#dorian's like ''maybe we should reconcile

[gryffinwhore-love]

I’ve got a hot take that could potentially have people angry at me but whatever.

I saw a theory last night that people fear Feyre will kill Hunt. And like, look, I get it. SJM said in that livestream that we should be scared for Ruhn and Hunt, but let’s be honest: she will never kill off a main character. And if she does, she’ll bring them back.

I enjoy her book as much as the next person, but there’s barely any stakes. Lysandra could’ve died from fighting the Valg, Aedion being unable to reconcile with her. Fenrys could’ve died after breaking his bloodoath with Maeve, leaving Aelin (though she has been through a lot) to struggle with her reality and cope with what she went through. Dorian could’ve fallen to the Valg Prince, Chaol could’ve succumbed to the Valg Princess—right after Yrene healed him.

Those are stakes. Those are what makes a good story great. But she won’t do it. The only “main” character she’s fully killed was killed off in the first five chapters, before most could fully invest themselves in her.

My point is that her stories, great as they are, lack genuine stakes. You stop fearing for your favorite characters because the only ones who die are the ones who are plot devices.

Anyways, that’s my hot take. Hunt will be fine, maybe traumatized, as will Ruhn. But they’ll live.

#throne of glass #acotar #crescent city #hot takes #aelin galathynius #feyre archeron #bryce quinlan #hunt athalar #ruhn danaan #chaol westfall #lysandra #come at me #these books lack true stakes #I said what I said

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 18

cruel summer masterlist

AN: This chapter is almost 4k words... whereas most of them have been just over 2k, so -- we had a lot of things going on. And some hopefully insightful revelations. Anyway, thank you all for your patience while I struggled with this one. I hope you enjoy learning a litttle bit more about Aelin. Okay, ONWARDS!

Aelin glances at her buzzing phone and silences it. It rings with another phone call from her dad that she sends straight to voicemail. It’s been almost three weeks since her blowout fight with her mom, and her dad has tried in vain to get them to reconcile – she’s just not ready yet.

“Your dad again?” Rowan asks, coming to sit on the couch with her. Rowan has been an undeniable pillar of strength through it all. He hasn’t pushed her to talk about the fight – he’s simply let her exist in his space, giving her a wide berth to process everything. Which is ironic, because Aelin has refused to process a single thing. She’s pushed all her discontent to the back of her brain, easily compartmentalized and boxed away to be dealt with at a later date. It’s Aelin’s most impressive ability. But, regardless of “not dealing,” she knows that without Rowan’s silent support she would have fallen apart already. She can’t even begin to express her gratefulness to him. Though, she’s tried. With her mouth. And other parts of her body.

Rowan’s fingers gently dance against the bare skin of her shoulder, and she leans into him and nods. He pulls her tighter into his side and kisses her forehead, and Aelin melts into him further.

Their moment is interrupted by Manon entering the small apartment. She takes a look at the couple on the couch and attempts to reign in her scowl, but Aelin spots it anyway. She’s come to realize that Manon might not be her biggest fan.

“Oh, you’re here…” Manon says, tossing her bag onto the kitchen counter.

“Not for long,” Rowan replies, and Aelin perks up, curious. She’d assumed they were just going to hang out in his room, like usual. Rowan looks back down at Aelin. “I was thinking we could go take some photos on the beach before the sun completely sets.”

Rowan’s favorite activity makes Aelin smile. He received a brand new Nikon and zoom lens from his mother in the mail, and she’s never seen Rowan so outwardly blown away as when he pulled it from the box. He’s snapped more pictures than she can count over the last few weeks, most of them of Aelin, which she pretends to be annoyed by but secretly loves.

Aelin glances down at her outfit – comfy leggings and one of Rowan’s old college t-shirts. “I’ll go get changed.”

He squeezes her hand as she gets up from the couch, and she makes her way into Rowan’s room to sort through the pile of clothes Dorian pinched from her room at home. She throws on a dark blue maxi dress and pulls her hair from its top knot. She fluffs her hair in the mirror, feeling more camera ready.

Rowan smiles when he sees Aelin emerge from his room, and her stomach flutters at the sight of his contented face.

They wave goodbye to Manon, who replaces them on the couch with her dinner, looking relieved to have the place to herself.

“Where to?” Aelin asks as Rowan ushers her down to his truck.

“Know any good private beaches?” he asks, and she frowns. She does. It just happens to be a very short walk away from her backyard. Rowan sees her face and squeezes her hand over the center console. “We don’t have to see your family. But. I thought maybe you’d want to.”

Aelin scrolls through the many texts from her father, which she’s left unanswered.

Fireheart, we understand you need time to cool down, but please call us when you’re ready.

Please, Aelin. Talk to us.

Your mother is sorry. She didn’t mean what she said. She was just emotional. She loves you so much. It’s upsetting her every day to know that she hurt you so badly.

Do you plan to stay with Elide indefinitely?

Are you really going to miss out on our family park day?

Gavin and Evie asked where you were today.

Dorian stopped to get your clothes. He says you’re doing well, but I’d really like to see for myself.

Fireheart, I understand that you’re hurt, but cutting us out isn’t going to make this better.  

We return to Adarlan in less than a month. Let’s not have this argument ruin the rest of the summer.

The texts feel endless. And Aelin does miss her dad. She just can’t believe her mom hasn’t tried to reach out and apologize to her. After everything she said… Aelin shakes it off, not willing to think about those hateful words and shrugs at Rowan.

“Sure.”

“Really?” he asks cautiously. Aelin nods. He’s right. Their private beach is the perfect place for a sunset photoshoot.

They park at the Playland, which is still bustling with activity, and walk down the beach until they get to the pale sand behind the Ashryver’s estate. Aelin glances up at her room balcony in the distance, half covered in twining roses, and her chest clenches uncomfortably.

Rowan surprises Aelin by wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, and she relaxes into him. He leans down and sticks his nose against her neck, and Aelin releases a shaky breath. As his chin finds a place to rest on her shoulder, Aelin’s eyes slide toward him, taking in the periphery of his tanned face and messy hair. She can’t help but smile.

Click.

The shutter of the camera whirs as Rowan takes a picture of them.

“Test shot,” he says, straightening up and looking at the display. Aelin peers over his arm to look, too, and she gasps at the casually beautiful photo.

It’s a closeup of their faces – with a soft pastel sunset out of focus behind them. But the thing that really shocks is the way she looks at Rowan. And the way he smiles back at her. She looks so happy with him. Aelin is so happy with him. She wants to print that photo out and keep it forever so she can remember this feeling long after this summer ends. Her stomach rumbles with something akin to sadness, but she pushes it far, far down. She knows her feelings about her mother aren’t the only thing she’s decided to compartmentalize – but she’s not going to unpack those either.

“I think that’s the first picture you’ve taken of us together,” she comments coolly, and Rowan lifts an eyebrow.

“I guess it is.” He looks down at the display screen again, then back at her with a confident smile. “We look pretty good together.”

“You’ll send that one to me, right?” she asks, and Rowan’s green eyes glow brightly as he assures her he will.

He leans down and kisses her forehead – his new favorite place to kiss, and a blanket of warmth and joy caresses Aelin’s face. Rowan directs her down to the water, where the small waves crash against the sand, and Aelin pulls up the long skirt of her dress, so as not to get wet. As she skips through the waves, her feet dancing in circles across the darkened sand, Rowan snaps pictures.

Aelin lets her heavy worries about her mother and their fight and the impending end of summer float away as she enjoys living in this moment. The setting sun casts shadows of deep magenta and purple and orange across the water, shimmering across the small ripples in the water. Feeling the cool sand beneath her toes, Aelin tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and grins.

She breathes in the salty sea air, especially pungent with the evening tide, but her moment of calm is disrupted by a large wave, which knocks against the back of her thighs, breaking all over her skirt, drenching her up to her waist.

Her eyes shoot open as she squeals loudly, and her peals of laughter float across the beach as Rowan continues taking pictures from the dry safety behind his camera.

Aelin runs out of the water and drops her dress skirt to the ground. It’s completely soaked.

Rowan finally lowers his camera, and she can see him biting his lip in an attempt to hold back his laughter.

“Shut up.” Aelin pouts as a cool breeze whips through the air, whirling around her and making her skin prickle with goosebumps.

“Come here,” he says with a soft smirk, and she happily obeys.

Rowan rubs his hands up and down her bare shoulders, trying fruitlessly to warm her as the sun completely descends behind the horizon. As she tries to wring the water out of her dress, Aelin shivers. Searching for more heat, she tries to pull herself closer to Rowan, but he takes a large step back.

“You’re dripping everywhere,” he laughs, and Aelin winks.

“You didn’t seem to mind that last night.”

Rowan’s cheeks redden, and Aelin cackles, loving how easily she can fluster him, just with the mention of sex.

He stares at her, and she watches as his bright eyes darken as she takes a large step toward him. He steps back again.

“Aelin, no…” he warns.

“Aelin, yes,” she decrees as she leaps into his arms, pressing her wet body against his as she attacks his face with kisses. He laughs against her lips, and she tightens her grip around his neck, pulling him as close as he can get to her.

“You’re evil,” he mumbles between kisses, and Aelin thinks he’s far too coherent if he’s able to reply so easily.

She squeezes her legs around his waist and drags her mouth to his ear. She scrapes her teeth down his strong jaw and lets her tongue snake out and taste his skin. Aelin’s efforts are rewarded with a pained groan and the feeling of Rowan’s fingers sliding through her hair and caressing the nape of her neck.

She reaches back for his lips and she hums happily as he lets her deepen their kiss. After she’s sated, she slows and pulls her face back to catch her breath. She smiles and kisses his lips softly.

Rowan smiles back, and as she looks into his eyes, she sees the depths of emotion that truly terrify her. Her box of emotions threatens to open and spill everywhere, and she can’t have that. She closes her eyes and kisses him one last time before sliding down onto the cold sand, awash in guilt. And not just for dampening his clothes with ocean water.

“Should I sneak into your room and grab you something dry to wear?” he asks, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “You’re freezing.”

Aelin lifts her nose as the faint traces of cigar smoke waft through the air. She would know that smell anywhere. It smells like summer nights on her back patio with her dad. Her stomach clenches.

“No,” she whispers. “Let’s just go.” She bolsters herself by plastering a cocky smile across her face and squeezing Rowan’s hand. “You can warm me up when we get home.”

“But that means you’ll be getting wet all over again,” Rowan deadpans, and Aelin’s feet stop moving in shock.

“Rowan Whitethorn,” she says, eyes wide. “Did you just make a dirty joke?”

His cheeks flame with a dark blush, and she drags him back to his truck quickly, so he can follow through on his promise.  

He does, and then some, and Aelin wakes up the next morning sore and satisfied.

She stretches out and frowns at the cold spot next to her where Rowan should be. He’s up early today. She hears voices murmuring outside in the living room and decides to get dressed and join them. She’s stepping into her shorts when she hears Manon’s sharp voice ask, “And what about our no live-in girlfriend rule?”

Aelin moves closer to the closed door and listens as shame rises within her. She knew she’d overstayed her welcome.

“It doesn’t count if she’s not my girlfriend,” Rowan quips back, and Aelin bites her lip, worrying the skin there. She can hear the anger in his biting tone, and it unnerves her.

“Oh please, you gave her apartment keys, Rowan.” Manon says with an undignified snort.

“So she doesn’t feel like a prisoner, trapped with nowhere to go!”

“Come on, dude,” Manon drawls. “If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…”

“We’re not ducks,” Rowan insists, and Aelin almost laughs with Manon at his reply.

“You are ducks, and also liars,” Manon insists. “Quack, quack, bitch.” A long beat of silence.

“I’ll talk to her,” Rowan says, his former anger turning into resignation. Aelin knows this means she needs to start thinking about where she’s going to go next. She knows Aedion and Lysandra would let her crash, but she’s not sure she’s forgiven Aedion for everything he said about Rowan, either. She definitely can’t stay at Dorian’s; his father gives her the creeps. And with Elide and Lorcan just getting together, she has no intention of being a cockblock to one of her best friends. Maybe it’s finally time to go home.

She remembers the faint smell of cigar and sighs. As if on cue, her phone buzzes with another text from her dad.

Can I take you out to lunch? Anywhere you want. You won’t have to see your mom.

Aelin finally responds.

Okay.

Her dad is ecstatic, and replies back quickly, arranging details to meet at Aelin’s favorite sandwich shop in town. A small little hole in the wall Italian deli called Rinaldi’s.

When Rowan enters his bedroom, he clutches at his hair nervously, and Aelin decides to put him out of his misery quickly. She doesn’t need him to explain why she needs to leave.

“So, I finally texted my dad back,” she says, and Rowan’s eyes widen in surprise. That is not the conversation he was expecting to have.

“Wow. Uh… what prompted that?” he asks, looking at her seriously.

She shrugs. “Maybe being at the house last night. Maybe it’s just time to get over it.” She looks around the room. “I know I’ve been here way too long.”

Rowan looks alarmed. “No, no. I told you you could stay as long as you want, and I meant it.” He pauses and swallows nervously. “I’ve really enjoyed having you here.”

