Tumgik
#The shirt Dorian is wearing in the drawing on the right is supposed to be Fearne's
zyuyea · 11 months
Text
Get to know your blogger.
I've been tagged by @laryfairy!
But I'm putting it behind "keep reading" incase you have no interest in reading this.
Share your wallpaper: Pasta's Ominis drawing. Last song you listened to: Endlessly - Muse
Currently reading: Does my own script count?
Last movie: Howl's Moving Castle
Last show: Star Trek The Next Generation
Craving: cough ... not saying
What are you wearing right now: Black T shirt with a faded print, dark grey sweatpants, winter socks and boxers with skulls on them. I like fancy boxers, alright?
How tall are you: 5'2 (160cm)
Piercings: Stretched both my lobes, they're at 10mm/00 gauge. Above them I have two normal holes, left side has closed a bit and I need to get it re-pierced. I also have a tongue piercing.
Tattoos: Skull tattoo with a jester hat on my left arm, took it 11 years ago.
Glasses? Contacts? I wear glasses, unable to wear contacts due to dry eyes.
Last drink: Urge soda (Basically Surge)
Last thing you ate: Grilled chicken, corn on a cob, makeshift tzatziki salad and a baked potato.
Favorite color: Red and cyan.
Current obsession: Ominis/Garrinis
Any pets: A 13 year old tuxedo house cat named Little My (Lille My)
Favorite fictional character: Characters in this case and in no particular order; Corgan (Septerra Core) Fenris (Dragon Age 2) Dorian (Dragon Age Inquisition) Ominis Gaunt (Hogwarts Legacy) The last place you travelled: Germany!
I know I'm supposed to tag people, but I don't like tagging people without consent. Apologies. Feel free to copy it however.
7 notes · View notes
czpeterp · 2 years
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Blue Flower Propaganda and alternatives for Dorian and Orym to dance together at the ball. Please please I need it.
Also some appreciation for Dorian's dress cuz I made it way prettier than what I expected lmaooo
2K notes · View notes
seasonofthewicth · 3 years
Text
next to you
Tumblr media
I’ve wanted to write this exact scenario for rowaelin for so long and today I was supposed to write for agkol so obviously this came out. Rowaelin - 2.4k
part 2
-
“It’s totally fine,” Aedion says, his broad arm a warm weight around her shoulders as they both take in the room before them. And the bed. Aelin doesn’t move to take a step any further than their perch in the doorway. “He’s away for the weekend, he won’t know.”
A more sober Aelin would probably protest, but as it is she’s had a couple too many glasses of wine and she really doesn’t fancy having to order an Uber back to her own place. 
She had come over to Aedion’s under the pretence of watching a movie with her cousin and his girlfriend, but she had made the first mistake of inviting Dorian who had made the second mistake of bringing the wine. 
One thing had led to another which had led to the four of them lying around in various states of non-sobriety in the roof garden of Aedion’s building. At one point she’d slung on his fleece for extra warmth as she curled into Lysandra’s side as they watched the stars. Aedion and Dorian had stood at the railings looking over the city, sharing a smoke as they spoke in voices too low for Aelin to hear. 
All in all, a good night.
The view from the roof terrace catches her breath each time she visits, it’s high enough to capture the lines of the city in all directions and being so high up, at such a step back, always feels like a breath of fresh air. 
Aedion has a cool apartment, one she wishes she could afford, with it’s basement gym, the scenic garden and it’s unfailing hot water system. It’s a shame she doesn’t spend more time here. 
She chews her lip as she takes in the tidy bedroom before her, the crisp green sheets on the bed, the orderly desk in the corner with only a laptop and a lamp atop it, the laundry hamper in the corner surely holding the dirty clothes that in Aelin’s place live on the floor until she can bring herself to wash them. 
It wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world to crash in Aedion’s roommate’s bed for the night. Like Aedion says, he’s away for the weekend and she can change the sheets afterwards so he'll never know she was there. 
She can’t believe she’s actually considering it but the wine is wearing off slightly now leaving her feeling like she wants to collapse into the giant bed and bury herself beneath the covers. 
“Well,” Aedion says from her side, his voice only slightly slurred. “It’s here if you want it. I’m going to hit the hay. Whatever you decide, don’t walk home. I can call you a cab.”
“You’re sure he’s away for the weekend?” Aelin says as she shrugs out from underneath his arm. 
“Hundred percent,” Aedion nods as she steps closer towards the welcoming bed. 
Well, it’s decided then.
“Ah,” Aelin moans as she finally collapses onto the bed. She can’t believe she ever considered getting a taxi home, the sheets beneath her cheek are luxuriously soft and the mattress - gods the mattress. She could sink into it and stay here forever, it cups and moulds around each of her curves and she can’t help the sigh of satisfaction that slips out of her.  
Aedion’s laugh sounds from behind her as he shuts the door. “Night, Ae.”
Her own response is muffled into the brushed cotton beneath her. She lies still for a moment, resting her eyes as the buzz of the booze settles into her. There’s a thrumming beneath her skin, and the room spins somewhat as she lays still with her eyes shut gently against the sensations. Her fingertips are definitely tingling, a sign that she knows she’ll feel rotten in the morning, but for now the bliss of a dark room and a soft bed beneath her are all that her mind can care to contemplate.
It’s been a while since she’s hung out with her cousin, both of them just busy, and she’s missed him. She’s missed the easy companionship they have and the slick conversations they have, only aided tonight by the presence of Dorian and Lysandra and the wine. 
She snorts a laugh into the sheets and the movement causes the button of her jeans to dig into her stomach. She forces herself up with a groan and just manages to tug off the stiff denim, slinging the offending item across the room somewhere.
She laughs to herself at the thought of her already messing up such a clean room. 
She doesn’t know Aedion’s roommate that well. She knows he’s called Rowan, and that he’s twenty-eight and now she knows that he has a disgustingly tidy room. Or he did, she adds to herself as she throws her top to the other side of the room. 
Rowan only moved in with her cousin a couple of months ago, but from his room she can guess he’s uptight and quite possibly deathly boring. How Aedion lives with someone like that she doesn’t know, Aelin’s own roommates - Manon and Elide - are the perfect level of chaos with just enough order to function. 
Aelin considers her options as she slumps on the corner of his bed, clad only in her underwear. Sleeping in a bra is uncomfortable but would she want to be naked in this stranger’s bed? Whether or not she changes the sheets afterwards he could be sweaty or gross or worse. He could have had guests in this bed before her. 
Her gaze lands on a chest of drawers tucked against the wall on the far side of the room and before she knows she’s tiptoeing across and tugging open a drawer. Bingo. In-keeping with the rest of the room there are rows and rows of neatly folded t-shirts and before she can second guess herself she tugs out a black one, tugging it over herself before slipping off her bra and dropping it to the floor. 
Another thing she’s learning tonight about Aedion’s mysterious roommate? He’s absolutely huge. 
Aelin is far above average height for a woman and still, Rowan’s t-shirt hits mid thigh. She feels somewhat scandalous, in his room and wearing his clothes without his knowledge. A thought pops into her mind before she can help it - she hopes he doesn’t have a girlfriend. 
Aelin launches herself back at the bed, sliding into the sleek sheets before flicking off the light at her side. She nestles in tightly, burrowing into the deliciously inviting bed and takes a deep breath. Gods this Rowan person smells good too. 
She relaxes into the softness of the sheets and the euphoria that is lying on his mattress. In combination with the wine it doesn’t take her long at all to drift off. 
When she wakes Aelin is aware of two things. 
Firstly, her mouth tastes like shit. That would be the wine and not brushing her teeth the night before.
Secondly, she’s not alone. 
It takes her a few beats to realise, but there’s a strong arm slung around her waist, tucking her into a broad chest. A puff of breath dashes across her neck as the man takes each slow, deep breath as he slumbers behind her. 
Aelin lays still for a moment, her brain not yet fully turned on. 
She definitely went to bed alone, but maybe-
“Dorian?” She whispers into the dark, trying to roll over to see him, but the strong arm around her waist is clamped too tightly for her to get anything more than a glance. She has no idea where Dorian ended up last night but it wouldn’t be the first time they had ended up in bed together.
“Dorian?” She tries again and the man behind her shifts allowing her an eyeful of the top of the head tucked into the crook of her neck. 
Well, the man with the silver hair is definitely not Dorian, and as he shifts he tugs her tighter against him and shit. The pressure of morning wood against her backside is unmistakable. 
Aelin’s mouth goes dry as her traitorous body grinds back into it, her ass rubbing against the hard length. 
Nope. 
“Hey,” She whispers, louder this time as she tries to pry his hand from her waist. “Wake up.”
The man shifts, rolling back slightly away from her, his hand sliding up from her waist to sit on her hip. A low moan sounds from the back of his throat as he begins to wake and damn if Aelin doesn’t clamp her thighs together at the sound. 
She finally manages to wrestle herself up onto her elbows and she twists around to get a look at the man she definitely did not share a bed with last night when she went to sleep. 
Yet another thing she’s learning about Aedion’s roommate Rowan? He’s fucking gorgeous. 
In the dim light of the morning she can make out the sharp line of his jaw and the full curve of his lips, even as they twist into a slight frown. His silver brows are drawn together as he shifts and as his eyes flutter open she’s greeted by the most striking green eyes she’s ever seen. 
“What the fuck?” Even his voice is sexy, the low rasp sending shivers down her spine, heat sparking from the hand still resting on her hip. 
As though they remember that point of contact at the same time he jerks his hand back and repeats his earlier question. “Who are you?” He hisses. 
“I’m Aelin.” She says as though it’s the most obvious answer. “What are you doing in here?”
He lets out a disbelieving laugh and Aelin curses herself for how hot she finds it. Objectively, she is in the wrong, but she’s going to blame Aedion. 
“What am I doing here?” He says. “This is my bed. What are you doing here?”
Aelin shrugs as if this is a regular occurrence, “Aedion said I could crash here.”
Rowan lifts his hand to draw it across his face, letting out another dark curl of laughter as he rolls onto his back, seemingly needing a minute to process the situation he has found himself in. Aelin catches the shadows of dark ink down his arm and curses her cousin for not introducing them earlier, she’s quite enjoying her morning. 
“Did he now?”
She’s very much aware that she’s still tucked into his side, his right arm curled beneath her pillow as he lays back. She drops herself down from her elbows, her head is aching and Rowan doesn’t seem to be making sense of this any time soon so she may as well get comfortable.
He doesn’t shy away from her, in fact his thumb brushes against the cotton of his t-shirt covering her shoulder. 
Rowan pulls his hand away from his face and tilts his head to face her fully. 
Those green eyes make her feel like she’s caught in the most enticing of traps. She couldn’t look away if she tried. 
“Are you wearing my shirt?” He asks, and Aelin shrugs as she glances down at herself. 
It’s a glance that allows her the knowledge that Rowan himself is not wearing a shirt and the broad, muscular planes of his chest start her heart beating quickly. The ink on his arm stretches onto his upper chest and Aelin wants to touch. 
“You should be thankful,” She says. “I almost didn’t.” 
Rowan opens his mouth to say something, but then seems to change his mind. Instead he shifts up onto an elbow and rolls over so that he’s leaning towards her. Aelin can’t stop her brain from imagining how it would feel if he slipped his thigh between hers. How she could shuffle down slightly to press his leg right where she wants it, and the darkening of Rowan’s eyes tells her he’s contemplating giving her exactly what she wants. 
When his eyes flick to her lips Aelin wishes she’d bothered to brush her teeth last night. 
This is not where she saw her morning going when she was too lazy to call a cab last night but she’s far from complaining. 
The cocky smile that slips onto his lips has her mouth dropping open. Short, sharp breaths draw her chest up and down and Rowan glances down to where she’s not wearing a bra beneath his t-shirt and the sleepy but still predatory smile grows. 
Aelin can’t draw her eyes away from that smile, away from the wicked curve of his lips as his leg shifts closer to her beneath the covers. 
“Aelin, are you-” The burst of light that fills the room as Aedion barges in burns her eyes and Aelin squeezes her eyes shut tight against it. 
“Um, I… Rowan?” Her cousin manages, still frozen in the doorway. 
Aelin knows what this looks like, Rowan is almost on top of her and she knows she’s flushed from his proximity. 
He clears his throat as he eases back away from her, the cool air that fills the space between them clears her head enough for her eyes to flicker open. 
“Yeah, I decided to come home last night instead.” His voice is tight, Aelin notes with a hint of pride. “Didn’t know you were offering out my bed while I was gone.”
Aelin can only bite her lip in what she hopes in a not-guilty expression. From the pure bewilderment clouding Aedion’s expression she’s not sure she achieves it. 
“You weren’t supposed to be back until later,” Aedion says, his voice still sounding strangled. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen.” 
Aelin snorts, tugging herself up to sit against the headboard, her thigh pressing against Rowan’s bare shoulder. His green eyes dart to the point of contact before locking onto her own and that gaze makes Aelin blush all over again. 
Rowan huffs a laugh as Aelin says, “Yeah, me neither.” 
She can’t draw her eyes away from Rowan’s face. She doesn’t care that he’s probably boring or uptight as she guessed in her snooping through his bedroom last night as long as he keeps on looking at her like that. 
“Aedion,” She says in a low voice as she manages to draw her gaze from Rowan, who’s firm shoulder is brushing against her thigh beneath the duvet. “Get out.”
243 notes · View notes
aria-i-adagio · 3 years
Text
Mudlark
aka. Chapter 46 of Where the Elfroot Grows (read on AO3)
---
Rhys Trevelyan - Fucking Herald of Andraste and newly appointed Lord Fucking Inquisitor - kneels on the warm ground of Skyhold’s garden, ripping out weeds with his bare hands, getting dirt all over his trousers, and trying his best to enjoy the autumn sun in peace. The walls of the garden are working as they should, collecting and trapping the heat of the day, even as the shadows cast by the trees begin to grow long. It’s brilliant engineering, even more brilliant than he thought at first. Even at lower elevations, the season for pears and applies should have passed, but the trees here are still producing. He suspects some sort of enchantment built into the walls to amplify the natural effects of the design, but he hasn’t been able to clear enough growth to uncover all the stonework. He’d have finished days ago. Except for Leliana and Cassandra interrupting his plans to declare him Inquisitor.
He’s as close to alone as he’s likely to manage anytime soon. Mother Giselle wandered into the chapel a half hour or so ago either to pray or to work on cleaning and repairing the ancient statue. She’d probably tell him that work and prayer are much the same if one has the right attitude of devotion to Andraste’s teachings and the Maker’s will. He heard the sound of other feet in the gallery a bit after Mother Giselle passed followed by the scraping of a chair being pulled into a desirable spot. Someone might be there still, but whoever it is, they aren’t bothering him, just trying to get a break of their own from the general cacophony of a hundred or so people trying to make Skyhold fully habitable.
It shouldn’t bother him so; it wasn’t as though he’d ever had space to himself in the Circle, but there’s something very different about being in charge of more than seedlings. And Inquisitor feels so much more permanent, so much heavier, than Herald.
Josie kidnapped him promptly after breakfast and trapped him in meetings all day. First with Leliana about the couriers she would be sending: to the Inquisition camps around Redcliffe, to the Chantry, to the College of Enchanters, to Queen Anora in Denerim, to Orzammar, maybe to the Queen of Antiva. Rhys had honestly lost count at a certain point, even though he did his best to read the ones she wanted him to sign. They were all variations on the same theme - an announcement that the Inquisition had survived the destruction of Haven, a reminder that they were responsible for closing the Breach, and requests for supports to oppose Corypheus.
Then, Rutherford and Cassandra wanted to discuss the soldier’s progress repairing an old road that ran through a pass between Ferelden and Orlais, just under the peak on which Skyhold sits. Rutherford says the road is in shockingly good condition and mostly only needs a bit of clearing a few holes filled to be usable by caravans. At the moment, the engineers can’t explain why it was abandoned, as once opened the route will save a significant amount of time transporting products between Orlais and the Lake Calenhad region. Further, they’d discovered auxiliary forts will secure Skyhold's control of what will be a valuable trade route. There’s some discussion of collecting tolls as a source of income for the Inquisition, but it all seems very abstract to him.
The only part of the report that Rhys is internally motivated to be interested in is the repair work on an ingenious winch and cable system that would allow people and goods to be moved up and down the mountain in a matter of hours, versus days. Like the road, it is in remarkable condition - a little grease and a few solders to the heavy cables made it functional again. They’re already able to use it to send messages and lightweight supplies up and down the mountain. (And one adventurous member of Bull’s Chargers. Rhys is slightly envious.) To operate it with any significant amounts of weight, they'll need some strong draft animals to turn the winches at the base and the summit, but Rhys is told that the contact he had made with the farmers around Redcliffe and a few generous handfuls of gold should be able to make that happen.
Rhys had just thought assisting the farmers to secure watchtowers so that they could better defend themselves seemed like the right thing to do as he had no solution to the conflict in the area. Even without Templars and Maleficarii, there were still bears to worry about. Rhys has developed a strong dislike of bears. But they do all the allies they can manage. And Rhys wouldn’t say no to a bear fur or ten or a hundred. Skyhold is magnificent, but with the exception of the garden suntrap, the temperatures are rapidly dropping below anything he’s ever experienced.
An hour after lunch, when he thought the four of them were finished with him, Harritt showed up talking about the tunnels underneath the keep that he’d been exploring with a small team. They go deep, far deeper than Harritt is comfortable taking the men without reinforcements, but he just feels that they reach the Deep Roads. Skyhold is close to Orzammar after all. No signs of Darkspawn, thank Andraste! But they do need to be mindful of the possibility of an attack from below. (It balances the threat of an attacking dragon from above, Rhys supposes. Good to keep your equations balanced.) Cassandra suggested that Harritt take Blackwall along with a few soldiers to explore further, and around yawns, Rhys agreed with her. If the road between Ferelden and Orlais is somehow valuable, why not a road to Orzammar? Or Minrathous? All the roads!
Rhys continues ripping out vines and mentally curses all four of them for promoting him from Herald to Inquisitor. (Although, he’s fairly sure that Rutherford isn’t entirely happy about having a mage in charge for the longue durée.) Morning glories - another plant that would generally need a warmer clime to survive, even as stubborn as it is. Pretty flowers, but they take over everything. He’ll transplant some to a bed near an arbor he discovered two days ago when he swung a machete at a stand of ragweed and hit a metal post. The morning glories will be a desirable replacement - Josie will like the decorative element - if he can keep them contained.
Why couldn’t Andraste just need a gardener?
That question, of course, assumed that Andraste is in fact, the Bride of the Maker and thus, endowed with the power to toss Rhys back out of the Fade (however he ended up there in the first place), which, in turn, assumes the existence of the Maker and not just an empty throne in the middle of a Golden City. And as far as Rhys has ever been able to tell, the Maker’s existence can be neither proven nor disproven, and the people debating it - quietly, of course - were both wasting their breath and risking their necks.
A better question might be, why in the Void did he let Cassie talk him into agreeing to lead the Inquisition? It was a bit unfair of her and Leliana to ambush him with the question in public. And Josie and Rutherford’s little display of rallying acclamation from the survivors of Haven strongly suggested that the decision had already been made before Cassandra and Leliana asked him.
From the Fade and into the fire. Just my luck.
Rhys is too distracted by humoring his own grumbling to notice the loose, mounded soil hiding under the vines until his right hand is buried well past his wrist and stinging sharply from hundreds of tiny mandibles pinching the flesh and sinking venom under the surface of his skin.
Rhys springs up and back with a yelp, flinging his arm to the side in an attempt to shake the ants free, then immediately back in front of him to cast a cage of lightning around the anthill, hoping that it circles deep enough underground to cut off the entire colony before any more of the ants can swarm out to attack him.
“Andraste’s flaming weasel -” Some of the ants have already gotten under his sleeve, and it doesn’t take many of this species to produce abject misery. He swats futilely at his arm, then gives up and tears off his jacket. “Knickerbocker tits!”
“Rhys, has some demon of dance possessed you?”
“Ants.” Rhys tosses the jacket aside and tries to crush the insects between the fabric of his sleeve and his arm for a second before ripping the buttons on his shirt open and stripping it off as well. A couple of the damned terrors have made it to his neck and chest. “Blighted fire ants.” Ugh. That’s a horrible notion - fire ants infected with the Blight. The Maker really will have abandoned us.
“So dramatic. Here -” Dorian attempts to brush a few of the blighters off before Rhys can stop him. “Fasta vass! That thing bit me.”
“Yes.” Rhys flicks one off his neck and sweeps his left hand over his right arm. Be damned nice if this Anchor were effective against fire ants. “Get me a bucket of water, will you?”
The static cage spell will wear off shortly, releasing any of the ants that hadn’t been shocked to death already. And those ants will be an infuriated horde with murder on their hive mind. Rhys ignores the stinging long enough to cast as controlled and intense of a fire spell as he can manage over the mound and watches with satisfaction as it erupts through the weeds and rolls over the anthill in a destructive wave. Invasive little fuckers. Kill them. Kill them with fire.
Rhys grabs the full bucket from Dorian and splashes the water over his right side, knocking most of the remaining ants loose and hopping away from that bit of ground before they can recover and decide to crawl up his leg.
“The hell are those things?”
“Fire ants.” Rhys glares at the scorched earth, watching for movements that might single a second assault. Dorian really must have spent the majority of his time in cities and libraries if he didn’t know about fire ants. The things are native to Tevinter and had been slowly invading the south for decades. He goes back to the well in the center of the garden and draws another bucket of water to dump over his head. “Also known as the most vicious little blighters known to Thedas.”
