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#alistair fanfic
writeyouin · 2 months
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Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Fem-Reader - Sinless Sinners
Chapter 1 - Hate For All Sinners
A/N – I couldn’t stop thinking about this short King after episode 5 of Hazbin Hotel came out. This is mostly a fic for me, to get me back into writing. (WILL DO A MALE AND NONBINARY ONE SOON!)
Warnings – None.
Rating – T
MALE VERSION HERE
NON-BINARY / GN VERSION HERE
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“Who’s that?” Lucifer asked, pointing you out to Charlie.
In truth, he would’ve likely asked that of the next person he saw. As Charlie’s father, Lucifer was trying desperately to show how interested he was in his daughter’s project, even if he was barely holding onto anything she said. It wasn’t that he was disinterested, or too ignorant to understand the situation, but rather that after spending so much time as a recluse, locked away in the protective space of his workshop where he wouldn’t have to see the sinners or the Hell he was responsible for creating, Lucifer could barely comprehend what was going on around him. He knew it was because he was depressed, but he was trying and he had to make Charlie see that, even if it meant feigning fits of hypomanic excitement.
Yet, Lucifer found himself genuinely… horrified by you. He had seen many types of Demon over the millennia. Typically, they tended to represent Earth’s animals, such as that annoyingly powerful Deer Demon, Alistair, whom Lucifer had met thanks to this very tour… not that Alistair was worth mentioning, piece of shit that he was, mingling with Lucifer’s daughter when he had no right to even breathe the same air as her-
Lucifer caught his snowballing thoughts, turning them back to you. You weren’t an animal Demon. There were other types of Demons of course, though Flora and Fauna were the most common; object Demons also existed, such as that rather famous one that people talked about, the TV Demon, V-something? Lucifer couldn’t remember his name. He didn’t watch Television… he didn’t do much of anything these days.
“Oh,” Charlie sidled over to you, wrapping her arm warmly around your shoulder as she corralled you towards her father, “Dad, this is (Y/N). She’s one of the hotel’s, uh, allies I guess, right (Y/N)?”
“That’s right, Sir,” You held out your hand for Lucifer, who was staring dumbly at you, uncertain what to make of you.
As the ruler of Hell, fuelled by angelic power, Lucifer could always read a Demon, or rather, he could read their strength. For example, he knew after only one meeting that the bartender, Husk was a strong Demon, though his power was clearly being dampened by a soul contract, whereas that little snake fellow Sir Pentious was rather weak, though he had potential if he could manage to claim even a few souls of his own, but you? You were entirely different.
First off, you didn’t resemble an animal, plant, or object… You were the most human-looking Demon that Lucifer had ever seen; frankly, he found that disturbing. Secondly, you didn’t seem to have much if any power. What was wrong with you? To come off as human with little demonic power… Well, if Lucifer didn’t know any better, he would guess that you weren’t a sinner at all, but you had to be. You were definitely dead; that much he could tell. And, you were in Hell.
Dead and in Hell - those were the only two qualifications for becoming a Demon, so why were you like this?
“Dad, are you listening?” Charlie said exasperatedly, clearly annoyed that Lucifer’s thoughts seemed to have trailed off once again.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Lucifer stated, staring at your hand which you had seemingly retracted when he wasn’t paying attention. Damnation! Now Charlie was going to think he had snubbed her friend on purpose.
“So, (Y/N) is another one of your patrons. That’s nice.”
“What? No. Dad, I just told you, (Y/N) has no interest in being redeemed.”
“Oh,” Lucifer looked you up and down disapprovingly. It figured. Even this non-Demon was looking for power in Hell, probably so you would finally be a killer worth bragging about – Honestly, what was the point? All sinners were the same. Greedy, destructive forces who wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left to break.
“Yep, she’s our only permanent resident who wants to help rehabilitate other souls. Isn’t that great? She helps with everything here, and she doesn’t ask for anything in return.”
“That’s not true,” You blushed at Charlie’s praise. “Your daughter is very generous, Sir. She lets me stay here rent-free.”
“And that’s all you want?” Lucifer asked suspiciously.
“Honestly? Yeah.”
Lucifer shook his head but didn’t argue. He didn’t want to know what your real motivations were. It was probably as simple as hoping for regular boons from the Princess of Hell; you were clearly just biding your time. Besides, if you didn’t want to redeem your soul, then you must be just like Alistair, a sadistic monster just waiting to see Demons repeatedly fail in their attempts at redemption.
Now that his curiosity was sated, Lucifer decided that he didn’t want to lay eyes on you again. You weren’t worth his time. Only Charlie was… Well, Charlie and Vaggie, because any woman his daughter loved was practically family to him. He was glad when the tour continued, leaving you behind to catch Nifty who was trying to pull a piece of fabric from Lucifer’s coat, muttering something about the ‘Ultimate bad boy.’
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“Okay, I can get you the meeting,” Lucifer agreed, doing what he could to support Charlie’s dreams of saving her people, even though he didn’t think there were any redeeming qualities for any denizen of Hell.
It hurt him to tell Charlie that he wouldn’t be able to go with her to that lofty paradise, having been cast out; how he wished he could protect his daughter from those who carried out God’s will. Still, she never asked him for anything, and if this was what her heart most desired, he would do all in his power to help.
“Will you be okay?” He asked sombrely.
“I’ll be fine,��� Charlie assured him, taking hold of his hands.
“That’s my girl.”
For a moment, it looked like Lucifer was done, but he paused, worried that this wasn’t enough to make up for the years he had been absent, leaving Charlie to fend for herself while he shut himself away.
“Is there anything else you need?”
Charlie couldn’t help but worry about her father. What would happen when he went back into isolation? He needed something to focus on, but… What was there for him when all of Hell was his prison?
She couldn’t help thinking about how little Lucifer thought of all the other citizens of Hell. If only he could see that they weren’t as terrible as he thought. Granted, they could be violent, and loud, definitely rambunctious, but these were his people, and he had to see that his gift of Free Will was a good thing, yet, if she said any of this, she was certain Lucifer would only laugh at her or tell her to get real while playfully pinching her cheek. There was no way that Lucifer would leave his home to hang out with any citizen of Hell.
Then it hit her. If Lucifer wouldn’t leave his manor to visit people, then people should be allowed to visit his manor. Or better yet, one person should be chosen to go and live with Lucifer so that he would learn just how good people could be, and Charlie knew just the person for the job.
“Actually, Dad, there is one more thing.”
“Name it,” Lucifer smiled, glad that his daughter wanted to ask things of him, as any normal child should want from their parents.
“I think it would be good for you to socialise, just a little bit.”
“Charlie,” Lucifer’s voice was strained at the thought of going anywhere else in Hell.
“I know,” Charlie reassured him, looking into his eyes; she looked so understanding that he relaxed slightly. Then, she continued in a more upbeat tone, “That’s why I think you should take (Y/N) to live with you, as your maid!”
She pounded her palm decidedly, much like a judge pounding her gavel.
“What? NO!” Lucifer sputtered.
You for your part, had seemingly been shocked into silence, watching the exchange uncertainly while Alistair grinned devilishly at you, and Angel Dust was holding in a snicker. Granted, you could have argued, but Charlie was stubborn, and she always had some kind of wild idea. Whatever she was thinking, you decided that you would go along with it; there was usually a method to her madness after all.
“It’s fine, Dad, (Y/N) doesn’t mind, right (Y/N)?”
You shrugged your shoulders passively, “I guess?”
“See? You should get to know your citizens, Dad. It will be good for you, I promise. They’re not all as bad as you think.”
Lucifer took one hard look at you. Honestly, he wished his daughter had picked the porn star or that psycho maid. You, as a very human-looking Demon, were a vicious reminder of his past mistakes. Still, he had told his daughter he would do anything for her, and he had already promised her a meeting with Heaven, and nothing could possibly be worse than that.
“Alright,” He agreed.
Then, he summoned a portal for you with the flick of his wrist.
“Good luck, kiddo.” He said to Charlie, and upon keeping a safe distance from you, he waited for you to step through the portal.
“Charlie, I’m assuming that you have a good reason for this,” You said before taking a step towards your newly appointed home, “Just call me if you need anything.”
With that, you were gone, followed closely (though not too closely) by Lucifer.
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the-twiilight-diaries · 11 months
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Could you do head cannons for this:(whomever you feel drawn most to write for!)