“I’ve enjoyed being here,” she admits, and her heart beats faster at the blinding grin that takes over Rowan’s face. “But, we’ll see how convincing my dad is.”

“Okay,” he says nervously. She kisses him softly and smiles.

“Now go, before you’re late to work.” She grabs him by the collar of his polo and kisses him again, and she loves the way the tips of his ears turn pink – the first tell tale signs of his arousal. She likes leaving him flustered and wanting more. Plus, it’s nearly impossible for her to keep her hands to herself, so it works out nicely.

Aelin lazes around Rowan’s room for the rest of the morning, too scared to run into Manon, who works from home. She finally sneaks out and makes her way to the restaurant. She hopes to get there with time to spare, but when she arrives, Rhoe is already waiting outside, arms crossed nervously.

Aelin resists the urge to hug him, nodding tightly instead. She leads him in and orders her favorite sandwich – prosciutto and provolone with hot peppers and vinegar on a roll. And her dad’s – hot pastrami with swiss and mustard on rye – and then finds a small table near the window.

Rhoe looks tired. If the bags under his eyes are any indication, he hasn’t been sleeping much.

“You look good.” He reaches out a hand across the table and then retracts it, nervously, unsure of what to do.

“You look terrible,” Aelin replies. Her filter must be broken this morning. Rhoe laughs, despite her comment.

“The two loves of my life are fighting,” he says quietly, and Aelin is torn between wanting to scream at him or cry. Either way, she’s about to unleash three weeks worth of feelings she’s been ignoring.

Crying wins out. Moisture stings the corners of her eyes as her eyes fill with tears. She blinks rapidly, trying to keep them in, but a rogue tear drips down her cheek. She swipes at it hastily and breathes deeply, trying to get her emotions back under control. But she can’t. And she suddenly feels very, very small.

“Is that really what mom thinks of me?” Aelin asks, her voice barely a whisper through the thick frog in her throat. “That I’ve been a waste of her time and money?”

“No, Fireheart,” he assures her, finally reaching for her hand across the table. Aelin lets him.

“I’m sorry I don’t like Sam, but he’s not nice, Daddy.” Another tear falls from her eye. And another. Aelin can’t swipe at them fast enough. “He’s so spoiled. And entitled. And…” Her voice breaks. “And I don’t want to be anything like him. But… she likes him, and she hates me.”

“Oh, baby, she doesn’t hate you,” Rhoe insists. “She loves you. So, so much.” He pauses. “She just doesn’t understand why you don’t want the same life she has.” Rhoe sighs. “Believe it or not, this is a fight I’ve had with her many times before. Every time she enrolled you in etiquette classes or ballroom dance lessons or cotillion…” He sighs.

“Aedion was just so eager to fit in,” he continues. “He wanted to follow in the Ashryver footsteps. To join the business. But you have never wanted that.” Rhoe laughs, recalling a memory. “I remember the first time you came home from your etiquette classes. You pulled those little white gloves off your hand and said ‘YUCK’ so loud. You were disgusted by the fact that you had to touch some little boy’s hand.”

Aelin remembers those lessons. The girls stood in a circle on the inside, while the boys stood in a circle on the outside, facing them. They’d learned how to give a proper handshake, and curtsey and bow. She was only nine. She had hated every second of it. The dance lessons were even worse.

“They were sweaty,” Aelin chokes out, and her dad smiles sadly.

“When you started dating Chaol,” he begins again, and Aelin tenses up. She’s not sure she’s ready for the commentary on her five year long failed relationship. “Mom was so excited. Long time friends with the Havillards. In your college class. Destined for business, just like his father. But, you never quite fit with him. And I watched you try and change yourself, contort yourself to be the partner Chaol wanted. And we all saw your light dim.”

Aelin doesn’t bother swiping her tears as her father talks. They run in steady streams down her cheeks and down her chin, dripping onto the table.

“But since you’ve been free of him, you have bloomed again. You have been glowing this entire summer, and I’m sorry your mother hasn’t seen it.” He looks her straight in the eye. “But I do.”

Aelin sniffles loudly. The waiter places their sandwiches in front of them, looking terrified at the scene in front of him, so Aelin waves him off, assuring him she’s fine.

“So, you’re not going to sell me off to the highest bidder just because I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet?” she asks.

“All we want you to do with your life is be happy,” Rhoe says and takes a large bite of his sandwich. “Whatever that means to you.”

“What if what makes me happy doesn’t live up to her expectations?” Aelin fiddles with her napkin.

“We’ll deal with that when we get to that,” Rhoe says, patting Aelin’s hand comfortingly. “So, will you please come back home?” he asks, and Aelin nods.

“On one condition,” she says, and Rhoe clasps his hands, waiting patiently for her to continue. “I want to go on the staff overnight next weekend.” She clears her throat. “Elide has been talking about it for years. That it’s her favorite weekend of the summer, and I’m friends with all of them anyway, and I want to go.”

Rhoe chuckles. “That’s the condition? Not… an apology from your mother?”

Aelin shrugs. “I only want her apology if she means it.”

“Fine,” Rhoe replies. “I’ll have your mom talk to Lorcan about adding you to the list of attendees.” He pauses. “You know there’s a ropes course, right? And hiking?” Aelin nods. “It’s just… you’re not much of an outdoor girl, honey.”

Aelin frowns. Her father’s right, she’s not much for hiking and trust activities, but she doesn’t want to lose a whole weekend with Rowan either. Not with so little of the summer left.

“I’m going.”

He holds up his hands in defeat. “Your condition is accepted.”

The pair finish their sandwiches in relative silence, which is good because Aelin can’t begin to process everything her dad just said to her. She feels somewhat reassured, but she can’t stop hearing her mother’s shrill voice repeating, “You have been a waste of my time and money!” over and over in her head. And she knows without a doubt if she really told her mom what was making her happy this summer, she’d be saying much, much worse.

Her dad is right – she has never wanted to be part of the family business, nor has she wanted to be married off and slip into high society life. And those are the only paths her mom views as viable.

Aelin can’t allow herself the privilege of thinking of other possible paths. Other paths with other people. She has no idea what that life might look like, but she knows it’s not allowed for her. If she even barely contemplates the possibility of that future, she knows she will be crushed when she can’t have it. Her chest tugs, wanting her to open that box, and see what that option holds for her, as dead ended as it might be. But she ignores it.

This is nothing more than a summer fling, she reminds herself. When she gets back to Adarlan, she’ll recalibrate and figure out what her life’s purpose is. But for the next few weeks, she’s sticking with what makes her happy. Here. In Terrasen.

She pulls out her phone and texts Rowan:

My dad was pretty convincing. I’m headed back home tonight.

I’ll leave the window unlocked for you ;)

“Everything alright?” Rhoe asks, wiping the crumbs from his mouth.

“Yup,” Aelin assures him, far too brightly. It is. At least, for now.

~*~*~*~*~

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#rowaelin #aelin x rowan #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #cruel summer au #amusement park au #charincharge writes #tog fanfic #throne of glass

[h3rmitsunited]

You're a liar, and you ruined my life, just to have a friend. You deserve to be alone, Dirk.

Hey, I made this scene even more painful.

So, we all realize here that Todd is doing a lot of projecting onto Dirk, and that, yes, Dirk left out some details that he should have shared (which would have messed up the time loop so it couldn't have happened differently, but still), so sure, Todd could be a little bit upset, but he's mostly angry about Amanda, about his own mistakes, about not being able to go back and fix everything like he thought he would have been able to do, and he blames all of that on Dirk. We all see that, it's obvious.

Dirk is hurt, he is upset that Todd is accusing him of this, he is heartbroken that Todd doesn't want anything to do with him, but I think a huge part of his anger and frustration and sadness here comes from being labeled a liar. Because if you go back and look through the season, Dirk is not a liar. He takes very careful measures not to lie, and even in the two instances that I could find that he lied (Outside Amanda's house when he had told Todd he would wait in the car and when he said he was trained as a ninja), he immediately confesses he lied and scolds himself. You might think, well, no, I'm sure he must have lied about something else? Right? Well, not technically.

See, in episode 8, when Dirk tells Todd that he wasn't lying, he was "strategic no-truthing", that was pretty accurate... It's not the same thing. It's Dirk, answering questions with questions, it's careful avoidance, and changing the subject. He doesn't tell Todd he knows who Farah is when Gordon sends him a text with her picture, he asks Todd if he knows who she is. He blames things on hunches, he adds maybe to his no-truths ("maybe I'm a cab driver!"), and he lets the universe change the subject for him (Todd about to ask about the flag shirt and they almost get shot).

Well, okay, so Dirk doesn't really lie, but sort of does creatively-ish, but why not? Is it a moral thing, does he have some ethical dilemma with lying? I don't believe so, I mean I think Dirk knows that lying isn't a good thing to do, but he lies to Todd pretty easily in the first episode about staying in the car, though he does immediately confess to it, but we can see in some of his reactions to Todd that he doesn't really have some extreme ethical issue with lying. At the end of Episode 1, Todd tells Dirk that he stole the money back from Dorian, that he had been lying that he paid him and he still had the money, and Dirk responds, "well that seems practical!"..."But, you're okay, right?" Now, this could have been just desperate Dirk trying to get Todd on his side by any means, but it shows that he has some idea that lying could be helpful in some cases, even if it isn't ethically right or legal.

I posit a theory that Dirk has a real personal issue with him being the one that's lying, and being labeled a liar, and I feel like it definitely is something that stemmed from his childhood and upbringing. We don't have much canon information of Dirk's youth and his time in Blackwing. We get some details in the comics, but not a whole lot, but we know from Dirk's reactions in the show, that his time with Blackwing was not a good time. Consider Dirk as a child, finding things he shouldn't know where to find them, getting into trouble, getting questioned by adults about how he knew things he couldn't have possibly known, and when he tries to tell them how and why, that he doesn't understand, that he just felt like he needed to go somewhere, they say he's lying, they disregard his words, and they label him a problem child. He's eventually sent to Blackwing to be "fixed" and while there, doing experiments and tests, being told that he isn't trying hard enough, again, they say he's lying. He must know how to use his power, he's lying about trying as hard as he can, and once again they disregard his words. In the comics, we are told that our show Dirk shares an experience in college with comic and book Dirk, in which he produces an exact copy of an upcoming exam down to the typos and grammar mistake by using previous exams and papers and his "something" ability, and is discovered by the school and authorities and is arrested and jailed. Yet another instance being deemed a liar and having his words be disregarded.

We see in the show that Dirk can be very direct. He isn't shy about expressing himself when he wants to, he lets his emotions show, and he speaks a lot, even if he doesn't have much to say. But he doesn't lie. And I think he doesn't lie, not because of any moral or ethical reason, but because if he did lie, he feels like it would give people the opportunity to be right about him. He comes up with so much crazy stuff that he needs people to believe that it is true because he believes that it is true. He needs people to hear and trust his words, to be taken seriously, and to understand him as he says he is. He doesn't want to be labelled by other people, he wants to have ownership over his identity, and he isn't a liar, he isn't Project Icarus or Svlad Cjelli, he isn't dangerous. He's Dirk Gently, holistic detective, and he is honest.

So, back to the scene in 1x07, and Todd, this person that Dirk has come to know, and trust and enjoy being around, someone that he feels can sort of now understand him at least a little, who puts up with his nonsense more than anyone has, and above all, who has been by his side during the bizarre and frightening events of the past week, this person is accusing him of deliberately allowing things to happen to them all, things that hurt them and could have killed them, accusing him of hiding information, and above all of being a liar just to make a friend. And this strikes Dirk right to the core, before Todd said this, Dirk was floundering trying to reason with Todd, but when Todd calls him a liar and tells him he deserves to be alone, he lashes back in the harshest way, calling out Todd for his own hypocrisy. He immediately tries to take it back (despite it being pretty accurate, like Todd, come on, you were asking for it lol), but Todd isn't hearing it, and he tells Dirk to never speak to him again. How many times has he had this conversation with someone he thought he might get close to? How many times has he gotten his hopes up that someone might go along with him, trust him, only to be slapped back with reality and the cruelty of the universe's path?

He tries to explain in the next episode, through his blood loss and shock or having an arrow in his shoulder, that he was just strategic no-truthing, but its still a lie to Todd who is still dealing with the emotional fallout of Amanda and having to reconcile his own failings. He can't see that Dirk is trying and reaching out, asking for him to understand, until Amanda knocks some sense into him.

Their reunion at the hospital is an unspoken apology, offered and accepted by both. Todd finally accepts Dirk, he sees him in the truth that Dirk tried to express and reassures him that he'll stay by his side. And Dirk, obviously, is thrilled, hesitant and confused at first, but so happy to have found someone that understands him...as much as someone could, at this point, but accepts the truth that he had tried to give before.

#dghda meta #dghda #dirk gently #dirk gently’s holistic detective agency #todd brotzman

[sratsome-jack]

BTV WIP Wednesday

Pinglist: @kita-lavellan​| @mrstethras​ | @silvanils​ | @noire-pandora​ | @jarakrisafis​ | @cheapertevinterglam​ | @followingthewolf​ | @moonlightheretic​

Oh wow guess what, this week y’all get an entire draft chapter cause I love this one so much! Here is the promised Chapter 19 that I teased on Sunday!