“Certainly they can’t be that bad. They’re just insects.”
“I fell into a mound once when I was still an apprentice... I’ll take a small horde of Darkspawn over these things.” Rhys rubs his hands over his neck and face. He doesn’t think he’s allergic; the bites should just be an irritant - just one more irritant for an irritating day - but people do develop allergies to insect bites following initial exposure. He can’t feel any swelling around his throat, but there is an itch along his jaw. He swats at his cheek - unsure if there’s an ant, or if he’s just imagining it - and inadvertently smears water and dirt together into mud.
“Ah, thus the warpaint.” Dorian smirks at him.
Rhys touches his face. The tacky mud over his cheek and nose sticks to his fingertips. Fortunately, it seems like Dorian is the only other person about to bear witness. Rhys laughs. Ah yes, he should definitely be in charge of a quasi-religious movement with a military. “Yes. The warpaint.” He slaps his thigh as he feels another series of stingings pricks. Excellent. One or two had made it to his legs, but at least it’s not a swarm. “And the two or three more fireballs I’m about to hit that mound with.”
“Such a vengeful little mudlark. Ready to defend his territory. Want help?”
“Oh yes. Fire. Kill them with fire.” Rhys casts another fire spell over the mound as the first burns out, silently apologizing to any innocent soil dwellers caught in it... But... Fire ants.
“Then quick healing spell, a bath, and clean clothes, I suppose?”
“Volunteering to help with that too?”
“I could be.” Dorian paces a tight circle around Rhys and flicks one of the insects off his back with a single manicured nail. “You seem rather distraught to be left alone.” A wave of magic - Dorian’s spells always feel warm - flows over him, easing the stinging, although the sensation - real or imagined or a combination - of insect feet has Rhys ready to crawl out of his skin - along with the rest of his clothes.
“Inquisitor?” Cassandra shouts down from a window in the tower she’s claimed for herself. “What are you doing? Why are there flames?”
“Fire ants!” Rhys yells back. That should be self-explanatory. He thinks the known range of the damned bugs includes Nevarra, but then Cassandra hasn’t spent that much time in Nevarra, and probably not that much time stomping through weeds anywhere. Andraste! Fire ants under armor. He shivers at the thought.
“What?” Cassandra sounds confused.
“Don’t worry about it, Seeker. The Herald and I have everything under control.”
Rhys can imagine her grumpy huff even if he can’t hear it over the sound of the shutters of the window slamming shut.
Dorian’s eyebrows arch high with amusement. “Be careful, Rhys, or there’ll be a rumor started that you’ve gone quite mad.”
“If I get many more bites -” He smacks a different spot on his thigh. “I just might.”
“Well then, we’d better go make sure you get them all drowned then. Is it safe to touch your shirt?”
“Leave it. Damn things will get confused now that their colony is gone and wander off in a bit.” He can retrieve the shirt and jacket to be cleaned later - once the ants are well gone. The morning glory vines around the ant mound are too green for the fire to spread easily, but Rhys throws another bucket of water over them to be safe. Josie would probably tell him it’s bad form to burn down one’s new base of operations. And then yet another bucket over his head.
If Varric has questions when Rhys, shirtless and still dripping water stalks past the table he’s writing at with an amused Dorian following behind, he keeps them to himself.
“Why so grumpy today?” Dorian asks. He’d volunteered to go find some dry, ant-free clothes for Rhys, and after returning to the kitchen storeroom - the most rational place to locate a tub for bathing until further repairs are made - had remained, leaning against the closed door and toying with the rings he wears, switching them from finger to finger. “You're normally as chipper as a little bird.”
“A mudlark?”
“Does that bother you? I won't call you that if it does.”
“No, no. I kind of like it.” Rhys scrubs a bit of soapy flannel between his toes - just in case an ant had found its way there. At least Josie won’t be able to complain about dirt under his fingernails for a few hours. “Much better than Herald.”
“Or Inquisitor?”
“Definitely better than Inquisitor.” Rhys slides down in the tub, dunking his head under the water again. His next oldest brother and little sister calling him snaggletooth when he was eight would be better than Inquisitor. Besides, he likes the way that Dorian says ‘mudlark’ when talking to him. Rhys resurfaces and pushes wet hair out of his face. “I really don't want to be called Inquisitor. And yet, here I am.”
“You know, the fact that you don't want to be Inquisitor might be precisely the reason why you should be.”
“I spent all morning trying to keep up with discussions on topics that I know nothing about. Politics, economics - roads! I’m not the right person for this.”
“You’ll learn. Quickly, I’m sure.”
“You’re more confident than I am.” Rhys flicks idly at the surface of the water. “But for what it’s worth, thanks.”
“Rhys, the kind of person who would be prepared for something like this is also the kind of person who is likely to abuse any power they are given. And you will have power once the rest of Thedas realizes the threat Corypheus poses. Wouldn’t you rather be the leader and not just the tool?”
Rhys lifts his left hand from the water and studies the Anchor carefully. Yes, a tool. An instrument that controls the Veil in terrifying ways that he doesn’t understand. Something that he’s not supposed to have and that an ancient monster desperately wants. The faint green glow is more apparent in the dim light of this basement room than it was in the sunlight of the garden - one more reason to cherish the place. “It feels so foreign. Wrong. Like some disease that should be pruned away.” He touches the first three fingers of his right hand to his palm and draws them slowly down to the fold of his elbow, following the path that the magic flows along before Solas pushes it back again.
Dorian’s brow creases and moves fluidly, kneeling on one knee beside the tub and catching Rhys’s hand in his. “You’ve managed well this far.” He weaves their fingers together, and almost - almost - touches his lips to Rhys’s knuckles. “You can always come rant to me, you know. If any given day is too much.”
Rhys remains still for the space of one, two, three heartbeats, then he runs his thumb over Dorian’s fingers, soft skin, metal rings warm with heat from his body.
Dorian’s eyes drop. His cheeks might be colored a touch, but Rhys can’t quite be sure in the dim light. He rises to his feet and turns away in a single elegant motion. “You should take a break. Soak for a while. Relax a bit.” He pushes the door open, just a crack, hesitating for the barest second. “I guess I’ll -”
“Dorian?”
His back straightens as he turns back around. “Yes.”
“Keep calling me mudlark.”
Dorian glances down, breaking eye contact between them, but the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “You know where to find me, Mudlark, trying to salvage books. I could try to do something about the mess you’ve made of your hands playing in the dirt again.”
11 notes · View notes
charincharge · 4 years
Text
Cruel Summer, Elorcan Missing Scene
Tumblr media
cruel summer masterlist
AN: Surprise Elorcan Missing Scene! Ever wondered how Elide and Lorcan officially got together? Wonder no more. For those who need slight refreshing -- this starts at Sam’s 4th of July yacht party. This is my first time writing Elorcan, so plz be gentle with me. 
Elide is drunk. Not just a little drunk, but a lot of drunk. She sways on her feet, and she wishes she could blame the unsteadiness she feels on the boat she’s standing on, but she knows this massive three-story yacht isn’t so much as moving an inch.
Dorian laughs at her as he pulls her unfinished glass of sangria out of her hands. He downs the rest in one gulp, making the girl next to him giggle. Dorian has already completed his mission tonight. He and this girl disappeared into a bathroom an hour ago and came out looking rumpled and happy.
Elide is extremely jealous. It’s not that Elide hasn’t had the opportunity to find a man on this boat. In fact, it’s teaming with potential suitors, but she isn’t interested in any of them. She keeps thinking of the same dark face over and over.
It’s been a month since she and Manon began their plan, but Lorcan still hasn’t made a move. And Elide is beginning to give up hope that he likes her, too. After all, he’d have asked her out by now if he did, right? She should really just forget about him and hook up with someone on this boat. She looks around and stumbles slightly.
“So, what now?” Dorian’s girl asks. Elide searches her brain for her name but draws a blank. Katherine? Kaitlin?
“Anything you want, Kaltain,” Dorian says. Ah, yes. Kaltain. Elide tries to focus on the doe eyed brunette, but she can’t. All she can think about is how much she wishes Lorcan would kiss her. She’s harbored this crush for as long as she’s known him, and she’s starting to get desperate.
“Just call him,” Manon says with a long sigh.
“Who are we calling?” Nehemia asks, twisting her long pink braids over her shoulder.
“Elide’s coworker slash crush.” Elide watches as Manon wraps her taloned fingers around Nehemia’s waist, and Elide knows her friends are waiting on her to find someone, so they can take their new friends home. She should just put them out of their misery and tell them it’s not going to happen.
“I can’t call him,” Elide pouts. “I texted him earlier, and he didn’t even reply.”
She holds up the phone for Manon to see. She texted him a simple, “What are you up to tonight?” and he never replied. Only, when she holds up her phone, she realizes that he has, in fact, responded. She can’t believe she didn’t notice.
All my roommates are all at parties, so I’m enjoying my empty apartment.
The text is accompanied by a picture of a beer resting on his coffee table, and on his TV in the background is Community.
“El,” Manon drawls. “That is the clearest invitation to come over I’ve ever seen.”
The text is from three hours ago.
“You think?”
Dorian and his girl both nod, and Elide feels a rush of confidence. Lorcan isn’t the most outgoing guy in the world. Maybe Manon is right. This is his way of asking her over.
“No, I can’t…” Elide talks herself out of it. What is she supposed to do? Just show up on his doorstep, and hope he invites her in? She could never. But Manon tells her that’s exactly what she should do. And if she doesn’t, she’s a goddamned pussy. Elide’s mouth drops open. She hates that word. Manon and Dorian chant it together, until she finally tells them she will go to Lorcan’s, if only to stop making them call her a pussy.
Manon gives her a tight squeeze as she practically pushes Elide into an Uber, and Elide knows there’s no turning back anymore.
By the time she arrives at Lorcan’s doorstep, she feels invincible. The perfect amount of buzzed. She can do this. Manon was right. She needs to be as brave about her love life as she is with everything else she does.
She knocks on the door, three tight raps. She hears shuffling on the other side of the door, and Elide attempts to fluff her curled hair quickly before it opens. She belatedly realizes she should have looked in a mirror before showing up to profess her feelings, but it’s too late now.
A squinting Lorcan answers the door, only wearing a pair of low-slung sweatpants. His hair is mussed from sleep, and there are pillow marks on his cheek.
“Ellie?” he asks, clearly confused. “What are you doing here?”
Elide feels warm as her eyes roam his broad shoulders and bare chest. She begins to say something, but her legs sway without her permission as her gaze moves downward. She stumbles forward, and Lorcan gasps and reaches out for her. He steadies her by her waist, and Elide’s mouth drops into a small circle at his touch. He’s never been this close to her before. He smells like sleep and leather and earth and something just a tinge sweet.
“I love when you call me that,” she says, staring up at him. Her lips are loose and her filter is gone, apparently. She’s intoxicated not only by liquor, but also his scent.
As Lorcan helps her stand, his eyes narrow. “Are you… drunk?”
“No…?”
A loud hiccup erupts from her chest, giving her away, and she slaps her hand over her mouth.
Lorcan sighs and runs his hand through his long hair. “Come in…”
He ushers her into his apartment, and Elide takes a look around. The apartment is mismatched and sparse, clearly belonging to a bunch of twenty-something year old single men. The centerpiece of the room is the large leather couch, which faces a big screen TV.
Elide makes her way to the couch and collapses onto it. The well-worn leather squeaks loudly beneath her skin, and she moves again just to hear the noise. It makes her giggle. Lorcan returns with a large glass of water, and Elide graciously takes a large sip. She is thirsty, she notes to herself as her eyes wander across Lorcan’s bare skin again.
Lorcan stifles a yawn, and Elide reaches out to brush her hand against his flushed face. “Were you asleep?” she asks, and Lorcan grabs her hand and puts it down on the couch between him as he nods. But Elide notes he doesn’t pull his hand away from hers.
“It’s the middle of the night, Ellie,” he says with a low chuckle. “So…” He clears his throat as Elide twines her small fingers with his large ones. She loves how big his hands are. She wants them inside her.
Elide feels hot at the thought and takes another sip of her water.
“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Elide asks.
A small smile tugs at Lorcan’s lips as he leans back into the couch to mirror her position. “After you finish your water, then we can go to sleep,” he says.
“I’m sleeping here?” she asks, her eyes wide with feigned innocence, and Lorcan laughs outright.
“It’s too late to drive you home, and I don’t trust ride shares,” he explains. But it sounds like a convenient excuse. And Elide is so excited by the prospect of them sleeping together, she tilts the glass upward and chugs the rest of it in three large gulps.
She places the glass down on the table with a flourish. “Finished!” she announces happily. She stands too quickly and stumbles again. Before she can regain her footing, Lorcan is lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder.
“Oh!” she exclaims, surprised by her new angle. His hands clasp the backs of her bare thighs, and her arms drape over his muscular back. From this angle she has a pretty good view of his backside, too, and it does not disappoint.
“My room is too far down the hall for you to walk,” he says. “I don’t trust your feet.” Elide’s only reply is to giggle as her hands drift down to his lower back, tracing patterns on his skin with the tips of her fingers. “Ellie, knock it off,” he chastises her, but Elide ignores him, fascinated with the feeling of his warm skin beneath her hand. She uses her finger to trace out EL + LS in a heart onto his back, and she watches as he shivers.
His bedroom is dark, and neither bothers to turn on the lights. Elide thinks she knows what’s about to happen, so she gets a head start, pulling her dress over her head and tossing it onto the ground.
Lorcan crashes into something in the darkened room and turns around, swearing as he rushes to his dresser. “What are you doing?” he hisses, and Elide falls into his large bed, immediately burrowing under the covers.
He throws a shirt onto the bed, and Elide slides it on over her head. She’s swimming in the giant t-shirt, but she doesn’t care. It smells like him. She takes a long sniff and inadvertently moans.
“Goodnight,” Lorcan stutters, trying to leave the room, but Elide calls out for him, confused.
“Where are you going?” she asks. She can’t process what’s happening or why Lorcan is running away from her.
“I’m going to sleep on the couch,” he explains, but Elide reaches out for him and grabs his arm. He pitches forward, unprepared for her grasp. “How are you this strong for someone so tiny?” he says with a laugh, and Elide says she doesn’t know. She’s too distracted by his proximity and his smell and being in his bed. All she wants to do is put her lips on his. Making her move, she leans up to kiss him, but he turns his head, so she makes contact with his cheek instead. He stands, suddenly, and takes a large step away from his bed.
Elide feels like she’s going to cry. Never has she been so outwardly rebuffed. She’s going to murder Manon for suggesting this. Lorcan doesn’t want her here. More than that, Lorcan doesn’t want her.
“Goodnight,” he says again, and this time, he doesn’t look back as he flees the room. Too tired to cry, Elide closes her eyes and hopes she remembers nothing about this night when she wakes.
An unfamiliar alarm blares loudly in the distance. Elide reaches to silence it, but it’s in the wrong spot. Everything is wrong, in fact. What she’s wearing. The room she’s in. The pounding headache attacking her skull. None of it is right.
It takes her about five seconds to remember everything that happened the night prior, and she throws the covers over her head, wanting to hide. She now has to work the rest of the summer next to the man she literally threw herself at. And he rejected her. She’s never drinking again.
“Elide,” Lorcan’s voice calls out, but she refuses to emerge from the covers. She’s going to hide here forever and die before ever facing him again. But Lorcan has another plan, so it seems. He peels his covers back, and she looks up at the ceiling to avoid having to look at his smug face. “It’s almost time for work,” he says, and Elide shakes her head.
“I’m not going…”
Lorcan puts his hand to her forehead, and she shivers beneath it. “Are you still not feeling well?”
Elide forces herself to sit up and glares at the man in front of her. Despite her raging hangover, she unleashes all the pent up frustration she wasn’t able to release last night. The rest of the summer be damned, it’s going to be awkward no matter what she says.
“Of course I’m not feeling well!” she huffs. “I came over here last night after years of being too afraid to tell you I liked you, and you rejected me! I know I’m not your type, or whatever, clearly, but… am I really that repellant that you wouldn’t even kiss me? I feel like I was owed a pity kiss, at least.” She grumbles. “I’m never going to work again, because I can’t ever look at you again. And you know what?” She’s clearly just getting started. “I’m pretty awesome, so this is absolutely your loss. You could have had all of this, Salvaterre—” She motions to herself. “But no more will I pine for you. I get it. Message received. Whatever.”
Lorcan is silent, and Elide closes her eyes, unable to face even more rejection in the light of day. So she’s shocked when she feels his hands on her cheeks. When she opens her eyes, Lorcan is staring at her, his dark gaze filled with determination.
She breathes nervously as Lorcan leans in and presses his lips to hers. She can’t believe he’s finally kissing her. Though his hands are rough against her face, his lips are soft and pliant. She moves her hands into his long hair and tugs him closer. He sighs into her mouth, and Elide feels like her whole body is on fire. She’s wanted this for as long as she’s known him.
When he eventually pulls away, he’s breathing hard, and Elide just has to ask, has to know. “Was that my pity kiss?”
Lorcan shakes his head as his hands return to her face. “You’re so stupid, Elide Lochan.”
“Gee, thanks,” she deadpans, but she can’t help but smile as he kisses her again.
“I wasn’t going to have our first kiss be with you drunk,” he says, smiling shyly. Despite his tan skin, she can see a rosy blush spot across his cheeks and nose. “You made it exceedingly hard, for what it’s worth. I nearly cracked like… three times. But, I would never take advantage of you in that state,” he assures her, and Elide’s heart blooms with affection for the giant man in front of her. “So, that said,” he begins again. “How do you feel about me taking you out tonight?”
“Pretty good,” Elide says quietly.
“Just pretty good?” he asks nervously.
“Really good,” Elide clarifies. “Excellent.” She smiles broadly. “And, hey, since we already have the first kiss nerves out of the way, now we can full on make out later.”
“Ellie…” His blush darkens as he chuckles to himself. But when he looks back at her, his eyes filled with desire, she knows that’s exactly what they’ll be doing later.
Maybe she doesn’t have to murder Manon after all.
~*~*~*~
tag list:
@thewayshedreamed​
@b00kworm​
@alifletcher2012​
@aknymph​
@the-third-me​
@mymultiversee​
@superspiritfestival​
@empress-ofbloodshed​
@http-itsrebecca​
@queen-of-glass​
@but-she-was-aelin-galathynius​
@westofmoon​
@rowaelinforeverworld​
@iliketoasterstrudels​
@bamchickawowow​
@hizqueen4life​
@faerie-queen-fireheart​
@giorgia-the-trashpanda​
@acourtofmoonlight​
@m-like-magic
@rolltide7​
@wordsafterhours​
@amren-courtofdreams​
@alserath​
@tswaney17​
@jesstargaryenqueen​
@joyceortiz13​
@itsme-malin​
@aesthetics-11​
@keshavomit​
@yingyingbearbear
@alxanxah​
@but-she-was-aelin-galathynius​
@minaidss​
@meowsekai​
@deepdarktrashhole​
@samotita​
@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​
@ehazzard7​
@cursebreaker29​
@flourishandblottsx​
@maastrash​
@nishlicious-01
@sailorsassley​
@aelin-queen-of-terrasen​
@pine-and-snow
@anunforseeablereader​
@galyxsy​
@greatwombatblaze​
@queenofbumblebees​
@kaitlynn1216​
@januarystears​
@officialasianbitch​
@jewel334​
@justgiu12​
@df3ndyr
@l0sts0uls1128​
@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln
@annejulianneh111
@readstudyhike
@sjmships
@studyliketate​
@iammissstark​
@maybekindasortaace​
@dean-winchesters-impala-1967
@heirofthenightcourt​
@sleeping-and-books
@acourtofmarauders
@cmoff1
180 notes · View notes
chocopeppermintcake · 3 years
Text
Distraction
Pairing: M!Raleigh Carrera x MC (Cadence Dorian)
Summary: Cadence is clearing out her apartment and Raleigh finds the banana suit in her closet.
Warning: Language, innuendos
Word Count: 1582
Notes: Something silly and very weird, inspired by this situation (here) at the Indio Music Festival for the @platinumweekend.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry Studios.
A dark green shirt is splayed over the right side of the open drawer as Cadence takes out the next piece. With a critical eye she inspects the pale blue blouse, humming along to her cleaning playlist, currently playing Eve’s Who’s that girl?
La la la la la la la la la la.
Shimmying her shoulders to the rhythm, she turns around before depositing it on the ‘donate’ pile. The by far biggest pile.
It’s crazy how much has changed in the last one and a half years. How much she has changed. She knew as much but cleaning out her apartment in her hometown is still eye-opening. Everything evidence of her old life, her old self. And now that she is standing in it, truly looking at it, she can’t help but feel weird. Like she’s exploring the home of another person, violating their privacy.
“Remind me again why you wanted to do this instead of hiring a moving company?”
Raleigh leans against the door frame to her bedroom, his hair tousled from running his hand through it.
“It’s fun?”
It isn’t. It really isn’t. And to be honest, Cadence is still surprised Raleigh insisted on coming back here with her. To help, he said. Yet, Raleigh Carerra and clearing things out and cleaning up don’t really go hand in hand… in hand. And now, after two days, his patience is beginning to run dangerously low.
So, she is shooting him a little smile, dancing a little on the spot. The la la la la la la la la la la too addicting to ignore it.
Thankfully, he cracks a smile at this, his eyes crinkling and shining in amusement.
“Is it?”
“Mhm…”
Cadence dances over to him, her shoulders and head moving in ridiculous patterns to the beat. Raleigh’s grin widens, the image washing away all her tiredness from the task. And like every other time before, she’s stunned at how easily everything falls away from her when he looks at her like that. With a sparkle in his eye and a look of adoration.