Out late at night the reader is on a bridge in town. A guy makes a pass at her and when she rejects him he gets upset and argues. She ends up being knocked over the edge of the bridge but a vampire happens to be nearby. Not only that but she's also his mate and he has to act fast in order to save her.(thinking he has to pull her out of the water and possibly do cpr up to you!) Please and thank you!!
Simple and Clean // Twilight x Reader Reactions.
A/N: I ended up picking a few characters for this, with small scenarios + a future flashforward sort of scene. Edward girlies let me know how I did for his bit, I'm trying to get some practice for his character and could use some feedback. I really love the mated at first sight headcanons so I'm adding something else: when you first touch your mate, you receive a vision of the future you'll have.
Also, I was listening to Simple and Clean for this and just, I dunno, you know the song version with the beat in the beginning?? I'm kind of seeing that as Y/N's heartbeat, everything in slow motion as he runs to her, the chorus playing as he pulls her into his arms.
"Hold me, whatever lies beyond this morning is a little later on. Regardless of warnings the future doesn't scare me at all. Nothing's like before."
Pairings: Edward Cullen x Reader; Allister x Reader; Fred x Reader; Jasper Hale x Reader.
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You had always loved the night.
There was something almost magical about the darkness of the city at night, streetlights flickering sweetly through the shadows as though they were silent guardians, promising that all would be well.
And tonight, much to your delight, there was snow. It fell slowly from the black sky, like delicate stars drifting towards the earth just to tangled in your hair and melt upon kissing your face. So distracted by the beauty of it all, the nightly walk you often took became a wandering, feet bringing you towards the black bridge. Far below you heard the icy water crashing wildly, silver light reflected in the ebb and flow. But there was something else too...
A velvet whisper, something you could not catch.
The soft tinkling of a music box.
A faint light flashing from below.
The fall of quick footsteps, not far behind.
Turning back, you searched the darkness...and you saw nothing, the thrilling of your heart nothing more than your imagination. Until a voice called out. With a quick snap, you looked forward once more, a man appearing out of the darkness. He was handsome, all things considered, with chestnut hair in thick curls and deep green eyes. But there was something ugly hidden within those eyes, sensing it at once.
"Just going home," you said quickly, walking a little faster.
But he followed behind, asking question after question. Where did you live (around), did you have any plans (waiting for a friend, they were actually expecting you), did you have a boyfriend (yes, actually). Quickly, you pulled out your phone and began to call Bella, hoping that if you acted like you were waiting for her and this imaginary boyfriend, he might get scared away.
You never got the chance.
"You're really pretty," he said, reaching out towards your face.
On instinct, you slapped his hand away before he could caress your cheek, the action shocking you both. All at once the ugliness within became so much more real. his hand snapping around your wrist tightly.
"Fucking bitch!"
"Let me go!"
But he was faster and stronger, using your wrist to turn you around and pull you against his chest as you fought and screamed, cries echoing into the empty night. Kicking back between his legs, you kicked hard enough to get him to release you, falling to the concrete before stumbling to your feet and breaking into a run. So close to safety, the end of the bridge in sight...only for him to catch you once more and drag you back.
"Bit hot tempered, huh?" the man sneered as you struggled against him. "Maybe a swim can cool you down!"
"No!"
But it wasn't you that screamed like that as you were thrown off of the bridge, plunging into the darkness below.
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He was running out of time.
Every second passed so quickly, sand falling from the hourglass with thunderous warning. It was Alice that had seen it all first, the visions in her head seeping into his mind. And without question, Edward had defied everything to save you, only a few clues to guide him to you once more. A brief glimpse of a street sign, a store he recognized, and the bridge...he'd walked it before and now you di the same, never knowing what was to come.
He was too late.
Screams broke through the air as Edward appeared suddenly from the darkness, watching as you plunged down.
"No!"
He moved, so quickly that neither you nor the man ever saw him. Leaping off of the bridge, Edward appeared before you like a vision...but he was real, a hand reaching out to take hold of your own. Puling you into his chest, Edward turned as you fell together, his back towards the water and ready to take the impact. He could handle that.
What he could not handle were the visions that burned in his mind, the wildfire of it burning him sweetly.
You...in a white dress, running though the forest with him. His laughter cutting through the summer air. A flash of gold as you looked back at him, smiling as though he were the sun...and a boy. You stopped together in front of a small boy with copper hair, hands clasped together as you looked down at the child. Edward whispered something, so faraway that he could not hear himself.
And the vision faded as Edward leaned low to kiss you, so happy at this picture of heaven.
~
A kiss.
That was all you could truly remember from that night, cold lips pressed gently into your own. The rest of it was no more than fantasies.
A sunny forest filled with laughter, a man with golden eyes...he loves you, that much you know.
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He did not know what had pulled him to this place.
Not at first. But then again, he never did...Alistair simply felt the gentle pull of gravity and followed it. Wandering through the city, the discomfort was heavy...he had never liked crowded areas, never. Calming himself with the music box, Alistair spun the little handle as the tin box sang it's old song.
"Let me go!"
That voice...that was what he'd come for! He knew it at once, surging forward. From the top of the bridge, Alistair searched the shadows, finding you there as you fell. And, without question, he dropped, falling alongside you. A heartbeat...he followed it through the icy waters, the wild song leading him back you.
A hand took you own and the moment he did, the visions appeared like a light in the dark.
Stars...he was dancing beneath them, the music box still singing. And you were in his arms, eyes aglow was you danced and murmured sweet nothings. He was happy. And safe and loved, all of the things he thought would never be.
And he was kissing you, finding all he'd lost once more within this love.
~
A kiss.
That was all you could truly remember from that night, cold lips pressed gently into your own. The rest of it was no more than fantasies.
Dancing in the starlight as a song softly plays.
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He just wanted to be left alone.
It was quiet here and safe, the kind of place he liked. The sunlight had earlier forced him to hide beneath the bridge, sitting on the banks of the river and watching the light dance upon the water. But it was curiosity that had caused him to stay, searching the waters and taking note of the creatures within. Coming upon a long forgotten flashlight, Fred picked it up and toyed with it, pale blue light filling the night.
And then he heard it. Screaming, fighting, a woman being dragged into the darkness.
"Maybe a swim can cool you down!"
She screamed as she fell and, as she appeared in the shadows, everything seemed so much slower...their eyes met, for one brief moment. And without thinking, Fred dove into the water after her. The wild river seemed determined to defy him, wanting her for itself. But Fred cut through it quickly, arms wrapped around her waist as he pulled her into his chest. Her hands moved wildly, touching his neck.
He felt it like starlight kissing his skin, warm for the first time...and he saw her.
He saw them both, naked as the ocean lapped at bare skin. Fred lay back, the moon in his eyes as she hovered over him, hands resting upon his bare chest and eyes aglow with inhuman light. Light shone up you both, silver and blue glowing across cold skin.
Gently, you confessed your love as you kissed him, happily ever after within your lips.
~
A kiss.
That was all you could truly remember from that night, cold lips pressed gently into your own. The rest of it was no more than fantasies.
The ocean lapping sweetly at your skin, constellations reflected within your lover's eyes.
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He should not have come this far...or perhaps he should have gone farther.
Following you like this...God, what had he been thinking? He'd known about you, of course, Alice had told him decades ago. But he had promised himself that he would stay away in order to keep you safe. Turns out, that was harder then he'd expected.
Jasper had taken to watching over you and tonight had been no different, following behind as you wandered through the dark.
He should have stopped it then.
That was all he could think in this moment, that he should have moved faster, met you on the bridge and taken you away from everything. But it was far too late and he was falling into the dark waters, madly searching for you.
A hand.
Just briefly, a small hand broke through the river and reached into the air, pulled back quickly. But it was enough, Jasper diving as he rushed to save you. Taking hold of that same hand, he knew what was to come...what he had been avoiding for so, so long. But nothing had truly prepared him for it.
He felt the cold kiss of winter, almost sweet upon him.
Snow fell upon him as he walked through the darkness, coming across some sacred place. Footsteps slipped across the snow, thick clouds flying behind him as he ran home. A cottage tucked into the trees. And as light flooded the night, gentle and warm, you appeared before him, a hand reaching out.
He took it without question, pulling you into a kiss.
~
A kiss.
That was all you could truly remember from that night, cold lips pressed gently into your own. The rest of it was no more than fantasies.
Footsteps and snow fall, the snow tangled in blonde hair like silver upon gold.
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He watched from afar as the ambulance took you away, dropping the stolen cell phone into the water. But there as no going back. Now that he'd finally found love, he could never let it go.