Chapter 19: Long Nights and Painful Shoes

Rhiannon was a ball of nerves as she sat in her suite at the Winter Palace having that horribly uncomfortable dress put on her. Being an elf at the Orlesian court was already going to put her at a disadvantage, and now she had to somehow impress them all while looking for assassins. At least maybe Cullen would ask her to dance and make this somewhat worth it.

Once she was fully in the dress, Josephine pulled out a chair for her.

“Allow me to fix your hair for you,” she said, gesturing for Rhiannon to sit down.

Rhiannon sighed. “Please don’t give me something that’s going to hurt and threaten to fall out every five minutes.”

“I promise that it won’t hurt at all. You’ll look lovely and you won’t feel a thing,” Josephine assured her as she began to braid Rhiannon’s hair.

Rhiannon sat idly as Josephine began to pin the braids in various places, using the volume of her already thick, curly hair to create quite a large exquisite updo. Rhiannon had to admit that it was kind of fun being made up to look this beautiful. If only the dress wasn’t so uncomfortable.

As Josephine was just finishing up, Rhiannon heard the door open. She spun around to see Cullen standing there, dressed in his formalwear. She could feel her face become flush as she admired him. He looked quite handsome all dressed up like that.

She stood up to reveal her gown. Cullen didn’t say a word, he just stood there, looking almost as though he was in awe of her.

“I…I came to escort the both of you down to the ball,” he stammered.

He held out an arm to Rhiannon.

Rhiannon smiled, and went to take it. It was both a romantic gesture as well as the thing that would keep her from tumbling down all those stairs in that outfit.

When they arrived at the ball, Rhiannon found that the atmosphere at the Winter Palace was more than overwhelming. No amount of preparation could have readied her for this. It felt as though one small slip up could ruin everything. And as if trying to maintain basic social etiquette wasn’t enough, Rhiannon had been thrown headfirst into ‘the game’.

The dress and the shoes were not helping one bit. Rhiannon still had some blisters from her dancing lessons a few days ago and it was somewhat of a struggle to even walk straight.

Walking into the ballroom, she felt unbelievably out of place. As she was being introduced to the Empress Celine, she felt strange walking across the floor. It crossed her mind that only a few short months ago, everyone in this room would not have held her in such high regard. She felt as though she was a different person. She had never pictured herself as someone who would be clad in a silver ballgown made of satin and lace that felt like it was almost as wide as she was tall while wearing shoes that hurt her feet.

Once the introductions were complete, she found herself feeling lost. She searched around for her companions and advisors, or someone to throw her a lifeline. As she was making the rounds, she spotted Cullen who had captured the attention of many of the Orlesian nobles. She could hear him rejecting multiple offers to dance. She smiled as she approached him.

“Enjoying the party?” she asked, teasingly.

Cullen sighed. “Rhiannon, thank the maker you’re here.”

“I don’t suppose you’d save a dance for me,” she said, eagerly.

“No, thank you,” Cullen said.

Rhiannon felt her heart sink. “Oh,” she said, looking down at the ground sullenly.

She was going to have to remember to kill Varric and Dorian later. Especially Varric for convincing her that Cullen would ask her to dance.

“No, I didn’t mean to…” Cullen stammered, backtracking a little, “maker’s breath I’ve answered that question so many times, I’m rejecting it automatically.”

Rhiannon perked up a bit.

“I’m not one for dancing,” he continued. “templars never attended balls.”

Now she was definitely going to have to kill Varric and call him on his wager that Cullen would ask her for a dance by the end of the night. At least he was rejecting everyone for a dance.

“You’ve attracted a following,” she commented, noticing all of the Orlesian admirers who had gathered around him intently, “who are all these people?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen responded, “they won’t leave me alone.”

The thought of a frustrated Cullen being surrounded by relentless suitors almost made Rhiannon giggle but she managed to maintain her decorum.

“Not enjoying the attention then?” she quipped.

“Hardly,” Cullen replied, “anyway, yours is the only attention worth having.”

Rhiannon blushed a little. Even if he wasn’t going to dance with her, he still knew how to make her feel special.

After she had finished talking to her beau, Rhiannon continued her tour around the ballroom and the guest wing, searching for things that could help her with her task but also keeping an eye out for Varric and Dorian. She found them mingling in the garden and practically stomped over towards them, or well, whatever the equivalent of stomping in those shoes was.

“You two owe me,” she said, a snarky undertone in her voice. “Especially you, Varric. 5 sovereigns I think you said.”

“The night is still young, Rosy,” Varric commented, “although I realize it may not seem like it.”

“You can forget about Cullen asking me to dance,” she said, “I asked him to dance and he told me that he doesn’t dance at all.”

Varric laughed. “I’m not giving you a copper until the night is over. You never know what could happen.”

“All those hours in the tavern, struggling to learn those fancy human dances, nearly making my feet bleed, for what?” Rhiannon mused, “I can’t believe I let myself be talked into it all.”

“My dear, if you’re so torn up about the Commander scorning you, I promise I’ll save you a dance and we’ll make him horribly jealous,” Dorian said, “but you really must focus on the task at hand. The fate of a nation rests on you and we can’t have you distracted by silly little things like being left without a dance partner.”

“As much as I really don’t want to try to run around in this damn thing, you’re right,” Rhiannon huffed, “but when we get out of here don’t think I won’t get you both back for this.”

The whole night Rhiannon exerted herself harder than she ever had before. It was one thing to be trying to impress a bunch of fancy nobles but it was another to try and do that while uncovering secrets about various potential rulers of Orlais and manipulate members of the court and worry about fighting off Venatori.

The dancing lessons did prove useful when the Grand Duchess asked her to dance. She probably would not have been able to make it through the exchange and gain valuable information had she not learned the proper steps. Maybe she wouldn’t have to kill Varric but she was still planning to get some kind of payback and collect her 5 royals.

As it turned out, her dance partner was in cahoots with the Venatori the whole time and Rhiannon had to use her new found influence with the court to call her on it, displacing her. For someone who was so new to the game, even Josephine was impressed by how well Rhiannon had managed to navigate it.

After all was said and done, Rhiannon had not only displaced a Grand Duchess but she had also helped the Empress reconcile with her elven lover, exposed Grand Duke Gaspard for plotting to overthrow the Empress, and convinced Morrigan, the Empress’s arcane advisor to join the inquisition. Finally, she had time to relax and enjoy the party but she was almost too tired to do so.

After her conversation with Morrigan, she remained parked on the balcony, leaning against it to take some pressure off of her aching feet. It was not long before she heard footsteps approaching from behind.

“There you are.” It was Cullen. “Everyone’s been looking for you.”

He came up beside her, leaning over on the railing next to her.

“Things have calmed down for the moment,” Cullen assured her, “are you alright?”

“I’m just worn out,” Rhiannon explained, “tonight has been very long and my feet are killing me.”

“It’s been a long night for all of us,” Cullen commented, “I’m glad it’s over.”

Cullen placed his hand on the small of her back. “I know it’s foolish but I was worried for you tonight,” he said.

The music stopped briefly, and Cullen’s expression changed.

“I may never have a chance like this so I must ask…” Cullen came around and offered his hand to her. “May I have this dance, my lady.”

Rhiannon’s eyes lit up. Her feet may have been killing her but this was the one thing she had actually been looking forward to for tonight and she was not about to give that up. Blistered feet or no.

“Of course,” she exclaimed, grabbing his hand, “I thought you didn’t dance.”

Cullen pulled her closer, placing his hand on her back and drawing her in. It wasn’t the perfect frame that Josephine and Dorian had taught her, but it was good enough.

“For you, I’ll try.”

The two of them began to dance on the balcony together. Rhiannon knew that it wasn’t technically proper form to look into Cullen’s eyes as he led her but she couldn’t help it.  

“I never had the chance to tell you, but you look beautiful tonight,” Cullen commented. “Josephine spared no expense, did she.”

“Maybe standing through all those fittings was worth it after all,” Rhiannon replied.

Cullen chuckled. “It was that bad?”

“Let’s just say that you should get your fill now because I will not be wearing this dress or anything like it anytime soon,” Rhiannon told him in no uncertain terms.

“I won’t waste a second then,” Cullen said softly, staring into her eyes.

“You know, I spent a whole day learning to dance for this moment,” Rhiannon confessed, “Varric talked me into spending a day in this dress and these shoes in the tavern while Josephine and Dorian taught me how.”

Cullen smiled. “All this for me?” he asked, “I’m sorry I’m not better at this.”

Just then, Cullen tripped over himself a bit and ended up stepping on Rhiannon’s foot. She winced slightly as Cullen turned bright red.

“As I was saying…” Cullen said, sheepishly.

He tried to go back to leading her but she quickly found herself bumping into the wall behind her.

Cullen became flustered. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Why don’t I try leading,” Rhiannon suggested, “I think I picked up enough to remember how.”

“Alright,” Cullen said, “let’s see if you can do any better.”

The two switched their arm positions. Rhiannon squared her shoulders and counted herself in. Almost immediately she found herself tripping over Cullen’s feet. She had forgotten that when leading you were supposed to start on the opposite foot.

“I swear I can do this,” she said, looking down at her feet and trying to position herself properly. “Alright, let’s try this again.”

Rhiannon took one step forward and found herself tripping once again, this time over herself. Her feet were in too much pain to be coordinated in any way, shape or form and she found herself falling right into Cullen’s arms.

She looked up at him from her weakened stance. “I tried,” she said.

Cullen couldn’t help but laugh. “A valiant effort, my lady,” he chuckled. “though it seems your feet have given up on you.”

Rhiannon nodded as Cullen helped her up to stand on her own again.

“I promise I’ll come better prepared next time,” Cullen said, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Rhiannon replied, leaning in to kiss him.

#dragon age #dai #cullen x lavellan #wip wednesday #beyond the veil #btv -WIP Wednesday

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

(Talesfromthefade) The tender ache when you press against bruises

Some complicated Adoribull for you and @dadrunkwriting! Takes place after “Unseemly”, but can be read as a stand-alone. 

=

The Bull ignores him. 

Which isn’t strictly true, the Bull pays plenty of attention. He puts himself between Dorian and danger, which is… often. And Bull sweeps his eye over Dorian’s face whenever he uses a massive hand to haul Dorian to his feet. 

“You good? Good.” 

But he doesn’t say a word otherwise. 

The Bull flirts with the Inquisitor. Which is fine, the Inquisitor is a handsome man, a fact that smacked Dorian in the face tonight, when the Bull clapped his hand on Maxwell’s shoulder and leaned in a touch too close. 

If he wants to bed his employer, that’s his business, Dorian thinks waspishly, stirring his bowl of stew with irritation. 

He turns to say something–anything, anything to fill the wretched silence–and finds the Iron Bull watching him, eye gleaming, his head propped up in a massive hand. 

Maker, those hands. 

Dorian coughs to clear his throat, having suddenly swallowed his tongue. “I’ll…” 

“I’ll see you around,” the Bull supplies after a moment. He nods but doesn’t turn away, gaze roving over his face and body in a way that makes Dorian flush again, sets heat coursing through him once more. “Yeah.”

And he did–see him, that is; The Iron Bull is too large a person and personality to miss in the ever-crowded grounds of Skyhold keep. One couldn’t miss him. 

But Dorian, perversely, does. 

It should be disgusting. Qunari and Tevene, lifelong enemies. He should not want. Dorian Pavus, scion of generations of impeccable breeding, should not want–certainly not a brute warrior like the Bull, the antithesis of everything Dorian should be, should want, should need.

Dorian tells himself this as he stuffs his mouth with lukewarm stew. It lands like bricks in his stomach. 

==

“You done ignoring me?”

Dorian shifts in his bed-roll, halfway to sleep. He blinks the Fade from his eyes. “I beg your pardon?” he asks, sleep-slurred. 

“Are you done ignoring me?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Dorian rolls over to find the Bull looking at him, his one eye boring into him like he could see the secrets of Dorian’s soul where he kneels at the doorway of their shared tent.

“I think you do, Dorian,” Bull says. “I think you’re being cruel for no reason. You regret it? Fine. Forget it happened if that’s what you want. But I thought we were both adults.” 

“Me being cruel?” Dorian sputters and rises to sit up, balling his fists in his blankets. “What about you?” 

The Bull crosses his (massive, warm) arms. “What about me?” 

“You–you flirt with anyone, even more so than… before.” His heart beats rabbit-fast in his chest, blood rushing in his ears. “You look at me and then ignore me like nothing happened, like it was a mistake.” 

“Well, maybe it was.” 

The words ring like a bell in the silent night. Dorian bristles against the pooling of frustrated tears in his eyes. “Fine,” he spits. “Then maybe it was, and we forget it ever happened. We both should have known better, then.” 

“Get it out, Dorian,” the Bull growls. “What you really mean.” 

“I should have known better,” Dorian hisses, “than to trust a man like you.” 

 “A Qunari, you mean.” 

Dorian shakes his head. “Ben-Hassrath. You always seem to know how to get what you want.” 

The Bull quiets, staring at Dorian. Dorian’s skin is too tight, too small, and he throws off his blankets. Teeth gnashing, Dorian shoves his feet into his boots and stalks out of the tent. 