She’s so entranced, so consumed with staring into his brown eyes that she overlooks the ‘throw away’ pile and stumbles directly into his arms.
“There are easier ways to feel me up, you know…” Raleigh’s lips brush against her ear, his voice low. A shiver runs down her spine when his breath tickles her.
Shit.
“Shut up, Carrera,” she swats him playfully. If she gives in to the feeling of his body pressed against hers now, there is no way they will leave the bed again today to sort through her stuff. He laughs lowly, his eyes intensely fixed on her as she mumbles her thanks for catching her.
He gives her a charming smile and she swallows hard, feeling his thumb slowly caressing her waist where he’s still holding her. Damn. He knows her weaknesses far too well. She stretches upward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before freeing herself from his embrace and ignores his groan.
“Could you put the things that are in the closet in the ‘keep’ box? I already sorted through them. Please?”
He groans again, this time louder as he turns towards the closet and Cadence has to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“Uh… Cadence? What is this?”
She quickly puts a black sweatshirt on the ‘keep’ pile before focusing on him. He looks at her half amused, half confused and with one very much lifted eyebrow.
“That would be a banana suit,” she states flatly.
One that she really has to bring back to Thad. He’s probably having her head for not doing that earlier. Even though the shop has way too many of these suits and truly, whoever has to promote Smoothie Star now should really thank her. Because the suit in her closet has been used to death. Every time she put it on it had smelled of sweat from way too many people wearing it before her.
“…Why do you have a banana suit?”
Cadence chuckles nervously. While Raleigh does know about her having worked at Smoothie Star, she might have not mentioned the banana suit yet. After all, how is she supposed to explain this gorgeous man that she occasionally earned money wearing this suit, dancing on the sidewalk to attract customers? Or that after the Vinyls disaster, she wore it a handful of times outside, voluntarily, to not get recognized and avoid further small town gossip?
His loud laugh echoes through the apartment when she tells him. His full belly laugh infectious, simultaneously making Cadence laugh and her head burn red in slight embarrassment. When the laughter dies down, he looks at her with a mischievous grin.
“I could do with a thank you for helping you.”
“You want me to put it on, don’t you?” She asks grimacing, already knowing the answer.
Rolling her eyes at him when his grin widens even more, she brushes past him to take the costume of the clothes rail and disappears into the next room to put it on. Because, how could she not? She knows him far too well to know that the likelihood that he is talking about the suit again and again and again is way higher if she doesn’t fulfill his wish.
Thankfully, she had thought about washing it during her Vinyls aftermath stay, but slipping into it feels like an outlandish experience. It easily tops every bizarre feeling of being here. And she definitely hasn’t missed the sensation of the suit’s material scratching against her forehead and cheeks and the banana tip clapping against her legs.
Cadence sighs loudly looking at her reflection in the mirror before putting on a smile and fixing her posture. If he wants to see her in this freaking banana suit, then he is getting a show.
She stands in the door frame, one of her elbows leaned against the frame, one of her knees slightly bend forwards and her butt pushed out a little to give Raleigh the best view as she tries her best to look seductively at him. The second he sees her, he bites his lip, which does nothing to conceal his huge grin, his shoulders shaking in a silent laugh.
It takes everything in her to stay in her role , the role of a sexy banana that is, as she slowly walks up to him, the banana tip swinging from her left to her right leg with every step, licking her lips sensually. His eyes immediately trained on them.
She grins triumphantly and stops in her tracks, a few feet in front of him to roll her body to the best of her possibilities to make it show in the wide and unflattering banana suit. The fabric slides up her face, coming to a stop right underneath her nose and making her whimper for a moment until she straightens up again. Raleigh is soundlessly chuckling in front of her, coolly leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
Cadence presses her lips together, stopping herself from laughing at this ridiculous situation. What the hell is she doing, she wonders. But when her gaze leaves Raleigh’s face for a moment, she notices the chaos all around them and she knows there is only one thing to do. To keep going and not think about what she should be doing. So, fuck it.
Winking exaggeratedly, she places her index finger on her bottom lip, sliding it slowly from left to right before dragging it down for a second in a motion that she hopes isn’t amateurish. Then, she lets her hand glide over what would be her neck, if the yellow material would bend a little more, before running it over her very much covered chest, turning slightly sideways so Raleigh can at least see the contours a little underneath the baggy suit.
She is drawing nearer, slowly running her index finger from Raleigh’s shoulder to his palm, letting it circle there while her breath fans over his neck before she draws back a little to look at him.
“Good?”
“Incredibly sexy,” he responds, amused.
His eyes instantly spring to her lips when she bites them, and she feels him slightly shiver when she slowly runs a finger down his torso reaching his jeans zipper.
“Right?”
Raleigh swallows before he smirks again. “Makes me want to peel you out of this and eat you, beautiful. Love the taste.”
Cadence’s laughter does nothing to conceal the blush creeping on her cheeks. “Should have known that you would be into this costume.”
He shrugs. “I wish I could say you’re the first in a banana suit seducing me.”
Her eyes widen at that, curious about the story behind it. She doesn’t get the chance to ask though as he gently places his hand on her cheek, separating her skin from the scratchy material of the suit, and leans in. His soft lips press against hers fiercely and his tongue explores her mouth like she’s his source for energy and he’s an athlete running a marathon.
In short, he goes bananas for this banana.
Cadence chuckles against his lips at the thought and Raleigh looks at her like this whole situation isn’t the strangest thing that ever happened to him. How is that even possible?
“What?” He asks, his hot breath fanning over her forehead.
“Just wondering. Is this an exclusive banana suit thing or would any fruit do it for you?”
___
Note II: The writing style is heavily inspired by the one in Platinum (writer for first draft: Peyton Thomas; rewrites by the Platinum PB team). I thought about rewriting this, but found it to be quite complementing to this madness.
23 notes · View notes
dawninlatin · 4 years
Text
Tell me a story
Part of the Manorian Teacher AU. This one takes place only months after “Online classes are the worst. 
Words: 2676
AO3 Link
Link to my masterlist and the other parts of the Teacher AU
A/N: It feels so good to write for this AU again, and this part might just be my favourite yet, so I hope you enjoy it<3 
Feel free to leave a comment or some constructive criticism or whatever;)
I also am aware that the timeline in this AU doesn't make sense, but it's summer and I have forgotten math, so we'll just ignore that:))
Peace&Love<3 -Dawninlatin
Tumblr media
It was on a warm July evening that Manon Blackbeak declared to no one in particular that she was done being pregnant.
Only moments later, her asshole of a boyfriend decided to crush all her hopes and dreams by walking into their bedroom and saying, «You still have three months left, babe.»
Not deeming him worthy of a verbal response, Manon instead grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across the room with full force, not that it was much these days. Gods, she was so tired.
The pillow didn’t even make it all the way to Dorian, instead it landed with a weak thump by his feet, and Manon let out a frustrated sigh as he made his way over to her, taking the pillow with him and placing it back with the many, many others.
Manon was nestled on their bed, amongst the horde of pillows, all of them meticulously placed to create the perfect position, the only way she could sleep with a two pound human being inhabiting her body.
«Don’t worry, those three months will be over before you know it,» Dorian tried to comfort, picking up a discarded t-shirt and pulling it over his bare chest. His inky black hair was still wet from the shower he’d just had.
«That’s easy for you to say,» Manon mumbled, crossing her arms.
Something in her expression made Dorian pause, a guilty look on his face. «You’re right, it is easy for me to say. How are you?» He sat down on the bed, and Manon took in the pleasant smell of men’s soap.
«Exhausted,» she sighed, rubbing her swollen belly. Manon didn’t know how she could take three more months of a constantly bloated and aching body. Already she felt as if she could burst at any moment, and bigger would she get. None of her clothes fit, so she had simply taken to just wearing Dorian’s. Then there was the fact that she had to pee every ten minutes, and she still got nauseous, even if she was far past her first trimester, and no matter what she ate, she was kept up half the night by heartburn.
Yet the physical exhaustion was nothing compared to the emotional fatigue. All the hormones heightening her every emotion, and it completely drained her. She got incredibly angry and frustrated by the littlest things, and she cried. All. The. Damn. Time.
The fact that they were in the middle of a pandemic, and that the world was falling apart around her didn’t exactly help. Manon didn’t take well to spending all her days cooped up in their small house. She wanted to go out and do something. Instead she spent all her days inside, watching crappy TV, trying to ignore how helpless she felt.
Manon truly envied Dorian’s ability to sit down with a book and wholly disappear in it. Sometimes he stayed in that bubble of his for hours, paying no mind to the world around him.
All of this felt like some sick, twisted, alternate reality where everything was well on its way to hell. And for her part, it had began with a positive pregnancy test.
The baby had been a shock to them both. After feeling sick for a few weeks, Manon had taken a test just to rule it out. She hadn’t expected to find two pink lines staring back at her. Kids had never been part of her ideal future, but as she saw the positive test, as she saw how excited Dorian got, no matter how much he tried to hide his joy, she couldn’t stop picturing them as a family. Couldn’t stop picturing a small child with Dorian’s blue eyes and inky black curls and irresistible charm. Deep down, she wanted them to share this together. And Dorian would make a great father. Manon on the other hand…
Quarantining made it even harder for Manon to deal with her pregnancy. How was she supposed to enjoy this, supposed to create a bond with her unborn child when all her time was spent inside, isolated, silently panicking over the state of the country? She didn’t get to stroll around shops, buying cute baby clothes, didn’t get to visit friends and family, sharing this journey with them. Manon had been to one ultrasound, and Dorian hadn’t even been allowed with her. The worst of it all was that she felt like a selfish, whining bitch for being sad about it all.
Now that summer vacation had started, she didn’t have work to look forward to either. As a science teacher, there was nothing she was more passionate about than her job. A few weeks back, she’d had to say goodbye to her graduating seniors over a fucking video call. It had taken all of her stubbornness and unrelenting will-power to not burst into tears in front of them. They didn’t know she was currently a hormone-filled mess. Gods, how she would miss those brilliant young minds that annoyed her to no end. She’d never tell them that, of course. She had a reputation to uphold after all.
But without the distraction of her work, she’d had to take up other hobbies to busy herself. Yesterday, Manon had cried her way through an entire season of ‘Our Planet’ while knitting a blanket for their baby. Knitting, of all things! It had quickly become an obsession, and truth be told, she was excellent at it, but it was something Manon had never imagined she’d be filling her time with. Maybe this was what they called nesting?
Her thoughts were interrupted as she noticed Dorian moving down the bed and settling with his head next to her belly. He had a book in his hand, one he’d pulled out from their crowded bookshelf. It was thin with a picture of a sweet-looking dragon on the front. Manon also noticed how old and worn-out it was, the spine barely binding it together.
Dorian cleared his throat, turning to the first page, and Manon let out a confused chuckle. «What are you doing?»
«That weird pregnancy app I downloaded told me that our baby can register sounds from outside now, so I’m reading them a bedtime story.» He looked at her as if it was obvious that’s what he was doing. Then he turned his head back towards her belly, his voice turning high-pitched. «And you better get used to it, dude…or dudette, ‘cuz I’m gonna read you a story every night from now on.»
Manon tried to control her laughter, but his baby-talk, mixed with the ridiculous look on his face made it very hard to hold it in. She laughed even more as he kept going. «But if I’m gonna read to you, your mommy needs to stop laughing at me! Yes she does!»
Hearing herself referred to as someones ‘mommy’ made her chest tighten uncomfortably, but no matter how wrong it sounded, she ignored it for now. For Dorian’s sake. Instead, she chose to mask her fear and doubt with flirty banter, as usual. «If you’re spending the entire evening in my lap, you might as well go a little lower and put that mouth of yours to good use.»
«MANON!» he chastised, playing the perfect role of a disappointed parent. Dorian placed both his hands on her belly, as if covering a pair of ears, and said in a hushed voice, «There are children present!»
Chuckling, Manon answered, «That’s not what you said last night when you-»
«CHAPTER 1!»
As she beheld the exaggerated look of shock and horror on his face, Manon failed to hold in her cackling laughter any longer.
-
Manon had closed her eyes long ago, simply enjoying the sound of Dorian reading one of his favourite books to their unborn child.
He was a natural at storytelling, his tone eager, making up different voices for each character, giving life to it. Manon knew he would make an excellent father. Could already picture him with their child, reading them books, tucking them into bed at night, soothing them after a nightmare.
Whenever she tried to picture herself as a mother, the only image coming to her mind was the image of her grandmother, the woman that had raised her, the woman that had made Manon’s childhood a living hell. Who was she trying to fool? She knew nothing about motherhood!
As she kept spiraling, tears began to sting in her eyes. Manon tried to stop them to no avail. She sniffled, and the noise got Dorian’s attention. Turning his head, he found her shaking with silent sobs.
«Manon? What’s wrong?» He rushed to her side, the book completely forgotten. He pulled her to him, stroking up and down her arms, and the loving gesture only made her cry harder.
«Talk to me, love,» he whispered against her hair.
But how could she? How could she possibly express everything she was feeling? All the fear and doubt. And Dorian was so excited, Manon didn’t have the heart to take that joy away from him by telling him how she really felt about all of it.
Instead, she voiced the one question that had been playing at the front of her mind for months now. «Do you think I’ll be a good mom?»
«Oh, Manon.»
Her breaths came in choking gasps, and no matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t get enough air.
«Breathe,» Dorian tried to soothe, running his hands up and down her back in long, calming strokes. Manon let her forehead fall to his shoulder, clutching his shirt.
«I just-» she began, but she didn’t know what came next. Drawing a ragged breath, she tried again, «I have no idea what I’m doing! Like, do you know all the ways a baby can die? You hold it wrong and it breaks! And I have no idea how to be a mother! None! Everyone says they’ll be different than their own parents, but in the end they end up the same, and I know I will be just like my grandmother! I can’t do this! I can’t-» Her words turned into a heartbreaking sob.
«Look at me,» Dorian said, taking her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, wiping away her tears only for more to follow. «Do you think I will be just like my father?»
His question took her by surprise, enough that she regained some control over her breathing. «Of course not!» Manon blurted out, wiping her eyes. «You’re nothing like him!»
«Exactly, and you’re nothing like your grandmother,» Dorian said firmly. Manon started shaking her head, but he grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.
«I know you’ll be a great mom.» She was about to protest, but Dorian beat her to it. «You’ll make our child feel so safe, and loved, and supported, no matter what.»
«Dorian-» Her words died on her tongue as she saw how he looked at her, his eyes shining with love and adoration.
«You wanna know how I know that?» He pressed a kiss to her temple. «Because that’s how you make me feel, every single day.»
Dorian laid down, pulling her with him so that she lay with her head on his chest, feeling his heart beat, a steady rhythm that grounded her. Tears kept streaming down her cheeks, but her breathing had gone slow and even.
Manon broke the silence by whispering, «I’m so lucky to have you.» Dorian hummed in response.
They nearly fell asleep like that, until Manon suddenly spoke, her cracked voice startling Dorian in the process. «Will you keep reading? I wanna know how the story ends.»
This brought a huge grin to his face, and Dorian gladly slid back down to her belly, kissing it once, before picking up his discarded book. Manon settled back against her pillows while he skimmed to the right page.
Dorian cleared his throat once more, and picked up where he left, telling the story about a small, brave dragon that would much rather spend his days in fields of flowers than fighting wars.
-
«The end,» Dorian finished at last, a yawn escaping Manon’s lips.
«I liked this one,» Manon whispered. «You’re a great storyteller.» Dorian closed the book and sat up, a strange look on his face.
His eyes softened, and he said, «It’s not done yet.»
Manon’s face shifted into a confused expression, but Dorian didn’t explain further, simply placed the book on the nightstand, taking her in with burning intensity.
Outside, it had gone dark, the only source of light being the string lights that hung from the ceiling. They cast a soft, golden glow over the room, making Dorian look ethereal. He drew a ragged breath, before speaking, his voice quiet, «And as the lost man finished telling his story, he looked down at the love of his life, her white hair shining like liquid moonlight, her golden eyes glowing brighter than any star. He laid down next to her, face to face, took her hand in his, and asked, his heart ever so hopeful, ‘Will you marry me?’»
Manon couldn’t believe this was happening, her eyes widening in shock. Not pulling her gaze away from Dorian’s, the man she loved more than she could fathom, could ever put into words, she managed to choke out, «You- You’re asking me to marry you?»
«I am,» he whispered back, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from her face. «Wait a second, will you,» he blurted out, turning towards his nightstand and opening the drawer. «I actually have a ring,» he continued while rummaging around for it, his voice frantic.
«Got it,» Dorian said, facing her again. He inhaled once more, bracing himself. «I’ve had this ring for a while actually. I bought it straight after our first date, because I knew, already then, that there were no one else I’d want to spend my life with. You’re the love of my life, Manon. You’re my best friend, my equal, my everything, and I would be honored if I would also be able to call you my wife.»
How much love could a heart take before it would burst? Manon wondered to herself.
Flustered, Dorian kept talking, kept rambling, and damn her if it wasn’t the most adorable thing she had ever witnessed. «I had planned this big proposal with a candle lit dinner and roses and every other cliché ever invented, and you deserve so much more than this,» he gestured to them, to their bedroom, «but I couldn’t wait any longer, and-»
«No, it’s perfect,» Manon interrupted, shaking her head in disbelief as she took in the gorgeous ring. It was a thin, golden band with a simple, turquoise stone. It was really just perfect, all of it. Yes, she was in her - no, actually his - worn out pajamas, her hair pulled into a messy bun, her face bare, without any makeup, but it was perfect. She couldn’t have imagined it any different.
«Is that a yes then?» Dorian asked, his voice full of hope.
«Yes,» Manon laughed, and at the enormous grin appearing on her fiancé’s face, she burst into tears. «Those damn hormones,» she managed to choke out in between sobs, letting out an incredulous laughter.
Though this time it wasn’t purely the hormones’ fault. She had never felt so loved, and she knew Dorian felt the same way, because his own eyes were also lined with silver, mirroring her own.
After he put the ring on her finger, she pulled him into a tight embrace, pressing her lips to his. As they laid there, Manon took Dorian’s hand, placing it on her belly, where their child, their baby, had begun kicking ferociously. He gasped as he felt the fluttering kicks, and she couldn’t help but smile at the look of awe on his face. How right it felt, to be three. A family. Manon marveled over the feeling, something settling deep inside her.
Maybe the future wouldn’t be so bad after all.
59 notes · View notes
pink-imagines · 4 years
Text
angel on earth
part 10: ENDING
request: Bakugou holds auditions for a new lead singer for the BakuBand and the reader auditions and he’s mesmerised by her voice? Idk, I’m awful at requesting, sorry. ❤️ Love everything you do, don’t stress, and have a good day!
a/n: this is the last part! thank you so much for the support on this series! This is just a fluffy memory recap!
warnings: fluff
masterlist
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9
Tumblr media
“Hey.”, you turned to him, “I just want you to know, this is only going to work if we want each other and not need each other.”
“Lucky for you, I really want you.”, he grabbed your hips and pulled you in closer.
“Then let’s make it official.”, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he bent down to kiss you.
That was a few years ago, but you still thought of it to this day. All those hard years with your ex before finally meeting the love of your life. The media went crazy when they found out, some were good and some were bad. Some thought it was a PR stunt and said it would only last a few months, but four years later and here you were... laying beside him in bed.
He was fast asleep, which he deserved for his day off. Your fifth tour had just ended and now you finally got to go home. Touring was great, you got to meet the fans and you got to do your favorite thing in the world, singing. But rest was always important, and what better way to do it than to rest with Katsuki.
Your fingers softly trailed down Katsuki’s neck, where a few lovebites had made their way from last night. You gently placed a kiss on each of them but Katsuki started waking up so you stopped.
“No... don’t stop.”, he muttered with a raspy voice and securely wrapped his arms around your waist. You smiled and trailed down kisses from his neck down to his chest, following the purple marks and letting your fingers draw circles over his skin. 
“You’re lucky we’re not going anywhere today.”, you chuckled before pressing a kiss to his lips, “Otherwise, I’d have to cover you up with concealer.”
“That’d be too bad.”, he mumbled, “I like ‘em.”
“I can tell.”, you grinned and motioned to the marks on your neck and chest, “Would you be a sweetheart and help me to the bathroom?”
“What? Are you sore or something?”, he gave you a cocky grin.
“You can bet your ass I am. Now, help me to the bathroom.”, you laughed.
“Alright, alright. Just let me get up.”, he said and turned over, getting out of bed, “Do you want a bath then, princess?”
“Only if you join me.”, you grinned and sat up.
“Don’t mind if I do.”, he chuckled and lifted you up as if you were as light as a feather. Katsuki carried you into the bathroom and sat you down on the toilet as he drew a bath. You watched his back muscles move with mezmeration in your eyes.
“You’re staring.”, he said, bringing a memory back to you.
“You’re staring.”, Katsuki said with a low raspy morning voice.
“It’s not a crime to stare.”, you giggled. He opened one eye to look at you and you smiled brightly back at him.
“Goodmorning.”, you said. Katsuki muttered out something that was supposed to be a “goodmorning”.
“I think we’re getting breakfast up here soon… I should probably call and tell them to bring for two people.”, you turned around to reach for the phone. Katsuki wrapped his arms around your waist and burried his face into your back.
“As long as you stay in bed.”, his voice was muffled as he pressed a kiss on your spine. You chuckled and grabbed the hotel phone.
“It’s not a crime.”, you grinned, “Besides, I like what I see.”