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inquisimer · 13 days
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happy friday mer!!! for your mahariel/alistair, "❛ if only the time and space between us wasn’t lonely ❜"
happy dadwc kia and ty for the prompt! it's sad mahariel hours in my house (it's always sad mahariel hours in my house) ;-;
for @dadrunkwriting
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Sari used the cover of darkness to sneak back into Denerim. When she left, months ago, she’d planned to stay away forever. Even now, with corpses cleared and buildings repaired, ghosts lingered on each and every cobblestone.
But she had to come. Her heart beat against the scrap of paper in her breast pocket, an unsigned message in loopy writing: it is built.
When she rounded the corner up Queen’s Row, Sari’s breath caught. Alongside the palace gates stood a new structure, gleaming in the moonlight. A proud, silver-plated griffon perched on the roof, wings unfurled, about to take flight. Piles of flowers and coin and ribbons cluttered the entrance where a magical flame flickered, blue and undying to honor the one who gave his life to save them all.
Sari kept her hood drawn, past the lone guard and all the way up to the shrine. A few pieces of armor (that she knew to be fakes), a glass case over a polished medal, and a sword affixed to the wall above it. That was real—there could be no mistaking the dried flecks of the archdemon’s Blighted blood.
A smooth inscription in the marble read:
Alistair Theirin Warrior | Grey Warden | Hero of the Fifth Blight In Death, Sacrifice.
She placed her hands over the words so that she wouldn’t have to see the terrible code that condemned him to die. As soon as her palms touched cool stone, her knees gave way; she sank to the floor and pressed her forehead to it instead, tasting salt on her tongue as tears made their lonely, inevitable journey to the floor.
I miss you, she cried, silent. I cannot do this alone.
She had not been allowed to grieve for Tamlen. But there was no one in this world or the next, no quest or crisis that could keep her from anguish now. Not when her love was gone to ashes.
They should have been heroes together. Or he should be here, and she in the gilded urn, just a legend, a myth. That’s what she would be, anyway. The people who claimed to exalt her did not recognize her pointed ears or tattooed face—their eyes glazed over her where they would have latched on to Alistair.
You should be here.
She could feel the tears ending, for now. Just as well—she could not linger, lest she invite Leliana to descend her perch from the palace. And she could not bear the presence of her friend, not now, no matter how dear, no matter how she’d covered for Sari’s absence with both the crown and the crowds. Her touch was too gentle and forgiving to survive the barbs that Sari would stake into her if they met now.
With shaking hands, she loosed the leather cord from her neck. She felt off-balance without the weight of the tiny vial at her throat, but she set it alongside the other offerings at the shrine. The dark, sludgy concoction within oozed and warped as it settled.
Sari knelt before the shrine once more and pressed a kiss just over his name. How cold the stone was beneath her lips; the hardness sealed itself in her heart as she stood and wiped her face.
Ar lath ma, vhenan.
With each step she took, pieces of her fell away. A myth, a legend, a cautionary tale left in her wake.
The Hero of Ferelden left Ferelden behind.
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dragon-age-fame · 4 months
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Edit: I want to thank you guys for the interest. She is 14 pages in now. Low key might skip work today to write. Keep up the good work. I answer some of your questions and replies uwusl
Hwy guys.
I'm hoping to generate some interest for my current project with my bestie. We are writing a dragon age fanfic. Instead of one origin surviving, Duncan recruited all of them.
It will have romance, adventure, friendship, politics, betrayal and hope.
Our goal is to keep it true to the story to lore as possible.. hope to eventually write through all 3 games. (Possibly dreadwolf too depending on how that turns out)
The romance list is F. Maharel x Zevran, F. Tabris x Leliana, M. Adecan x Morrigan, F. Cousland x Alistair.
Surana and Brosca will be announced later.
How it will work is we are splitting the chapters. She writes one half. I write the other. We have different writing styles so I hope this will be a fun and relatively unique project.
Bestie says she will be more.motivated to write if people are interested. So I am hoping to show her to get her on the ball.
Please feel free to comment with any thoughts, comments, questions or ideas.
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all-things-ghostly · 3 months
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Yandere Hatbox Headcanons ❤️‍🩹
Okay I guess I lied when I said I’d post fics on an alt. Have some hcs for our beloved Hatbox (this one’s for Alistair, not the ride version, I envision two separate personalities for them :))
Rather than being cruel towards you, he is instead highly protective. Anyone who dares lay a finger on you, physically or emotionally, will at the very least get the fright of their lives, if not meet their end entirely.
This also means that you typically aren’t allowed to leave the mansion, at least not without him sending out his finest and strongest ghosts to supervise and protect you.
He will also protectively hide you under his cape sometimes ❤️
This man spoils you beyond belief. You’re his most prized possession mortal after all, and you deserve only the best! Feeling hungry? He has his staff prepare only the finest meals for you. Got your eye on something? Alistair will shower you with all the gifts you desire. Not to mention all the physical affection he piles on you.
Due to his childhood trauma he has a tough time expressing himself emotionally, including through words. He doesn’t really know how to articulate his feelings to you verbally so instead he shows it through his actions. There’s gift giving, as was previously mentioned, but he also likes to set the fireplace up for you and cuddle you silently. Even if he’s quiet about it, you know he loves you.
You can feel his powerful presence as he follows you around the mansion and watches over you
Getting into the more violent side of things… imagine Alistair slowly walking up to you, staring deeply at you with his yellow eyes half-lidded and full of tainted love, all while covered in the blood of his most recent victim. He licks his fangs seductively and roughly pulls you into his body, growling into your ear.
He likes to nip at you a lot. Not in a way that harms you, but just to be playful. His sharp teeth graze against your ears and neck while he growls softly
In the end, Alistair is just a big, fucked-up pushover for you. He will subject everyone around him but you to his cruelty. You are his little gem and he would rather die all over again than watch anything bad happen to you.
No one, no one, will ever harm you under his watch.
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tigersfrom711 · 5 months
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i forget that not every twomp fan knows what POMR is and that reading it as the new chapters came out was only a religious experience to me and nobody else
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kaz-identified · 3 months
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“Do centaurs have two rib cages or like… one long one?” Tav asks, curling her tail around herself.
“Pardon?” Gale asks, looking up from his book, not sure if he heard her properly.
“I’m genuinely curious,” the tiefling says. “And you’re smart."
"Well, that I am."
"Do you know?”
“I… have never been in a situation where that information would be necessary, so… no,” he answers, carefully.
“Damn. Another mystery goes unsolved. If you don’t have answers to my stupid questions why do I keep you around?”
“Because you love me and enjoy my company?” he offered, glancing over at her.
“Oh… yea I guess that’s true," she responds, looking up, head tilting sideways.
"Well, I'll take 'I guess' if that's the best I can get."
"If you had an answer to my question you'd get more than just I gues-"
"I don't want to continue this conversation, actually."
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baejax-the-great · 3 months
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Alistair x Bethany | Chapter 12 | AO3
That boy could drown in a puddle
Alistair watched the dawn break over Bethany’s face. The sun had brought out freckles across her nose and cheeks over their time together. They were sweet. He was going to miss them.
He had woken up with a terrible thirst, and plunging his hands over and over into their little stream and taking in as much water as he could did nothing to quench it. Alistair knew this was coming, but he had sort of hoped that maybe his lyrium addiction sank to the bottom of the sea with his armor or Bethany’s phylactery and was just as easily discarded. Maybe the real world and all its problems really couldn’t penetrate the thick jungle of this place, wherever it was. Maybe the sunshine would burn his thirst away.
No such luck. The thirst that could not be quenched with fresh water nor rum would soon turn into something all together worse, and Alistair should not have delayed their escape from this cave back into civilization unless he wanted to die here.
Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst option for him, dying somewhere nice and warm without the droning chanting of old women the whole time.
Read the rest here | Or start from the beginning
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nimthirielrinon · 24 days
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Dania’s Tale
Chapter 20: The Mage in the Dungeon
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Chapter 20 is up!!! The long-awaited continuation of Dania’s Tale, where they reach Redcliffe Castle, meet an imprisoned mage, and learn a bit more about what is happening with the whole undead rising thing.
And Dania just keeps finding more reasons to hate Lady Isolde.
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Hi there, I really love your Alistair Crump I had an idea if it's alright to share as a fic idea where he finds a young barely a teen outside his mansion during a extremely bad storm and they get sick and he brings them in also learning that they are mute.
