’s nasty rumors. His heart just about stopped cold when the little hand squeezed his. Mercifully he didn’t think the Chantry woman saw the way his brows jumped, and Hanhari’s eyes were still closed. “Mmm…. Elam'ar dinem?” The elf groaned quietly, eyes dragging open unwillingly. “I don’t speak Elvish I’m afraid. I doubt our dear Mother Giselle does either.” Giselle immediately put on her ‘motherly’ voice, “You need to-” “Elvhen, not Elvish sathan?” Sathan… Sathan… Right, please. “Of course Herald.” Dorian wondered how long he could keep from moving his hand. The elf had yet to draw attention to their linked hands, and Dorian would rather he didn’t. “Herald,” Mother Giselle softly asserted herself again, “you need rest. You’ve endured much.” “I am resting,” his eyes drifted closed again without ever looking to the woman to his right. “Just needed to be sure I had been found by Cullen and not Falon'Din.” “Who?” The woman tilted her head at the exhausted elf. “Falon'Din is one of the Creators. Guide of the Dead.” “I thought you believed in the Maker?” “I do.” Despite his body having the consistency of overcooked pasta for the most part, his confirmation was quietly jubilant. Something about the tone brought a little of the warmth back to Dorian’s chest. “You must upset everyone with beliefs like those.” “Elas te'rahn. I haven’t actually held them openly for a long time.” “I’m quite glad for you then. Anyhow, I just came around to be sure my services as a necromancer weren’t needed,” he placed the elf’s marked hand back on his chest, “but it seems Andraste worked yet another miracle on you.” The man gave a weak chuckle, just slightly shaking his head. Dorian tutted at the movement, “Rest more, argue against the wild tales less.” Dorian got a tired hum in response, which was enough for him to feel comfortable walking away.

#dorian pavus #mother giselle #lavellan #hanhari #after haven #fanfiction #credit to project elvhen #dai #dragon age inquisition #hints of pavellan #pavellan #crushes #kinda fluffy

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easkyrah · 7 years

Text

Elorcan Werewolf AU Part 1

AU: In which the SJM series are not Fae, but werewolves. And mates and rejecting the bond exist 100%

Summary: Every year, the cadre holds a mating ball. Elide has just turned 18, meaning that she is now required to attend or face the consequences. Knowing that her mate isn’t a Lycan, she decides opts to not show. Little did she know one choice would hold on her.

There are some nights

when the Moon shines

and the wolves howl

Elorcan Werewolf 1

The cadre — the group of Lycans that traced from the bloodline of the Moon Goddess herself. Pure-blooded, more powerful than any regular Alpha werewolf, the cadre had terrorized and pillaged village after village, each Lycan searching for his mate.

Elide had snorted when her history teacher Asterin had described them. Almost in awe. Pure reverence. Extreme worship. And the school’s thirteen teachers didn’t easily hand out their respect to anyone.

Elide didn’t understand why the Lycans had bothered searching for their mate when it had been no secret none of them had their virginity left, their last personal piece for their mate, their other half. Worse, none seemed set on keeping their eyes short.

Rowan Whitethorn, Lycan Princess Remelle’s first lover and omega Lyria’s mate. Elide had pitied the omega she-wolf; omegas formed the bottom ranks of the hierarchy, and there was a high chance that she would have been abused to continue her role as the scapegoat.

Then there was Lycan swords-master Gavriel, who seemed to have a thing with humans, and leaving their beds cold when they awoke. Lycan ambassador Fenrhys, who seemed to have a thing with witches, and Lycan spymaster Vaughan, who bedded whatever appealed to his sight. The list when on and on.

And then there was turned-Lycan Lorcan Salvaterre, who had fucked more than half of the she-wolf’s population, according to Manon. The cadre disgusted Elide to no end.

So she was more than ready to turn down the annual mating ball held by the Lycans every year during Rixalta. Sure, it may have been treason to not show up and not listen to the demands of the all-powerful man-whores, but the chances of her being the mate of any of the Lycans were so slim — especially when her wolf’s side had been ruined by her ankle — that they probably wouldn’t notice one she-wolf missing.

Huffing, Elide blew a strand of hair out of her face, heading towards her lockers. Alpha Aelin had seized the position of power after the previous Alpha, Alpha Arobynn, had murdered Omega Kaitlin Romper for attempting to escape his pack.

Elide had been proud to know that her best friend had been the first female Alpha in all of history, and someone not to be cowed by the intimidation and force other male Alphas had attempted. It had emerged a new era where females no longer drowned in the bitterness of belittlement, but swam in the murky seas of equality.

Alpha Aelin had rightfully won every match whenever a male Alpha had tried to take over her pack, and Elide had never been more proud to stitch Alien back up.

“Elide!” a voice called. “Why aren’t you eating your lunch right now? No wonder you’re so thin!”