“Of course you do.”, he grinned and flexed slightly, making you chuckle. He helped you into the bath before getting in behind you. He wrapped his arms around you and snuggled his face into the crook of your neck.
“Thanks for this.”, you mumbled and leaned into his chest.
“I’m the reason you’re sore, it’s the least I can do.”, he kissed your cheek.
Once the two of you got out of the bath you changed into one of Katsuki’s t-shirts and walked to the kitchen. A part of you missed his old apartment...
Katsuki’s apartment was really nice, but not that big. You forgot that even though Crimson Crypt was pretty famous, that didn’t mean he made a lot of money. Even so, this apartment definietly wasn’t cheap and neither was the furniture. You could tell by the big, brown, leather, couch in the livingroom.
“Wow, this is so nice… I love you’re decorating!”, you smiled and looked around the room.
“Mina helped me with a lot, I just told her what I liked.”, he shrugged.
“I didn’t take you for a plant person.”, you glanced on every plant in the room around you. There had to be at least seventeen.
“Their easy to manage, so there’s no real work really.”, he chuckled and walked into his bedroom. The walls were covered with bookshelves, filled with books and a few plants. His bed was big and seemed very soft and had very clean white sheets.
The plants were still there, so was the couch and the hammock. The apartment itself was just bigger and in a different area of Tokyo. But it was still different.
Katsuki was in the kitchen making breakfast, you had offered to help but he wouldn’t let you. He was the master chef in the house, after all. Still, the least you could do was to put the cutlery on the table, which is what you were doing at this moment. The knock on the door interupted you.
“I’ll get it!”, you said to Katsuki before opening the door. Once you opened the door you saw Eijiro.
“Yo!”, he grinned.
“Hey... uh... what are you doing here?”, you chuckled.
“You invited us over for breakfast last night!”, he smiled goofily, like he usually did.
“Eiji, I was drunk!”, exclaimed.
“Oh...”, he scratched the back of his head, “Well... the other’s are already on their way so...”
“Of course...”, you groaned, “You know what? Come in, I’m just gonna put on pants.”
You could hear Eijiro scaring the shit out of Katsuki in the kitchen. You mentally slapped yourself for drinking too much last night, but at least you didn’t get a hangover. You walked back into the bedroom. It was the same bed, still. 
The next morning you woke up to the sun beaming in through the window… but you didn’t have a window facing the sunrise. You looked down and saw clean white sheets… this is Katsuki’s bed. When you looked at what you were wearing you didn’t recognize it. This is Katsuki’s shirt!
And so memories of last night started flowing back, only to be stopped by a knock at the door. He didn’t wait for a response, he just walked in.
“Goodmor-”
“DID YOU SEE ME NAKED LAST NIGHT!?”, you squeaked and pulled the covers over your chest.
“WHAT!? NO!”, he shrieked, “I gave you my shirt so that you could change! Unless you wanted to sleep in a hoodie and sweatpants!” You looked around and saw the hoodie and sweatpnast neatly folded, like you usually did with your clothes.
You laughed a bit at the memory, if only you’d known how this would’ve ended up. 
“Hey! Why did you invite these idiots!?”, Katsuki ran into the bedroom as you were pulling on your sweatpants.
“I was drunk!”, you explained once again, not turning to see him. Katsuki wrapped his arms around from behind and rested his head on your shoulder.
“I thought this was our day off.”, he pouted.
“Oh, don’t be a baby.”, you giggled.
“Well then...”, he kissed you right where the biggest hickey held place, “... guess you’re gonna have to get that concealer.” He smacked your ass before running away from you.
“Hey!”, you exclaimed.
Once everybody had gotten there the breakfast was ready.
“Woah, you two had a fun night last night.”, Kaminari laughed as he walked in.
“Leave them alone!”, Mina slapped his arm lightly. Mina was very protective over you, she was like a big sister. When you first started dating Katsuki you still lived with her and she’d make sure that you were okay after every date. If you didn’t call or text her, she’d probably call the police. Luckily the protectivness isn’t that strong anymore, but it’s still there... it all started the day you finally said no.
“Y/N!”, Mina smiled, “I was just about to-”
“Mina!”, you sobbed and ran into the pink haired girl’s arms. You could feel her wanting to rage but she kept it inside for you. Usually she had a tendency to have a burst of emotion but when she saw you so distressed she realized that it wasn’t the right time.
“You wanna leave?”, she asked softly and you nodded, “Let’s leave.”
It hurt in the moment but now in the long run, you were so happy you managed to do it.
“Thanks for making breakfast, baby.”, you kissed Katsuki’s cheek before sitting down at the table with everyone else.
“Can I get a kiss on the cheek too?”, Hanta grinned.
“Oi, fuck off!”, Katsuki exclaimed. The rest of the table laughed and you patted on the place beside you for Katsuki to sit down. It was nice to have them here, the feeling of love and safety embraced you like a warm blanket.
When breakfast was over Katsuki basically forced them out. All the way out Hanta and Kaminari teased him and Eijiro was waving goodbye to you. Mina wouldn’t go unless she got a goodbye hug from you and you gladly gave her one.
“Call me soon, Y/N!”, she said happily and walked out of the apartment.
“I will!”, you smiled and closed the door behind her.
“Finally I can have you to myself...”, Katsuki sighed and embraced you once again.
“But the dishes-”
“Fuck the dishes.”, he chuckled.
“Do you want to lay in the hammock all day?”, you suggested.
“Sounds like a plan to me.”, he smiled.
So there you were, laying on his chest with a book in your hands. This was a usual, you reading out loud while Katsuki played with your hair and listened. Right now you were in the middle of the book “The picture of Dorian Gray”, since you had suggested it.
“Your voice sounds very nice...”, he said, like he always did.
“You say that a lot.”, you giggled.
“... but it sounded even better when you were screaming my name last night.”, he grinned and kissed your shoulder.
“Katsuki!”, you gasped and hit his arm lightly.
“Kind of like that, yeah.”, he chuckled.
“You little-”
“I’m kidding!”, he laughed, “But you should’ve seen how red your face just got!” You burried your face in his chest, in attempt to hide your blushing cheeks from him.
“You’re mean.”, your voice was muffled from his shirt.
“I’m sorry, babe... you’re so easily flustered, it’d be a crime if I didn’t tease you from time to time.”, he kissed the top of your head, “You wanna take a nap?” You nodded in response.
“Alright...”, Katsuki took the book and put it down on the table, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”, you looked up at him with a smile, “But you’re still mean.”
“Fine, then I’ll be your mean boyfriend.”, he smiled.
“My cute mean boyfriend.”, you corrected him and he let out a chuckle. Your fingers tangled themselves in his hair as you lightly scratched massaged his head. He melted under your touch as he closed his eyes and let out a delighted sigh.
“I really love you though, angel.”, he smiled.
“And I really love you too.”, you kissed him softly. You laid your head down on his chest again and relaxed. This is what happiness felt like, this is what love felt like. This is what it felt like to feel wanted.
When Katsuki thought you were asleep he started softly humming a tune all too familiar. It felt like you were melting when he started scratching your back.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you...”, he muttered, “I just gotta find the right time to pop the question...”
You decided to not ruin his moment by waking up, but your heart couldn’t stop beating faster and faster.
“Y/N? Are you awake?”, he asked softly. You looked up at him like a dog who had done something bad.
“Sorry... I heard you.”, you mumbled as you sat up, your legs on either side of him.
“Why are you apologiezing?”, he chuckled.
“I ruined the surprise.”, you frowned.
“Sweetheart...”, he brought his hand up to your cheek, “You just made it easier for me.” He took out a red velvet box from the pocket of his pants.
“Eijiro delivered it to me this morning. It would be too obvious if paparazzi caught me in a ring shop...”, he smiled and opened the box, “What do you say? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?” This was so like him. Blunt and confident... but kind and loving. You looked at the ring, then back at him and then back at the ring. Was this even real?
“Pinch me.”, you whispered.
“You’re not dreaming, angel.”, Katsuki said after lightly pinching your arm. Nothing could be more magical about this moment. The snow was falling outside, the apartment smelled of oranges and cinnamon from the candle you had just lit and Katsuki was laying under you with a warm smile and a ring in his hand.
“Do you want to marry me?”, he asked.
“Yes!”
Tumblr media
296 notes · View notes
rosegoldannie · 4 years
Text
Tell Me no Lies - Chapter 13
Tumblr media
ENJOY THIS EXTRA LONG CHAPTER NOW THAT FINALS ARE OVER!!!
masterlist
That was how Rowan found her, several hours later: curled up as much as she could, fast asleep yet still bawling. For as long as she lived, Aelin knew that she would never forget the panic in his voice when he’d found her.
“Aelin? Aelin! What--are you alright? What happened? Are you hurt?” His artfully calloused hands skimmed over her body, never quite touching her. 
Slowly, she lifted her head, taking in his panic-blown eyes, the paleness of his cheeks. For a split second, she wanted to come clean about everything; the pain, her inability to walk, the car crash, Arobynn, everything.
And then she remembered. This was Rowan. 
Rowan who would be gone in just a few months. 
Rowan, who once he left, she’d likely never hear from again.
Something impossibly similar to dissapointment flooded her.
So instead, Aelin held her head high, met his eyes, and lied. “I fell.”
Nearly two weeks had passed since their non-fight. Rowan remained near-silent, but was always just an arm’s length away, and constantly watched her every move.
Even now, as he was chopping vegetables for their first-annual Friendsgiving, he had somehow managed to keep her in his direct line of sight, as if he didn’t trust her to not fall again -- which she would not, seeing as she had been all but forced to take the last few days off of work, after a particularly embarrasing evening where she had been unable to get out of bed, having no feeling below the waist. Rowan had been drawn into her room by the sobs, and she had lied yet again, that time saying she had thrown her back out at work, lifting a patient.
Her roommate let out a sharp curse, throwing down the knife with a sharp clang. Aelin glanced over, from her place perched atop the counter. Rowan was examining his finger, where a small drop of blood had beaded. He let out another colorful curse. 
Carefully lowering herself to the floor, Aelin gripped his hand, any butterflies in her stomach drowned out by her training. Rowan made a weak attempt to pull back, but she held on tight. “I’m a nurse; let me take a look.”
He fell silent, contemplative.
As she carefully cleaned, then bandaged his cut, Aelin glanced up to find his eyes trained soley on her, damn near staring into her soul. Aelin blanched, and found it difficult to look away. Those butterflies in her gut returned with a vengance, threatening to burst up into her throat. “Why are you mad at me?” She stammered, still holding his gaze.
Rowan blinked, then blinked again. “I-I’m not.” He said, gently withdrawing his hand, and turning to brace his hip against the sink so he could face her fully. “I just… wish that you’d told me you had a boyfriend.”
Her face scrunched up. “I don’t, though.” She murmured.
“You… what?” Rowan crossed his arms, his eyebrows drawing together. “But I saw you kiss that Chris guy…”
A light smirk tugged at her lips. “Chaol. He’s not my boyfriend anymore, Ro.” For the first time, no dissapointment tugged at her, reminded her that she was alone. “Chaol’s married. We broke up a long time ago, and we were just catching up. The only reason we kissed is that Arobynn doesn’t know we’ve broken up.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Though he probably does now.”
Rowan held her gaze, searching, searching, searching. “This Arobynn, what does he look like?”
She froze, a small joke dying on her tongue as that dread at last made its home in her gut. “Tall, auburn hair, muscular.”
Her roommate was silent for several long moments. “I’ve seen him.” He murmured.
“You what.”
“I’ve seen him.”
Panic siezed her, the thought of losing Rowan as she’d lost Sam, those gorgeous brown eyes nothing but ash in the wind, scarred, ruined, burned flesh. Then the image of Rowan in his position, sprawled across that cursed damned dining room table, motionless. Lifeless. Blood spattered across the walls, where those green eyes--
Aelin shoved away from him, ignoring the pain as she bolted into the bathroom and crashed to her knees before the toilet, and heaved up her lunch. 
Loud footsteps, then a careful, tentative hand rested on her shoulder, and, when she didn’t push him off, began to rub slow, soothing circles.
Once she was finished, she flushed the toilet, slammed the lid, and allowed Rowan to help her up to sit.
Kneeling before her, he braced his hands against her calves. “Aelin…” He began, some hidden-yet-completely-not-hidden emotion swimming in his eyes. 
“Don’t. Please.” She muttered, allowing her head to drop dangerously close to his shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Just then, her phone buzzed, and Aelin jerked away from him as if she’d been burned. 
Get over here. Now. It’s Lys.
-Aedion
Aelin froze, that stupid, sickening feeling forcing its way back. After asking several times, Rowan simply took the phone from her, reading the text aloud.
At last, she met his eyes, a question burning between them. Can you drive me to his house?
“Of course,” Rowan murmured, standing and offering her his hand, “just go grab a jacket.”
She nodded, scampering as fast as her legs and back would allow, to her room. After pulling on the first hoodie she saw, she realized it was Rowan’s, as their laundry had been increasingly mixed up together. She couldn’t find the will to change.
Rowan was waiting by the door for her, a strange look all too similar to a blush spread across his cheeks when he realized she was wearing his sweatshirt.
Tentatively, he took her hand in his, and led them down to his car, holding the door open for her.
A bolt of dissapointment rippled through her when he didn’t take her hand again once he was merged out into traffic, but she ignored it, and instead opted to watch the city pass them by. As always, Aelin loved to watch her city change throughout the seasons. Loved the trees, how they gradually lost their leaves. How they went from calm, green serenity to flaming orange or red, a mirror image of her eternally burning soul.
Her roommate let out a sigh as they parked in front of Aedion’s house.  He paused for several seconds before speaking. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me the truth about who Arobynn is, will you?”
Aelin’s jaw dropped. She blinked, staring at him. “I…” Some part of her truly did want to confide in him, in those green eyes that somehow always managed to know what she needed. But then that damned voice returned, whispering that he would be gone forever in a matter of months. “...I’m sorry, Rowan. I can’t.”
Biting his lip, he nodded slowly. “Okay.” At last, he faced her, those forrests, those hidden realms within his eyes near glowing in the dim light. “You know that you can talk to me, right?” He leaned forward a slight bit, allowing his arms to rest on the center console. “I’m here for you, Princess. I mean it.”
Tears pricked her eyes, as Aelin scooted towards him as much as her seat would allow. Lowering her head, she quickly swiped at her cheeks. “Thank you,”
Strong hands gripped her shoulders, guiding her up to face him. “Aelin, I’m serious. Whatever this is… I will help you get through it.”
At last, words failed her as those tears flowed down her cheeks. Throwing her arms around him, she buried her face against his neck. Strong arms wound around her as she murmured, “Thank you thank you thank you,” into his shirt.
When they at last pulled apart, his nose brushed against hers, and she was stunned to find their lips only inches apart. Even more stunned by the realization that she was blatantly staring at his, slowly leaning forward. The final nail in the coffin was when she realized Rowan wasn’t moving away. If anything, he was also slowly leaning forward.
Just as their lips were about to meet, a sharp knock on her window had them jumping apart, as if they were teenagers caught making out. It might have been her imagination, but as she turned to face Manon, Aelin thought she heard a low groan come from her roommate.
“Let’s go, we’re waiting.” Manon huffed, hands on her hips, jaw set against the chill. “Stop your make-out sesh and get inside!”
A flush spread across her face - that was most definitely not due to the cold - as she climbed out from the car, and was utterly unable to look at Rowan, except for a small apologetic smile as she shut the door. Though, apologetic for what, she didn’t know. Was it because they’d damn near kissed, or because they’d been interrupted?
Aelin shook those thoughts from her head as she followed Manon into the house, Rowan not far behind.
Inside, Aedion was holding a pale, shaking Lysandra, murmuring something to her that was far too low to be overheard, the rest of their friends were spread throughout the living room. Surprise coated Aelin’s features when her eyes landed upon Evangeline--Lysandra’s sixteen year old sister--curled up by the fireplace, with Hollin’s--Dorian’s eighteen year old brother, who for all intents and purposes was an absolute pain--arm draped uncertainly around her shoulders.
Settling in next to her cousin, as Rowan went to speak with Dorian, Aelin found herself genuinely afraid to speak, as if it would shatter whatever peace her friends had had. “What happened?” She murmured.
Aedion opened his mouth, his lower lip trembling with fury, those Ashryver eyes glowing in the firelight. But it was Hollin of all people, who answered. “Arobynn.”
Lysandra slid away from Aedion to rest against Aelin’s shoulder. Elide, and who Aelin surmised to be Yrene, Chaol’s new wife, came over to them. “I was at work,” her friend began shakily, holding Elide’s gaze, “and I had gone out to my car… and I found a note in the glove compartment.” Lysandra paused, swiping at her glistening cheeks, mascara running down her beautiful face. “All it said was, ‘I’m back.”
Across the room, Chaol let out a harsh curse.
After several tense moments, Evangeline cleared her throat. “After volleyball, I, uh, I was walking home--hell I was in front if the school, and this car drove up, and it followed me for several blocks, and the guy inside kept telling me he was your friend--” She looked pointedly to her sister. “--and that you’d sent him to pick me up. I knew who it was, and luckily Hollin saw what was happening and gave me a ride, but…”
Shaking his head, Aedion scoffed. “The prick’s getting bolder.”
Dorian made a noise of agreement. “He’s been lurking outside my work for a few days now,” He muttered, watching his brother, love and some other emotion swimming in his azure eyes. 
“Same here.” Rowan stated, his eyes trained on Aelin, as they had been for the last half hour.
Elide, who had since returned to Lorcan, and was now curled into his side--something more than a few people had smirked at--nudged Lorcan with her elbow. “What? Oh, that. Do any of you know of a woman named Maeve?”
“She’s Arobynn’s wife,” Lysandra murmured, her eyes unfocused.
Lorcan made a noise deep in his throat. “She’s been harrassing Elide for a while,” He admitted. Several heads snapped in their direction at that. “She’s been showing up anywhere we go; Work, the gym, the store, you name it, she’s there.” After several moments, his voice took on a dangerous undertone. “She threatened Elide this afternoon.” He paused, and met the eyes of each and every person in the room. “Whatever this is, whatever bad blood has caused it, we need to end it before someone gets killed.” He met Aelin’s gaze, something akin to sorrow in his obsidian eyes. “Again.” 
Grief turned her vision watery for several minutes as everyone discussed their next steps, and how they could combat the harrassment and threats.
At last, it was agreed that they would all go to the police and file restraining orders against both Arobynn and Maeve. Though, deep down Aelin knew that would do nothing to stop them until Arobynn decided he’d had his fill of punishing and tormenting them.
tag list:  @sailorsassley​ @whiskeybusiness1776​ @mad-scientist-pyromaniac​ @la7sorcellerie​ @dayanna-hatter @mis-lil-red
66 notes · View notes
veridium · 5 years
Text
the dark side of your room
hey, it’s an All Time Low song for the College AU Update!! Woo!
Time for some more queer fluff and anxiety, what I do best!
masterpost // last chapter 
--
Olivia: Hey, still down for me to come over in an hour?
Cassandra: Yeah, I’m just running errands. I will be back but I might hop in the shower. I’ll leave a key under the mat.
Olivia: Ohhh, a key...we’re getting heavy.
Cassandra: Don’t get cocky.
This must be like what people who are ‘Superb Owl’ fans experience the week leading up to the big sports game they all watch. Day after day, since the one when she asked her to come to the party it gets harder to breathe. It might also be from the surmounting happiness that she is in no way used to, that is nevertheless overwhelming. She can’t do what she usually does and hideout in Ellinor’s company, because she is just as nervous as she is -- if not more. Poor Ellinor. Their conversation by the soccer field is still fresh in her mind even two days after. Now, it’s Friday, making it 24 hours until it all goes down.
Whatever ‘it all’ is, remains to be seen.
Speak of the devil. She catches a familiar, similarly petite figure walking past her open doorway while she’s finishing up getting ready for the night. 
“Hey!” she peers out the doorway to see Ellinor fumbling with keys sluggishly, backpack on her shoulder. “Everything okay?”
Ellinor glances briefly. “Yep! All good.”
“You sure?”
“...Are you?”
Olivia strolls out into the hall and to her, all the while Ellinor finds her key and slides it into the lock. She stops short of twisting it, mouth tight with bated breath behind it, so it seems. In return, Liv grins in order to provide some form of comfort. 
“At least our costumes look hot.”
“They do. They really do.”
“...Ugh, I’m so worried Dorian is going to make Cassandra want to punch him or something--”
“And if the lesbians scare the shit out of Cullen, I’m gonna--”
“Oh God, Cullen and gays...Cullen and the leftist kombucha hipsters?! Do we even know--”
“We don’t! That’s what I’m saying! And isn’t this Cassandra’s first real thing, going out with a girl?”
Olivia bites her lip. Fuck. She’s right. “Oh no. I’m taking her to the lion’s den right off the bat. Oh my God, why didn’t I think of this. I should have called for brunch like normal queer people do. The fuck is wrong with me?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know the gay agenda protocol for this, you never gave me a copy!”
“You aren’t supposed to have one, Ellinor, it’s not a Reader’s Digest.”
“Pfft,” Ellinor leans unto her hip and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Figure out the heirosapphics all on your own, then.”
Olivia pouts. “You stole that joke from me,” she grumbles, before brushing hair out of her eyes. “I have to get going, I’m supposed to be at Cassandra’s in like...whatever amount of minutes is left. I don’t know.” She pulls out her phone to check the time. Fifteen minutes, to be exact.
“Well then go on, get out of here,” Ellinor shoos, “I got plans too, anyway.”
“With C--”
“Yes, with him! Who else, the Pope?”