Hello!😀
That sounds like a really fun idea. So here is a little scenario for you to enjoy.
××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
ALISTAIR CRUMP WITH MUTE! PREETEEN/TEEN! READER
××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××
It was a stormy evening at Crump manor. The master of the home, Alistair Crump, was getting ready for the evening as usual. He had planned a large banquet for the evening, and the guests were supposed to be arriving any minute now.
Looking outside through his window, Crump found that it was raining a lot harder than it had been a few minutes prior.
That wasn't really a surprise seeing how dark the clouds had gotten and how fast the storm had rolled in. What did surprise him, however, was the fact that he saw a small figure in his manor's back garden that looked as though it was a human person.
This was confirmed when Crump took a closer look, which was found to be difficult due to how dark the night was and how heavy the rain was pouring.
Stepping out of his room, Alistair began walking down to the party. Searching for the first poor servant that happened to cross his path.
Spotting a young woman down the hallway, carring some sheets to one of the bedrooms in the household.Crump spoke to her as he passed by.
" There seems to be a person in my gardens." He tells her nonchalantly.
The woman tenses up at the sound of Crump's voice and stops in her tracks, as if she was waiting for something.
" Find them and bring them inside." He demands. His voice getting serious. " I wish to have a little chat with whoever was Foolish enough to enter my home unannounced."
" Y-yes sir. Right away, sir." The servant replies before quickly scurrying off.
And with a devious grin now creeping up his face as he walked down the hall, Crump headed down to the first floor of the house to enjoy his banquet that he had so intently prepared for the evening.
He would take care of the intruder later. But as for now, there was food to eat and fish blood to spill.
----------------------------------------------------
It had been about two days since that incident when you had finally woken up to find yourself sitting in a nice, warm bed.
When you had awoken, a richly dressed man was there and began drilling you with questions. Before finally figuring out that you, in fact, can not speak.
Soon enough, after a very long time of asking "yes" and "no" questions, you were able to explain to him that you were an orphan who was looking for a place to take shelter.
" Is that so . . . " Crump said, coldly looking down at you. " Well then, I guess you will be staying here with me then."
The surprised look on your face was enough to get a small smirk to grace his lips.
" Now, now. There's no need to thank me." He tells you, walking out of the room " I'm sure you'll get used to being here eventually."
And with that, he left.
Crump honestly couldn't believe his luck. He knew that he needed a successor, and now he had the perfect one .
You were quiet, so you wouldn't be that annoying to him. And even if you found out about what evils he would do to his guests, there would benoway for you to tell them in time.
" Well now," Crump said to himself. " I seem to be quiet lucky."
----------------------------------------------------
Well, this was a strange turn of events.
You had only been in the mansion for about a month at this rate, and everyone had already seemed to take a liking to you
Even Crump had to admit that you weren't all that bad to have around.
Although you couldn't talk, you were still a very fun and expressive person. The exact opposite of Crump.
When others found out that you were made to become Crump's successor, they were very surprised to say the least. Like: How did you somehow become the adopted child of him?
Everyone who ever met Crump always took him as someone who didn't like children, ESPECIALLY not what appeared to be a teenager.
And they would be right. But you were ok, and Crump didn't really mind you.
As a matter of fact, to him, your quiet presence was a rather nice change.
----------------------------------------------------
Author's note:
Thanks for the request, Anonymous!
I tried leaning in more towards a more cannon Version of Movie Alistair in this story, so I hope that's OK.
But anywho, thanks for reading and keep those requests coming! 😁
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heniareth · 2 months
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In Lothering
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Chapter 1: First Steps are Always the Hardest
In which they march through the swamp and Astala packs out Chantry icebreaker games to do away with the damned silence.
Wordcount: 3,789
WARNINGS:
one character getting stabbed discussion of character death grief (Read on AO3)
“How about we take a moment to go round and introduce ourselves?” Astala asked when the silence around their campfire had become too damn loud to ignore.
Stubbornly crossed arms, eyebrows raised in disbelief, genuinely confused looks… she was scoring all the good reactions, wasn’t she? Astala looked around the circle they were sitting in—they had lighted no fire for fear of the darkspawn, even though all star or moonlight was choking in smoke—suppressed a sigh and wished she had just let sleeping dogs lie.
“We, uh, already know each other,” Alistair ventured.
“We know each other’s names,” Astala answered. “But not much more. If we’re going to spend the next months together, it’d be nice to know a bit more than that.”
Alistair acquitted the point with a half-nod and looked away again to lose himself somewhere between the ground and his thoughts once more.
“So what?” he said after a while. “I say ‘hi, I’m Alistair, I like cheese and corny jokes’?”
“Something like that, yes,” Astala said and smiled encouragingly.
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writeyouin · 2 months
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Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) X Male-Reader - Sinless Sinners - Chapter 1
Chapter 1 - Hate For All Sinners
A/N - As promised, one for male-presenting folks. This is also on A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448742/chapters/135282199
Warnings – None.
Rating – T
FEM VERSION HERE
NON-BINARY / GN VERSION HERE
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“Who’s that?” Lucifer asked, pointing you out to Charlie.
In truth, he would’ve likely asked that of the next person he saw. As Charlie’s father, Lucifer was trying desperately to show how interested he was in his daughter’s project, even if he was barely holding onto anything she said. It wasn’t that he was disinterested, or too ignorant to understand the situation, but rather that after spending so much time as a recluse, locked away in the protective space of his workshop where he wouldn’t have to see the sinners or the Hell he was responsible for creating, Lucifer could barely comprehend what was going on around him. He knew it was because he was depressed, but he was trying and he had to make Charlie see that, even if it meant feigning fits of hypomanic excitement.
Yet, Lucifer found himself genuinely… horrified by you. He had seen many types of Demon over the millennia. Typically, they tended to represent Earth’s animals, such as that annoyingly powerful Deer Demon, Alistair, whom Lucifer had met thanks to this very tour… not that Alistair was worth mentioning, piece of shit that he was, mingling with Lucifer’s daughter when he had no right to even breathe the same air as her-
Lucifer caught his snowballing thoughts, turning them back to you. You weren’t an animal Demon. There were other types of Demons of course, though Flora and Fauna were the most common; object Demons also existed, such as that rather famous one that people talked about, the TV Demon, V-something? Lucifer couldn’t remember his name. He didn’t watch Television… he didn’t do much of anything these days.
“Oh,” Charlie sidled over to you, wrapping her arm warmly around your shoulder as she corralled you towards her father, “Dad, this is (Y/N). He’s one of the hotel’s, uh, allies I guess, right (Y/N)?”
“That’s right, Sir,” You held out your hand for Lucifer, who was staring dumbly at you, uncertain what to make of you.
As the ruler of Hell, fuelled by angelic power, Lucifer could always read a Demon, or rather, he could read their strength. For example, he knew after only one meeting that the bartender, Husk was a strong Demon, though his power was clearly being dampened by a soul contract, whereas that little snake fellow Sir Pentious was rather weak, though he had potential if he could manage to claim even a few souls of his own, but you? You were entirely different.
First off, you didn’t resemble an animal, plant, or object… You were the most human-looking Demon that Lucifer had ever seen; frankly, he found that disturbing. Secondly, you didn’t seem to have much if any power. What was wrong with you? To come off as human with little demonic power… Well, if Lucifer didn’t know any better, he would guess that you weren’t a sinner at all, but you had to be. You were definitely dead; that much he could tell. And, you were in Hell.
Dead and in Hell - those were the only two qualifications for becoming a Demon, so why were you like this?
“Dad, are you listening?” Charlie said exasperatedly, clearly annoyed that Lucifer’s thoughts seemed to have trailed off once again.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Lucifer stated, staring at your hand which you had seemingly retracted when he wasn’t paying attention. Damnation! Now Charlie was going to think he had snubbed her friend on purpose.
“So, (Y/N) is another one of your patrons. That’s nice.”
“What? No. Dad, I just told you, (Y/N) has no interest in being redeemed.”
“Oh,” Lucifer looked you up and down disapprovingly. It figured. Even this non-Demon was looking for power in Hell, probably so you would finally be a killer worth bragging about – Honestly, what was the point? All sinners were the same. Greedy, destructive forces who wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left to break.
“Yep, he’s our only permanent resident who wants to help rehabilitate other souls. Isn’t that great? He helps with everything here, and he doesn’t ask for anything in return.”
“That’s not true,” You blushed at Charlie’s praise. “Your daughter is very generous, Sir. She lets me stay here rent-free.”