“Get back here,” the Bull says. Dorian can hear him crawling out of the tent behind him. “We’re not done.” 

“Oh no,” Dorian mutters, “you’ve made it quite clear that we are.” 

A mistake. A mistake, and he had known it to begin with. Damn him and his loneliness, but he trusted too easily, fell for the Iron Bull’s smooth words too quickly.

Dorian wipes his eyes, seething. He stomps into the basalt and sand of the coastline, putting distance between himself and that insufferable man. 

Rocks crunch underfoot behind him. The Bull follows, silent otherwise for his footfalls, and part of Dorian is sure that’s a courtesy more than an accident. 

“Stop running and talk to me, dammit.” 

Dorian throws open his arms and spins around. “Nowhere to run to, as you can see,” he says caustically. The Bull glides across the broken rocks beneath him, unfairly graceful as always. “And you just said we could forget it ever happened.” 

“I lied.” 

“You–” Dorian falters, stops, dropping his arms to cross them protectively over his chest. “You what?” 

“I said you could forget. Not me. But, dammit, Dorian, you haven’t given me much to work with.” 

“Well, how could I, you sleep with anyone who’ll tumble into your bed!” 

The Iron Bull crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking Dorian’s stance. “And?”

“And! And… And you’ve barely spoken to me since.” 

The Bull snorts and shakes his head. “Hard to talk to you, you always find a reason to run.” 

“Can you blame me? All I can see is…” Dorian cuts off. The thick iron of saarebas collars flashes through his mind. His tutors had used them like bogeymen, the saarebas; collared Qunari mages, kept on leashes and held constantly on the edge of a blade. 

“That’s all they would see you as, Dorian. Dangerous. Deadly. A weapon to be used. Do you see now why we must fight back?” 

The Iron Bull steps closer. “Yeah?” 

Dorian lifts his gaze, horrified. “We’re so different, Bull,” he says softly. “How could we possibly reconcile that?” 

“We could start by being friends,” the Bull suggests. “Try that one again.” 

A surprised, disbelieving laugh bubbles from Dorian’s throat. “Friends,” he mutters. “You, Ben-Hassrath, want to be friends with me, Tevene mage.” 

“Yeah. Take a few steps back from where we are. Learn to talk to each other, not freeze each other out.” 

Dorian slowly unwinds his arms from around his middle. “I’d… I’d like that, I think,” he hazards.

The Bull lets out a long sigh. “Me too. Now c’mon, it’s freezing and you’re out here in a nightgown.” 

“I–” 

A chill wind cuts across the bay, slicing into Dorian’s bones like a knife. A shiver runs down his back.

“Oh, all right,” Dorian says, exasperated. He hesitates only for a moment before heading off in the direction of the tents, the Bull falling in at his side. 

=============

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are highly welcome!

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#da drunk writing circle #Iron bull #the iron bull #dorian pavus #iron bull x dorian #dorian x iron bull #adoribull #soulrebel writes #fanfic #prompt fills #dragon age #dragon age: inquisition #reblogs and likes are welcome and appreciated! thank you! #honestly-wilde

[hunnybadgerv]

"Warm water against sore muscles" for Rhys and Dorian for the DWC?

Finally! It only took me 6 months. Almost to the day. Apologies about that.

***

-1-

“One would think an archer wouldn’t end up with so many bruises. Aren’t you better from a distance?” Dorian teased.

Rhys reached up and grabbed Dorian’s neck, bring his face close enough for their noses to touch. “Of all people, you should know I can be equally as effective up close.”

The mage’s hand found Rhys’ wrist, giving it a squeeze as he tipped his head to kiss his lover gently. As the kiss broke, Dorian pressed his lips to the pulse point of Rhys’ wrist. “I’m well aware, Inquisitor.”

Without loosing Rhys’ hand, Dorian pressed another kiss to his temple. He could see the moment of fervor fade from Rhys as that little action freed the inquisitor from the need to the mighty hope of Thedas. An exhausted man sank back into the water, his hand still strongly grasping Dorian’s.

Taking up the cloth on the stool near him, Dorian dipped it in the water, squeezing out the excess. He rubbed the cloth against the bar of soap, one handed, because he refused to loose his lover’s hand. It was a small concession. One easily accomplished. With the cloth, he tackled the dirt clinging to Rhy’s long neck and ears.

“Your hair is getting a bit long on the sides,” Dorian announced.

Rhys only hummed incoherently as the mage pressed his fingers against the other man’s scalp amidst the bubbles of a thick lather.

“I will trim the sides for you,” he teased.

The bathing man’s body shook with laughter. “Will you?” he teased, peeking over his shoulder at Dorian.

He gestured at himself. “I’m well practiced in the use of a razor, I’ll have you know.”

“That you are, dearest, but as I recall the last time you attempted to translate those skills to me, I had to shave my entire head again.”

“You were being over dramatic,” Dorian replied haughtily.

Rhys grinned and stared at him with a challenging look. The mage grabbed the wrapped handle of the copper bucket and poured it over Rhys’ head without warning. His laughter echoed in the small room, warming Dorian’s heart anew. Rhys flipped his head, sending a trail of water around the room and drenching the mage’s blouse.

Leaning back in the water, Trevelyan’s gaze moved over his lover. “Told you that shirt would be nothing but trouble.”

“You’re just a randy cur,” Dorian replied. “Sit up.”

“While that maybe true,” Rhys agreed, sitting forward, “it doesn’t change the fact that you are beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Another relaxed rumble of glee wandered through Rhys and spread into the room. “Oh, I know how untrue that statement is. Would you care for me to demonstrate it again?”

The corner of Dorian’s mouth twitched as the memory of that night flooded his mind. He certainly wouldn’t turn down the chance to be worshipped like that again. “You’ve been on the road for weeks, picking fights with Maker knows what. And we both know that the energy you’re feeling right now will fade as soon as you climb out of this water. So, let me bathe you. Then we’ll see what happens.”

With a sigh that sounded like it was relieved, Rhys leaned more heavily against his knees. Dorian knew that the inquisitor was well-versed in pleasure—in and beyond the bedroom—he’d seen many of the masks that Rhys donned for different purposes and perrsonages. He knew very well, that the randy cad was just one of the many roles that Rhys was capabale of adopting, often without even realizing it. Dorian also knew that he was one of the few that got to see the masks fall away utterly, but those times were incredibly rare and most often occurred when Rhys’ exhaustion or frustration piqued to inhuman proportions.

Discarding the cloth, Dorian pressed his soapy hands over Rhys’ bare back, kneading at tight and tired muscles. As an archer, his back, shoulders, and chest were the most taxed in combat, which was way Dorian concentrated his attention there until he felt some of the tension ease. He could never work all of it out; the younger man’s stress level was unnaturally high. Carrying the hopes of tens of thousands of people could have that effect on a person, especially when that person never asked for any of it.

Taking up another pitcher, Dorian poured the hot water in a slow stream that chased away the suds and grime in rivulets that ran over and between thick rope-like muscles. He pressed his free hand over the tawny flesh helping spread the ease and effect of the water. Rhys’ head dropped against the arms propped on his knees and a loan moan carried through the room.

“Lean back,” Dorian all but whispered.  The inquisitor complied. Pressing his hand over Rhys’ shoulder, Dorian set down the pitcher, grabbed the bar of soap, and moved closer again. His embrace allowed Rhys to rest his head back against the mage’s shoulder, which he did. Lathering his hands again, Dorian pressed them over the inquisitor’s chest in delicate caresses interspersed with kneading gropes. Rhys’ hand guided Dorian’s mouth to his own, teasing his lips with tender kisses.

The mage didn’t pull away from either duty—kissing the man in his arms delicately as he pressed his hands over his muscular torso. The softness of Rhys’ kisses were honest. There was no guile in them.

-2-

Rhys felt guilty for just lying there as they kissed, savoring the feel of Dorian’s hands on his body, chasing away the sand, grime, and tension. But his lover was right, he was exhausted to his very marrow. It was the kind of exhaustion that only faded, never completely leaving him. He was all but certain that feeling would not leave him until they were able to completely close the tear in the sky, which none of them were sure was even possible.

Licking at Dorian’s lips, Rhys tried to blank those thoughts and uncertainties from his mind. This was not the place for that; not the time, he told himself.

He groaned, low and deep, as Dorian’s hands pressed down over his abs. A part of him wished they might sink lower, but the didn’t. If he were honest with himself, he probably couldn’t please Dorian in his current state no matter how he might wish to do so. The kisses ended far too soon for Rhys’ tastes. But the sensation of the hot water enveloping him lilke a second skin soothed, not only the sore muscles in his body, but also served as a balm to his tired mind and soul. The slow stream of it rinsed away so much more than soap and dust.

Dorian slipped out of his physical grasp, tending to his legs, even massaging his feet. It was the kind of pampering that ignited his guilt. Dorian might have been physically safer here, but that just left him to the torment of worry and imagination. Rhys’ lips tightened with the realization, but he couldn’t reconcile it still—his desire to keep Dorian safe and wanting him at his side at all times.

“I love you,” he said in a rush of thought.

A smile curved Dorian’s mouth. “And I you.” Lowering Rhys’ foot back into the water, Dorian moved closer, looming over him before he pressed a kiss to the inquisitor’s forehead, then to his lips. The kiss remained gentle even as it deepened, as if either of them could communicate the depth of their feelings for one another in that simple exchange.

Rhys’ gasp of surprise broke the kiss and brought his gaze back to Dorian’s. The mischeivous grin on the mage’s face told all. His hand stroked the length of Rhys’ shaft, and while desired stirred beneath the touch it did not rage. Exhaustion placed a limit on the ranger’s desire for performance.

“Come,” Dorian whispered against Rhys’ mouth. “The water is starting to chill.” His kiss, equal parts inticing and gentle, pulled Rhys to his feet.

Again, his lover’s hands were all over him, guiding the drying cloth over his tired frame in a languid way that went far beyond utility. Once Dorian was satisfied that not a single stray drop of water remained, he took his lover’s hand and led him to the massive bed with the fluffy mattress that cradled the body. Pulling back the sheets, he looked over at Rhys. “In.”

The simple order earned a laugh from the inquisitor, who complied. “You know I can’t sleep worth a damn alone,” Trvelyan argued. The embrace of the mattress and the pillow proved more than his tired body could fight at the moment. But he needed Dorian in his arms.

“I do.”

Rhys watched as Dorian stripped out of his clothing and rounded the bed. Crawling in from the other side, he closed the distance between them. Lazy kisses traded between them, until Dorian rested his head against Rhys’ chest, giving him leave to fall asleep. Even so, he fought it off for a bit. His fingers traced lines along Dorian’s back and neck. At the edge of sleep, hallucination took over. This moment right here, this could be their life … together.

A smile pulled at Rhys’ lips as consciuosness finally slipped from his grasp entirely, guiding him into a most tempting and tame dream.

#DADWC #Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle #Rhys Trevelyan #Dorian Pavus #Fluff #Badger Scribbles #midnightprelude

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Nothing Is Inevitable

Chapter 54 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which Fenris and the crew wind down after killing the Avvar dragon by listening to Ameridan’s memories which are super lighthearted and not at all heartbreaking, and Fenris and Rynne have a Talk™. 

Only an excerpt is here; read the whole thing here on AO3 (~9200 words).

*******************

Ameridan’s memories floated out of the flask and separated into five globes of light. Fenris glanced nervously at Hawke. “Shall I just, er…” He gestured vaguely at the memories.

She shrugged. “It worked for your memories in the Fade. Hopefully it’ll work with these.”

He nodded, then reached at random for one of the memories. The memory flared briefly, and Ameridan’s mellow voice echoed through the air. 

“I dislike being so far from home,” the voice said. “Halamshiral needs me. The darkspawn have grown stronger. Some of my brothers would let those creatures destroy Orlais; they think Drakon no better than the Imperium. But if we do not stand with the humans against the darkspawn, we might lose everything we have gained. I will fight this Avvar-dragon for you, Drakon… and then we shall drive back the darkspawn together.”

Varric sighed. “Shit. This, uh, explains a lot.”

Dorian grimaced. “Yes, quite. If the elves had helped Orlais during the Second Blight, Orlais might not have turned on them later.”

“Hang on,” Hawke protested. “It’s not the elves’ fault that Orlais burst in and stole their land from them.”

“I’m not saying it’s their fault,” Dorian said in surprise. “I’m simply making an if-then statement.”

“But…” Hawke stopped, then sighed. “No no, I see what you’re saying. Ugh, what an utter shitshow.”

“Agreed,” Fenris said quietly. If Ameridan had succeeded at killing the Avvar dragon and gone back to the Dales, and if the Dalish elves of old had joined Orlais in battling the darkspawn, then maybe the Exalted March on the Dales would never have happened. 

Imagine if that were the case, Fenris thought. Imagine what Thedas would be like now if the Dales still belonged to the elves. An independent nation of elves, allied with Orlais, who were in charge of their own destinies… 

Or maybe it wouldn’t be like that at all. Maybe after Ameridan and Drakon died, some other excuse would have arisen for an Exalted March, and the Dales would have been taken from the elves anyway.