Olivia shrugs and dances off back on her toes towards her door. “Touchy Ducky!”
“I hate when you call me th--” the rest of Ellinor’s avarice is cut off by the door shutting. Yeah, yeah, she hates being called a touchy ducky. Which means, naturally, Olivia will have to tell it to Cullen and say she loves it, because pranks are healthy for any sustainable friendship. She giggle-snorts all by herself and searches around for her pair of sneakers she tossed somewhere earlier in the week, the perfect casual cap-off to her black leggings and tank top. Whatever tomorrow night turns out to be, at least she has tonight.
--
Only five minutes late, Olivia makes use of the key hiding for her when knocking doesn’t work. When she enters, the holiest of smells -- Italian spices that promise carbs -- greets her first. The kitchen is lit up, and on the stove is a big pasta pot that seems to sing to her. She follows the aroma over to it and finds steaming spaghetti, sauce, meat balls, large forked serving spoon and all. Beside it are two small bowls, and only two. Was Cullen not around? Eh, figures, if Ellinor said they had plans.
That means Cassandra made this. Cassandra made this for her. God, it’s been too long since she had any close associates who knew their way around a kitchen. Ellinor is a walking bio-hazard, Theia knows every order-in number in the city, and Josephine...well, she probably cooks, but she just doesn’t brag about it.
A whine gets caught in her throat -- the kind of “aw” one she makes at puppies in the mall and kids in the park. This is so sweet.
She drops her shoulder bag on the small dining table and lets herself wander. One slow loop around the coffee table, absentmindedly observing all the furniture. Sounds of a shower echo from the other side of the suite, and the mystery is solved just as to where Cassandra is. She must have gotten right into cooking and forgotten to shower when she got home.
Olivia comes to a halt at the mouth of the dark hallway and peeks with growing curiosity...
She’s been down to Cullen’s side, during the infamous occasion she went a bit Rutherferal, but that’s long in the past. Okay, a week, but the past is the past. Cassandra’s, on the other hand, is like some mystical Narnia closet. No one’s been in, and no one’s gotten out as far as she knows. The first time she slept over it was implicitly clear the living room was where she was invited and nowhere else.
What’s so mysterious about a dorm suite bedroom, anyway? What, is she hiding two twin beds down there put together to make a queen? The more she speculates, the more her feet inch closer and closer to the mostly-shut door. The light from the other side almost adds to the temptation. Liv, don’t, this is so weird. Yet, she keeps going, all the way until she reaches the door. She looks back down the other end, silent as sin: the shower is still going. So, against all logic in her head saying ‘stay in your lane,’ she pushes the door open. Expecting the worst, like in that Fifty Shades bullshit film.
The first thing to hit, again, is the smell -- it’s not spaghetti. Lavender? Lavender. In the corner on a desk a diffuser is on, spouting steam into the air. It invites her in like a shiny thing would to a squirrel, and in the process, the rest of the space becomes unfolds: A made bed with navy blue comforter and pillow cases, a stuffed bear against the throw pillow -- wait a minute, she has a stuffed bear? Yes, a stuffed bear with a button nose and all. Is that what she doesn’t want anyone seeing? Just a stuffed animal? I have five under my bed alone...
On the wall facing the door the curtains are pulled but the window is shut, and the floor is completely clean. The laundry basket by the door is almost empty, holding nothing but a t-shirt and a few socks. Up on the wall lining her bed there are origami stars and shapes taped all over, some making what look like constellations. They’re beautifully meticulous, just like Cassandra.
Nothing surprises her more than what she finds in and around her corner desk on the right, diagonal to her bed. Standard dorm honey-colored wood and red upholstery on the chair. Her laptop squarely centered, with a cup of pens and pencils off to the side. Books stacked neatly all around. On the attached shelf above it all are pictures with black frames, all shorter than the gold, silver, and blue trophy for some sport or another.
The pictures, though: that is what draws her in even more. From left to right there are four, total: the first shows two adults smiling with two kids: a boy, standing in front of the man holding onto his arm across his chest, and the other, a girl, held on the woman’s hip. She’s wearing a pale pink babydoll dress, she can’t be any other than six by the look of her baby face and twisted pair of buns in her long, dark hair.
Is that her? Wait, shit, then this must be her family.
The next picture provides more answers: the same adult couple, only the kids are older. The teenage boy is holding a soccer ball against his hip, and he has his hand on his Mother’s shoulder. They’re at the park, or somewhere green, and Cassandra is sitting on the blanket hugging her knees in a similar fashion as she did when she and Olivia lounged on the field. No baby pink anything in sight, though, just grey basketball shorts and a shirt, both a little big on her. The third is one of her and the boy again, her on his back riding piggyback and smiling such a joyous smile, it looks as if she was about to burst. Cheesy, and Cassandra is never cheesy. It’s heartwarming, the way the boy is looking at her from his periphery, chest puffed with pride.
The fourth and final one, though, is just him. He’s much older, and the picture is weathered even with the glass shielding it. As if it spend years just by itself, stashed or crammed somewhere, before finally being framed. The shot is off-center, tilted at an angle that cuts off the top of his head, making the shot look clumsy. He’s leaning against a car front, arms crossed and strong. The washed out lighting, like it was taken by a disposable camera, makes everything seem too bright: except for him, his smile, and his car.
He looks so nice. Why does she never talk ab--
“What are you doing?”
Olivia flinches like a cat struck by lightning, whirling around with her hands linking up behind her. She had been leaning over, soaking up every last inch of detail, but to the outside eye she simply looked nosy.
“I! Ah!” she struggles, “I’m...I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Cassandra shows no sign of intended placation. “You didn’t mean to, but you did.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I fucked up. “I did, b-but, I’m sorry. I just wanted...I think I was just…”
She tosses her clothes several feet into the hamper. “Just what? Going into someone’s room without asking or telling them?”
Olivia blushes and looks away, suddenly aware that she’s standing there with nothing but a blue towel on her and skin still damp from the shower. If there was a God, he would smite her this instant from her foolishness.
“Cassandra, I’m sorry,” she can’t say it enough, “I just--”
“Can you at least let me get clothes on?” Her tone is straight-and-narrow, and Olivia can’t quite discern whether she is deeply pissed or deeply understanding. She knows what she sounds like when she’s losing her cool, and it’s not anything like this. It’s unnerving, to say the least. Though, the guilt leads her to vacate the room without so much as a word, shoulders hunched and arms crossed as she skims past her.
The door shuts, leaving her to think about what she did. And boy, does she: making a slow death-march to the couch where she sits smack-dab in the middle. Every half-second feels like an hour, her knee anxiously bobbing. Her arms haven’t left her chest, and her lungs feel like kiddy pools for air.
Then, at last, Cassandra re-emerges. She’s wearing shorts, a black, slim hoodie, and a frown. Rather than join her on the couch she leans against the corner of the hallway wall and folds her own arms, phone in her hand. Olivia gets the courage to meet her eyes, and when she does, she’s reminded of how fatal ‘disappointment’ can feel.
“Well, I’m waiting,” Cassandra says flatly.
“Waiting for...for what?”
“For an explanation as to why you were nosing around my bedroom.”
“I was...um, the thing is, I couldn’t find forks in the--”
“Olivia Sinclair.”
Liv swallows and curls her legs up against her, hands hooking under her thighs. Humor won’t save her this time. “I don’t know! I just...the door was open, and for some reason, I just kept going and going until I was hip-deep and I just...didn’t think...well, fuck, okay, I didn’t think. That’s what happened. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, just please, don’t…” she’s spiraling into nervousness and it makes her words start to blur into one another. The sound of pleading, the kind that comes from someone who’s grown up being corrected too harshly for her age. “Please, I didn’t mean to...t-to...ugh, shit.”
Cassandra’s stoic, but just as Olivia is about to break from the tension it causes, she sighs through her nose and rolls her eyes, chin lifting towards the ceiling as she does so. “At least you’re bad at lying.”
“I know I c--h-hey! I’m not...I…” as she grumbles, she only vindicates Cassandra’s opinion, and elects to shut her mouth rather than dig the hole any deeper.
“Mhm,” Cassandra hums, moving away from the wall. The way her hips sway, like she has the upper hand and most of the battlefield already won, is both attractive and disconcerting. She comes to the side of the coffee table closest to the couch, sitting down on it directly in front of her. It’s so close, she has to keep a knee on either side of Olivia’s legs, but she makes do.
“I don’t like people invading my space,” she says as she settles in, very matter-of-fact.
Olivia is stiller than a grave casket, and stays that way. “Mhm...”
Cassandra smirks drily. “If you know, then why did you do it?”
“Because I didn’t think...”
“You weren’t thinking? You sure about that?” Her stare focuses, as if she has the power to break glass with it alone; only, Olivia is the one to crack.
“I...guess I just wanted to know about you. Maybe I thought your room would...satiate my curiosity.”
Cassandra raises a brow. “Ah, so there’s the answer.”
Olivia wants to leap out the window for a cold breeze. Or escape...kill two birds with one stone, as it were. No one likes their space to be invaded. Why did I do it? That’s such a no-go. God dammit.
“I guess I just wondered.”
“Wondered?”
“About your background. Your...childhood...and your interests…”
“Snooping is a great tactic...if it’s a matter of national security.”
Olivia huffs through her nose. “Oh, yeah, okay, technically that is correct. But...but…”
“But what, Liv? Are you suddenly scared of me?”
No. No, no, no. “No, it’s just!” She stops herself before she is definitely in yelling territory for no good reason. “I’m just nervous about everything, all the time, and sometimes it’s weird. I overthink even when I do impulsive things like go in someone’s room and look at their family pictures and gawk at their teddy bear and their fancy oil diffuser and yes, okay, I gawked. I admit it. It was all gawk….just...gawk-able...fuck, is that even a word? Fuck…” she whispers the last expletive as she leans forward onto her lap, putting her face in her hands. The solace she finds from Cassandra’s discerning capabilities only goes so far, though.
Then, in the self-induced darkness, she hears Cassandra chuckle, low and warm despite the conflict. It’s almost unbelievable, until it’s followed up by the sensation of hands holding onto her forearms and lips pressing to the top of her head. That makes it definitely unbelievable. A lingering kiss, before her hands move up to Olivia’s shoulders and start to rub nice and slow.
“I was only looking for an apology, not to put you to the guillotine.”
“I apologized like five times in one breath, though,” Olivia replies as she lifts her eyes out from her palms.
“Yeah, but you panicked.”
“I did.”
“I was looking for more of a calm, collected, sophisticated apology. Maybe even slightly poetic. Rhyme optional.”
Olivia’s mortification is olympic swimming pool levels, but even then, she finds she cannot escape the desire to giggle at her humor when it shows. It’s both kind-hearted and measured. Her hands go to her lap and she sits up more, chin still tucked from bashfulness.
“I can’t rhyme for shit, but...I can do sophisticated.”
Cassandra grins. “I’ll take it.”
Olivia takes a deep breath, mostly for herself and her still racing heartbeat. “I’m sorry I went into your space uninvited. I should have asked, and communicated, and respected your boundaries. I will take care to do that from now on.” The few seconds of ‘deliberation’ are more than enough on what remains of her nerves.
Luckily, Cassandra ends the anguish with a soft smile. “Very impressive. I don’t forgive you, but it’s impre--”
“What!?”
Cassandra bursts into a laugh, leaning back as she puts her fingers to her mouth. “I’m sor-rry, I couldn’t h...help--”
“You could help it, Pentaghast,” Olivia smiles, and takes it upon herself to push Cassandra the rest of the way down by her shoulders until she’s laying flat and expectant. Rather than do as she did in the field and make it interesting, she jumps off the couch and jogs to the kitchen.
“Kiss my ass, I’m getting pasta!”
“Hey!” Cass jumps up,  “do I not get any appreciation as the cook?”
“No! Psh, you must be new here.” Olivia grabs a bowl and takes hold of the serving spoon.
“Oh am I?”
“Yep! Fresh mea-yAGH!” She shrieks as Cassandra’s hands rush around Olivia’s sides so quick they tickle her, cutting her off in her triumph. She giggles and curls against her hold, dropping the thankfully hardy bowl onto the stove while the spoon remains in a death grip. It’s not enough calamity to distract her from the silly awe she’s in, being like this. And Cassandra just rests her chin on her shoulder and chuckles along. Her strength nearly picks Olivia clean up off the kitchen tile.
“Stoopp! Let me!--” Olivia gets out in between laughs, “let me eat, woman!”
“Woman!? Is that all I am to you?!”
Olivia tries to wiggle free, but it’s a lost cause. “Yes! Ugh!” she huffs as Cassandra inches them both away from the stovetop, “A heartless, tormenting, merciless woman!” She finally pivots around to face her, arms bracing against her shoulders. Cassandra is smiling so big and bright...just like the way she did in the picture. Her arms stretch up straight until they wrap around her neck loosely, and Cassandra only glows more. Their laughs simmer down into tired, but wonderful giggling, and Olivia feels nothing but the urge to keep her this way.
“But...you’re my woman.”
“Yeah?” Cassandra mutters back as their faces draw nearer, her hands travel low down Olivia’s back.
Olivia makes a ‘tsk’ sound with her tongue. “Yeah, but...only part time.”
Gullible if only for a moment, she catches on. “...Ugh. Ok, I deserve that.” They move together as she pushes Olivia back against the edge of the counter.
Olivia gasps and giggles more. “Is this the way you’re gonna try to dance with me tomorrow night? All nice and close, then bumper cars?” Olivia teases, tongue sticking out for added effect.
“Tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, tomorrow night. The party..?”
Cassandra pauses and grins, but loses exuberance. She rubs Olivia’s arm lovingly before breaking from her. Her side-step brings her to the stove, where she picks back up the bowl Olivia dropped, and the spoon she surrendered; the pot needs stirring, apparently.
“Cass?” Olivia asks, feeling a bit left to hang, her hands going behind her and resting on the counter.
“Hm?”
“Is...everything alright?”
Cassandra nods, eyes still on her very important stirring. “I’m just hungry. Running you down must have reinspired my appetite.”
Olivia lowers a brow. “Uh-huh.” Her skepticism is either undetected or ignored, though, as Cassandra spoons the first generous spoonful into the bowl and hands it to her. Once it’s taken off her hands she goes to the second, and is equally as unceremonious with her own serving. Olivia stares down at the amazing looking meal in her hands but can’t seem to just enjoy it. Is she trying to ditch out? Is this a ditch-out attitude? Ugh, she does hate it. She’s just going for--
Cassandra hands her a fork. “I was thinking we could all ride together. I know how to drive Cullen’s car, anyways.”
“I mean, sure, but that means you’d have to…” it’s a wonder it takes her so long to figure it out, but when she does, the sentence doesn’t need finishing.
“Yeah, but that’s fine. I wasn’t planning on it, anyway,” Cassandra seems to read her thoughts anyways, and begins twirling the first bite of noodles around her fork.
“Okay. I just...I dunno, I thought you might want to since you did at Rylen’s…”
Cassandra shrugs, and leans her hip against the stove. Her forkful suspended in the air. “Yeah, but, that’s Rylen’s.”
Olivia scoffs, and begins forking around for a meatball to take a bit out of. “That place isn’t exactly child safety approved. What’s the difference?”
Cassandra swallows and tucks an ankle behind the other. “The difference is I don’t want to be drinking when I meet all your friends at once.”
“Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad. I mean, I went whiskey-hunting up in the cupboards the first...time…” crap, this isn’t a shining example. “You know, nevermind.” She shoves her first bite into her mouth to help ignore the sound of Cassandra’s smug chuckling. At first, she’s pressed, but then she looks down again in amazement.
“What the fuck? Cassandra, this is so good,” she mumbles with a full mouth, preparing another forkful, “oh my God.”
“Have you never had spaghetti before?”
“Ugh! Yes, I have! That’s not…” she forks it into her mouth some more, reckless abandon and starvation taking over. “Holy shit.”
Cassandra smiles and keeps modestly twisting and preparing her mature, normal person serving. “Here I was worrying I wouldn’t compare to your standards.”
“What, am I Rachael Ray all of a sudden?”
“By the way Ellinor looks at you in reverent fear while you explain how you get your onions diced so fine, I’d say it’s a strong possibility.”
“It’s just the way you hold the kn--you know what, I’m gonna just…” Olivia shakes her head, wiping her dirty mouth on her wrist. “Did you just know how to do this?”
“No way, I learned a long time ago. It’s one of the few things I can cook off memory.”
Olivia eyes her as she takes another bite. She wants to ask where, or who, did. Someone, at some point, had to have taught her -- and maybe there’s a story. A funny story, or a cheesy one. It doesn’t matter what kind, as long as it is one that could help her discover more about what makes her tick. Olivia’s never wanted to know every crumb of a person like this before like she does now, for her.
“Hm. Good to know, but I think I wanna know if you got the better bowl.”
Cassandra peers up, nonplussed. “What? But, it’s the same dish…”
Olivia draws herself in, step by devious step. “You sure? ‘Cause I think I gotta do a quality check.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. This is a democracy, right?”
Cassandra snorts, twisting another forkful just as Olivia is about to collide with her. She holds it out carefully, bowl underneath for insurance. “You are ridiculous.”
“Mhm,” Olivia repeats, before she takes the bite with glee.
“And this is a democratic-republic, woman.”
“...Woman?” she asks, but with her mouth full, it sounds more like ‘wuhmin.’
They link eyes, and Cassandra shakes her head slow. “You heard me.”
Olivia swallows, wiping the corners of her mouth and proper, before she sets down her bowl off to the side. She does the same with Cassandra’s, so that it can rest beside hers.
“Say that to my face,” she dares, pitting her torso against hers.
In return, Cassandra tilts her head, hand wrapping around her. “I just did. That was kind of the point.”
“You really don’t know how to play along with things without critique, do you?”
“I just don’t like double-standards.”
Their mouths veer in close as Olivia’s hands slide up her Cassandra’s arms. “You don’t like a lot of things.”
“No, but I like you.”
Olivia’s eyes widen. “Oh? Prove it.”
That’s the kind of thing you say right before you get kissed so well the world could end around your feet and you wouldn’t care: which is exactly why she said it. And the competitive look in Cassandra’s eye doesn’t disprove it. But just as she’s about to make her move, a ruckus erupts on the door. Out of nowhere Cassandra’s hold turns from casual to protective, and she whirls around to face the corner where the door is shaking from what sounds like hooves rather than fists. It isn’t long until the perpetrators are identified.
“Cass! I really gotta pee, help a guy out!”
“Yeah, Cass!! wake up, grandma!”
“Answer the group chat!!”
Three voices, all somewhat slurred, and definitely gregarious. Cassandra’s shoulders release and she moans in disgust, letting go of Olivia and marching towards the door to save it before the hinges break. She opens the door wide and fast, and two of the three stumble in while she stands by.
The boys make various ‘woah’ sounds as they collect themselves. Olivia recognizes one of them, the guy who opened the door at Rylen’s party. Which means he must be Rylen, of course. The other has a fresh undercut and is wearing a white v-neck and jeans, too well-dressed for a jock she’d think. The cloud of Axe-smelling odor overtakes the room and makes Olivia’s nose itch.
“What have I told you all about coming over on the weekends?” Cassandra asks, indignant. 
They all straighten up. The third of them, a woman with brown hair tied back and wearing jean shorts and a sports bra underneath a flannel, walks in with keys in-hand. “You said...uh...call?”
“Yes. That is exactly what I said.”
“We’re just stopping by! We cut through campus on the way home. A break was in order.” She glides on through between the two others, immediately spotting Olivia standing with a thoughtless bitch face on. Or, she must be, because she stops dead in her tracks, and even backs up.
“Woah, dude, I’m sorry,” she puts his hands up, “I didn’t know--”
“Hey! You’re Ellinor’s friend!” Rylen manages to collect himself. He shoots a look at Cassandra and smiles big, “wait...what are you two doing wi--”
“You said you had to use the bathroom,” Cass is quick to usurp, still glaring.
Rylen’s happy-go-lucky act subsides, and he keeps his head down as he walks off out towards the hall. He gives a “Yes, Ma’am,” before disappearing completely.
“Sorry, Cass,” the one in jeans says as he pulls out a chair and sits sideways. “We haven’t been...uh...well, we’ve had a few.” He whisper yells it like he’s trying to tell a secret across a room. Oh boy.
“I couldn’t tell,” she replied, shutting the door and going to the cabinet. “You need water?”
“Nah!”
“Uh huh, okay,” she takes a couple plastic cups out and goes to the sink.
While she is busy filling them with tap water, Olivia is still there like a Greek statue, unsure of what to do. Jocks in close proximity like this feels...odd. Like they’re just as apt to sniff her hair as shake her hand; or maybe that’s just her snobbery. She takes hold of her elbow and slides herself up on top the counter to the right of the stove, reminiscent of her climbing escapade at Rylen’s house, only now she’s just trying to keep out of the way rather than day drink.
The seated guy’s gaze flickers over to her, as if he just now realizes she’s there, watching. “Hey, I’m Krem. I don’t think we’ve ever met,” he waves.
She nods once, and manages a grin. “Hello.”
“So your name is Hello? Is it a f-family name?” he gurgles out the last half, unable to keep himself from chuckling while the other stands wide and joins in. Oh great, they’re both laughing at her, and she’s only said one word. Can she phone a friend? Surely Ellinor knows what to do.
“Krem, cut it out,” Cassandra hands them both their cups. “This is Olivia. Olivia, these are some of my teammates, Krem and Lysette. You already know the brute using too much of our soap in the bathroom.” She returns to Olivia’s side and places her hand on the stove handle where a clean towel hangs.