“And that’s all you want?” Lucifer asked suspiciously.
“Honestly? Yeah.”
Lucifer shook his head but didn’t argue. He didn’t want to know what your real motivations were. It was probably as simple as hoping for regular boons from the Princess of Hell; you were clearly just biding your time. Besides, if you didn’t want to redeem your soul, then you must be just like Alistair, a sadistic monster just waiting to see Demons repeatedly fail in their attempts at redemption.
Now that his curiosity was sated, Lucifer decided that he didn’t want to lay eyes on you again. You weren’t worth his time. Only Charlie was… Well, Charlie and Vaggie, because any woman his daughter loved was practically family to him. He was glad when the tour continued, leaving you behind to catch Nifty who was trying to pull a piece of fabric from Lucifer’s coat, muttering something about the ‘Ultimate bad boy.’
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“Okay, I can get you the meeting,” Lucifer agreed, doing what he could to support Charlie’s dreams of saving her people, even though he didn’t think there were any redeeming qualities for any denizen of Hell.
It hurt him to tell Charlie that he wouldn’t be able to go with her to that lofty paradise, having been cast out; how he wished he could protect his daughter from those who carried out God’s will. Still, she never asked him for anything, and if this was what her heart most desired, he would do all in his power to help.
“Will you be okay?” He asked sombrely.
“I’ll be fine,” Charlie assured him, taking hold of his hands.
“That’s my girl.”
For a moment, it looked like Lucifer was done, but he paused, worried that this wasn’t enough to make up for the years he had been absent, leaving Charlie to fend for herself while he shut himself away.
“Is there anything else you need?”
Charlie couldn’t help but worry about her father. What would happen when he went back into isolation? He needed something to focus on, but… What was there for him when all of Hell was his prison?
She couldn’t help thinking about how little Lucifer thought of all the other citizens of Hell. If only he could see that they weren’t as terrible as he thought. Granted, they could be violent, and loud, definitely rambunctious, but these were his people, and he had to see that his gift of Free Will was a good thing, yet, if she said any of this, she was certain Lucifer would only laugh at her or tell her to get real while playfully pinching her cheek. There was no way that Lucifer would leave his home to hang out with any citizen of Hell.
Then it hit her. If Lucifer wouldn’t leave his manor to visit people, then people should be allowed to visit his manor. Or better yet, one person should be chosen to go and live with Lucifer so that he would learn just how good people could be, and Charlie knew just the person for the job.
“Actually, Dad, there is one more thing.”
“Name it,” Lucifer smiled, glad that his daughter wanted to ask things of him, as any normal child should want from their parents.
“I think it would be good for you to socialise, just a little bit.”
“Charlie,” Lucifer’s voice was strained at the thought of going anywhere else in Hell.
“I know,” Charlie reassured him, looking into his eyes; she looked so understanding that he relaxed slightly. Then, she continued in a more upbeat tone, “That’s why I think you should take (Y/N) to live with you, as your cleaner!”
She pounded her palm decidedly, much like a judge pounding her gavel.
“What? NO!” Lucifer sputtered.
You for your part, had seemingly been shocked into silence, watching the exchange uncertainly while Alistair grinned devilishly at you, and Angel Dust was holding in a snicker. Granted, you could have argued, but Charlie was stubborn, and she always had some kind of wild idea. Whatever she was thinking, you decided that you would go along with it; there was usually a method to her madness after all.
“It’s fine, Dad, (Y/N) doesn’t mind, right (Y/N)?”
You shrugged your shoulders passively, “I guess?”
“See? You should get to know your citizens, Dad. It will be good for you, I promise. They’re not all as bad as you think.”
Lucifer took one hard look at you. Honestly, he wished his daughter had picked the porn star or that psycho maid. You, as a very human-looking Demon, were a vicious reminder of his past mistakes. Still, he had told his daughter he would do anything for her, and he had already promised her a meeting with Heaven, and nothing could possibly be worse than that.
“Alright,” He agreed.
Then, he summoned a portal for you with the flick of his wrist.
“Good luck, kiddo.” He said to Charlie, and upon keeping a safe distance from you, he waited for you to step through the portal.
“Charlie, I’m assuming that you have a good reason for this,” You said before taking a step towards your newly appointed home, “Just call me if you need anything.”
With that, you were gone, followed closely (though not too closely) by Lucifer.
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ooachilliaoo · 7 months
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The Tower of Ishal
His elation naturally lasted no more than a moment. A second, or maybe two. It entirely accorded with the rest of the day, which had been essentially one shit thing after another.
He was used to shit things in general. There had been less of them under the Grey Wardens than there had been in the abbey, but not so few that he had stopped expecting them at every turn. Frankly, he considered himself lucky that at least one of the new recruits had made it through the Joining and extra especially lucky that that one just had happened to be the best, funniest and prettiest.
But then, of course, everything after that had turned phenomenally shitty.
First, Duncan had informed him that he wouldn’t actually be in the battle. Their first real battle against the darkspawn. He’d been so ready for it too. Ready to stand side by side with his brothers – and the father figure he never thought he’d find – and do his duty.
He’d fought before, of course, both as a templar in training and as a warden in skirmishes with the darkspawn. But he’d never been in an actual battle before. With lines and strategies and armies.
All day, he’d been full of nervous energy. The horror of witnessing a Joining subsiding into that anticipatory excitement mixed with utter terror that came before a fight. He’d been ready – eager – to work off some of that energy in a full pitched battle against the darkspawn.
Duncan and Elissa – Elissa the new warden – had been called to a meeting with the King and Teyrn. He hadn’t been sure why, and hadn’t particularly cared. Frankly, he was mostly trying to stay out of the King’s way as much as possible. It brought up… uncomfortable things that were best left alone.
As long as he remained just a warden in the crowd he’d be fine, and Duncan seemed to agree. They’d defeat the darkspawn in glorious battle, and he’d go on being a warden. It was a good life. Or, at least, a better one than any other he’d yet lived.
Except that the result of that meeting had apparently been the decision to exclude both him and the new warden from the battle. Foolish, in his opinion. Removing the two of them from the front lines, just so wardens could be holding the torch for the signal fire.
But then, from what he’d seen of the King, such romanticism probably appealed over common sense.
Except, as it turned out, maybe it hadn’t been so foolish, because the second shitty thing that had happened today – beyond the lurching, swooping feeling in his stomach as he and Elissa had watched the wardens charge the darkspawn lines – was the surprise darkspawn in the Tower of Ishal. Maker only knew how they had come to be there. They shouldn’t have been, and it had turned what should have been an easy task into a frantic, time-sensitive one
Read the rest on AO3
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inquisimer · 1 month
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until it is a shackle
Some Alistair/Amell for @febuwhump day 19! As Solona battles through the remnants of the Circle, she realizes Alistair's past might matter more than she thought.
read it on ao3 here
Alistair/Female Amell | Rated T | 1022 words | CW: injury, fear, existential crisis, crisis of faith, power imbalance
-
It was frightening, how quickly the Circle sank its teeth back into her. Between Wynne at her side and the familiar walls all around, Solona could feel the months of change and growth melting away. Only the Taint in her blood and Alistair at her back kept her grounded in reality.
But even that shifted, blurred in new context.
Alistair trained as a Templar. She knew that, spent a great deal of time pointedly not thinking about it. After that first, awkward conversation, it rarely came up. He wore Warden armor and fought with a Warden’s gear and the enemies before them were darkspawn, not mages. But here, in the hallowed halls of her childhood, she saw it plainly.
He angled his shield down and away, deflecting spells without a second thought. When the demons spun their tempting tales, his mouth formed verses of the Chant to keep his mind his own. Every slash of his sword, every maneuver of his shield, he’d been taught to hunt and kill mages. Mages like her.
At his core, he was a Templar. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that anymore.
Each room they cleared stripped away another layer, pouring salt in the wounds left raw by Neria’s escape. She knew so many, too many of the faces. They were ghosts now and they haunted her as the party went, replacing the love and laughter in every corner with the echo of their screams. An entire lifetime she’d thought to preserve in her memories…gone, just like that.
Her fingers tightened around her staff. Uldred. She would kill him herself for what he’d done to her home.
“Demons,” Alistair whispered as they approached the next room. His gaze lingered on her but she refused to meet it, just nodded at Leliana to open the door.