Elide rolled her eyes and gently closed her locker, looking up into the eyes of no other than Aelin’s beta, or second in command, Manon Blackbeak. Manon wasn’t entirely werewolf, her mother a witch, and her father a Lycan, and thus wasn’t required to attend any mating ball.

But Manon still liked to attend, riling up any werewolf that crossed her path. Last year, Aelin had sent Manon as her emissary, to which Manon had accidentally spilled wolfs-bane on none other than Alpha Dorian of the Rifthold Pack — for staring at her white hair.

Chaos had ensued.

Manon dragged Elide to the cafeteria, piling plates of pasta and steaming vegetables onto a bowl. “I know Sorcsha has been training you hard to be her apprentice, but you also need to eat.”

Elide merely picked her food, staring out the window. “Sorcsha’s a good Pack Doctor.”

Manon tapped her nails against the wooden desk. “What died and crawled under your ass this time?”

She didn’t answer for awhile. After silence hung in the air for minutes, she finally replied, “The Mating Ball.”

Manon let out an, “Ah.” She’d dreaded this moment, no doubt. “You turned eighteen a week ago, so now you have to attend.”

Elide rolled out her ankle, nodding. It was stupid, really. Why was she so afraid to go when no one would look at a scarred wolf?

“It’s treason to no show up.” Manon gritted her sharp teeth. “Those bastards think they can control us with the back of their palms. But — you stay here, watch over the pack. Aelin will defend you if shit hits the fan.”

The Beta’s message was clear: To hell with the consequences.

Elide’s eyes widened. “You’d do that? For me?”

Manon slammed down her fork on the table. “I’m going to be brutally honest with you, Elide. With your ankle, you will be made fun of at every corner at the ball. And some unmated females will have the audacity to flirt with the Lycans to make them be their chosen, even if they’re aren’t their mates. To make them seem more powerful, the females will cut you down with words. I will not stand for it.”

Elide swallowed the pasta, along with gratefulness. “So I can burn the invitation?”

A gleam sparkled in Manon’s eyes. “Just make sure Aelin’s watching.”

Aelin had watched alright. She’d even lit the match. Elide didn’t know if it was a good thing that her Alpha was so defiant and had a penchant for disobeying.

“Just make sure you stay inside the entire time,” Aelin warned, dabbing kohl makeup onto her eyelids. “You don’t want the cadre to accidentally catch the scent of the an unmated she-wolf lingering.”

Elide nodded, fluffing out Aelin’s dress. She’d specifically forced her Alpha to buy this dress, marveling at the dragon outline spiraling down her back. Oozing unbridled power and the aura of unmasked strength, the dress perfected Aelin’s flames.

Aelin had claimed the dress made her feel older, but Manon had merely clucked her tongue, saying Aelin was still younger than her by a thousand years.That had shut Aelin up long enough for Elide to purchase the dress and stuff the package in Aelin’s arms.

Tonight would be Aelin’s first ball even though she’d turned eighteen last year. She’d been excused because she had been battling the former Alpha Arobynn for dominance of the pack.

Now the mating ball invitation had decreed if Aelin’s pack, the Fireheart pack, refused to show up with all unmated she-wolves above eighteen years old, it would be an act of war.

How thoughtful, Elide thought bitterly to herself. Aelin deserved more than a year of recovery, killing her former master who had whipped her. Aelin had freed her from the Morath Pack, the one who had crippled her. Aelin had simply understood, while the toxic foes surrounding her threatened the comfort of security.

Elide still woke from nightmares with Alpha Vernon leering down on her, a silver whip in his hand. Elide had lived for Aelin’s pack so that no other female would have to feel that pain again. She had sworn in to be the Pack Doctor’s second in command so that she could fight against her uncle’s legacy of pain, who had just had to be her past Alpha.

That would be another reason she didn’t want to go to be the mating ball. Her former Alpha without a doubt would be there, also searching for his mate. And searching for her so that he could mock her again,

Elide hoped that his mate would outright reject him. He deserved all the pain and sufferings from injecting rogues and his own pack members with wolfs-bane and silver, trying to see what made them squirm the most.

“I’ll be back before midnight.” Aelin said, doing a mini twirl in her dress. “You’ll be fine, right?”

Elide nodded. “I’m just going to sleep.”

Manon gave a satisfied nod, and then leaped out the window, yanking open the limo door with more force than necessary.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “She never does anything by halves.” She looked over at Elide, taking in her small form. “For what’s it worth, whoever your mate is, he’s got to be the most kind-hearted, flower loving male in the world.”

Elide gave her Alpha small smile. “And yours will probably be very submissive to you.”

Aelin let out a trill of laughter. “He’d better be. I didn’t reject half of the other male’s attentions and desires in this society to be stuck with a man-pig.”

Elide ushered Aelin out the door. “Me too.”