Olivia side-eyes her, before the staring from both of them provokes a response. “Nice to meet you all.”
“Cass, is this the girl you--”
“Not a word, Lys.”
“...Right,” Lysette answers, rolling her lips shut and looking off to the side. “Well, good to meet you finally. We see you on the field with Ellinor all the time!”
“Yeah, we...we do that,” Olivia shrugs, but it comes off a little mechanical in her attempt to be approachable.
Krem finishes a gulp of water. “I think we had a class together. Was it anthropology…?”
“Oh, hah, no it couldn’t have, I haven’t taken any anthro classes here.”
“...Oh! Gotcha. Hm. I wonder who that blonde was then…”
“There are quite a few of us around. We have a local chapter established. We call ourselves “The Bleach Bunnies.””
They both laugh, a bit uncoordinated, but they laugh. Cass shoots her a grin, but in her Captain persona, she can’t shake her vigilance for her inebriated peers. A door opens from out in the hall, and heavy feet track on the carpet towards where they are all congregated.
“So, Liv,” Rylen dusts his hopefully freshly washed hands off, “you have eyes for our Master and Commander, here?”
Cassandra growls. “Rylen.”
“No, no, Cass! This is tradition--”
“Since when is it ‘tradition’?”
“Since uh, 2003! Approxim-manly!” He waves a hand dismissively, and Cassandra rolls her eyes and snorts with frustration. “Now, look. You’ve let Cullen get all the action from us even though  you’ve been having a little escapowerade all on your own.”
“Esca...power..?” Olivia tilts her head and looks to Cass for answers, but she’s above trying to figure out the linguistics of the situations. The scene from Finding Nemo where Marlin yells ‘it’s like he’s trying to speak to me, I know it!’ comes to mind.
“You know, a randall-view--”
“Okay, okay,” Krem saves his friend from further butchering the English and now French language, “I think she gets it, dude.”
“Alright, fine! But she has to do the thing!”
“What thing?” Lysette asks, folding her arms against her leather bomber jacket.
“She has to do a shot!”
Do jocks just test each other for every little rite of passage with shots? Is that all there is to their courage? Jesus Christ. Olivia waits for him to say something, anything, to clue in that he’s joking. Or that he’s wrong. But he just stands there, t-shirt, khakis, crocs and all, hands sliding into his pockets and chest puffed out like he’s the big ol’ man of the house.
“Rylen, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Olivia says calmly.
“Oh? You think yourself above the rules?”
“No, I think myself already indebted to you in the amount of half a bottle of whiskey, the one I nabbed out your cupboard about…two? Three? Weekends ago. I prepaid my hazing process.”
They all go quiet, eyes and mouths agape at varying degrees. Even Cassandra has teeny bit of a wince on her lips. 
Rylen, now rebuffed, blinks like that white guy gif. “Uh...oh. Indeb-ted.”
“Yeah.”
“Uh...that would...yeah that would do it. Wait, but, I thought Elli--”
“She had the rest of it, but she shared that with Cullen. I alone took down the first half.”
“But...but you’re tiny.”
Cassandra scowls while the others try not to giggle. Olivia only shrugs a second time, and picks up her bowl of spaghetti and brings it to her lap.
“What can I say: the shorter the woman, the closer to hell, Rylen.” A bit more comfortable, she lifts the fork of noodles to her lips. For some reason the other two start to making low noises of ‘oohs!’ and ‘uhh!” which seems to mean they approve? Or are at least entertained. It occurs to her that this must mean she bested him.
“Good one, Olive,” Krem remarks, so cheerful that she doesn’t have the heart to correct him on her name.
“I think that is answer enough,” Cassandra agrees, shifting her weight onto her feet. “I think you all should get going, it looks like the night’s just begun for you.”
“Ah, yeah, shit,” Rylen shakes his shoulders and saunters with that wide machismo walk, sizing Olivia up some more in his inebriated state, before he ushers them all with him. It all happens as quickly and rumbly as it began, and they stampede back from whence they came with much less fuss. A symphony of “Later, Cass!” and “Sorry, Cass!” with one “See ya, Olive!” as the cherry on top of a socially-awkward sundae. At last the door shuts, swiftly locks, and the quiet is welcomed back into the room. The nice, sober quiet.
Cassandra comes back, palms pressed to her thighs before she uses them to rub her face with a little exasperation. “Ugh. That won’t be the end of it.”
“Do they come around often?”
“More during the season, but...now it’s playoffs, so I don’t know. Rylen’s place tends to be headquarters, but sometimes...they just...ugh.” She elects to stand in the middle of the tile floor and fold her arms. She still looks a bit anxious, trying to decompress from the rush of events. Olivia can’t help but fixate on it while slicing a meatball that’s too big for one bite. Did that actually scare her?  
“Hey,” she holds up the forked half and offers it, and takes on her best ‘Rylen’ voice, “I think you need more meat, bro.”
Cassandra rolls her eyes and grins with dread. “Don’t even start.”
“Bro, come on, get that protein. How else are you supposed to get--”
“No one ever says ‘get that protein,’” she chuckles and walks to her, and Olivia spreads her knees to invite her in; something she happily plays along with. All trapped in her hold, Olivia feeds her the sacred bite, and tries not to burst into giggles again.
“Do you still need your proof of my affection for you?” Cassandra inquires, wiping the corner of her mouth and then resting her hands on Olivia’s thighs.
There’s the penchant to continue the jest and say no: put up a fight and see where it gets her. Olivia is always ready for more playful fighting. But what can you say to a woman who was ready to deploy herself as a human shield against the unknown forces on the other side of a burgeoning door?
“I think I’m good.” She sets down her meal in favor of the rim of Cass’s hood and brings her in even closer.
“Are you sure? Because I did have a plan of action.”
“A plan?” she says hushed, “and what is this plan, exactly?”
“Uh...debating over whether to watch Titanic or Love, Actually. Then debating over the acting abilities of either cast. Then...more debate about the historical accuracies and politics that you will inevitably bring up when a male character is awful or another character is racist--”
“Or classist. You forgot classist. I hate that shit.”
“Yes. Classist.”
“Yeah.” Her smile widens, and she knocks noses with her playfully. “I suppose that all could be evidence to further support your claim. I can oblige. We should get started though, it’s already kinda late and I might have forgotten my ID to get into my dorm after 10...again...because I’m a dumbass.”
“Or you could just not go home.”
Olivia’s stomach erupts into butterflies drenched in pasta sauce and garlic seasoning, so much so her back arches like she’s being secretly zapped up with electricity. “I...could also do that.”
“What, you don’t want to?”
“No, I do, I guess I’m just...nevermind. I’m down!”
She smiles again. “Okay, good.”
“On one condition.”
Cassandra blinks and stops just as they are about to kiss. “Hm?”
“Only...if we do the thing I wanted to do the first night I stayed over.”
“You...you still want to make a pillow fort?”
Her shoulders bunch up in pre-eminent glee. “Yeeaaah.”
Cassandra sighs, but it doesn’t sound completely out of patience. “Alright, fine, you drive a hard bargain.”
More butterflies. More spaghetti butterflies. I can’t wait to brag about this to Ellinor, she’s gonna be so jealous. Yeah Cullen can eat two burgers in five minutes flat but can he say that he made a pillow fort?!  Can anyone? This is some next-level shit. They kiss to seal the deal, and to her delight, she tastes like marinara.
20 notes · View notes
heartslogos · 3 years
Text
the declassified texts of the inquisiton's elite [194]
(208): She dropped the call after she told me she doesn't want to hear about how loud he can scream.
-
“I think my sister is settling down. Being with the Iron Bull has domesticated her.” Mahanon pauses, eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t think I like it very much. She’s become dull. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“I’ve hit my head and I’m hallucinating an alternate universe,” Edric declares. He stands up and starts walking away.
“Where are you going?” Max asks.
“To get myself checked for brain damage. I’ll see you if I see you. If I don’t come back I’ve either been committed — in which case, I’m free of the rest of you, be happy for me — or I’ve managed to slip back into my real universe — in which case, I’m still free of you, be happy for me.”
“With every day that passes I can’t tell if Malika is more like her uncle or if she’s wearing the one wearing off on him,” Max turns to Mahanon. “Which do you think it is?”
“It can be both and most likely is.” Mahaon lazily fans himself with a thick section of folded reports. He nods towards Max’s hand fan. “Where did you get that? And why does it have the Inquisition brand on it?”
Max glances down at it, shrugging. “I don’t know. I think it’s some kind of new…branding thing. As in manufacturers are throwing their pitches at the Inquisition to see if they can get exclusive manufacturing rights to using our insignia. I’m not exactly sure. I’m not on that project. I think Malika is, though. There’s a whole box of them in one of the other conference rooms. Um. There’s t-shirts, hats, scarves, paper fans, water bottles — the usual marketing stuff. I think Josephine sent an email out to everyone in her departments to just go and grab things from there.”
“And she didn’t think to have her fellow leaders do the same?” Mahanon clicks his tongue.
“Go back to you thinking your sister is turning domestic. Because I’m pretty sure your definition of domestic is wildly different from what the rest of us think domestic is. Also. Domestic? Really? Of all the words to use. I think I’m insulted on her behalf.”
“She’d rather stay home and watch cold case file investigative TV shows than go out with me on missions,” Mahanon says. “He’s domesticated her.”
“I don’t know where to start with you. I never do. This is a fact. Also — the Iron Bull? Maybe you’re the one who got hit on the head. He isn’t capable of domesticating anyone. We are using this word too much. The part of me that was raised with a golf club membership, did water polo, and had invisaline braces is starting to wake up and want a mimosa. Don’t do that to me. I had to fight very, very hard to ditch that part of my life. I’d rather it stay comatose and ignored, thank you very much.”
“My sister is in the prime of her life and she’s using that prime of her life to darn socks.” Mahanon pauses. “This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s a very jarring switch in her personality.”
“Have you considered talking to your sister about this?”
“Absolutely not. She’ll try to matchmake me if I attempt to.” Mahanon sneers. “And she has terrible taste in men.”
Max snorts so loudly it hurts and makes his eyes water.
“Have you told her that?”
“I’ve told her that twice this week so far. The Iron Bull agrees with me.” Mahanon rolls his eyes. “He’s sucking up to me because he wants to make a good impression on the family. As though he hasn’t already. Preposterous.”
Maxwell squints at Mahanon. “I feel like you should be some kind of case study. But don’t tell anyone I said that. If it’s coming from me it’s rude. If it’s coming from someone like Sera or Dorian it’s more appropriate.”
“At least you know your place,” Mahanon sighs. He flips his braid over his shoulder, scowling.
“To summarize your current grievance: you miss your sister being wild, unpredictable, and generally just as trouble making as you are. And you blame the Iron Bull for this. Do I have it?”
“Is that a rhetorical question? Yes, you have the gist of it.”
“It sounds like you’re jealous of the Iron Bull taking your sisters time.”
Mahanon levels a stare so flat at Max that he swears it could cut his throat open.
“You’ve become heat addled,” Mahanon declares, twisting his wrist to fan Max instead. “A tragedy since you’re already lacking in certain critical thinking skills to begin with. The heat has roasted you. Perhaps you should follow Edric and get yourself examined.”
“I’m just saying it how it is.”
“Me? Jealous of the Iron Bull? Over my sister? Absurd. I’ll admit to being jealous of other things when it comes to the Iron Bull, but my own sister? Never. They’re sickening together. I have to share a living space with them.”
“I’m just saying! That’s how it sounds like when you lay it all out flat like that. It sounds like you’re — “
“You can repeat it all you want but it remains false.” Mahanon turns his nose up and then turns his face away. “How long are we supposed to wait here for? Don’t tell me that they had the meeting moved because the air conditioning broke in this building.”
“It wouldn’t be unreasonable.”
“It wouldn’t, but they least they could would be to send someone to tell us. Not even a text message?” Mahanon frowns, standing. “I’m leaving. If there really is a meeting then you can handle it yourself. I’m not sitting through this.”
“So you’re leaving me to make excuses for you and Edric? How unfair! Why can’t I leave too?”
“No one is stopping you.” Mahanon pauses, resting a hand on Max’s shoulder. Max freezes in place, staring at Mahanon’s hand like it’s about to burst into flames and take him along with it. “But I highly recommend you don’t.”
0 notes
oohnoniall · 3 years
Text
Queen of Serpents || Galan Ashryver x OC - Chapter 3.
 {WARNINGS: adult language, fantasy violence, woman owning her sexuality and her body, woman using her sexuality and body as a weapon, woman saying “fuck emotions i’m scared”, manipulation mentions, toxic main character but she learns, toxic parents, self-harm in the form of self-poisoning, self-hate, fucked up family}
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
       A week had passed. One of fifty-two previous weeks. How in the hell was she supposed to find a man worthy of her time and affections in a year? She felt as though time was slowly slipping through her fingers, falling into a pit that would soon take her down. 
        Needless to say, Arya was concerned.
        A gentle knock on her bedroom door caused the princess to shoot up from her sleep. The silken sheets pulled close to her chest as her maids silently slipped into the room.
        ”Good morning, Your Highness,” Miliana spoke, her voice bright and cheerful despite the early hour and the glare on Arya’s face. “How did you sleep?”
        ”Very well, thank you,” she kept her voice clipped as she spoke with the girl. Her mother had made damn sure that she knew better than to fraternize with the serving girls. Her back still twinged when she thought about being kind.
        ”I’ll draw your bath, miss,” her maid bowed her head once before slipping into the bathing chamber. The other two focused on their own tasks.
        While Adina prepared her clothes for the morning, Genevive began preparing her daily poison ministrations. Small doses, each larger than one person should even ingest at once, of several different poisons found in all the known realms. This was not something anyone knew that she did. It had been kept secret from everyone but her maids. Had her parents known what she was doing they would have put a stop to it.
        But it had kept Calanon from successfully poisoning her several times by that point. There had even been rumors back home that the Goddess must have blessed her with intolerance. If only they saw how sick she got each day, how weak she felt.
        "Thank you, Genevive," Arya spoke softly as she slipped out of the silk sheets. Her long legs were bare, milky flesh that had been out of the sun for too long. The only thing that covered Arya's body was a simple nightshirt. One that should have belonged to a man. It did at one point.
        Dorian Havilliard's sleep shirt fell to her upper thighs, the arms baggier than necessary and despite several washes, it still had the faintest scent of him. It was a reminder. Never to get that close to someone. Never to fail her parents again.
        "Of course miss," Genevive stepped away, her large eyes focused on her mistress. If anything should happen, she would have felt as though it were her fault. Never mind the fact that Arya had a habit of upping the dosages before her body could take it. Never mind the fact that the princess refused to see a doctor when it became too much, instead having Genevive or Adina make the antidotes herself.
        Arya sat at the vanity. Instead of her cosmetic oils, creams, and powders, it was filled with small bottles full of tonics. Tonics filled with her daily poisons. There was also a small, silver dish filled with berries. Berries that were not to be eaten by anyone but the princess. Or her enemies.
        She released a small breath as she picked up the first bottle. "Goddess save us," she murmured before she gulped the liquid down. Her body wanted to reject her. Her stomach clenched as it felt the oily liquid, her body shaking slightly. It only got worse as she drank the next four. 
        Sputtering coughs raked her body. Blood dotted her lips. But still she did not stop. 
        She drank down five more bottles, tossing the last one onto the floor. It broke with a loud crashing noise. She had thrown it harder than she had thought. Her body did not feel like her own. She was shaking, her skin clammy. Too hot, too cold. Her muscles clenching and unclenching of their own demand. Her head fell backward, rushed prayers to a goddess that she did not believe in falling from her lips as they did every single morning.
        Some would say she was insane. The amount of poison that she ingested daily would have been enough to kill men twice her size. Yet, that was why she did it. She needed to be prepared. For anything.
        "Carry her into the bath," Adina's voice was the strongest of the three. She had been there the longest, had turned into the one that Arya trusted the most. 
        Miliana and Genevive quickly gathered the girl into their arms. She shook harder, making it nearly impossible for them to carry her. But they did. They sat her down in the tub, her body crashing against the hard marble. 
        A knock sounded on the door, causing the three coherent women to look at each other in alarm. 
        "Genevive, watch her," Adina hissed as Miliana quickly rushed to answer the door. Adina locked the bathroom door once she had escaped. It would be easier to appear normal without two maids helping Arya bathe.
        Genevive gently slipped the nightshirt off of Arya, tossing it aside as she got onto her knees. "It'll be okay, Your Highness, it'll be okay." As she spoke, she placed her left hand on Arya's lips. They quivered as she mumbled her prayers and occasional nonsense words.
        As Genevive kept their princess from being discovered, Miliana opened the door. The youngest maid dropped into a curtsey, her head bowed as she breathed out his title.
        Galan Ashryver looked resplendent in a white shirt, his navy pants the only source of color. While it was just casual wear, it still seemed quite princely. Perhaps it was just the man who made the outfit, not the outfit that made the man. A bright smile crossed his lips as he looked at the maid. 
        "Good morning, Miliana," he nodded his head once, allowing her to stand straight. "Has Arya woken yet?"
        "Yes, sire," despite the fact that Arya was currently fighting the poisons in her system they knew it was better not to lie to the man. After all, he could have them all executed. So far, Wendlyn had been nothing like Kalthanen but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Royals were still royals after all.
        "May I speak with her?" His eyes were alight, the bright Ashryver blue nearly enough to cause Miliana to become wistful. Nearly.
        "She's currently bathing, sire."
        "I see." The light in his eyes dimmer just slightly. "When she's finished, please escort her to the gardens. I'd like to walk with her this morning."
        "Of course, sire." Miliana knew better than to tell him that she would try. Arya was not one to be told what to do. Even when the orders came from a handsome prince.
        One who was much more handsome than Dorian Havilliard had ever dreamed of being.
        Galan bid the maid a goodbye, giving her a polite bow, before he took his leave. Miliana shut the door behind him, leaning against the heavy wood with a relieved sigh. That had been far too close. If anyone had caught sight of Arya in her current condition they would all be sacked. Possibly hung.
        "Ginny," she called out as she and Adina quickly headed into the bathroom. "How is she doing?"
        The bathroom reeked of vomit as the door opened. Genevive was hastily cleaning the floors, her eyes darting to Arya and back as she did.
        The princess's head rested against the cool marble lip of the tub. Her breathing had evened out, her skin still pale and clammy, but the look in her eyes was more alert. She knew where she was and what was happening at least.
        "It lasted too long that time," Arya sighed, her voice husky and raw. "We may have to cut down on the Belladonna." 
        Slowly, Arya pushed herself into a sitting-up position. Her arms quivered as they rested on the sides of the in-ground tub. It was as though she were laying in a crater. It made things quite comfortable, although she wasn't sure that was the actual intention of the design.
        "Easy now," Adina was the one who spoke, gently resting her hands on Arya's bare back. She was careful to avoid the scar that went from the left shoulder to the right hip. They took great care not to speak of the scar, nor to touch it unless it needed healing tonics in the winter months. The colder weather always gave the princess pains. "Take your time."
        Arya nodded very slightly as she took a ragged breath. The poisoning could have been worse. It should have been worse, if she were being honest with herself. They were on new and untested shores. Calanon was with them. There was no telling who would try to kill her. Or if anyone would even go to the trouble. A week was not long enough to discern if she was to be safe or not.
        Adina helped Arya to bathe. Adina focused on washing her long, red tresses while Arya's hands shook as they attempted to clean herself with the soaps that were scented of heady hyacinth. While most would find the scent overwhelming, too luscious and green, it had been Arya's scent of choice since she was young.
        Once her hair had been rinsed, Adina gripped her arms in a gentle, yet firm, way. She stood from the bath, her legs feeling of jelly. She could hear the sounds of knobby knees banging together. The sharp angles of her knees had always been a distinct feature that she had tried to hide. If only to prevent more people from realizing how deer-like she could appear.
        She was supposed to be a mountain cat. Not a deer.
        "That's it, miss," Adina's words were kind, yet they made the princess see red. She shouldn't need this much help. She should be strong enough that the poisons no longer affected her.
        Science be damned.
        Arya said nothing, letting her rage at the weaknesses in her own mind. Her maids did not deserve that. They kept silent, they told no one of what she did to herself. They just cleaned up her messes. She did not deserve their allegiance and yet, they had given it to her willingly.
        Adina helped Arya sit back at her vanity, taking a position behind her in order to work on her hair. The motion of the brush through the long tresses was calming, soothing to the point of lulling her into a sense of security.
        "His Highness was just here," Miliana spoke up, breaking the silence that had seeped into the room. Normally, no one was brave enough to break that silence. No one wanted to risk Arya falling back into the sickness. Even if no one was sure that could actually happen, they did not want to risk it.
        "Oh?" Arya stared at the curly-haired woman through the large mirror on the vanity. She watched as her fingertips ran across the gown that had been chosen for that morning, smoothing out every wrinkle in the silk. "And what did Galan Ashryver want?"
        There was shockingly no venom lacing her words. Normally, when she used a person's full name it was because of spite or some form of hate. With Galan, it almost seemed wistful. Wistful had never been a word in Arya's vocabulary.
        "He wanted you to join him for a morning walk," Miliana almost seem overjoyed at the thought. "You may have an admirer."
        "No, I have a boy who wishes for conquests. He's nothing more than a bored boy who thinks he has a chance with a queen." She did not miss the look that Miliana and Genevive shared through the mirror. Her eyes darkened, a forest on fire. "Kalthanen belongs to me, we all know my brother is too much of an idiot to rule."
        "Yes, Miss," Miliana nodded her head once, just to avoid another long rant that would get them nowhere.