Desire waited on the other side, a few Templars in its snare. As they launched into battle, Rage crawled up and joined the fray, for passion and anger were never more than a hairsbreadth apart. Ducking around Alistair, Solona engaged the demon head-on. She knew Desire, had spent many nights with its temptations curled around her ears. It offered her nothing she had not rejected before.
Ice sprayed from her staff, a deadly cone that froze the demon mid-air. Her staff spun and twisted, mana woven into a rune that sprang up just as her ice melted away. A wall of electricity caged the demon and Solona darted for an angle at its vulnerable back.
Summon, bend, cast. She threw ice before fire, summoned bolts and nets of pure arcane energy, and held the demon at bay with shield about her mind. Around them, its thralls fell to her companion’s blades, until only Desire remained. Its attention never wavered from Solona.
But it was flagging. Solona tasted victory, just a spell or two away. She thrust her staff toward the ceiling and drew down a bolt of lightning—
—that fizzled into nothing. An invisible wall of force slammed on her from above. She fell to her knees, nearly knocked prone if not for how she clutched her staff.
She knew Desire and this was not one of its abilities. With willpower as strong as hers, very few things laid her out so fully, body and mind both. As the fog cleared from her eyes, she realized that Desire was on its knees beside her, horns pressed to the floor, and she recognized the taste of bitter iron on her tongue.
A lack of Fade. Her connection severed as wholly as if she’d lost a limb.
A Templar’s holy Smite.
Sure enough, when her eyes found Alistair, his expression twisted horribly with grief and guilt. The time for that was later, though. At his side, Wynne siphoned mana from herself and threw it at Solona, who surged upright as the Fade returned to her fingertips.
She whipped her staff around and drove the blade into the base of Desire’s neck. It howled—then choked, as she cast waves of electricity straight into its core. Its back arched and it fell dead at her feet, singed and smoking.
The moment’s adrenaline instantly left Solona and she crumpled.
“Solona!”
Alistair’s concern stung like a whip and when his hand landed on her shoulder, she flinched. Oblivious, he knelt beside her and tipped her head back. She cringed away and this time he couldn’t miss it.
“Solona?”
In her peripheral, he loomed taller and broader than she knew he really was, and the edges of him blurred from the lingering aura of Smite. When he reached for her hand, she clenched it into a fist.
“Please, don’t.” She squeezed her eyes shut. It wasn’t fair—it wasn’t his fault. “Just…Wynne?”
“I—of course.” She owed him an explanation, something to soothe the painful confusion so tangible in his soft words. But she was too raw for that now, her emotions all twisted up in what had been and what was and what she wanted to be.
Templars protected them, protected the tower. They were the Chantry’s arm, carrying the Maker’s message and the Divine’s will in their holy endeavors. So the Circle taught her, so she’d always believed. She never had a reason to doubt.
Until now.
Wynne took Alistair’s place and as soon as her comforting arm settled across Solona’s shoulders, the young mage collapsed. She fell forward against Wynne’s bosom like a child and sobbed as she had not since the Templars took her from Kirkwall. Her mother’s anguish was just a wisp of childish memory, but it echoed in her soul as Wynne stroked gentle comfort down her spine.
“Shh, child, shh,” she murmured. “It will pass. You will be alright.”
Would she? When the world stripped her bare in this way? Confidence had carried her so far, but she wondered now if it had been false, a delusion she painted for herself to cope with the reality she hadn’t wanted to see.
“How?” she sobbed. Wynne buried her face in Solona’s mussed hair and a few silent tears slipped down her face.
“You have no other choice.”
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laurelsofhighever · 3 months
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Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 11/? Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.
Read on AO3!
--
Two more days of uneventful travelling brought the little group to the outskirts of civilisation, chilled and soggy under the pall of wet snow that had closed over them the night before. They had sheltered, shivering, in an abandoned barn, one of many along the old, paved road they were following, which had been in poor repair even before rumours of war had channelled carts and animals and the refugees who drove them out of the southern hinterlands. Now, it was a struggle to trudge through the lines of muddy, iced-over puddles where the flagstones left gaps, breath coming in harsh clouds of white fog and cold-numbed fingers tucked as much as possible under the folds of the oilskin cloaks Flemeth had been able to spare them.
“Lothering,” Alistair huffed when they finally paused for breath on a bluff overlooking the village. Thin banners of smoke rose from the hunched cluster of buildings in the settlement proper, and from the damp campfires dotted between the mass of grubby tents that spilled out over the southern boundary like flotsam from a shipwreck.
“Pretty as a painting.” He shot a sidelong grin to Rosslyn on his left. “I almost didn’t think we’d make it.”
“It’s a real sight, isn’t it?”
The new, reedy voice came from just off the road, from a small campsite set far enough back into the bushes that any travellers heading north would miss it on the way past. The thin, gaunt man it belonged to stepped out onto the path in front of them. Four others emerged after him, in front and behind to block their path, all in similar states of beggary with weapons drawn. Rosslyn’s own hand reached for her sword at the same moment Alistair stepped closer to guard her flank. The shiver of air along her spine told her that Morrigan, too, readied for an attack. She hoped it would not come. Though her shoulder had knitted together far faster than should be expected even with the aid of magical healing, the dull twinges that flared with every movement warned of the permanent damage that could be done if she got into a fight before the muscles fully recovered.  
“Let us pass,” she commanded from beneath her hood. At her side, Cuno growled his own threat, the sound a low vibration against her leg.
“Ah, the pretty one is in charge, I see,” the stranger cried, as if delighted. He looked malnourished, his hollow cheeks exaggerated by the cracked, ill-fitting leather armour strapped about his shoulders, the sour odour of his unwashed body an offence even from ten paces’ distance. Everything from his stance to the flashy, overly stiff grip of his sword screamed his lack of skill, even without the coating of rust on his neglected blade that would have gotten any squire in Castle Cousland flogged.
One of the other bandits shifted on his feet when she didn’t respond. “Uh… these ones don’t look much like them others,” he ventured. “Maybe we should just let them pass?”
“Nonsense,” the leader snapped, and turned a greasy smile on Rosslyn. “We have rules, you know. There’s a toll. A simple ten silvers and you’re free to move on.”
“You’re not very well dressed for tollkeepers,” Alistair noted. “Better hope Bann Dunstan’s militia doesn’t catch you preying on those fleeing the darkspawn.”
The man laughed. “Bann Dunstan went north with Teyrn Loghain, and took all his soldiers with him. There’s only a few templars left at the chantry now – so we’re taking the initiative.”
“You are fools to get in our way,” Morrigan told him with a sneer.
“Loghain came through here?” Rosslyn pressed, before the bandits could test the claim.
The leader shrugged. “Day before yesterday, leading his whole army and saying the Grey Wardens betrayed the king and got him and themselves killed.”
“That’s not –”
“No other survivors?” she interrupted.
“A few,” he answered. “Band of Ash Warriors came through yesterday – stayed right out of their way, I can tell you. But you aren’t Ash Warriors.”
“No?” she asked lightly. “We came from the south, we’re armoured and armed better than you, and I can tell you exactly how far the darkspawn are behind us. Are you really going to risk yourselves on a losing battle here when you could be running?”
“Uh… you don’t seem to realise –”
She feinted forward. He flinched, and she tilted a cold smile at him.
“Alright!” he huffed, throwing up his hands. “We’re just trying to get by, before the darkspawn get us all.”
“Then go,” she suggested. “And hope they don’t catch up.”
He risked a glance sideways at the campsite, one hand rising in a hopeless gesture that faltered with the deliberate step she took towards him, his eyes glued to the inch of white steel drawn from her scabbard.
“Those things don’t belong to you,” she reminded him.
“Yes, right.” He swallowed. “Of course. Come on, gents – it’s slim pickings here anyway.”
She kept her gaze on him as he stumbled backwards, tense in case of a double-cross, though she had spent enough time among her father’s hounds to know a beaten dog when she saw one. The patter of the rain fell heavily in the mud as he retreated with the rest of his miserable band slinking at his heels, reluctant, but not one daring enough to attack alone.
They would not remain cowed for long.
As soon as the last man retreated into the cover of the trees, Rosslyn turned and leapt the ditch between the road and the bandits’ makeshift camp, hissing a curse as her boot slipped on the landing and wrenched her shoulder.
“Uh… what are you doing?” Alistair asked, coming closer.
“Outfitting,” she replied. “Before they come back.”
“If they do, I say teach them a lesson,” Morrigan scoffed. She had stayed on the road, vigilant as a wolf with the distant scent of deer on the wind.