#elide lochan #elide x lorcan #elorcan #wolf au #werewolf #lycan #aelin ashryver galanthyius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #lorcan salvaterre #lorcan lochan #elorcan fanfiction

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ageofdragon · 7 years

Text

Author: @vanhelsing019 Game: Dragon Age Inquisition Couple: Romance, Male Adaar/The Iron Bull Warning: Violence and slight Torture Notes: So posting this with permission. Vanhelsing019 did an awesome fic for my Adaar a while back before Inquisition even came out and is basically his take on the background for my Adaar (though Kaas has had a few changes, like for one being a Dorian and Bull romance). I decided to post this, since I want to write that family fic for Adaar and in order to do so, needed a public reference of his background. I might do my own take on it later, but for now this works perfectly. And I want to thank Vanhelsing019 just for being awesome, as a person and a writer, and allowing me to share this!

Askaas struggled against his bounds, the rope cutting into his skin and the bark from the tree he was tied to, leaving burning scratches on his back.

“You can struggle all you want, Saar Vashedan, you will not escape those bonds.” jeered the Arvaarad, “Saarebas, make sure to drain away all magic from this bas!”

Askaas had decided to take a stroll along the river his mercenary group had been camping next to. He did not, however, expect to run into a Karataam of his people who followed the Qun.

Askaas’s staff was a dead giveaway as the Arvaarad yelled “Bas Saarebas!!” and the void broke loose. He was able to encase one of his attackers in a pillar of ice, impaling another on a collection of stalagmites and finally set another aflame, before he felt his strength drain from him.

He looked to his sides, seeing two Qunari mages casting their spells at him. The one had a miasma of black and neon blue swirling around his palms as he drained away Askaas’s mana, while the other had a purple entropic cloud around him, siphoning away his strength.

They overpowered him easily after that and Askaas now found himself tied tightly to a tree. “Vashedan, you thought you could defeat those who follow the Qun?” said the Arvaarad, punching Askaas in the face.

“At least I have free will! I do not follow a tyrannical religion, and what I’m told like some Imekari-raas!” Askaas spat, earning him another blow to the face.

“You will watch your tongue, Dathrasi, or I will cut it from your mouth!” yelled the Arvaraad as he drew his blade and held its tip near Askaas’s cheek. The young mage recoiled, turning his face away from the blade. He acted fearless and defiant, but in truth he was terrified. The Qunari Arvaraad was an abnormally large being and the large blade he wielded made him seem even more intimidating.

Askaas’s breathing became rushed and heavy as he felt the blade press against his cheek with an increased pressure. “What’s the matter, Vashedan?” taunted the Arvaraad as he bent down, bringing his face level with his, “No more remarks from that treacherous mouth of yours?” he smiled, the other Qunari laughing at his taunting.

Askaas called upon his power, channeling it to his mouth and spat in the Arvaraad’s face, hitting him in the eye. The large Qunari stepped back, yelling and holding his hand over his eye while the sound and smell of flesh sizzling moved through the air.

Askaas smiled, the acid spit spell having worked, but his small triumph was short lived as another of the Qunari kicked him full force in the stomach. He doubled over as far as his restraints allowed, fighting the feeling of nausea that wanted to overwhelm him.

“Ashkost kata, Dathrasi!” yelled the Arvaarad, a searing burn across his right eye and cheek. “Saarebas-raas, I told you to make sure all magic was drained from this beast!” he yelled, whipping out a control rod and pointing it to the Qunari mage. The Saarebas grunted in pain, forced to his knees as a lyrium blue light encased his body.

As soon as the glow ceased, he got back to his feet and its hands flared with spirit magic once more. Askaas felt the fatigue move through his body, all vestiges his magic being drained for a third time. The young mage caught sight of the angered Arvaarad withdrawing a small dagger from his belt along with a vial of pink liquid.

“No! No please!” Askaas pleaded, trying to back up against the tree behind him. He utterly feared magebane. He had the unpleasant experience of being injected with it once and suffered an excruciatingly bad reaction to the poison. It was not fatal, but his veins felt like they were on fire for days afterwards.

“Begging will bring you no mercy, Dathrasi!” growled the Arvaarad, while pouring the contents of the vial over the dagger’s blade, “If the Saarebas cannot perform his duties then I will rectify the problem.” Arvaarad grinned cruelly, before plunging the entire blade into Askaas’s leg.

“Aaaargghh!!!!” Askaas yelled as searing pain spread from his leg and all the way through his veins and arteries, his breathing becoming heavy and erratic when the poison reached his heart. He chanced a glance towards the Saarebas who was no longer maintaining his draining spell. Askaas gave him a pleading look only to receive another fist to his cheek.

“A true Saarebas’ loyalty lies only with the Qun. Unmoved by the demonic whispering of a Bas Saarebas” boomed the Arvaarad’s voice.

“Hm, Saar Vashedan like you, are not worthy of such remarkable horns.” said the large Qunari, grabbing hold of Askaas’s left horn. Askaas’s eyes widened as he felt the Arvaarad starting to pull on it, “Restrain his head.” said the Arvaarad, causing his burning heart to beat faster within his chest.