        Adina finished Arya's hair, using golden pins to hold the braids in place. Her hair had been braided to form a crown around her head, not nearly as elegant as the one she would wear to state dinners or other social events but it was beautiful nonetheless. "No more talk of this," the woman sighed softly. "Just meet the poor boy in the gardens. He could be quite fun until you find whomever your parents will approve of." 
        Someone bloodthirsty no doubt. Nothing would suit Kalthanen's court more than a bloodthirsty lordling.
        Arya had no clue if her future husband would come and live in Kalthanen. She had no idea if she would ever be allowed home again. She hoped that she would get to come home. She wanted to see the red sand of the beaches, feel the warm sea breeze on her face. She could smell the jasmine and hyacinth when she concentrated hard enough.
        "Yes, I suppose," she sighed as she stood, her legs still quite shaky. She did not bother with privacy as she slipped on her underclothes. Her maids had seen her with the most horrendous injuries. They could see her naked form. Besides, modesty had never been a quality that Arya had possessed.
        She slipped on her gown, two sheets of royal blue silk. The bodice was fitted, the sleeves off the shoulder and giving her enough room for Nox and Luna to be comfortable while also giving her an airy feel. The skirt was enough to cover her bum and her sex all while allowing her legs to be seen with the two large slits. Only the very top of the scar on her back could be seen. 
        If men were allowed to carry battle scars, she was allowed to show the world that she would not be killed. Not easily at least.
        Adina helped her with the straps of her shoes, they came up to the mid-point of her calf and were often unbearable for her to attempt on her own. There was a reason why she had never complained about her maids helping her to dress.
        "You look beautiful," Genevive breathed out, her eyes aglow as she took in the sight of Arya.
        Arya offered a slight nod of her head in thanks. "Watch over my babies. Nox is beginning to shed, poor darling." As she spoke, she stepped over to the two large tanks that had been set up for her pets. She cooed gently to the snakes, making sure they knew that she loved them before she disappeared. 
        She could have taken Luna, but she hated the thought of leaving Nox by himself. She didn't want them to be apart unless it was necessary. Sentimental, yes, but it was something she could afford to be sentimental about.
        The princess took a breath through her nose as she murmured a soft goodbye to her pets, giving her maids a quick nod of her head, before slipping out of her bedroom. Two guards stood at either side of her door, another two stood across from them. She could hear the clanking of armor just off to her left, more guards waiting for someone to attempt an assassination. Or perhaps they knew how dangerous the Kalthanen royals could be. Perhaps they had heard the rumors.
        "I believe that Prince Galan wishes to see me," her voice bordered on board, yet it was still that gentle tone that they had come to expect from her. Arya thought it was stupid to sound like a simpering fool, but it made men more trusting. It made people more willing in a way. If they thought she was a flower, they would assume she could do nothing but smile prettily.
        One day, those people would learn that she was a flower with thorns. 
        "Of course, Your Highness," the guard that stood on the left side of her door spoke. "I can escort you to him."
        She smiled at him, allowing it to reach her eyes in the way her governess had taught her. In the way that her mother had never trusted. "Thank you for your kindness."
        The guard offered her his arm and a kind smile. She took it, lacing her arm with his. He led her through the castle, through passageways lit with torches and filled with laughter that spilled from other rooms. So unlike Kalthanen. So unlike Adarlan. What in the hell was in the waters here? How did they manage to be so carefree when war was brewing? Perhaps this is what happened when the people actually cared for their rulers.
        Perhaps this was what happened when the rulers actually cared about their people.
        Arya said nothing as they left the castle. The sun was not high enough in the sky to cause the heat to bear down on her. It was barely above the tree line, barely enough to break the early morning fog that still rose from the sea. The grounds were sprawling, not as large and grand as Adarlan's but large enough.
        He stood in the middle of a courtyard, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The gentle breeze ruffling his light brown hair, ruining the way it had been styled that morning. She wondered if he even noticed. 
        "Your Highness," the guard released her arm as they stepped behind Galan.
        The prince turned to them, his face splitting into a bright grin. One that seemed to make the sky just a tad bit brighter. She wondered if he had magic, like many of those fae that she heard wondered the continent.
        "Thank you for escorting her," Galan said warmly, giving the guard a slight bow of thanks.
        The guard nodded his head once. "Of course, sire." He stepped away then, not far from the two but enough to give them privacy. He would watch the pair, just as the two sets of three were as they casually strolled along the courtyard gardens.
        Arya slowly made her way over to him, her head held high and her eyes staring into his. She would never back down. Not from any man. Not even a princeling.
        "Are you alright?" One of his eyebrows rose, marring the warmth of his smile. His words were filled with concern though. More than she had ever heard from anyone before.
        Aragorn had never cared if she lived or died. He'd been too used to loss by the time she had come around. Calanon had just wanted her dead. 
        "I'm quite well," she lied easily. "Why?"
        "You look a little sallow," he admitted, his cheeks turning a slight tinge of red. "But it does nothing to distract from your beauty, Arya."
        "Galan," her lips quirked into a smile, "you're quite the poet."
        "Not quite, but I could attempt it." His eyes sparkled, causing heat to flutter in her stomach that was rather uncomfortable.
        She pushed it down. Far down into the pits of herself. Galan Ashryver was not the goal. He was not the prize to be won here. While he was Crown Prince, there was nothing that she could give him. She was searching for a lower-class man. Someone who her parents could mold into someone worthy of Kalthanen should her brother come to an early grave without an heir.
        "Would you like to walk with me, Arya?" The way he said her name was like a song. She had never heard anyone speak it so softly, so melodically. Yet, she knew that it was yet another thing she would have to ignore.
        "I would love to," the gentle breeze carried her scent on the air. His pupils seemed to dilate for a moment, as though he could smell it. As though he knew everything that she was hiding from him.
        He didn't. That would have been ridiculous. 
        Galan smiled at her as he offered her his arm. She took it, resting her left hand on his bicep. She tried not to think of how the muscle felt under her fingers. She tried not to think about how it would feel to have it wrapped around her, holding her close and making her feel safe in the dead of night.
        Those thoughts would only lead to danger.
        Galan seemed not to notice how Arya's thoughts had shifted as he began to lead her through the courtyard. Instead, he focused on the way he was breathing and on a topic of conversation.
        "This is my favorite place," he admitted as he led her past the rosebushes. "It's the one place I can always come to clear my mind."
        "It's beautiful." She did not have to lie this time. The flowers were in bloom. Everything from daisies to roses, beautiful and vibrant.
        "My mother used to work down here every morning," he said with a gentle laugh. "She taught me all about planting."
        A gardening prince. Now she was certain that she had seen everything. No one in Kalthanen's royal line would have ever gotten on their hands and knees to play in the dirt. Not even for the prettiest of roses.
        "Oh? So I take it these are your personal gardens," her words were teasing, the hand that was on his bicep gave it the tiniest of squeezes to show it. She didn't trust her own voice at this point. Arya knew she could be ... Difficult.
        Galan laughed, the noise stunningly beautiful. Like bells ringing, ones that would hang from an old church. Loud, clear, clanging from the statues that were casually spread out in the middle of the courtyard. "Yes," he said after a moment. "I suppose I would."
        He smiled down at her, a fact that she found almost annoying. Arya hated to be shorter than anyone. Yet, there was something about the way that he did it that left her breathless. 
        "I should thank you for showing them to me," she swallowed once. Her mouth still tasted of blood. 
        It was enough to bring her back to the reality of her situation. Either she found someone who would be a good fit for Kalthanen, or she returned a failure. This game that she was planning with the princeling was not worth it.
        It didn't matter how pretty his smile was. Nor how many butterflies she felt when his fingers brushed against her bare arm. She would not fall for a man she could not control.
        She would not fall for a man.
        "You don't have to thank me, Arya. It's what's friends do." He told her softly, moving to stand in front of her. "I was serious about wanting to be your friend."
        "As was I." She would have to break him before it was too late.
0 notes
sleepy-sunlight · 6 years
Note
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"
Oooo that sounds like tons of fun to write!! thank you so much for the request and have a fantastic day!!  
Dialogue Prompts
———————————————————————————————————–
Cullen hadn’t thought of it much when you’d break into small bits of coughing, especially in the autumn months, when the air became thick and stagnant. He’d still sit you down and run a gentle palm over your back, a light brushing of his fingertips along your spine, soothing the aches from your weak, tired limbs.  
But he never expected it’d be as bad as it was.  
He hadn’t planned on the nights where you’d scramble from his arms in the middle of the night, sweat dribbling down your bare skin as you crumple up at the foot of the bed. Your heavy, ragged breaths and shivering body leaving only concern in its wake.  
“Love… what… what’s going on?” He had questioned, sitting up to hold your grasp in his, a shock bursting up along his limbs at your stiff, frigid fingertips.  
“Y-You’re so warm…” Your face scrunched up confusedly, dark circles engraved beneath your wide, saucered eyes. “A-Andraste’s grace…” “
“You’re freezing,” He muttered, whatever drowsiness thrown from him the moment he had met your cold touch. “You would think you’ve just come back from Emprise Du Lion.”  
“You know I don’t like that p-place much.” You attempted to joke, your words becoming brittle and soft before you broke into another fit of coughs. “I don’t think either of us can deal with much of Orlais.”  
He smiled faintly, a messy sort of laughter slipping from him as he curled back the bed sheets and blankets, wrapping them around you instead.  
“We should take you someplace warm, maybe I could get the fire going in the main hall-”  
“I’m sure every noble drunk out of their mind w-would love to see the Inquisitor wearing t-their commander’s enormous shirt, shivering like a child. I-Imagine the rumors that would f-fly.”  
“That is far from my largest concern.” He huffed. “They can think whatever they’d like when you’re okay.”  
“I’m f-fine,” You insisted. “Just a bad dream. It… it frightened me is all.”  
He took a cloth that was strewn against one of the bookshelves, drawing it along your damp face, his hold lacing around your cheek. “It’s like you’ve run nonstop across Thedas a dozen times.”  
“M-Maybe I have, you don’t know.”  
“Right, and I’m the King of Fereldan.”
“You and Cailan do share the same golden hair… another s-secret brother perhaps…?”  
He scoffed, shaking his head in his amusement, failing to mask his own growing distress.  
“I…” You hesitated, staring up at him briefly. “could you just stay here, with me? I-I’ll feel better in the morning I-I’m sure.”  
“If you don’t, I’m taking you to Mother Giselle. I’m not willing to negotiate on that.”  
“You aren’t exactly a n-negotiator in general. Unless y-you and Josephine would l-like to swap positions?”  
“Maker no,” He answered in an instant, shifting to sit down beside you, feeling as you tipped back, your head finding its place in the crook of his neck. “Just try to sleep before you get any more crazy ideas dear.”  
It hadn’t taken too long for you to oblige, the gentle rise and fall of your chest easing him soon after.
But that had been perhaps one of the only times the worries were soothed.
Because from then on, it only worsened.
It only grew.  
You had stopped eating or drinking like you used to. Even turning down so much as a glass of ale from Varric during the occasional games of Wicked Grace or the cookies Sera would surprise you with on occasion.  
You became tired and weary, the moment you’d set down your weapon your arms weighing down like cinderblocks, legs threatening to buckle were it not for Dorian or the wall that’d catch you. Whichever happened to ‘notice’ first.  
But the worst had been the coughing.  
For what came with it.  
It had first occurred during a meeting at the war table, your gaze glossy and looking out onto the map of Thedas. Your features tight and mouth sewn into a frown as it always did when you were in deep thought.  
“I’d like if we could send some of our lower ranking soldiers to the Exalted Plains and the Hinterlands to help rebuild some of the broken structures. If we can do that then we can begin providing homes for refugees and if the chevaliers there are willing to-”  
You erupted into those horrid coughs, clamping an old handkerchief you carried with you over your lips as you ducked your head down embarrassedly.  
“Inquisitor?” Josephine furrowed her brow confusedly, beginning to round about the table to meet you in her fretting. “What’s the-”  
“I-I’m fine…!” You mustered, swallowing down the dryness of your voice. “J-Just got something caught i-in me is all…”  
And when you lowered your rag he saw it.  
Blood.  
It doused the material as you tried to hide it in your fist, his heart nearly stopping dead in its tracks as he erupted back.  
“What is that?” He questioned, his tone raising far more than he had meant to.
“W-What’s what?” “
He glanced from side to side uneasily, sighing as he attempted to collect himself, grappling tight onto your shoulder before he pulled you off to the side.  
“You’re bleeding.” He whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”  
“I-”  
“I gave you the benefit of the doubt when you woke up in those sweats frozen to the bone but I can’t here,” He softened, letting the concern that knotted in his stomach finally reveal onto his face, his shoulders dropping. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”  
“I… I don’t know.” You muttered, unable to meet his gaze or even focus on anything, staring to and fro as if something were constantly moving before you. “I… I just…”  
Your eyes rolled back, feet shuffling before they gave out on you, a faint gasp echoing from you before you fell onto him, limp and feeble.  
“Andraste’s blood!” Josephine yelped, Leilana struck speechless, her jaw-dropping before the two of them rushed after you. “I-I’ll get Mother Giselle right away! Commander, take them to their quarters!”  
“I’ll keep the Orlesians busy,” Leilana offered, both she and the ambassador racing out of the door in a flurry of or papers and orders.  
In the brief time, all that Cullen could hear were your broken, worn pants and his own thumping heartbeat, pounding against his ears as he held you, afraid and confused. 
Even as he scooped you up and brought you to your room, you were clammy and pale, your chest heaving as if every breath were heavier than cinderblocks. Crumbling as you were set upon the bed beneath the thinnest sheet possible, Cullen’s hand entwining with yours even as Mother Giselle burst in. 
He answered for you as best as he could, his sight constantly shifting between the Chantry woman and you, as though afraid you may disappear from his sight once he looked away.
But you could hardly even move.
He couldn’t begin to describe how much that terrified him. 
Giselle had worked endlessly from that morning to the evening, muttering apologies to Cullen here and then, even wrapping a blanket about his shoulders as he grew tired and weary even despite his refusals of such a thing. 
He couldn’t rest. 
Not until he knew you’d be okay.
“I can’t understand why they’d avoid treatment for so,” Giselle had contemplated aloud to herself as she backed away, evening hues and light pouring in through the grand windows. “You can’t let them overwork themselves like this in the future. Herald of Andraste or not, there’s only so much we can manage before our bodies give out.” 
“I… I had no idea,” he confessed, wiping away annoyedly at his vision as it blurred. “I-It wasn’t until I-I saw that blood…” 
“Bless their heart,” She cooed, patting your shoulder lightly. “there’s not much else I can do…” 
Everything came to a sudden halt, his head jerking up to meet the older woman.
“What… what do you mean…?”
“They’ll make it through this time,” She soothed him, his entire body softening almost immediately with a relief he hadn’t known to be possible until then. “but I can hardly promise anything if this were to happen again. You need to keep an eye on them, I’ve seen how they look at you. They’ll listen to you.” 
He didn’t respond, quiet as she left the room with a curt dip of her head.
The way you looked at him. 
He hadn’t ever noticed. 
He saw all of the other things. How you’d smile the second you’d spot him or how you’d wrap your arms around his neck when you embraced him, the tips of your fingertips always finding a way to wind their way into his hair. 
But he hadn’t figured how you looked at him.
Not until that night when you finally woke. 
He swore he nearly leaped from his seat when you began to stir, yawning as you stretched out drowsily. 
“M-Maker’s breath…!” He bit back a yell, clasping your palms in his own, a fond thumb brushing against your knuckles “Y-You’re awake love!” 
Your eyes flickered confusedly, giving him that same familiar grin as you focused on him. 
And that was when he noticed it. 
The affection and adoration that slipped into your gaze the moment you saw him left his stomach fluttering with butterflies in his stomach, his heart melting into your hands for you to hold.  
“I um… I suppose I am…” You droned. “What… what happened?” 
“You passed out this morning,” He explained. “You were sick, and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell anyone. Why would you do that?” 
“I… I don’t know,” You huffed, guilt washing over you. “I just… I don’t like others worrying about me. I need to focus on Corypheus if I don’t everything could fall apart. How… how I feel isn’t important.” 
He furrowed his brow, frowning at your words. “How you feel is incredibly important. You cannot forget that you are still a person, harbinger or not. If something were to happen to you then we’d be doomed.” 
He weakened, his shoulders dropping with a deep, exhausted breath. 
“I… I wouldn’t even know what to do with myself if something were to happen to you.” 
You sat up slightly, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his nose, laughing lightly as his features scrunched up embarrassedly. 
“I’m not going anywhere, Cullen… you know that.” 
“You need to take care of yourself if you’re going to uphold that.” He remarked, rising to his feet. “I recall a certain Inquisitor telling me the same thing once before.” 
You nodded, pulling him onto the bed beside you, feeling his arms ivy around your waist, pulling you into his lap. 
“You have been with me every step of the way,” He purred, your body that had been frigid hours before, warmed by his touch. “I will do everything I’m able to do the same for you dear.” 
“… You mean that?” 
It didn’t even take long to know with utter and absolute certainty. 
“More than anything.” 
127 notes · View notes
daihell · 6 years
Text
Some fluff for the wonderful @sloth-draws  Thank you for letting me write your boy Aracari, I just love him so much as well as the dynamic between him, Elden, and Dorian! I hope you enjoy <33
The Inquisitor had been incredibly busy lately. Well, more than usual at least. Dorian supposed he always seemed to be busy, doing more than he ever should have had to. It was frustrating when there wasn’t anything they could do to assist him, so Dorian just dug in and researched even more. It was what he was good at and he was determined to find something, anything that could be of use to help the cause.
They hadn’t been in the field in a while and Ari was also restless. And it was obvious he was worried for Elden as well. It was nearly impossible to catch him between meetings so the two of them spent their evenings and nights in the Inquisitor’s quarters. There at least they were bound to encounter Elden, although it made it all the more distressing when he didn’t show. Maker, why were they making him work through the night?
“You know,” Dorian said from where he was reclining on the bed, book in hand, although he’d long since given up reading. “If this keeps up, we could always kidnap him.”
“Yeah?” Ari called, popping his head out of the washroom and looking much too excited at the idea. “Think we could get past Leliana?”
“Hmm, that might prove difficult.”
“And stealth really ain’t yer thing,” Ari joked.
“Indeed, why would I ever want to hide all of this?” Dorian said, gesturing to himself. “We’ll just have to play to our strengths, I’m sure we can figure something out.”
“Well, I’m game if you are,” Ari said as he came out to join him on the bed.
Dorian couldn’t help but smile upon seeing him. He was wearing one of Elden’s shirts and it looked positively huge on him. Dorian was just overcome with fondness for these two men, unimaginably happy every time he saw the way they so much as looked at each other. There was something wonderful, seeing two people you care so deeply for caring for each other as well. There once was a time when he feared for his own place here, but there had never been a need for that. They both looked at him the same way after all.
But it wasn't the time for that. He knew Ari was sorely missing Elden. Truth be told, Dorian was as well. Seeing him at night when they were all too tired to do anything but collapse together and sleep hardly counted as quality time. And what were they going to do if Elden ran himself into the ground? Still, staying here even with only a small chance of spending a little time with him was worth it. And sleeping in his bed, enveloped in his comforting scent, was definitely a bonus.
“Come on then,” Dorian said and Ari curled up against him, head on his chest. “I’m worried about him too.”
“Work on that kidnapping plan, yeah?”
“What kidnapping plan?”
They both looked up to see the Inquisitor himself ascending the stairs.
“Elden!” Ari exclaimed, the concern gone from his face and replaced with joy.
They hadn't expected him for some time and Dorian couldn't help but feel relief as well. “About time you got back,” he said, setting his book aside.
“You guys really didn’t have to wait up for me,” Elden said as he approached the bed and kissed them both in greeting before removing his jacket and tossing it aside.
“Then we woulda missed you,” Ari said.
“Yes indeed,” Dorian moved aside, allowing Elden to drop heavily onto the bed and squeeze in between them. “And we’ve decided that if you won’t take a break, we will just have to kidnap you. Given the tenacity of your spymaster, I would rather not resort to it, but you’ve left us no choice in the matter.”
“I dunno, might be fun dodging spies,” Ari said with a grin.
“But that is valuable time we could spend doing other things,” Dorian pointed out, but he still couldn’t help smiling at Ari in equal parts amusement and fondness.
“You’re right,” Elden sighed. “And I’d like to make this all up to you both.”
“Nah, you’re good,” Ari said.
“Speak for yourself,” Dorian joked. “Take me somewhere warm and all is forgiven.”
“Deal,” Elden laughed, wrapping his arms around them both and pulling them close. “I’ll talk to the advisors in the morning and see what can be done.”
“Good. And now you owe us a good night’s rest,” Dorian said, settling down with his head on Elden’s chest. He smiled across at Ari, their fingers interlocking.
Everything just felt better when the three of them were together. It just felt right, like they were whole again. And Dorian would definitely rest easier with the prospect of them getting a proper break before any of them could work themselves into the ground. He wasn’t joking about the kidnapping though. One way or another, there would be a proper vacation in their future.
13 notes · View notes
minwrathous · 6 years
Text
Kiss Prompt #19
Fictional Kiss Prompt 19. kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing Shar Lavellan x Dorian requested by @galileo-humpkins
It was getting late and Dorian’s small alcove was awash with flickering candlelight. The library around him was quiet, as many of its familiar patrons were winding down for the evening. Dorian was leaning over a large tome, engrossed in a particularly lengthy piece of text, when a shadow was cast across his work area. He looked up tried not to grimace when there was a twinge of pain in his neck.