Blackwall broke through his melancholy musings. “The Jaws of Hakkon failed to destroy the lowlands, but their dragon did lead to the end of the elves.”

“Yeah,” Varric said softly. “That’s probably the fairest way to put it.”

Hawke smiled at him. “That’s how you should put it in your book.”

Varric smiled faintly back at her. She squeezed Fenris’s hand and tilted her head at the memories. “On to the next?”

He nodded, then reached for the next memory. This time, Ameridan’s voice was wry with humour. “If I must go to the end of Thedas itself for Drakon, I am at least glad to have friends at my side. Telana and Haron have been arguing about Haron using the lyrium to fight demons. Some things never change.” Ameridan chuckled softly before going on. “Orinna has a new alchemical trick she wants to try, like pitch or tar but stronger: a recipe straight from Orzammar. They argue, fuss, and mock each other mercilessly… and I would be lost without them.”

The voice trailed away, and they were all silent for a moment. Dorian cleared his throat. “I wonder what that’s like?”

Blackwall harrumphed, and Bull pulled Dorian against his side while Sera scoffed. “What d’you mean by that crack?” she demanded. 

“I jest, of course,” Dorian said hastily. “I’m moderately fond of you all, despite your lack of proper hygiene.”

Varric smirked and shook his head, and Hawke flicked the cap of a flask at Dorian’s head. Then Cole spoke up. “They were happy, then dead. But this is still here.”

They all fell quiet again. Hawke looped her arm around Cole’s shoulders and hugged Fenris’s arm. “Well, we’re not dead,” she announced. “Nobody’s dying anytime soon, so we’re all going to keep having a good time, right?” 

Her voice was bright and cheerful, and her grip on Fenris’s arm was hard. He squeezed her hand as Blackwall replied. “That’s right,” he said gruffly. “Let us hope we fare better than they did.”

“We will,” Hawke said firmly. “We already have. Go on, Fenris, let’s hear the next one.”

He reached for the third memory, and once again, Ameridan spoke to them through the glowing globe of light. “I prepare now for my final battle against this dragon of the Avvar. I offer thanks to Ghilan’nain, halla-mother, and to Andraste, Maker-bride. As you were raised up from mortal men to stand with our creators, our makers, so raise me up now to defend this world.”

Fenris’s eyes widened. “Ameridan worshipped the elven gods and the Maker,” he said. He looked at Hawke. “I had wondered about this – why he said he would see Telana at the Maker’s side. He was Andrastian, at least in part.”

She made a little face. “That would have been a pain, though, don’t you think? Trying to reconcile two sets of wildly different religions? Why bother?”

“Belief is a funny thing,” Varric said philosophically. “Besides, an elven Inquisitor must have had a careful path to walk.” He glanced at Fenris ruefully. “Still does, I guess.”

“There is that,” Fenris agreed. He himself had never publicly revealed his religious uncertainty for concern that it would obstruct the Inquisition’s goals. 

Cole spoke again, this time through Ameridan’s voice. “‘They’re not so different, Drakon. Just another pair of boots to walk the same road.’ He doesn’t see, wants it simple, but I can help him get there. There’s room for both.”

“Oh,” Hawke said softly. “That’s… kind of nice, actually. Making room for both…” She looked around at their companions. “Ameridan was a pretty inclusive sort of fellow, wasn’t he?”

“Sounds like,” Sera agreed. “Elfy-elves aren’t like that these days.” 

Fenris twisted his lips ruefully. “They aren’t, no. If Ameridan had survived, lived to maintain the alliance with Orlais…” He trailed off before he could continue the thought. The path of what-ifs regarding Ameridan’s survival could only lead them to a very depressing place. 

Hawke sighed quietly and leaned her head on his shoulder, and he looked down at her. “Are you all right?” he murmured. 

“Of course,” she said. “Just tired, that’s all. Should we hear the next one?”

He nodded and activated the fourth memory.

“We have a plan,” Ameridan said. “Haron and Orinna will lead the Avvar elsewhere, so Telana and I can deal with the dragon. Telana believes we can seal the dragon away, even if we cannot kill it.” He sighed, and even through the echo of memory, Fenris could hear the bone-deep weariness in his voice. “It is less clear whether I can do so without sealing myself in as well, but I have little choice. This beast will wreak devastation across Orlais unless we can stop it now.”

Dorian shook his head sadly. “This still boggles my mind,” he said. “Ameridan saved all of Orlais from the Avvar, and no one ever knew.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “People-people don’t do things so you know them. Good on ‘im.”

“She’s right,” Blackwall said. “Heroism shouldn’t be about fame. It’s about doing what’s needed, no matter the cost.”

At Blackwall’s words, Fenris’s stomach twisted guiltily. Blackwall had a point; some tasks needed to be done, no matter the cost. Killing Corypheus had been one of them, and killing this possessed dragon had been another. It was selfish of Fenris to wish that those necessary tasks weren’t his responsibility. They needed to be done by someone, and that bottom line should trump everything else. 

But why does that someone always have to be me? he thought resentfully. As Ameridan had said before, demons and dragons were one thing; politics and posturing was something else altogether. Every political problem, every feud, every territorial dispute: was it truly necessary for Fenris to be consulted for everything? 

Dorian, meanwhile, raised his eyebrows at Blackwall and Sera. “I didn’t mean– of course Ameridan didn’t do it for the heroism. It’s just… a shame, that’s all.” He eyed them incredulously. “Come now, you two can’t really not care if you’re forgotten from history. Don’t you want to feel that you, you know, participated in everything that’s happened here?”

Cole answered for them. “It doesn’t matter that no one remembers,” he said. “What matters is that they helped.”

Hawke wilted. “But if that’s all that matters, then why are we here listening to these memories?” she said plaintively. “Why are we getting all mopey over a bunch of people that we never met if their stories don’t matter?”

Fenris glanced worriedly at her, and she laughed lightly. “Not me, of course. I’m not moping. But I can see that tear in your eye, Bull.”

Bull chuckled. “Whatever you say, little Hawke.”

She grinned at him, but her smile faded quickly. “Seriously though,” she said. “This isn’t – nothing we do is for the recognition. That doesn’t mean you want to just be forgotten. Even you two,” she said to Blackwall and Sera. “Whether you care or not, you’re not getting forgotten in any of this.”

Sera wrinkled her nose and shrugged. Then Varric shrugged as well. “It is a damn fine story,” he said. “Shame nobody found it until now.”

“It is a shame,” Fenris agreed. He reached for the fifth and final memory. 

Ameridan’s voice echoed through the frosty air. “Telana, my love,” he said softly.

Hawke’s fingers tensed against Fenris’s arm as Ameridan went on. “I should not have asked you to come with me, though I know you would not have stayed behind. You are a Dreamer, and this dragon the Avvar have tamed carries a demon inside it. I can see how its presence hurts you. You should be at Halamshiral reminding our people of our alliance with Drakon. Not here, risking death again with me.” He sighed. “Still, in the old tongue, your name ‘Telanadas’ means ‘nothing is inevitable’. I will remember your name and hope.” 

For the final time, Ameridan’s voice faded away. For a long, frozen moment, they all sat in a subdued silence, and Fenris could hear Hawke breathing shallowly beside him. 

Nothing is inevitable. The meaning of Telana’s name hung in the air like a chilling fog that sank straight down to his bones. Ameridan had thought of Telana’s name as a sign of hope, a sign that even terrible things could be stopped and avoided. But Fenris couldn’t ignore the ugly irony of what had ultimately befallen them.

The thing Ameridan had tried so hard to avoid – his wife’s death – was the very thing he had not been able to prevent. 

Cole broke the heavy silence. “Too bright, blinding, breaking, broken. ‘Get to safety. I will seal us both away. It’s not forever. Come back with aid.’ But her leg was broken. She could only lie down and try to see him one last time.”

Varric sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Aw, kid.”

Hawke suddenly hid her face against Fenris’s arm. He turned toward her and stroked the nape of her neck. “Hawke…”

She shook her head and pressed her face into his neck and shoulder, and Fenris could feel the dampness of her tears on his skin. 

He swallowed hard and clasped the back of her neck. Across from them, Sera sniffled wetly, and Blackwall put his arm around her. “Come now, girl,” he said kindly. “They’re together now, like Ameridan said.”

Sera scoffed and rubbed her nose. “Not crying about that, silly. Just something in my eye.” 

Hawke took a deep breath, then lifted her face from Fenris’s shoulder. “Me too,” she said thickly. “Allergies or something, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Sera said gruffly. 

Hawke smiled at her. “You know what’s good for allergies?”

Sera leapt to her feet. “Punch!” she exclaimed.

“You’ve got it,” Hawke said cheerfully. “Come on, back to Stone-Bear Hold so I can mix up some punch.” She braced her hand on Fenris’s knee and started pushing herself upright. 

He hastily took her hand and helped her to her feet. “Be careful, Hawke,” he warned. “Your mana…”

“I know, I know,” she said. “Taking it easy, no magic for the rest of the night.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “If you want to carry me back to Stone-Bear Hold, that might help me recover faster.” 

“I could, if you need me to,” he said.

She grinned wickedly, and Varric shook his head. “You should know better than to offer to carry her,” he said dryly.

 “Hush, Varric, you’ll ruin it,” Hawke scolded. She gave Fenris a winsome smile. “Oh please, most handsome elf in Thedas, will you carry me?”

Fenris huffed in amusement and pinched her waist. “Only if you need me to. It is not my job to transport you across Thedas. I’m not a nuggalope.”

“You’re right, you’re not,” she said promptly. “I’d much rather ride you than a nuggalope.”

Fenris scoffed and rubbed his mouth. Blackwall and Bull snorted, and Sera cackled loudly while Dorian rolled his eyes. 

Varric shot Fenris a knowing look. “You walked right into that one, you know.”

“I know,” he said ruefully. “I regretted it the moment I said it.” He placed a solicitous hand at the center of Hawke’s back. “Come on, back to the settlement.”

Read the rest on AO3.

#fenris #fenris fic #Lovers in a Dangerous Time #fenris the inquisitor #fenquisition #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x femhawke #fenrynne #jaws of hakkon #joh dlc #pikapeppa writes

[nextgensquad]

Was wondering if Ellie had any ideas for Louis Weasley? Specifically on his love life or job after Hogwarts? Thanks ☺️

Louis still can’t get used to the kinds of questions journalists like to ask. They seem so much intrusive than he feels like they should be allowed to be. It’s been a full year since his first appearance for the Tornadoes, a mad year of fan hysteria and trophies and journalists, and he still feels like none of this belongs to him.

“Relax.” His teammate’s arm wraps around his shoulders, camera-ready smile never faltering. “It’s all good. You’re Louis Weasley, they’re dying to have you here. Just be cool.”

“Yeah,” Louis just about manages, and takes a deep breath. He’s always wondered how Xander makes it all look so easy, like none of this has ever bothered him for a second. He floats through life, untouched, impenetrable.

Louis puts his hands in his pockets and tries to mimic Xander’s easy grin, his confident stance. “Fake it for long enough,” Xander murmurs, removing his arm, “and you’ll end up believing it.”

Louis hopes he’s telling the truth. He holds his grin in place even as it wants to slide off his face, and the first of the journalists is allowed to rush in and take their seat. Soon he and the other four who’ve been dragged to the press conference are facing a bristling forest of up-thrust arms. Team captain Reiner Urquhart squares his shoulders and calls for the first question.

“Louis, are the rumours about a potential transfer to the Appleby Arrows true?”

Louis resists the urge to duck his head. Xander sits back and lays a lazy arm over the back of Louis’ chair, a subtle show of support. Louis has been given the seat at the end of the row, in the vain hope it will remind this roomful of hyenas that other people on this team are worth paying attention to, but he can still feel the sullen irritation of Barnes and Robbins, first-choice Seeker and first-choice Beater, who have never got over Louis’ popularity.

He clears his throat. “Not true at all.”

The journalists persists. “You’ve been linked with them recently.”

“He’s linked with five teams a week, Dorian, give him a break,” parries Xander, fingers tapping. “It’ll be the fucking French next.”

“He is half-French, to be fair,” interrupts Urquhart, and points out another journalist. “Next question.”

“Louis, have you reconciled with your parents yet?”

There’s a hiss of disgust from either Barnes or Robbins. Louis swallows and remembers what Xander said: ​fake it until you believe it.

“I’d rather not talk about it. Now, Urquhart’s mother, on the other hand—” And he turns, grinning, as Urquhart hollers down the table for him to shut up. That provokes laughter, a subtle easing of tension, and Louis thinks that maybe he’ll get away with it.

“Right, another question,” calls Urquhart over the hubbub, “and ask us something about the team, you arseholes.”

More laughter, and obligingly a young reporter from the Prophet stands up and enquires, “How are the renovations on the training ground going?”

As more questions begin to fly, Louis lets himself breathe out. He gets a few more, but the others jump in for him as often as not, and as soon as it’s obvious that he’s not going to be drawn out on anything personal, they start firing questions at Xander too, their usual favourite subject.

Afterwards, Xander and Urquhart drag him to a quiet pub they like for a debrief.

“Will they fucking give it up,” Louis grouses into his pint, “Jesus. My personal life has nothing to do with them.”