“The best way to win a fight is to not fight in the first place.” Busy hunting through the meagre spoils the bandits had managed to scrounge together, the adage came to Rosslyn’s lips almost without thinking. It crowded with others in her head, the stories retold by the hearth on winter nights that spoke not of the glory of battle but of the hardships that went between, nights of cold and hunger where morale wavered like a candle flame by an open window. There had been days, her father said, where the Orlesians had forced them to choose between the tired army and starving civilians.
Behind her, Cuno whined. A small animal, perhaps a yearling lamb, lay poorly spitted over the fire, its flesh half-cooked and the tips of its shanks beginning to burn. Drops of fat hissed as they surrendered to the flames. In the few days of travel from Flemet’s hut, the dog’s share of their meagre rations had been smaller than she would have liked, stretched as far as possible with grains but limited by all the things he couldn’t eat.
“Such a good boy,” she crooned, leaving off her inspection of a tatty bedroll to cut away one of the haunches for him. The heat of the bone warmed her numb fingers through the thick leather of her gauntlets, gone again the instant she wiped the juices away on the inside of her cloak.
“Are we taking this stuff, then?” Alistair tried. “You know it was stolen.”
“We’re taking what we can carry, what we need,” she corrected, without looking at him. “I don’t like it either, but you heard what he said about Loghain just as well as I did – we need all the advantages we can get.”
Morrigan delicately flicked a cleaning rag away from the rim of an engraved silver bowl so she could inspect it. “If the former owners of these items were foolish enough to allow themselves to be robbed, ‘tis no concern of ours.”
“The people who passed through here were desperate,” he insisted. “They had nothing else.”
“Neither do we,” Rosslyn reminded him, and sighed. “We can pass word in the village once we get there – maybe someone will come for what’s left.”
A long moment passed as he wrestled with his conscience, as the snow thickened overhead and Cuno crunched down the bones of his impromptu meal, until necessity overcame nobility and with a snarl at nothing in particular he tramped over to the bandits’ tent to dismantle it. Even through the thick layers of armour and cloak, the tension in his shoulders screamed loud enough that Rosslyn had to grit her teeth and turn away. She swiped a bag of dried provisions and a coinpurse from the bottom of an unlocked chest, and an extra cloak and bedroll that she hoped weren’t infested with lice, before hunting around for something that might serve to wrap the rest of the meat.
Further into the trees, they found a pair of tacked-up horses tied to the branch of a bare oak. One was of much finer quality than the other, with the tall, strong-boned confirmation of a knight’s charger, but both had been neglected, left to stand with no sign of fodder in a slurry of mud up to the fetlock.
“Ah, I see we are to rescue every pathetic creature that wanders across our path,” Morrigan commented as Rosslyn ran her hands over the destrier’s legs to check for swelling.
She shot a glare over her uninjured shoulder. “Would you prefer to carry the tent?”
--
With their baggage now strapped to the horses, the last stretch of the journey took less than an hour. By the time they reached the outskirts of Lothering, the blizzard had eased and a glance of pale sunlight managed to slip past the bars of cloud. The squalor it illuminated rose bile in the back of Rosslyn’s throat as surely as the smell. Families huddled beneath scavenged yards of cloth trying to stay dry as the few campfires still burning billowed acrid curls of smoke, their meagre possessions kept within sight and easy reach.
“I wonder, Alistair,” Morrigan commented as they passed through the gauntlet of wan, wary stares, “why do none of them recognise you? You passed through Lothering on the journey south, did you not?”
“I was considerably better dressed then,” he pointed out, but pulled the hood of his cloak lower over his forehead nonetheless. “It’s probably for the best that we’re not recognised, if what that bandit said about Loghain is true. It does make you wonder what all these people are waiting for, though. They have to know the darkspawn aren’t that far away.”
Morrigan clicked her tongue. “‘Tis not our concern if they wish to sit like rams waiting for the wolf.”
They trudged further in silence, until the cobbles of the road once more emerged from beneath the quagmire of the squatters’ field. In the distance, the tower of the village chantry rose above the lines of shingle roofs, its pennants flashing with gold-embroidered sunbursts. If any organised retreat existed, the templars would have charge of it, though to judge from the blasphemous ravings of the merchant they passed arguing with a lay sister, their grasp on order was tenuous at best.
“Please, sers – have you seen my mother?”
Rosslyn stopped cold. A small boy, older than Oren but not by much, and with lighter hair, huddled under the eaves of an empty doorstep, clutching a scrawny, point-eared mongrel about the neck. His clothes were thin and ragged at the hems, smeared with the dirt that also smudged its way across his cheek.
“Your mother?” she repeated, fighting back the shake of double vision.
“She’s really tall, and she has red hair,” the boy said hopefully. “Some mean men with swords came and Mother told me to run to the village as fast as I could, so I did. She said she’d be right behind me, but I’ve been waiting and waiting and I can’t find her.”
“Do you know where your father is?”
The boy’s gaze turned briefly to Alistair before settling on the dirt. “He went with William to the neighbours’ yesterday, but he didn’t come back.”
“‘Tis likely your parents are dead,” Morrigan told him, without sympathy. “Waiting for them here is pointless.”
“That’s not true!” The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve. “She said she’d come.” But his lip trembled, and he drew his arms tighter around the dog.
“Here,” Rosslyn interrupted, reaching to her side before the tears could truly come. “Get yourself something to eat, then go to the chantry. It’ll likely be the first place your mother will look for you.”
With a hearty sniff, the boy peered dubiously at the offering before lighting up in glee, his worry forgotten. “A whole silver!” He made to grab for it, then remembered his manners. “Thank you – you’re a really nice lady, kind of like mother.”
“Go on,” she commanded with a rough jerk of her head, and watched him disappear through the crowd.
“Poor thing,” Alistair muttered. He rounded on Morrigan. “Did you have to do that?”
“I only spoke the truth,” she retorted.
“And what good did it do?” Rosslyn demanded.
“What good is a silver to someone who will likely soon be prey to the darkspawn?”
In terms of cold practicality, the point was well barbed; it fired clean and struck true, even if the silver for the boy’s meal had come from an already-stolen purse. Rosslyn’s hands curled into fists nonetheless, the image before her eyes smeared not with mud from the gutter, but with blood.
“You don’t know that,” she growled.
“Denial will not –”
“I won’t argue this.” She drew in a steadying breath and clucked at the horses to walk on. “We should get to the chantry.”
Morrigan scowled at her. Alistair, too, held a wary edge in his posture, as if daring himself to ask whether she was alright, but she ignored them both to push on through the crowd of people milling about without much seeming purpose at all. Most wore the simply stitched clothes of farmholders, bundled up against the cold in cloaks of thick wool. A few, wealthier, had rabbit or squirrel trim about the collar, but none could be considered truly rich in their dress, and like the refugees beyond the village boundary they all kept close watch of their belongings, heads bowed like workhorses at the plough as they hurried about their business. Clearly, any with the means to leave had already made their escape.
Further on, a crowd had gathered in the lee of the chantry wall, their number shifting uneasily as a wiry man in the leather tunic and cross-tied cloak of a Chasind trader gesticulated at them from atop an overturned crate. His hair was lank and matted, his hose stained with mud to the thigh, and wild exhaustion creased the sun-darkened skin around his eyes.
“The legions of evil are on your doorstep!” he cried. “They will feast upon our hearts!”
“At last, someone who seems to understand the situation,” Morrigan noted dryly.
“There! One of their minions is already amongst us!”
Several faces turned in the direction of his point, and murmured amongst themselves as their eyes landed on Rosslyn, trying to guide her horse to the quieter side of the road. Travel-worn she might be, and scowling like a thundercloud, but a disappointing comparison to the monsters that haunted the dark edges of their bedtime stories.
“Prettiest darkspawn I ever saw,” someone laughed. “If they’re all like that, maybe I should join up.”
“This woman bears their evil stench!” the man insisted, spit flying from his lips. “Can you not see the vile blackness that fills her? The darkspawn will cover the world like a plague of locusts, and she is but the beginning! There is nowhere to run – better to slit your children’s throats now than let them suffer at darkspawn hands!”
Rosslyn stopped. Her lip twisted in a moment of indecision before she dropped the leading rein and started into the crowd with Cuno at her heels. Above, a bank of cloud shifted again and covered the sun, so that as she advanced, with onlookers scrabbling out of her way and drawn in her wake to see what would happen next, the sky darkened and the little warmth left bled from the air.
“I am not your enemy,” she declared, when she finally stood before her accuser.