“Dorian,” Shar said. Inquisitor Lavellan stood at the mouth of the alcove, arms crossed over his chest. The elf was wearing his ‘casual’ leathers, as well as a look of mild annoyance.
“Inquisitor,” Dorian said, rubbing at his neck.
Shar rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms. “You missed dinner,” he said, moving into Dorian’s space. He perched on the arm of Dorian’s chair, close enough that Dorian could smell him - cinnamon and clove and something Dorian hadn’t yet identified beyond warm.
“Did I?” Dorian asked. He looked up at Shar, then back down to his work. “Apologies. I’ve only just gotten to some particularly useful bits.” He gestured at the book as if it could explain for him.
“Are you going to miss cards as well then?” Shar asked. He leaned over Dorian’s shoulder to peer at the book. The elf’s tone was light, but Dorian could sense a hint of disappointment in it. “For these useful bits?”
Cards. Shit. Dorian had forgotten. It was mid-week and there was no urgent mission, which meant that there would be cards and conversation at the tavern. Dorian usually enjoyed indulging, but tonight… Part of him really didn’t want to leave off in the middle of his readings.
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I’m sorry, Shar.” It was still novel - calling the Inquisitor by his given name. Dorian had recently been asked to use it more.
“You’ve been working hard lately,” Shar murmured. His expression had softened at the sound of his name.
“You’re one to talk,” Dorian replied with huff. He leaned back in and scratched a note on one of his parchments. “Your steadfast work ethic is rather infamous around here.”
“Is it?” Shar asked. “Well, I suppose card night is required because of it. Are you sure you won’t join us?”
“Positive,” Dorian replied.
Shar sighed and slid from the arm of the chair. “Suit yourself,” he said. Dorian waited for him to take his leave. Instead, he suddenly felt a soft kiss placed to the side of his head. Dorian looked up in surprise and Shar took the opportunity to move his kiss around to Dorian’s cheek.
“What are you doing?” Dorian asked. Shar was close again, leaning down over him.
“Convincing you to leave your work for a bit,” the Inquisitor replied.
“What-”
Dorian was cut off by Shar closing the distance between them. He pressed his lips to Dorian’s and brought a hand up to lightly touch the man’s cheek. Dorian, still shocked, couldn’t help but kiss the elf back. He parted his lips to let Shar’s tongue dip into his mouth, and his hand moved up to clutch at the front of Shar’s shirt.
After a moment, Dorian had to bite back a moan as the elf sank down into the chair with him, straddling his lap.
They’d kissed before, of course. They’d stolen a few quiet moments alone here and there. They’d even had a quick fumble at one another in Dorian’s tent during their last mission. But this…
“W-wait,” Dorian said. He pushed the elf back just enough to break the kiss. It did nothing to move Shar away, which was maddening in its own right. Dorian was half-hard already, and they’d only just started kissing. He would have felt a bit of embarrassment if it hadn’t been for the hardness he could feel pressing back down against him.
“Dorian, I swear that if you’re about to tell me to move so you can read.” Shar began.
“No, no,” Dorian replied. “It’s not that. It’s just…” He gestured with his free hand. “We’re here. In the library.” True, it was late and rather dim, but it wasn’t completely empty. Dorian, who had lived his entire life worrying about being discreet, felt utterly exposed.
“We are,” Shar replied. His expression was kind as he gently stroked Dorian’s cheek. “Your point?”
“My point?” Dorian blinked. “My point is that we could be easily seen by anybody just walking by.”
“Ah,” Shar said. “That. Well, I’m not very worried about that.” He refrained from diving back in for another kiss though, instead watching Dorian’s expression.
“You don’t...care,” Dorian repeated.
“Not really, no,” was Shar’s simple response.
Dorian bit back a guffaw. Could it really be that simple? He glanced over Shar’s shoulder, taking in the empty library outside the alcove. It was dim. Quiet. His own heartbeat echoed in his ears, mixed with the ever-present rustling of Leliana’s birds drifting down from above. He could hear Shar’s breathing as well. Steady. The Inquisitor was waiting patiently.
“Well,” Dorian said. His hand drifted down to rest against Shar’s leather-clad hip. “I suppose a few more moments won’t hurt,” he admitted. His own heartbeat quickened as Shar leaned in close again.
The candlelight flickered, Dorian’s work lay completely forgotten, and the odds seemed to be against their card night attendance as well.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Shar said. His lips brushed against Dorian’s, drawing out a little smile. Shar was also smiling as they kissed again.
And again.
12 notes · View notes
enbysaurus-wrex · 6 years
Text
All-American Boy chapter 3
Chapter 3
Take a chance, take your shoes off, dance in the rain.
-Panic! at the Disco, I Have Friends in Holy Spaces
Cas:
Cas squinted his eyes at his roommate. “What’s larking?” he asked, head tilted slightly and eyebrows knit together.
Dean barked out a laugh, bending over to clutch his stomach. “LARPING,” he clarified. “It stands for live action role playing. It’s not a Shakespearean bird, you loon.”
“Larks are real birds, Dean,” Cas said, smirk forming on his lips. “What does live action role playing intail?”
“Uh, basically it’s like an RPG in real life. You run around with foam swords or beanbags for magic and just… role play. It’s fun,” Dean said with a casual smile.
“Who’s all gonna be there?” Cas asked. It wasn’t as if he were shy or anything. It just took him a while to warm up to new people and crowds freaked him out a little bit.
“Uh, Charlie, of course,” Dean said, scratching the stubble forming on his chin as he tried to remember who all was coming. “And Gilda, probably. Kevin and Channing, Garth, and a few others. Not too many people but we need the numbers in order to be a university recognized club, you know.”
Cas nodded. “Yeah. Sounds fun. Will I have to buy anything or will stuff be provided?”
Dean shook his head. “No, we’ve got a few extra supplies for newcomers but if you come to more than two games you have to purchase your own and pay the five dollar club fee.”
“Sounds reasonable. What class are you?” Cas asked, curious. He’d played several RPGs before so he was familiar with how they worked… mostly. It wasn’t as if he’d played D&D or WOW. Just stuff like Dragon Age and Skyrim.
“I’m a warrior so I’m DPS. But you have your orcs who are the tanks, mages can be DPS or healers depending. You also have rogues which can specialize in archery or short range weapons like daggers or whatnot,” he explained and Cas nodded again. He figured it would be something like that.
“Great,” Dean said, opening his wardrobe and pulling out a foam longsword.
Cas chuckled. “Where did you get that? Narnia?” he asked, not able to hide his amusement.
“Nah,” Dean said with a shrug. “Just kinda a closeted nerd.”
“Well, in my opinion, closets are for clothes. You should always be open about who you are. Why hide it?” He recognized the hypocrisy in what he was saying of course. If only he could just practice what he preached. But it was easier said than done. Especially with his upbringing.
“Well, the game’s tonight at sundown,” Dean said, pulling some costume chainmail from the closet as well. “What do you usually play as? You’re a mage in Dragon Age, right?”
“Elf mage. But I don’t have a costume. Or ears…” Cas said with a frown.
“And they haven’t put up any of those Halloween Express stores yet… We could always try Goodwill. I’m sure you could turn some ugly dress into a mage’s robes. And Charlie actually has Hogwarts robes you could wear inside-out to hide the school insignia,” Dean said, looking him up and down. “They might be a little short and maybe a little tight in the arms, but I’m sure they’ll fit. They’re kinda loose on her.”
“Not all mages wear robes you know? Dorian in Dragon Age kinda just wears a tunic with leather and gauntlets underneath.”
Dean nodded. “And thigh highs,” he said with a chuckle. “And a wicked-ass curly mustache.”
“They aren’t thigh highs,” Cas corrected. “Probably just knee highs with leather pants.”
“And he forgot a sleeve, because he’s an ‘edgy Tevinter,’” Dean said, still chuckling.
Cas snorted. “I thought he was just doing that to be sexy,” he said and Dean barked out another laugh.
“Yeah, well, you can be whatever kind of mage you want. I, myself, go for the knight in shining armor look,” Dean said with a wink.
Cas tried not to read too much into it. He knew they were just playing around. He wasn’t ready to get his heart broken again.
Half an hour and one city bus later, Cas and Dean were walking through Goodwill, looking through the dresses in the women’s section.
“You’ll probably need a large or an XL since most women aren’t as… built as you are,” Dean said, looking through the appropriate sizes.
Cas nodded. “Most women also aren’t six foot,” he said, knowing he’d probably fit an XL better and going straight to that section. He tried not to think too hard about the fact Dean called him built. It was just an observation. Nothing more.
“What about this?” Dean asked, holding up a white tunic style dress with cut-out sleeves.
Cas observed the dress, picturing wearing black jeans and boots with it. It would be a bit like what Dorian wore. Enough to make it work anyway.
“That could work if I put a belt around the waist and chest…” Cas mused.
“And Charlie has black arm-warmers you could wear as gauntlets. It’s not perfect but…”
“It’ll do,” Cas said, grabbing the garment and making his way towards the dressing rooms.
In front of the mirror, Cas stripped off his tee shirt and slipped on the dress. Other than his collar bones showing, it seemed to work pretty well. Maybe he could wear a scarf with it to make it more ‘magie.’ Afterall, he wasn’t supposed to be Dorian. He was just Dorian inspired. He could even draw on a goatee using eyeliner to set him apart from the character.
Back at Birchwood, Dean and Cas went to Charlie’s room to bum the arm warmers and some eyeliner off of her. She was so excited Cas was joining them tonight, she gladly gave over the supplies, telling him he could keep them for future cosplays if he’d like.
“Are you sure?” Cas asked, looking down at the black pencil and bit of fabric in his hands.
Charlie nodded. “Oh yeah. I have way too many sticks of eyeliner because my parents always give me makeup as stocking stuffers. And I’ve only worn the arm warmers once. They’re a little too emo for my tastes,” she said, cringing slightly.
Dean laughed. “I always seem to get car accessories in my stocking,” he said, shaking his head. “I have this huge collection of air fresheners and no car to put them in.”
Cas smiled fondly, remembering Christmases past. “I would always get more candy than one person could eat and my dad would end up stealing most of it even though I hid it under my bed.”
“Parents…” Charlie said, shaking her head and Cas tried not to be saddened by the memories.
“Parents,” he said in agreement.
After eating breakfast for dinner at Westwood (and yes, it was just as packed as Dean said it would be) the three of them made their way out to the Quad.
“Dean!” a small-framed blonde girl shouted and ran up to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. He picked her up and spun her around.
“Missed you kiddo,” he said into her hair before setting her down.
“Jo,” he said, addressing the girl. “This is Cas, my roommate. Cas, this is Jo. She’s Bobby’s daughter and a freshman in Honors College. She has an on-campus job so she got to come up a week earlier, but unfortunately has been just too busy to stop by and see me.” He ruffled her hair and she slapped away his hand.
“Bobby who owns the auto shop?” Cas asked.
Jo nodded. “Yup. That’s my daddy. Grew up around cars my whole life but what I really want to do is teach. Well… and coach. I’m on the volleyball team here.”
Cas’s eyes bugged out of his head. “You’re in Honors College, have a job, and are in a sport? That’s a lot.”
Jo shrugged. “It’s not that bad. I tested out of a lot of the required classes and have a couple of semesters of college credit under my belt so I’m only taking twelve credit hours.”
“Tell him what you wanna teach,” Dean said, sounding rather proud of her.
“Physics,” Jo answered, a bit shyly. “I’ve always been drawn to the sciences, you know?”
Dean put his arm around her, pulling the girl to his side. He kissed her on the top of the head.
Cas felt like he was going to be sick. It didn’t come as a surprise that Dean had a girlfriend. He just wasn’t prepared for how bad it would feel. It had only been a week but he was falling for the man. Hard.
Dean:
Dean couldn’t be more proud of Jo. He kissed the top of her head and smiled down at her, her eyes shining back up at him. He knew the girl had a crush on him and that she had since they were children. They had always been really close and were open with their affections. But for all the heart eyes she made at him, he had only ever thought of her as a sister. It’s not as if he’d never told her that either. He figured she was just holding out until the day he changed his mind. Which was never ever going to happen. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t find her attractive. She was very cute. It was just that it would be so… weird. They’d known each other since daycare.
“Hey, Dean,” Max said, approaching with a small wave, his twin sister Alicia right behind him.
Max on the other hand… He’d met the dark skinned boy in freshman biology and had been harboring a crush ever since.
“Hey!” Dean said, letting go of Jo to hug each of the twins. “How are your moms?”
“Oh, you know. They’re cops so they never get a day off together but are disgustingly hopelessly in love,” Max said as he fake gagged. “It’s sickening.”
Max and Alicia were adopted, their parents dying in a car crash when they were very young. Sheriffs Jody and Donna had taken them in when they were in grade school.
“Hey!” Alicia said, suddenly remembering something. “Max and I are going to a drag show tomorrow. Wanna come?”
“Is it a Prism thing?”
Max nodded. “Yep.” He turned to Charlie. “Didn’t see you at the first meeting, Charles.”
“Been busy with RA stuff,” Charlie told him.
“And gaming,” Max said with a laugh.
“And gaming,” Charlie repeated sheepishly.
“Oh, love the outfit,” Max said, finally noticing Cas.
His friend suddenly looked shy. “Thanks. We, uh, got it at Goodwill actually.”
“Nice,” Max said with a nod. “Hey, Dean, come meet the rest of the gang.” He ushered them towards where Gilda, Kevin, Channing, and Garth were chatting with two brunette girls. As soon as Charlie approached, Gilda was immediately at her side. “Guys, this is Annie and Krissy.”
“Alex,” the one brunette corrected.
“They’re both freshman in the prospect teaching program,” Jo said.
“Prospect?” Cas asked, doing that cute head-tilt thing he always did.
Jo nodded. “Yeah, they don’t accept you into the teacher’s college until your junior year. You have to take a test and everything.”
“But you can take the test sooner than that since you have so many credits built up?” Dean asked, putting his arm around her again.
“Maybe. I’d have to ask my counselor,” Jo admitted.
Dean nodded. “Maybe you can get your program counselor early,” he suggested. Freshman had a different guidance counselor their first year as a ‘general counselor’ and after that they got a counselor in their majors.
“Enough yacking!” Charlie said with command. “As your queen, I demand no talk of the outside world once one’s feet step into Moondoor.”
“Moondoor?” Cas asked, looking adorably confused.
“The Quad,” Dean whispered with a chuckle. “It’s what we call the kingdom the game takes place in.”
Cas nodded, suddenly looking serious.
“Now then,” Charlie said, clapping her hand behind her back and walking in a royal fashion. “I want each of you to split up into two teams. You will have fifteen minutes to strategize before the game begins.”
Cas stood back while the group formed into two teams.
“Wanna be on my team, Cas?” Dean asked.
“Sure,” the dark-haired man nodded. “Who else is on our team.”
“Team Badass is you, me, Max, Jo, and Krissy,” Dean said with a smirk. “And Team Loser over there is Garth, Alex, Kevin, Channing, and Gilda.”
“Charlie isn't playing?” Cas asked, a look of confusion on his face.
Dean shook his head, chuckling softly. “Nah, she is. She just floats around to wherever she's needed. Keeps things interesting,” he said with a smirk.
“Alright good people of Moondoor,” Charlie said, approaching the front of the group once again. “What be your team names?”
“Team Badass!” Dean shouted, earning a ripple of laughter from both teams.
“Acceptable,” Charlie said. “And your team?” she asked the second group.
“Team Ass-Kickers!” Garth shouted, putting out his palm to be high fived by Kevin.
Charlie chuckled and shook her head. She instructed each team to go over their teams plan of attack. After fifteen minutes she addressed the whole group again.
She cleared her throat several times and everyone stopped talking. “Let the game commence!” she shouted and Dean let off a battle-cry.
Cas:
LARPing turned out to be complete and utter chaos with people attacking one another with foam weapons, firing fake arrows, and throwing bean bags from a pouch around their waists and shouting spells like “incinerate!” and “immobilize!” at one another. In the end, Team Badass won.
Cas was so tired, he fell asleep that night the minute his head hit the pillow. The next morning he was sore, but a good sore, the kind of ache he felt after an extra long run.
He ate breakfast with Dean and Garth (nobody else was awake) and spent the late morning into the afternoon watching Stranger Things on Netflix with them.
The entire LARPing team met for dinner at seven at the Student Center. Cas had never belonged to a group before. It felt nice.
After dinner, he was invited to go with them to see a drag show but he politely declined. He had no issues with drag or even transgender people. He just wasn’t ready to go to an event like that.
On Sunday he went out to the Quad to read his chapters while Dean and Jo were at the recplex lifting weights. Soccer practice stared that week and Dean wanted to make sure he was at least in some sort of shape before the season began.
Every day that week, at five pm sharp, Cas went to the soccer field to watch Dean practice. Sometimes Jo, Charlie, or Garth would join him, but on Thursday he was alone watching the brilliant man he was falling more and more for each and every day wipe the field with the rest of his teammates. It was no wonder the guy was there on an athletic scholarship.
As a midfielder, it suddenly became obvious how Dean stayed in shape despite his, admittedly, horrible eating habits. He glided across the pitch like it was made of ice. Cas knew nothing about sports but he knew he was one impressive specimen, that was for sure.
After practice, they would always grab a bite to eat. Sometimes they were alone, other times, one of their friends joined. Oftentimes, it was Jo. Cas tried not to get jealous every time the two of them casually touched. He knew going into this that Dean probably didn’t go for men, and even if he did, clearly he and Jo were devoted to one another and Cas did not intend to be a homewrecker.
Dean:
It was after practice on Friday night and Dean was beat, even after the amazing waffles he’d just had at Westwood. If he was being honest with himself, the carbs were probably making him even more sleepy. Thank goodness Cas just wanted a simple night in playing video games. Dean could be down with that. Maybe Charlie or Garth would join them later.
After kicking off his cleats, he bent over to peel of his socks and shin guards and threw them in the corner of the room where his laundry bin was.
Cas wrinkled his nose as he put the game into his XBox 360. He’d been playing Dragon Age Inquisition on PS4 and this was the first time he’d booted the 360 up since he’d been rooming with Dean.
“You should have brought some of those car air fresheners with you, hang them by your stinky laundry.”
Dean chuckled and went over to retrieve his shin guards. “You’re no spring rose after a jog,” he told Cas before throwing the rancid object at him.
Cas ducked to avoid it. “Watch it,” he said, pointing a finger at him with false seriousness. “I will tell Charlie on you.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?” Dean asked, lifting up the other shin guard as if he was going to throw it.
“Do you want to watch me play Mass Effect or not?” Cas asked, sitting down on his banana chair and raising an eyebrow at Dean.
Dean rolled his eyes and took a seat next to Cas in his own gaming chair. He was more of a PC gamer himself and was glad Cas had brought along a television and a couple of consoles. Not knowing where to put them, the tv was sitting stacked on top of the mini fridge/microwave combo Dean rented and the consoles were stacked on top of the empty plastic milk crates Dean had packed his stuff in. It wasn’t pretty but it worked.
“Okay, what’s this game about?” Dean asked as the start menu loaded.
Cas pressed start and began creating his character.
“Uh, it’s a decision making sci-fi RPG. It has a bit of a Star Trek influence and is story based. There are more lines of dialogue than your average tv show. So, the gameplay is kinda… lacking, but it got a lot better by games two and three. Your decisions carry over from game to game as well as the friendships and romantic relationships.”
“Romantic relationships?”
“Yeah, you can sleep with members of your crew.”
“How very Kirk of you,” Dean observed with a chuckle.
Cas nodded as he focused on getting his character just right. “Yeah, they actually had a limited edition Mass Effect Cards Against Humanity pack. One of the cards was ‘fuckable aliens.’”
Dean snorted. “So, like blue chicks or something?”
“There are those,” Cas said as he chose his characters background and class. “But there’s also a few other human and alien options. More so in games two and three.”
“So, who can you fuck this game?”
“Well, since there’s no gay romance option in ME1 or I usually go for Liara - your typical hot blue alien chick - and then kind just roll the dice in Two,” he said with a chuckle. “But I’m pretty much just holding out for Kaiden in Three. Sometimes I’ll go for Cortez but-”
“Wait,” Dean said, swallowing hard. “You’re gay?”
“Um... “ Cas looked nervous. “My Commander Shepard is for sure.”
“No,” Dean shook his head, standing up quickly. “Are you?”
Cas looked down at his controller. He was still in character creation mode. “You went to a drag show. You’re friends with Charlie and Max… I didn’t think you’d have an issue with-”
Dean shook his head. No, if Cas were gay that would change everything. “It’s a yes or no question, Cas.”
Dean wasn’t sure why he was freaking out so much about this. Hell, he identified as bisexual so it wasn’t a homophobic response. But, nonetheless, the knowledge that Cas might be into him made him uneasy. Maybe it was because he was still so fixated on Max?
“You’re not forcing me out of the closet, Dean,” Cas said, looking up at him with fire in his eyes. “I don’t get what your issue is but-”
“Hey,” Dean said, kneeling down and putting his hand on the other man’s shoulder before he decided to smite him or something. “I’m just… going through my own shit. It has nothing to do with you.”
“So you don’t have an issue if I’m-”
“Not at all!” Dean said, squeezing his shoulder and looking him dead in the eyes. Those deep blue beautiful eyes. “I… It just came as a surprise, that’s all. I’m totally cool with it.” He shot him a charming smile. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Okay…” Cas said tentatively before turning back to the tv.
To be continued...
http://archiveofourown.org/works/13196649/chapters/30569769
2 notes · View notes