Two Qunari came forward, grabbing hold of his jaw and the back of his head. “Cutting these from you is far too merciful for one who has rejected the ways of the Qun,” said the Qunari while giving his horn another tug, “And they would only soil and blunt my blade,” he began pulling harder “Try not to move too much, this might sting a bit.”

Askaas bit on his lip trying to stifle the screams he felt building inside his chest, as the Arvaraad increased his pulling on his left horn. Blinding pain coursed through his head and face as the cracking of what sounded like wood and bones breaking started echoing through the air. Askaas’s mouth filled with the familiar taste of copper as he drew blood from biting his lip.

There was a final crack, before the warm feeling of blood flowing down his face accompanied the searing, throbbing pain around where his left horn used to be. Tears streamed down his face, his whole body tense from the onslaught of pain coursing through every nerve.

Askaas watched helplessly as the giant Qunari lifted his massive blade overhead, before swinging it down towards him…

Askaas shot up from his bedroll with a loud gasp, his skin cold and covered in sweat, while his heartbeat was erratic and his chest heaving with rapid, shallow breaths. He slowly felt over the ragged end where his left horn once was whole, while the other hand felt the scar in his right thigh.

All too sudden, the memories of his nightmare and past experience flooded his mind, releasing tears which flowed down the existing trails that already stained his cheeks. Askaas pulled his knees against his chest and buried his face between them, letting his silent sobs wrack his slender body.

He hoped none of the others were able to hear him. What would they think of him if they knew their leader could be brought to tears by a mere dream?

Outside, though, a very large Qunari felt his heart clench with worry when his ears picked up the distressed sniffles and whimpers coming from the Inquisitor’s tent. This has not been the first time he has heard these sounds coming from Askaas’s tent. He once heard the silent sobs coming from his room back at Skyhold, when he was patrolling the halls.

“What you waiting for? Go see if he’s alright.” Sera’s voice sounded beside Iron Bull.

“I don’t want to distress him any further, Sera, you know how he… how I affect him.” Bull replied.

“I told you it’s nothing personal, you daft tit.” said Sera, placing her small hand gently on his large muscular arm.

He clenched his fist as he recalled the series of events Sera had told him happened to his… their Inquisitor. After that it had all made sense, why Askaas, despite being a powerful and skilled mage, had always seemed to cower into a corner or look as bewildered as a frightened halla whenever he approached him.

“You care for him, yeah?” said Sera, snapping him out of his reverie. “he fancies you too, you know.”

A faint blush spread across the giant’s face, “How is it possible to fancy someone who frightens you?” he asked solemnly.

“I don’t have to fancy men to know you are one fine looking piece of ass, and Askaas knows this as well, if the conversations between him and Dorian are anything to go by,” she smiled reassuringly. “He needs someone who will be there for him, especially now.” she informed after they heard a soft sob coming from his direction. “He needs YOU.”

“What if he shies away?”

“Show him he has no need to.”

Bull gave a contemplative look in the direction of the Inquisitor’s tent. “Go make sure he’s alright, you big lug.” she smiled reassuringly, causing Bull to smile and turn around, making his way towards Askaas. “You old softy.” she chuckled to herself.

Iron Bull paused for a moment outside the tent, doubt creeping into his mind which was quickly expelled when he heard another sob behind the cloth. He silently entered the tent, finding the young Qunari mage huddled in a sitting fetal position, whilst his slender body shook with his silent sobs.

“Askaas?” said Bull, his voice barely above a whisper. Askaas’s shaking ceased and he slowly looked up, his distraught eyes locking with Bull’s concerned gaze. “Everything alright, big guy?” Bull asked, mentally kicking himself. Of course it wasn’t. One does not simply cry if nothing’s wrong.

Askaas shook his head, his lower lip trembling slightly before he buried his face and his silent sobs shook his frame again. “Shhhhh… It’s alright, precious one,” Bull said trying to sound as reassuring as possible, placing his hand on the young mage’s shoulder, causing him to tense briefly before relaxing and leaning into the touch. “I am here for you, always.”

Bull was slightly caught off guard when Askaas lunged forward and wrapped his arms around the giant Qunari, his fingers digging uncomfortably into Bull’s back, but Bull didn’t care. His Inquisitor needed him and there for him he would be.

He gently wrapped his strong arms around Askaas’s slender body, softly rubbing his back and soothingly stroking the back of his head, where the mage’s face lay buried in the crook of his neck. Bull felt hot tears wetting and running down his collarbone as, “I-I’m s-sorry” Askaas’s muffled words sounded against Bull’s neck while he shook with sobs.

“What on earth for, precious one?” Bull asked, while rubbing his large, calloused hands gently over Askaas’s back.