“It’s because they think you’re hiding something.” Xander is drinking a sparkling water, a far cry from the party boy he likes to be in front of the press. “You gotta be an open book like me if you want them to stop prying.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” says Louis untruthfully, and takes another big swallow. “And, anyway, you sure are hiding something. I know about that fifteen-year-old at Hogwarts, remember.”

Xander scowls. “She told me she was seventeen. The amount of make-up she was wearing, good god. How was I supposed to know? How did you even find out?”

“My cousin’s friends with her,” says Louis, and then shuts that train of thought down before it can go any further.

“Lily Potter, right? Jeez. There’s one I wouldn’t mind causing trouble with.”

Even Urquhart nods in solidarity, and Louis has to be very careful not to let his knuckles tighten around his glass.

“That’s my cousin, man.”

Urquhart shrugs, his Guinness halfway to his mouth. “Sure you can still see she’s fit, come on. Like sixty percent of my parents’ friends are married to their cousins. Purebloods, huh?”

“Muggles, too.” Xander sits back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his abs. “My father’s sister married a first cousin. Keep all that wealth in the family.”

“Muggle ​peers,​ ” sneers Urquhart, teasing, and Louis bangs his glass down before Xander can take umbrage. He’s funny about his family, Xander, happy enough to remind anyone that he’s the son of a ​lord,​ thank you ​so much​, but a real shit when he feels like people are being rude about it.

“Anyway,” Louis says loudly, “that first question – do you think someone sneaked? About the new team?”

“Keep your voice down.” Urquhart is instantly serious, leaning in. “Shit, Weasley, be careful. None of us are out of contract for another year. If the Tornadoes get wind of it—”

“They won’t.” Xander is still lolling, indolent and sure. “The only people that know so far are the ones who stand to benefit. Dobbing us in will leave them worse off than keeping the secret.”

“Nobody’s ever done anything like this before,” agrees Louis, “they’ll never see it coming. It’s been the same thirteen teams since 1674, it’d be suicide to set up a fourteenth.”

“Our kind of suicide.” Xander grins ferally. “Three hundred and fifty years is enough of the same thing. They’ve stagnated, hey? Poaching players off each other, nobody caring enough to think long-term.”

“The Tornadoes Academy—” starts Urquhart, to a snort of derision from Xander.

“Lip-service to the idea, and only because you and I raised such a stink about it. I’m serious. If they want British Quidditch to stay competitive on the world stage, we have to start developing kids. Developing them properly, I mean, not just depending on that particular house at Hogwarts having a decent captain to give them some piecemeal training. Look at Weasley, come on.”

Urquhart does, and Louis frowns back at him. “What about me?”

“I mean, kid, come on, you’re the superstar, but you were not the right choice for a team captain.”

Louis has asked Xander to stop calling him kid a hundred times, and it has not worked yet, but he still gives him the finger. Xander’s only twenty-five, after all, hardly eons older than him.

“Xander, be nice,” says Urquhart, but Louis waves him down.

“Nah, he’s right. I hated being captain. I don’t like being responsible for training or decisions or anything. I just want to be out there flying.”

“And that’s what makes you the best Keeper in two hundred years.” Xander nods sagely. “But that’s the shit thing, isn’t it? Best player means captain at Hogwarts, so you got kids that could be great with development just stagnating because a good player doesn’t necessarily make a good captain, and they miss out on their shot at joining a team – one of thirteen teams, I mean, shit! Where’s the scope for expansion?”

“’Stagnating’ your word of the week or something, Hawkley?” Urquhart asks, and Xander just sighs.

“It’s the right thing. We’re doing the right thing.”

“I’d feel a lot better about it if we were out of contract already. Those lawyers absolutely fucking terrify me.” Louis gives a not-entirely-theatrical shudder. “Thank god for Ben.”

Ben, his sort-of-brother-in-law, who managed to get welcomed to the family despite knocking Victoire up after dating for a single month by making the most of the chaos when Louis quit school out of nowhere to join the Tutshill Tornadoes six months before the end of his final year at Hogwarts. Louis has never regretted the decision, but he regrets the bewildered disappointment it produced in his parents, who will never understand why he couldn’t just finish those final short months before leaving.

How can he ever explain it to them, when the real reason is one he will never even allow himself to think about?

“Is he still going over the contracts?” Urquhart is swirling the dregs of his Guinness around the bottom of the glass. “I’m slightly terrified of what he’ll find.”

“Yeah. He said he’d ring when he’s sure how it’s going to go down.” 

“So much paperwork.”

“Well, if we got a backer like I keep saying—” starts Urquhart, and Xander and Louis both lean in.

“We can’t.”

“No, Urquhart, shit,” says Xander over Louis, “come on. You were worried about leaks with just us and Elsa Templar on the in, you want to add some slob-mouthed businessman to the mix?”

“We’re going to need the funding soon.”

“No.” Louis puts both hands down. “My career’s barely started and I’m putting it all on the line for this. We do it safe as we can.”

Xander scoffs. “Your career’s a safe bet, Weasley. You could fuck up beyond all recognition and any team would still commit murder to have you. Us replaceable Chasers, mind—”

“Ah, fuck off.” Urquhart rolls his eyes. “You’re a flashy little bastard but anyone can see how good you are. It’ll be me that takes the rap if this goes wrong, and we all know it. I’m twenty-nine, that’s practically ancient for Quidditch, and there’s rumours of a set of hard-ass little Beaters coming up through Hogwarts right now. But it’s fine.” He holds a hand up to forestall Xander and Louis’ protests. “I made my peace with that when we first started talking about it. That’s why I’m doing it, because I want to leave more of a legacy than just being a decent Tornadoes captain. I want to build something. This is that something.”

“We will do it,” promises Louis, wide-eyed and zealous. “You watch. We’ll smash it. The League’ll never keep us out, not with me and Xander and Templar playing. If they try, if they want us to go and join other teams, then I’ll go play for France and—”

“—I’ll go back to playing polo for my old man,” finishes Xander, grinning. “And we’ll see how well England do without us.”

Urquhart shakes his head at both of them, but he’s smiling, benevolent, proud of these young men he’s built out of nothing.

“Death or glory, then, boys,” he says, and lifts his empty glass. They chink their drinks together, all laughing, and Louis downs the rest of his pint. This is what he joined the Tornadoes for; this is what he listened for when Xander first drew him aside and said, “Right, look, Weasley—”

Like this, the future glowing bright and glorious and full of challenge, it’s the easiest thing to pretend the past never happened, that his heart doesn’t beat broken in his chest, that there wasn’t ever nearly a baby, that he never let it all get out of control. That he is the picture he presents to the world: Quidditch superstar, golden boy, Keeper darling. That this is all there is.

#louis weasley #harry potter next generation #next gen harry potter #next generation #harry potter fanfiction #ours #ellie #writing #thank you so much for this ask!!! i've been thinking about louis a lot lately #as he features very heavily in a lily fic i'm working on off another request #and it was so fun developing his future self for this!! #warwounds

[canonicallyanxious]

Reading Recap: July + August 2019

In an attempt to document my efforts in completing my New Year’s resolution of reading at least one book every two weeks, every month I’m going to be doing a brief write-up of the books I read to keep myself accountable and share this journey with you all.

Hooooooo boy it’s been a while since i’ve done one of these! This is because i... really didn’t read as much as i wanted to in July and August lol so I figured I would combine what i read in both months into one post. I did finish up the Sandman series and some other really good and interesting reads so it wasn’t a total waste of two months! let’s-a go!

The books I read, alongside ratings out of 5 stars [5 for favorites; 1 for books I unreservedly dislike] and some of my thoughts:

Sandman: Brief Lives / World’s End / Kindly Ones / The Wake - Neil Gaiman | 4 to 5/5

wow. wow. wow. That’s all I have to say about this series.

Cat’s Cradle - Kurt Vonnegut | 3/5

idk i think i had too high expectations because Slaughterhouse Five was an EXCELLENT read but i think cat’s cradle is just... kinda... weird... at best... and, like, kinda racist and misogynistic at worst lol. Naturally.

The Hate U Give - Angie Thomas | 4.5/5

Y’all this is a fucking AMAZING book. i mean i’m sure everyone and their mother knows this but that doesn’t make it any less true. Star is a wonderfully written protagonist, complex, compelling, multi-faceted, just so so good. i... don’t think there’s anything I could say that could do justice to the complexity within this book and how deftly this book handles that complexity frankly but i really do think this is a book everyone who cares about YA should read.

China Rich Girlfriend - Kevin Kwan | 3/5

I’m ngl guys, the first one was better. I think [mild spoilers] the choice to make Rachel’s real father an exceedingly rich and influential man sort of cheapens the message/themes of the first book tbh like the whole point [to me, anyway] was that Nicholas was not able to reconcile his family’s background with Rachel’s background and ended up sacrificing his relationship with his family because he realized that their mindset toward wealth and power was exceedingly toxic and this decision just kind of undercuts that choice/sacrifice imo? idk maybe i’m just being nitpicky. It was still a fun read, i guess? It’s just that now that EVERYONE in the book is rich including the one woman who’s supposed to be Not Rich I find i can’t really relate to anyone lol.

The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde | 3.5/5

First of all, this book is EXTREMELY homosexual. Second I like that Dorian Gray is, like, totally irredeemable, like the ending of it is extremely fitting and symbolic and I think that’s pretty well done. Third I like that the exact nature of his ~sins~ and his ~hedonistic lifestyle~ aside from the stuff like him going to a drug den and such is kept fairly vague, like we don’t NEED to know the details and the mystery almost makes it worse in a way. Fourth what I didn’t like about the book was how much all the men hate women pffff. Fifth I know this was set in a different time and all that but also who the fuck talks like Lord Henry?

... Oh. White male english and/or philosophy majors. That’s who.

#sarah.txt #reading recap #i think the month of september will yield a much more interesting reading recap for sure #but for now have this lol

[surprisemomblog]

I’m writing today with regard to a situation I witnessed today in my neighborhood. While getting my laptop and PB&J sandwich set up outside to enjoy a nice lunch outdoors, I heard dogs barking followed by a woman screaming. Within moments, I heard profanities being spewed. I thought a dog may have gotten hit by a car, so, sandwich in hand, I ran out front of my house to see what happened. As it turns out, a FedEx driver was bitten by one (or maybe both) of my neighbor’s dogs. The dog owner was on the phone with the police, and she was asking the driver if she was hurt or if there was anything she could do. The driver was screaming all kinds of horrible things at my neighbor, while another neighbor and I tried to figure out what happened, too.

While the FedEx driver did not appear to be bleeding, she said she was in great pain. I recognize the driver may have been in shock, but the things that came out of her mouth were disgusting. She insisted she was attacked by both dogs, despite my neighbor and me suggesting that it may have only been one. She was repeatedly yelling to the dog owner that she hopes the dogs get put down and that she would see to it that they die. While the dog owner was visibly upset, her primary concern was the driver and her dogs the entire time. She called several family members and friends to see if anyone could come over, but even through the driver’s belligerence, she repeatedly asked if anyone knew how the driver was doing or if there was anything she could do to help. She handled the situation as well as anyone possibly could.

While we were all waiting for the police and paramedics to arrive, another neighbor came down the street. She began yelling at the dog owner, accusing her of not taking care of her dogs and blaming her for the incident. I politely asked the woman to stop yelling at the dog owner, who was crying at this point, but she persisted and told me to be quiet. I told her she was not helping the situation and that this was difficult for all parties involved. She looked at me, scoffed, and told me voices like mine eat away at her ears and that “the sweetness of [my] voice is annoying.” She proceeded to look at me in disgust and yell at my neighbor, saying this is not difficult for the dog owner because she is to blame. My husband came over to defend me, and only then did she begin to listen to what I had to say. She eventually calmed down—guess she needed a white male for that—and expressed that her concern was for the dogs. She said she did not believe they should be put down because of what she referred to as negligence on behalf of the dog owner. Regardless of her reasoning, I couldn’t believe she thought this was the right time to yell at the dog owner.

Eventually, the cops showed up, and the FedEx driver said to the dog owner, “I hope he shoots your dogs and then you.” My neighbor was left sobbing, broken, and alone.

In reflecting on the situation, I could not believe the lack of human decency. I was disgusted by the FedEx driver’s behavior during the entire exchange. I do not know what it is like to be attacked by a dog, but I do know what she was saying was entirely uncalled for. I did not expect her to be kind to the dog owner, but she did not have to be so awful. And, while the neighbor who yelled said her concern was for the dogs, I was in disbelief that she chose the moment when my neighbor was most vulnerable to attack her. The dog owners are good people. I could not believe the total lack of empathy shown toward her in this situation. Here is a woman who knows she is going to have to say goodbye to her pets, is getting repeatedly yelled at, and has no one at home to help comfort her. They chose the moment she was least able to defend herself to attack. And she never attacked back.

It made me realize how often we, as people, do not allow others to be human and to make mistakes. Instead, we are concerned with them getting “what they deserve.” Who are we to determine what someone deserves? We are all human. We all misstep.