“You are but the first of those who will destroy us!”
“What’s going on here?”
The Wilder shrank from the bite of the new voice, from the two soldiers in Gwaren Black fighting through the ranks of people, shoving with the hafts of their polearms when someone was too slow to move.
“You again!” spat the taller one, who had a sergeant’s band around his upper arm. “We’ve warned you. Move along, and stop causing trouble.”
“You would punish me, but not this thing of evil?” the wilder demanded. “Look on her! See the corruption thick in her veins.”
The soldiers were already looking, eyes half-lidded in affected disdain as they measured her. She stood, half a head taller than either of them, and glared coolly back.
“You’re well-armed, traveller,” the sergeant said. “Come from the south, did you?”
“Most recently,” she allowed.
The man scratched his chin. “No sigil, and no company. No mercs that I saw at Ostagar, and an honest soldier would wear a liege lord’s colours. Corrupted, you say?” he added, turning to the Wilder. “That sounds like a Grey Warden to me. I think we’ve just been blessed.”
“In what manner?” Rosslyn asked. These were not desperate farmers driven to banditry; all reports said Loghain trained his soldiers hard, ever fearful of a new invasion from Orlais, and they would not tuck their tails like scolded mongrels if she merely bared her teeth. She stood relaxed, drawn up to her full height despite the pain it brought to her shoulder.
“There’s a bounty out for traitors,” he leered.
As his hand shifted for a firmer grip on his polearm, his gaze slid to a point to Rosslyn’s left and widened in disbelief. A red-haired woman in the dawn-coloured cloth of a lay sister slipped into the open space the crowd had drawn around the confrontation, her graceful fingers splayed palm to palm in the sign of the sunburst as she placed herself gently as a feather between the soldiers and their hoped-for prize.
“Surely there is no need for trouble, gentlemen,” she said, her voice low and melodic, lilting with the precise inflections of court Orlesian. “No doubt this is but another poor soul seeking refuge.”
The sergeant gestured with his weapon. “Stay out of our way, sister, or you’ll get the same, chanter’s robes or no. The Wardens killed the king, or haven’t you heard?”
The crowd tensed. Rosslyn didn’t move. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Alistair hanging in the first line of onlookers, his stance and sword ready to aid her should any real fighting erupt, though he kept his hood low over his face, hunched to disguise his height. She could worry about his silence later, but for now she was glad neither Morrigan nor the horses were with him.
“It is no excuse for ambushing –”
“Loghain is the one who betrayed the king!” she called out over the Chantry sister’s misgivings, a clarion note on the dull air as she circled to once again stand before her opponent. “When the moment came for his support in the battle, he turned and fled, and left King Cailan and the Wardens to be overwhelmed. Their sacrifice is the only reason the darkspawn are not already swarming at your door.”
“Lies!” the sergeant spat. “This isn’t even a true Blight!”
“When the moment came,” she repeated, in a voice like winter, “he chose cowardice over loyalty.”
The insult struck. With a bellow like a bull the sergeant charged, polearm lowered to skewer her. She was ready. Whistling two quick notes, she stepped into the attack and drew her sword to parry the blow, the movement a graceful arc into his guard that slammed down into a pommel strike against his neck that sent him to the floor. His companion yelled a protest, but before he could intervene, Cuno’s massive jaws clamped around his arm. Surprise broke off into screams as he was borne to the ground and shaken like a dust rag. There was crack of bone.
“Alright!” the sergeant cried, as the crowd swayed, sickened by the sound. “Alright! You’ve won – we surrender!”
Rosslyn, her sword laid like a whisper against his neck, whistled once. In an instant her dog let go and backed off, though his thunderous growls still reverberated through the space, and left no doubt about his intentions should anyone else dare to attack his mistress. A few lost snowflakes drifted down against the stones.  
“They have learned their lesson now, I think,” the Chantry sister said, calmly, as if the soldiers had lost a chess match and weren’t both lying in the dirt, the one cringing against a white steel blade and the other cradling his bloodied, broken arm. “We can all stop fighting now.”
“Can we?” Rosslyn asked of the sergeant.
Eyes wide, he nodded. “Maker bless you for your mercy, ser!”
“My mercy,” she repeated. “There’s precious little of it. I want you to be of use to me.”
“Anything – anything!”
“You’re going to take a message to Loghain,” she said.
“Uh, what –” He swallowed. “What do you want to tell him?”
She glanced up and met Alistair’s eyes, the lines of his mouth pinched in worry as he slowly shook his head to urge her to caution. For a moment, her jaw clenched around the desire to rebel, to issue a challenge like those her ancestors had laid down before their enemies, a bright, shining pennant to unfurl across a battlefield, a streak of midnight intent, but the urge bled from her as she once again felt the ugly itch of the whispers in the back of her mind. Loghain possessed an army, and in sacrificing the Wardens had excused it the obligation of stopping the Blight; for now, Alistair’s survival, and her own identity, were the only tactical advantages they had.
“Tell him there are those who know what he did,” she growled. “And that we will see justice done for it.”
She took her blade away, and kicked him for good measure as he scrambled to his feet His lackey stumbled after, cowering away as she flexed out the rush of the battle-blood that made her fingers shake. She would pay for that burst of action later. All eyes were fixed on her, or on Cuno nosing up under her hand for a scratch behind the ear. Even the Chantry sister, who seemed far less bothered by the violence than should be expected, watched with curiosity to see what would happen next.
Her father would have known what to say; he would have chided her for shrinking back from her duty.
“I am a Grey Warden,” she told the gathered crowd. “Listen to me – the darkspawn are coming. King Cailan bought you time, but it is falling away and they cannot be stopped. They do not reason. If you do not leave, you will die.”
“Coward’s talk!” someone shouted.
“We’ll show ‘em if they dare creep out of the Wilds!”
“Maybe the Wardens killed the king and you’re trying to cover it up!”
The Chantry sister raised her hands. “Good people, please –”
“If it is so safe here, then why did the bann flee north?”
The voice did not come from one of the villagers, but from Morrigan. Her disdain rang so clear that it might have been amplified by magic, and it blunted the anger of the crowd into a low, uncertain buzz that faded entirely into silence as the lay sister once more stepped forward to address them.
“Please, do not despair,” she said. “The Maker sent this Grey Warden as a warning, to help us in our hour of need.”
“Do you think we should tell her who actually sent us?” Alistair muttered in Rosslyn’s ear as he sidled up to her.
“It would be interesting to see how things could get worse,” she muttered back.
“You handled those soldiers pretty well – I’d almost forgotten how scary you were in the lists.”
Disbelieving, she glanced at him and found nothing but sincerity in his shrouded features, a soft trust that stung not least because part of her wanted to throw back his hood and show him to the people in all disregard for sense. Such a move would certainly make them listen, but if Loghain had truly put out a bounty for captured Grey Wardens, how much more would he be willing to pay for Cailan’s only heir? Perhaps, at least until they met with Arl Eamon, it would be safer to pretend he was another Grey Warden instead, to shield him with her own status as much as it was her duty as a Cousland to shield him with her body.
As she mulled this over, the crowd succumbed to the lack of fresh entertainment and let itself be chivvied back about its business, clearing the path to Morrigan and the main doors of the chantry that had been their first destination. The lay sister remained, a demure smile upon her face as she waited for them to notice her.
“Thank you for intervening, Sister,” Alistair said. “We’re glad the crowd decided to listen to you.”
“I couldn’t just sit by and not help,” came the reply. “Though from your display of skill I see my aid was not required.”
“A welcome attempt nonetheless,” Rosslyn told her.
The woman smiled and dipped into a curtsey. “Then I am glad. Perhaps, if you wish it, I can offer further assistance by escorting you to the chantry?”
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blarrghe · 7 months
Text
Strange Feelings in the Party Camp
Ch. 11: All Things End
Oh my God I finally finished it.
Rating: M | Category: M/M/F | Words: 34,880  | Chapters: 11/11
Summary: Alistair is in love with Violet. Violet is sleeping with Zevran. Zevran is too good a friend to Alistair. Violet is too good a friend to Zevran. And can love even really be on the table, when you're all probably going to die?
Chapter Snippet:
It starts in a bed in Denerim. 
Morrigan leans over him, candlelight shining in her raven hair. 
But that is not the important bed. 
The night after they saved Anora, Alistair finds himself in a bed in Denerim. With Violet, with Zevran, with relief clouding his judgement. 
He would do anything, anything, just to keep them. 
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