“F-for being s-so w-w-weak”

“Listen to me, precious one,” Bull pulled him closer, “tears are not a sign of weakness, you hear me? Do not let any arsehole tell you otherwise.” said Bull, placing a soft kiss against Askaas’s temple. “I promise you that as long as I breathe, my strength will be yours to draw upon when you feel yours waver. My shoulder there for you when you need one to cry on. My ears here whenever you need someone to talk to…” he placed another kiss on his temple, “… And if you’ll have me, my heart is yours to keep, now and forever,”

Askaas looked him in the eye as his lips formed a happy smile amidst his tear stained cheeks, and leaned his head up to give Bull a soft kiss on the lips as reply. “Will you stay with me tonight? I-I don’t wish to be alone.”

“But of course, precious one, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bull smiled, holding Askaas tightly against him as they lay down and pulled the numerous furs over them. It was not long before Bull found the young mage sound asleep in his strong arms, his breathing deep and peaceful, and its hypnotic rhythm soon sent bull to sleep as well.

#dragon age inquisition #da:i #dragon age 3 #adaar #male adaar #inquisitor #iron bull #the iron bull #follower fic #fic #vanhelsing019 #romance fic #askaas #askaas adaar

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raccoon-anarchy · 7 years

Text

My Poetry Assignment thing

I still haven’t gotten my marks back for this, and maybe I’ll delete it later.

1. The Wishing Well

It’s a strange thing, love A well into which one, feeling lucky,

Willingly throws themselves down,

like a sacrifice

And everyone, inevitably, hits the bottom But, my god, does love feel like flying for a while

My God

2. Pagans

Something is robbing me of my sleep

Leaving me scattered like a dropped glass

Or an ill set mirror

Leaving me to sweep the pieces off the floor,

When I can

I feel restless; unsettled

Like flower petals in an autumn breeze

The knowledge haunts me- that you are probably awake too

Just as unsettled

But we are too far apart

Clumsy, mismanaged words like clumsy, mismanaged hands

You are not why I am losing sleep

We are two disciples of the hour of the witch

Familiar to its embrace

Its quietness, its allure, its unsettling air

We held hands and hearts across this dark

Moving together though so far apart

And carried out lamps close, blue lights upon our faces

Chanting back and forth silently with finger tips

The whole world holding its breath just for us

You are gone now, just out of reach

A figure, a shadow, a blur between the trees

That close in around me in the dark of my room

The whole world is holding its breath

Waiting for the chant that never comes

I’ve lost my way to the place of worship

And wander these winding hours

Unalone, but lonesome still

3. All the World’s a Choir

I’ve become fascinated by the musicality of things, places, people

The aftermath of a party feels like the start of a Violent Soho song

“The heat, it drowned itself and all the roads

with rattles from all the pubs and pokies rooms

The sound never goes...”

All the doors in the house are open, and the sounds of the morning haunt the outside world

But drift in anyway, uninvited, as sunlight reaches over crumpled cans

And

crumpled forms

Into tired eyes, to warm cool hearts.

Helium balloons quivering in the breeze like desire

Not yet given breath to.

My first love was a singer

had a voice like liquid silver

I called her my stars because I swear

In her I saw a future, like a seer

Her laugh sounded like an angel taking flight

And she could touch my soul with a whisper

And those boys, that party

with their guitars slung low, lyrics curling from their lips

Hymns to gods of elsewhere and other times

Their heads bobbing, hair waving

I can’t imagine my life without them in it

I count myself lucky to have fallen in with musical people

It's not something I appreciated, years ago

But the music found me

I knew a girl who I once wanted to make gasp

Just to hear what music her accent would lend my name

As it escaped her lips.

And the smartest woman I know is Polish

Her last name curls like the tail of a cat

Or the corners of her mouth when she smiles

I heard her reach back in time

And introduce the curve of a Pompeii street corner

With the notes of her voice

Come, touch my neck. Be my Dorian Grey, or I’ll be yours

Run a bow across my heartstrings, I’ll sing for you

Tease music out of me I did not know existed

I want to feel that again.

I’ll put down my armor, I promise

The guitar suggested we share a bed

I like to think he was only half joking

(but I could never get away with saying that)

Instead, I lay on the floor

And we talk about girls

Why do we do that? Tiptoe around one another

I stumble like my shoelaces are loose

I’m no good at this dancing

You know that, my dear

Music was always lost on me

Always locked away

Ignorance places its hands over my ears

Takes my hands and holds my tongue

If I could only find the key

I would never stop finding rhythms

In the ways people speak

I’ve become fascinated by the musicality of things, places, people

But can’t quite grasp it

I want to learn, not for its own sake

But to know others

And to dance easily to the rhythms of their gentle hearts

All the world’s a choir, and I’m a pagan to its ways

My words never quite could hold to a stave

So I got stanzas instead

“Poetry is not real life”

The stars twinkle

“Poetry is not real life”

4. Shelley

Into me you poured kisses

and poetry under my skin ‘til it turned

my cheeks pink and warm

Bringing me to life, like a gargoyle, or golem

Made of clay and iron and black coats

And cheap whiskey

And smiles

And bright eyes

And a heart that beats despite its

Frankensteinian construction

You tapped lines of verse into me

Like tattoos I can’t undo

But you hated the kisses

And the poetry was not of

this reality

Someday, when they pick through my calcified heart

-Those vultures-

And peel back the layers

Under all the names of all I’ll ever love

They’ll find yours

and the white

Scars

Left behind when I tried to scratch you out

but couldn’t

Just couldn’t

was not able to

And they may wonder, as do I

“Why he tattooed on his breastbone

Such a flagrant lie?”