While I know people are beginning to post that they’re tired of seeing others post on social media about the current state of affairs in our country, it was difficult not to relate these two situations. I feel immensely sad about what is happening currently, on a number of levels. I try to listen and educate myself, but it is difficult to reconcile my feelings when there is still so much death and destruction happening. And, who will pay the price for that? It is still mostly the Black community bearing the weight.

At this point, I am aware of 10 lives being lost during these protests, including two members of law enforcement (one retired). Do you see the same problem I do?

· Calvin Horton Jr., 43

· Javar Harrell, 21

· Dave P. Underwood, 53

· Chris Beaty, 38

· James Scurlock, 22

· Dorian Murrell, 18

· David McAtee, 53

· Italia Kelly, 22

· David Dorn, 77

· Barry Perkins, 29

Anyway, I decided to donate to Lake Street Council, a nonprofit in Minneapolis which is committed to helping rebuild—not gentrify—the communities that have been affected by the protests.

I also went to change.org to sign multiple petitions (related to many issues, not just human rights).

Just a thought from Macbeth:

SON

What is a traitor?

LADY MACDUFF

Why, one that swears and lies.

SON

And be all traitors that do so?

LADY MACDUFF

Every one that does so is a traitor and must be hanged.

SON

And must they all be hanged that swear and lie?

LADY MACDUFF

Every one.

SON

Who must hang them?

LADY MACDUFF

Why, the honest men.

SON

Then the liars and swearers are fools, for there are liars and swearers enough to beat the honest men and hang up them.

[dragon-tooth-collection]

As I alluded to in this answered ask, I couldn’t let this week pass me by without saying something about Last Resort of Good Men. I’ve only got this one weirdly-lit shot because this quest breaks me every time (has Ramon Tikaram gotten an award for his voice work here yet, like should we send him a card or something) and I wasn’t ready to go through it again, so have this moment of Dorian being distraught and looking over at Adam’s “concerned boyfriend” face lol.

For the record, I don’t think there’s a “right” way to do this quest. This is damage that has long since been done. It’s like ripping open an old wound that never healed, no matter what the Inquisitor says or does. A lot of this sort-of-fanfic-like-but-also-not-really screed will be from Adam's perspective.

With that said, he urges Dorian to reconcile. This is kind of a role-playing choice; he has a good relationship with his own father and, in the moment, didn’t quite understand the full extent of what Halward had done. Their trip back to Skyhold is somber and almost tense; Adam nearly drives himself mad with all of his internal worrying, but he keeps his distance ahead. Sometimes the best thing you can offer someone is space and some time alone to process things. They go their separate ways through the front gates.

Alone-time for mulling it over doesn't go very well for Adam, though. He tries to retire to the seclusion of his quarters where he can take refuge in the quiet productivity of paperwork, but his concentration is shattered. He thinks about how rarely he's seen Dorian raise his voice like that, how rarely he's allowed himself to show his true emotions and not hide them behind a curtain of his usual Dorian-isms. They're almost the same age; how much of his life has he lived feeling trapped? How long has he gone thinking these things he can't change about himself are flaws that needed to be covered up and not embraced? It just makes him angry. Angry at Tevinter, angry at the rest of the world for letting Tevinter exist, angry at Corypheus and his Venatori and Red Templars and this mark on his hand that means he can't devote all his time to giving this man the love and understanding he's been lacking all his life.

The passing of time itself becomes unbearable. Adam makes his way to the library to find Dorian turned to the window that overlooks Skyhold's gates; he can see anyone who comes or goes. Clever. Because Adam also has all the subtlety of a bronto in a finery shop, he's easily heard coming up the stairs. Dorian doesn't turn from the view of the Frostbacks past Skyhold's ramparts at first.

Dorian expects to be judged, to be told his behavior was unreasonable and he was just being dramatic, or something, but this stubborn, incorrigible man just looks at him with admiration in his eyes. Where Dorian sees shame, Adam seems bravery. Where he sees things about himself he's sure will drive the Inquisitor away, the Inquisitor sees all the more reason to get closer to him. Very close, actually. Close enough for their lips to crash haphazardly into each other and for a nice makeout session to ensue. Smooth.

And that’s about when Adam starts having thoughts like “I would feel lost if he wasn't here,” and feeling a twinge of sadness run through him when they have to let each other go and resume their world-saving duties.

"I can't fix the past, but maybe I can make his future better."

#DA:I #Pavelyan #Dorianmance Week #Adam Trevelyan #mine

[primadonnatartuffe]

RYAN: *it's time to face the music... she said she'd talk to russet later, so here she is, later, dropping in at russet's place unannounced. maybe because she hopes she'll miss her to avoid doing this just a LITTLE bit longer... but ultimately she does want to, she's just scared. taking in a deep breath, she knocks on her sister's door.*

RUSSET: *No such luck Ryan, she happened to be home in her small little town house on her day off. She had been sipping tea and looking over her outline plan suggestions for the next Odimist fund raiser when she heard the knocking at her door. Mmm, it could be a few people really, but Russet had a bit of a hunch as she gets up from her table and goes to open the door.*

RUSSET: Oh hey =8I *She looks Ryan up and down.*

RYAN: hellooo... *says a little meekly and sheepishly* you busy?

RUSSET: Not really *She hesitates a moment before stepping aside.*

RUSSET: You wanna come in?

RYAN: yeah. *nods before she slowly starts to amble inside, looking around at the interior with interest and awe. russet must be doing well for herself...*

RYAN: i just wanted to... you know.

RYAN: follow up on what i said id do.

RYAN: and talk about... everything?

RUSSET: *Her etsy shop does do well to help fill out her bank account after her usual paychecks. Who knew so many people would want fridge cozies? The main room is rather minimalistic in design style, but just so you know her bathroom is space/galaxy themed.* Mm. Thats cool.

RUSSET: *Shuts the door behind the both of them.* I can reheat tea if you want any.

RYAN: yeah okay i could go for some tea i guess. *despite feeling antsy, she plops herself down on a couch or chair just so she's not standing around.*

RYAN: ... i like your place.

RUSSET: Thanks. *The couch is covered with pink and gray colored thick cableknit blankets, very soft and comfy. Russet briefly vanishes into the next room and a few minutes later she returns with two mugs, one being hers reheated, and another fresh cup for Ryan.*

RUSSET: *She wordlessly sets the mug in front of Ryan and then takes her on seat on the soft swivil chair to the right.*

RYAN: *by the time russet comes back, ryan is completely consumed by this fluffy cozy couch. but she can still reach out to grab her drink.* thaaanks...

RYAN: ...

RYAN: im not... super sure where to... start...

RUSSET: *She sighs over the top of her mug.* I guess I can start. Probably should say sorry for how I was being at the party. Wasn't really the place to hash this out anyways.

RYAN: *shrugs* i mean... its not unwarranted.

RYAN: i know it had to suck seeing me there before anything else.

RYAN: like not to throw a pity party for myself or nothing but i was just really stressed out about coming back.

RYAN: i thought if i just showed up at shindig itd be easier somehow? i guess i didnt expect to see you and finn AND jack all at the same time. the only thing that woulda made it more overwhelming was if dorian was there too. *wilts thinking about dorian... she really made an ass out of herself around him ages ago, and now he's nowhere to be found.*

RUSSET: *She too droops her shoulders at the mentions of Dorian. Why is their whole family troubled with disapearences?* Yeah well. You probably could have thought that through better yeah.

RUSSET: *Sips tea.* ...You said you're staying with dad?

RYAN: *nods slowly* yeah... i dont really know where else to go.

RUSSET: Im sure hes happy to have you around.

RYAN: ... i think hes still pissed at me. *sips also and keeps her mug close to her chest*

RUSSET: Well duh. A lot of people are gonna' be pissed. But even if he's mad hes got to be happy you're back home and safe and not gone with the wind.

RUSSET: Unless you plan to run away again. Not sure how well that might go over. *Sips at her.*

RYAN: *stares down at her mug* no...

RYAN: theres no point in me trying to leave again.

RYAN: there was no point to begin with.

RYAN: it was stupid...

RUSSET: Yeah. It was.

RUSSET: But you still did it.

RYAN: ... im sorry.

RUSSET: *She looks down into her cup, pulling her legs up into the chair with her so she can sit cross legged, and goes silent for several moments.* .............

RUSSET: Why did you do it?

RUSSET: Why did you run away again?

RYAN: i dont know i-- *draws in a sharp breath*

RYAN: it was so long ago now i barely even remember what was going through my head.

RYAN: of course i might remember it better if i hadnt completely fucking fried my brain lmao.

RYAN: *huffs another sigh* i just know i was like... overwhelmed...

RYAN: between jack and me... and with all my bullshit.

RYAN: i just know i wanted to hide from it.

RUSSET: *She listens, and tries to find ways to sympathize with Ryan. Her little sister did have a few problems, and Russet could wrap her mind around feeling overwhelmed by stuff, but running away for years? That was too much.*

RUSSET: You know there are other ways you could have handled it. Without ditching all of us.

RYAN: *eyes start watering. no... she's wearing mascara, she can't have this.* i know that... i know that /now./

RUSSET: *heavens not the mascara. See this is why Russet likes her circle shades, they do well to hide too much emotion.*

RUSSET: I guess at least you learned that much. *Produces a napkin and holds it out to Ryan.*

RYAN: *takes it* ... yeah. *she learned plenty more than that, but she doesn't want to make it seem like she's fishing for sympathy. she doesn't deserve that. she just tries to think of ways to update russet without it coming off that way.*

RYAN: i got into a lot of shit.

RYAN: i made a lot of mistakes.

RYAN: i had to go to rehab. *shrugs*

RYAN: thats why i came back.

RUSSET: Wait... What?? *Sits up more in her chair, frowning pretty harshly.*

RUSSET: Rehab?

RYAN: ... yeah. *dabs at her eyes with the napkin* i got really fucked up and this girl i was seeing made me go.

RYAN: and then she you know broke up with me.

RYAN: but again i dont blame her.

RUSSET: Thats...

RUSSET: Mm. Wow. Sorry I'm trying to like.

RUSSET: Form the right words to respond to that.

RUSSET: ......Thats rough, Ryan.

RUSSET: *Nailed it.*

RYAN: *shrugs* you dont have to say anything its fine. it is what it is.

RUSSET: Yeaaahhh but its still shitty. I mean, I'm mad at you but still thats difficult to go through.

RUSSET: Does your mom know?

RYAN: *nods slowly* yeah... i told her and dad first.

RUSSET: Thats good. I'm glad you told them.

RYAN: kinda have to tell people. you know... to reconcile and all that?? its all part of the program.

RYAN: but i want to anyway.

RUSSET: Oh. Well thats better then just coming back to complete the program.

RUSSET: .......I'm glad youre back. Even if it doesn't seem like it.

RYAN: *hearing that makes her eyes water more and her voice squeaks a little when she speaks* cool. yeah...

RYAN: im glad im back too.

RYAN: and i really...

RYAN: i really am... really sorry.

RUSSET: *Ryan you better not start crying, gdi. Russet is too much of a bleeding heart for this.* Thanks. I believe it.

RUSSET: I um... I dont know how long I'm going to be mad at you about this. I forgive you but also dont at the same time its really confusing. And its hard not to still feel hurt because until now I didn't have any idea why you ran away, and I didn't get to think about it too much because I felt like I had to pick up the pieces of everyone else, so I'm kind of bitter? *Says it like a question, shes figuring it out as she goes and just holds her mug closer to herself to feed off the warmth.*

RUSSET: I want us to be okay again, eventually. Because I thought we were getting to some sort of level of okay with each other until you ran off.

RYAN: yeah... i know i fucked it all up. *she's crying, she can't stop it now. she's bottled it up too long, and if there's one person she really feels guilty about, it's russet, for all the reasons she just mentioned.*

RYAN: i wanted things to get better... i was just--

RYAN: fuck...

RYAN: im just so sorry. i dont wanna be dumb or petty or awkward anymore.

RYAN: i missed you... i missed you nagging at me and i missed your cute little craft things and all your motherly lil habits.

RYAN: i didnt realize how much i needed people like that in my life to keep me grounded.

RUSSET: *Well heck. Shes turning a little orange now, a combination about Ryan saying all these nice things about her meddling, and then there is the whole choking back emotion because if Ryan is crying shes NOT going to cry. Because if they both start bawling it will never stop she knows it.*

RUSSET: Well shit. =B'I

RYAN: *wheezes out a watery laugh at that response.* i know... damn... really unexpected hearing ryan get all sappy.

RUSSET: *Nods and sniffles just a little.* It is. I think someone might have to pinch me to make sure this is real.

RYAN: would... a hug work?

RUSSET: *She thinks about it and then places her mug on the glass coffee table before opening her arms wide.*

RUSSET: Yes. =B''T

RYAN: *HHH she puts her mug down as well, wiggling out of this couch and then shuffling over to fit into her big sister's arms.*

RUSSET: *Wraps her arms around Ryan and gives her a big squeeze. This hug is pouring in the warmth and love of all the hugs she hasnt been able to give Ryan in years. Enjoy Russet's watery, emotional, bug chirps in your ear because its too much!!.*

RYAN: *the chirps are a comfort and she responds with more soft giggles. she sighs, relaxing into the hug and letting the warmth comfort her and convince her that things might finally start to be alright...*

RYAN: is it okay if i hang out here for a lil while...?