5. Chasing Neverland

I’ve always felt out of place

Always feeling as though I’d be more comfortable in some elsewhere

- A changeling,

The green-eyed son of Oberon

Dropped in a cradle and left to cause trouble

In this world of mankind

A lost boy, looking for a Neverland

That probably doesn’t exist.

And so while I always tell people I’m going to run home

I don’t

I walk this strangely quiet and transient path

Here where the veil is thin at two am

With the trains rumbling far behind me, and the wander home ahead

Even when the night is dark

And combs my hair with an icy palm, I walk

Or stagger

Watching entranced as flickering streetlights illuminate

The rain slick cement with a stutter

And the way car lamps cut through the slow dewfall

Showing the rain like a thousand shining stars

Flowers of all colours seem to wave and wink in the dark as I pass

I walk, and my mind runs away from itself, making the hills feel shallow

As I chase after my drunken thoughts trailing after your thorough absence

And do my best to reel them back in

For moments I fail and I get lost in swirling nostalgia mostly for things

That never had a chance to happen in this world

But it’s warm there

And it’s so cold here

On these empty streets

As I wander my way back home. 6. Thomas of John

Sinner- I want what I cannot have.

These days my wine is just wine

But my bread is mouthfuls of codeine

And late nights on smoke swept streets

I fish for silver in my pocket and pass it off to the next, less fortunate, man

A sweet, poor sinner

The others tell me that he’ll just spend it on escape

What do they think I’ll spend it on?

A sweet, naive sinner, they call me.

Under the judgemental eye of the watching sun

The sound of gentle hands on piano keys

Draw me in as they draw me back

To quiet moments shared when I was a humbler man.

The bags under my bloodshot eyes are swollen

Like the purses rich men push uphill

And my fingers are clumsy

How did I get here?

Did I even sleep?

A hopeless, faithless sinner

Just like my namesake

The service is completed in a blur

Of well remembered movements

I stand in the carpark and smoke quietly

Feeling

Cleaner?

I don’t disgust you here

Only pity, and curiosity

You ask why such a pagan

Would wander between these hallowed gates

Rehearsing for my funeral

I smile, you laugh- I’m joking

A little

I tell her that we are the only ones who belong here- not these older judges

This house of our childhoods,

Us poor and honest sinners

Our sweet and dying breed.

I hold this treasured moment

And want more, forevermore

Away from your new, perfect creature

A sinner- I want what I cannot have

Awake

Of course

The church is no place for a pagan like me

And the distant sounds of keys

Vanish between the trees of this forest we used to wander, you and me

You are not far away, but just out of reach

So this familiar hour is just mine to keep

Something is robbing me of my sleep

#I will fucking sneak into your house and scalp you if you steal this #@ everyone #personal #ya #poetry isn't real life #my writing

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acewing13 · 7 years

Text

Fanning the Flames V1, P3

Crossing my legs as I sat down, I floated the PhD paper to my lap and traced the summoning instructions. Usually, a mage needs to use quite a bit of mana to get a spirit to come and do what you want it to do. But in reality or according to Mom, all they really need is something to attract and offer to them when they arrive. Mana is the safest and if you have time to research, totems or other objects associated with the spirit work as well. Not having either of those and not wanting to deal with a chicken again, I fell back to every mage’s means of last resort. Pressing the blade of the pocket knife into my thumb, I gritted my teeth as blood started welling from the cut. Dropping the knife, I dripped a healthy amount of blood on each of the triangle’s corners, as I started the prescribed litany, a cross between a Gregorian chant and directions from the astral plane to my house. To finish the summoning ceremony, I flicked the lighter to life and put it in front of me.

Keeping up the chant as I put a band-aid on my thumb, my blood was sucked into the chalk, slowly tinting the entire white circle to a light pink. The flame of the lighter grew in time with my mantra and the summoning circle reacted as well, with the blood-tinged chalk starting to glow. I smiled as I felt the magic swirl around me. It’d been years since I had felt the rush of a professional spell. Why hadn’t I done this before? Who needs mana? Give me a well done grimoire and a knife and I’ll show everyone, especially Dad and the MTC.

As I rode on the euphoric wave of magic, I almost didn’t notice that the growing flame detached from the lighter and floated out of the circle, elongating and forming a humanoid shape as the temperature increased in lock step. The spirit didn’t quite turn into the stereotypical angelic being, with the white robe, chiseled jaw, and golden halo. Instead, obvious limbs formed: legs, arms, head, all made of roiling flames. A few moments later, a quartet of fiery wings unfurled from the cherub’s back, the fire almost touching the ceiling. I was drawn to its face, its human-like features given definition by the different colors of flame: white mouth, yellow face, the top of the flame almost looked like red hair. But the most distinguishing features were a pair of bright blue slashes where eyes would be and a matching halo around his, umm, hair? I really hope this doesn’t set the room on fire.

“Michael Dorian Carlson,” Israfel said in a tenor voice, looking down at me, feeling very unworthy, with the blood soaked hand and all. “Why have you summoned me?”

“Oh, Burning One,” I said, bowing to the floor, “I’ve summoned you to ask for your help to remove a curse upon me.” I took a breath then closed my eyes and continued, “I’m willing to do anything to remove it.”

Mom would never approve of me doing this at all, let alone offering a spirit a blank check. Spirits take things literally and aren’t known to be charitable. Getting the attention of a being that usually doesn’t deal with linear time and three spatial dimensions is almost never a good idea. But what choice did I have? Get put in adamantine chains to keep my curse under control? Screw that. I meant what I said. I was willing to do anything to fix the mess I was in. And if he told me to die? Well, I guess I should have written a note to Mom or something. Oops.

I thought that the angel didn’t respond to my question, but then I realized that he was almost hissing. I risked offending the spirit and looked up, seeing that his flames had brightened. It took me another few seconds to realize that it was laughing.

“It’s been a while since someone offered themselves so willingly,” he said, the white fire that made his jaw turned into a smile. “Though I do wonder if you understand the size of a favor you are asking for.”

Huh? How hard could lifting a single curse be? If I was a full mage, I probably could do it myself. “No, Angel of Fire,” I said, looking up at his burning visage, “I just know that I suffer from it daily and it causes my life no end of misery.”

Israfel laughed again, his wings fluttering in amusement as he shook his head. “That is only a small part of the curse. You aren’t even the main target of Tiamat’s wrath.”

What? Tiamat? The God that Mom fought? What did she have to do with…oh. “Is Megan Beckett Carlson the target?” What are you going through, Mom?

The angel looked amused as it said, “Yes, Banshee is indeed the bearer of Tiamat’s curse. A curse that will hound her until the end of her days, causing misery and misfortune to happen to all those around her. You’re in the spell’s penumbra, Michael. Just a tool used to punish your mother for keeping She Who Bore Them All from fully rising.”

Well, that figures. They say that teenagers are self-centered, but I never thought it would get to this kind of silliness. Mom lost her job, Dad left us, and my life sucks in general because of a battle fifteen years ago?

“So,” the spirit asked, tilting its head in apparent curiosity, “Do you understand what you are asking? Not only do you ask me to undo the work of the First Chaldean God, but from another person as well. Do you truly promise to do anything I ask of you?”

“Yes!” I said, rising as high as I could without taking my knees off the floor. “I promise to do anything that you require, Burning One. I’m even more determined than before.” This wasn’t some selfish act now. This was going to help my Mom. I’ll die for that. Besides, she’d kill me anyway for doing this.

“Then I, Israfel, accept your promise, Michael Dorian Carlson,” he said, rising off the floor. “I, as the Angel of Fire, will lift the curse that was placed by She Who Bore Them All. In so doing, I grant you the mantle of the Steward of Fire, with all the requisite benefits and responsibilities.”

Wait, what responsibilities? What’s a Steward? Isn’t that a medieval thing? I wasn’t given time to ask however, as the Angel of Fire showed why he had his name, spreading his arms wide and sending a burst of fire across my room, immediately setting everything alight, from my bed to all of the loose books and papers. Mom’s so going to kill me.

“In your role as the Steward of Fire,” he continued, his flames steadily shifting along the spectrum from red to white, “You will serve me. You will go where I want and do as I desire. You will ally yourself with my allies and fight against my enemies. Are these conditions acceptable, Michael?”

Like I have much of a choice. The only thing that’s keeping me from being roasted alive is the summoning circle, which right now was glowing an incandescent blue. Somehow I doubt that I’d live refusing at this point. Oh well, its not like I didn’t know this would happen. “Yes, Israfel,” I said, looking into his eyes, “I accept your conditions.”

“Excellent,” the spirit said, before pointing at me. As he did that, I screamed as I felt my skin searing, for all the world feeling like a series of hot pokers were stabbing my chest, moving in a serpentine pattern that traveled across my body. It was then that I passed out from the pain, the last image in my head being the Burning One hovering over me, continuing his scarring as my world went black.

The next thing I remembered was feeling the smell of burning wood and lick of the flames across my skin. Would the torture never end? Thankfully it did, as a silvered figure burst through my doorway, look down at me and run to me.

“I’ve got one, repeat, one person, Captain,” the figure said, picking me up and putting me over their shoulder. “On my way out now.”

As we left the room, I was stunned at the transformation of my home. Fire was consuming the entire place, erasing all our belongings. Passing by the half-burnt picture of Mom’s graduation triggered the tears, which only grew more intense as we ran through the inferno that was the kitchen and run out of the side door, the sudden rush of cool air finally giving me the breath to start sobbing in between my coughing. I’m sorry Mom, I’m sorry, I thought as I looked at the conflagration that was my house. I destroyed everything. I’m sorry.

“Take him to the ambulance, Lieutenant Goldman,” a bass tone rumbled when his savior slowed their step.

“Yes, Captain Uzul,” the officer replied. I blinked a few times, confused about why the Lieutenant’s voice sounded feminine. That turned into bewilderment when I was set on the back of the ambulance and the soldier took off the top of her firesuit and revealed a young woman, her blonde hair matted to her sweat streaked head. “You okay, kid?”

I would be indignant about being called a kid if I wasn’t busy coughing my lungs out. Partly due to the smoke and partly at the realization that I had been carried like a sack of floor by a girl. “Yeah,” I finally choked out, “I’m fine. Considering what happened and all.”

“Uhuh, about that,” she said, as I was busy looking at the paramedics in annoyance as they put a blanket around me, “Are you Michael Carlson?”

Well, dang it all. I’m so going to prison now. “Yes, I’m Michael Carlson, umm, Lieutenant. Am I going to be arrested now?”

“What?” the blonde asked, furrowing her brow as she stepped out of her suit, revealing nondescript black military uniform. “Arrest you? Why would we do that?”

Huh? “Umm, yeah,” I said, not able to keep my mouth shut, “I mean, I was talked to by the police this morning because of weird things going on and now my house burnt down.” Well, there goes the best chance of getting out of this chain-free. I started glancing past her to see if there was an easy escape route, but I was distracted by the strange cars that were parked in the driveways and on the road. And the different colors of paint on some of the houses.

She was quiet for a moment, then realization dawned on her face. “You really don’t know?” she asked, confusion changing to fascination in a split second.

Not that I dislike being looked at by women, but I usually don’t get looked at like a museum piece. “Know what? What are you talking about? Heck, who are you guys? You’re not even trying to put out the fire.” It was true, there were just a handful of black-jacketed government flunkies around the property’s perimeter.

“We’re not putting out the fire,” the Lieutenant said, her voice firming to a military sternness, “because to do so would offend Israfel. You don’t go and put out the Burning One’s personal fires, especially when he gives you advanced warning to keep everyone safe. Oh,” pointing at one of the official-looking black vans on the street, “And we’re SWAT,” she said. I looked over and sure enough, there was the crossed rifle and wand of the Society of Witchcraft and Thaumaturgy.

Figures, they show up after things have happened. Wait, warned them? “How did he do that? I summoned him, how did he know I would do that to give you enough time to be ready to swoop in?”

She blinked a few times, then pulled a white backed device out of her pocket. “What year do you think this is?” she asked, looking up at me as the black side of the device suddenly lit up.

“1981,” I said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Why? And what’s that?”

“It’s called a smartphone,” the blonde said, moving her fingers quickly across the face of the ‘smartphone’. “Made by a company called Apple. Ever heard of them.”

“Sure,” I replied, looking at the device. “But they make computers, not these things.”

“Yeah, well,” she said, turning the smartphone around and showing a picture that almost looked like a dictionary page, “They do a lot more these days. Computers have shrunk,” she continued, moving her finger up to show previously unseen information, “they’ve moved on to PDAs, music players, these things, and most recently, tablets.”

“And when does all this magical technology come about?” I ask, still skeptical.

“2010,” the Lieutenant said, pointing at the strange cars, “Honda and Hyundai sell more cars than Ford, the President is African American, and we’ve had two wars with the fairies since you walked in your house.”

The Japanese are beating us in car sales? What’s the world come to?

“Is he okay, Ingrid?” the bass voice asked.

I turned to respond myself, but froze when I saw a tall, imposing figure with green skin and fangs coming out of its underbite. The fact that the monster was decked out in military gear just made things more confusing.

“A little confused, but I think that’s to be expected, sir,” the blonde said, apparently okay with taking orders from the beast.

“No kidding,” the Captain replied, looking at me. “By the way, I’m an orc. We first showed up on Earth a few months after you disappeared.”

Well, I guess he’s not going to bite my head off? Great. “Okay,” I said, trying to stamp out my instinctual fear, “So, this really 2010?” There are ways to fake what the Lieutenant, err, Ingrid had shown me. But I’d never seen an orc before. Obviously, if he was telling the truth, and somehow I don’t think that Reno PD would go to these kinds of lengths to mess with little old me. Not when they would have just put an adamantine collar on me.

“Yep,” Ingrid said, giving me a small smile, which my traitor stomach took as a cue to flip over. “Still can’t believe that you’re the Michael Carlson though.”

Huh? When did I get a honor of being the titular Michael Carlson? “What, too short for you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” the girl snorted, “No, just thought you’d look more, umm, miserable?”

What? I get pity now? Glorious. “What? Am I the hard luck case of the twentieth century?”

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