RUSSET: *She nods into Ryan's shoulder.* Mhm. I'm not doing anything today.

RYAN: okay cool cuz im gonna impose like hell for as long as i can get away with it. *pulls away, smiling softly as she flops back onto the couch*

RUSSET: *When she and Ryan part Russet breifly sneaks a finger under her glasses to wipe at her misty eyes.* Fine by me. But you shouldnt stay too long past dark unless you are getting a ride somewhere.

RYAN: *she's gotta dab at her eyes some more too...* yeah okay that can be arranged. *AND SO she gets settled in, drinking tea and catching up on some of the more positive things that have happened.*

#lagomorphUnion #in which sisters reunite

[pikapeppa]

Fenris/f!Hawke smut: Mouth Full

Chapter 40 of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3! 

In which there is some arguing after the events at the Temple of Mythal, and some smut. And, as always, some tenderness. ❤️ Read on AO3 instead.

************************

By the time Fenris was halfway to the Great Hall, he regretted walking away from Hawke. Before he had the chance to turn around and go back, however, Leliana hurried down the steps to meet him in the courtyard.

“Fenris,” she said with a perfunctory nod of greeting. “Flissa mentioned that she spotted you and Hawke in the gardens. How–? What happened in the Arbour Wilds? Is anyone else with you?”

Her tone and expression were calm as always, but her face was paler than usual, and Fenris resigned himself to reporting to Leliana like he’d planned. An hour later, when he’d finished telling Leliana what had happened in the Arbour Wilds and quickly changed out of his armour, he made his way toward Great Hall’s exit, thinking perhaps that Hawke had gone to the tavern to unwind with the others. 

As he neared the rotunda, however, he heard Solas’s raised voice. “Do you not realize what you had nearly done? You would have given yourself into the service of an ancient elvhen god!” 

Hawke’s reply was quiet and indistinct, but as Fenris drew closer, he could hear her words. “... don’t want to be a magical slave, obviously. But if it was down to me or Fenris, I’d rather it be me.” 

His gut twisted painfully at her words. He peered into the rotunda. Hawke was sitting on Solas’s desk, and Solas was pacing angrily in front of her.

“It should not have come down to that,” Solas snapped. “I warned you not to drink from it.” 

Fenris stepped into the rotunda. “You didn’t, in fact,” he said. “You said that someone ought to drink it, and you refused.”

Hawke whipped around at the sound of his voice. A huge relieved smile lit her face, and Fenris instantly felt guilty for leaving her side. 

He joined her at the desk as she turned back to Solas. “Fenris is right,” she said. “And you definitely didn’t want Morrigan to drink, so what were we supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to use a modicum of sense, not go diving headfirst into a binding contract with a powerful ancient god!” Solas exclaimed.

This, of course, was the problem Fenris had as well. He leaned toward Hawke and lowered his voice. “I need to speak with you alone,” he muttered.

She wilted slightly, then waved a hand at Solas. “Get in line. Apparently everyone wants to give me a piece of their mind today.” She looked at Solas once more. “Tell me something, Solas. Why are you so mad about this? One minute you’re telling me the elven gods weren’t real, and the next minute you’re saying we have to be cautious about pissing them off. Which is it?” She tilted her head coyly. “My brain is too small to reconcile it, you see. I need you to break it down for me like the fool that I am.” 

“I don’t believe they were gods, but I believe that they existed,” Solas said angrily. “Something existed to start the legends. If not gods, then mages or spirits, or something we have never seen. And you nearly gave up a part of yourself to one of them!” 

Hawke tilted her head. “Aw, Solas. Are you mad because you care?”

Solas glared at her, then took a deep and measured breath. “That is a part of it, yes. You have been a friend, and I would not see a friend shackled in such a manner, whether that friend is spirit or human.”

Hawke’s playful expression sobered. ”All right, that’s fair,” she said softly. “But… Solas, some things are more important than being unshackled.”

“There is nothing that matters more than freedom,” he said forcefully.

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “Well, I’m afraid I disagree,” she said, and she leaned against Fenris’s side.  

Fenris swallowed hard. There was once a time when he would have agreed with Solas, when he would have agreed that there was nothing of greater value than being free. But now, looking down at Hawke’s beautiful and stubborn face… 

Solas sighed. He suddenly looked exhausted. “Hawke, you are… very young.” He rubbed his face tiredly.

Hawke smirked. “Oh come on, you’re what, maybe ten years older than me? Either that, or that elfroot sunblock potion you use is ridiculously effective.” She gave him a charming smile.

Fenris, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes at Solas. This wasn’t the first time Solas had made comments like this: comments implying that he was older than he seemed. As Fenris studied the sadness in Solas’s face, the suspicions he’d had in the Arbour Wilds returned to the forefront of his mind.

Solas gazed sadly at Hawke for another moment, then straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “In any case, it is fortunate that Fenris prevented you from tying yourself to a… difficult fate. I would ask that you not take such a risk again.”

Fenris frowned. He felt inexplicably annoyed at Solas asking this of her, even though it’s exactly what he planned to ask her himself. 

Hawke shrugged affably. “Well, let’s hope there won’t be any more magical ancient wells to deal with. Otherwise I might have to practice my swan dive.”

Solas frowned, and Fenris tensed. “Hawke–”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” she protested. She stroked Fenris’s arm soothingly. “Maker’s balls, so tense, the both of you.”

Fenris pursed his lips, then placed a hand at the center of her back. “Come. Let’s take our leave,” he murmured. She’d spent enough time hearing out Solas’s concerns; it was Fenris’s turn now.

She hopped off of the desk, then scurried over to Solas and gave him a hug. “Don’t worry so much. You’ll give yourself wrinkles.” She winked at him, then returned to Fenris and took his outstretched hand. 

Fenris glanced at Solas as he led Hawke out of the rotunda, but Solas’s sad-eyed gaze was on one of his remaining blank walls. 

Fenris turned away and put his suspicions aside for now. He would address them later, but his need to speak with Hawke was far more pressing. 

He was quiet as they walked toward their quarters. Hawke, on the other hand, talked the whole time. “Since we’re back at Skyhold so early, we should take advantage of the castle being this empty. I personally think you should choreograph some dance routines.” She shot him a sly look.

Fenris gave her a feeble smile. “I will never understand your attachment to that particular joke.”

“It was one of your first jokes! Of course I’m attached to it,” she exclaimed. She looked around the Great Hall appreciatively as they approached the door to their quarters. “Honestly, it’s a bit of a shame that we don’t host more huge parties. I know you hate them,” she said soothingly, “but the Great Hall would be fantastic for dancing.” She perked up suddenly and snapped her fingers. “We should just have everyone in the tavern bring the revelry in here sometime! There’s far more space here. More tables to dance on, more chandeliers to swing from…”

Fenris unlocked the door to their quarters, and she continued to talk as they made their way up the stairs. “You know, you’re right about Dorian enjoying that terrible dwarven ale. He likes to act so classy about his Vint wine and all that, but his taste in drinks is endearingly common.”

Fenris opened the door to their bedroom and stepped aside to let her pass, then followed her up the final flight of stairs while she chattered on. “Even Sera refuses to drink that one particular brand of dwarven ale, and she’s as common as they come. In the best way, of course,” she added. “But even she has standards.” She chuckled, then met his eye.

When he didn’t speak, Hawke dropped her gaze to her feet. “So, er… do you want to jump right into yelling at me, or do you want a little warm-up line first…?”

Fenris stepped close to her and tipped her chin up. “You frightened me,” he told her. 

Her anxious expression slackened slightly with surprise. Fenris knew she’d been expecting him to shout at her, but Solas’s anger had somehow lessened Fenris’s own, leaving him with something far worse instead.

Fear. The thought of Hawke being enslaved by some ineffable figure of power… it inspired nothing short of a chilling, heart-stopping fear.

She gazed desperately up at him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just… Fenris, I did what I had to do. Or, well, I was ready to. I just– no, let me finish,” she begged as he opened his mouth to protest. “Magic has made you miserable. The lyrium tattoos, the anchor, finding out that you’re… that you were a mage: all of it, it’s made you miserable, and I… I couldn’t stand the thought of more magic making you even more miserable.” She stepped closer to him and curled her fingers against his abdomen. “I just want you to be happy.”

“And you thought that your becoming a slave would make me happy?” he said sardonically.

She wilted. “No. You know that’s not what I mean. I just meant–”

He cradled her cheek. “Seeing you suffer the way that I have: that would make me miserable. The very thought of it chills my soul. I don’t understand why you think I would agree to that.”

She swallowed hard. “I knew you wouldn’t. That’s why I didn’t want you to see me doing it.”

He stared at her for a moment, then took a small step back. “That disturbs me, Hawke. You… you purposely made that choice without me. You didn’t even try to talk to me first–”

“Because I knew this was how you would react!” she protested.

“That is not an excuse!” he snapped. “We’re partners! I told you before: we walk this life together or not at all. Or am I wrong in that?” His anger was returning in force, an ugly mask for the fear that continued to curdle in his belly, and as much as he wanted to talk calmly about this, the thought of what she’d almost done – what she would have done if he hadn’t stopped her– 

“Of course we’re partners,” she said loudly. “But I–”

He cut her off. “You should have spoken to me first. And if you knew I would hate your decision this much, you should not have done it.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So you’re saying that if I told you I hated something you were going to do, even if it was important to you, you wouldn’t do it because we’re partners?”

“Yes,” he bit off. “That is correct.”

Her expression grew even more disbelieving. “Like what?”

“Like not placing Morrigan under the supervision of Templars,” he said. He waved a dismissive hand. “The witch is your problem now. I place the joy of that duty in your hands.”

Her face went slack with surprise, and Fenris suddenly realized why this whole concept was so strange to her: Hawke had always done things that Fenris didn’t like. Especially in the first year that they’d known each other, she had constantly made decisions he disagreed with. Her contrary actions were never intended to anger him, and she’d always apologized and charmed and cajoled him out of his rage, but still she’d done as she saw fit. 

And this, he realized, was why she was so incredulous now: Fenris had never really demanded that she modify her course of action. He’d expressed his displeasure, and he’d been vociferous in his disapproval at times, but he’d never truly insisted that she not do something he disliked. 

No, that wasn’t true. There was one time when he’d demanded that she not do something he disliked: he’d asked her to not to come along while he went to the Conclave. Nearly a year later, they were still living with the consequences of that moment, and he was still living with this cursed green mark on his hand. And Fenris knew that in the depths of her heart, Hawke was still carrying the blame for letting him go to the Conclave alone.

He met her wide-eyed gaze. He knew this was what she was thinking. But things were different now. They were in the midst of a war, and Fenris was the one in charge of all of these people, all of these damned lives, and… and he couldn’t focus on any of that if he couldn’t trust Hawke to keep herself safe. 

He took a deep breath to calm himself. “You should have spoken to me,” he said. “I would have forbidden this – this foolish act. And I wouldn’t be left with these horrific thoughts of my wife falling into the clutches of some unfathomable ancient creature.”

She shook her head. “This is so… Look, I was just trying to keep you safe! I promised I would keep you–”

“Promise me this,” he interrupted. “Promise you won’t make such a sacrifice again.”

She gazed at him in exasperation. “Fenris…”

“Promise me, Hawke,” he insisted. “Promise you won’t–”

“I can’t do that!” she burst out. “Fenris, I’m not sorry I went into the Well. I would do it again if I had to. And stop acting like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my place,” she accused. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself to save me, because you know you would. You’ve fucking tried to and I hate it too, and–” 

A sudden sob burst from her chest, and Fenris’s anger began to crumble at the sound of her distress. But Hawke wasn’t finished speaking yet. 

“I’m not losing you, all right?” she said fiercely. “I don’t care what it takes, I’m not–” She sobbed again and impatiently scrubbed the tears from her face. “No more bad things are going to happen to you. I won’t fucking let them…” 

He pulled her into his arms, and for a long, terrible moment, they simply stood in the middle of their bedroom clinging to each other as Hawke’s tears soaked into his tunic. 

He slowly stroked the back of her neck. “You will not lose me, Hawke,” he murmured. “I will always be by your side.”

She hiccuped. “You c-can’t promise that.”

“I already have,” he said softly. “Don’t you recall?” He pulled away from her slightly, and when she lifted her face to look at him, he cupped her salt-stained cheek. “I told you before. Everything I value is rooted right here between us. You will not lose me. I swear it.”

“Then why did you walk away from me?” she cried.

He swallowed a hot rush of guilt. “I know,” he said. “I’m–”

“I hate when you walk away,” she sobbed. “I didn’t think you would ever d-do that again…” 

Her hurt was bringing tears to the backs of Fenris’s eyes, but he forced them not to fall. “I wish I hadn’t. Rynne, I’m sorry,” he whispered. He carefully smoothed the tears away from her cheeks. “I am sorry. I should not have left you the way I did. It won’t happen again.” 

She sobbed again, then took a tremulous breath and nodded. Fenris tucked her head close against his neck until her tears eased and the rise and fall of her chest was smooth and even.

She released a long, heavy sigh and slid her hands up inside the back of his shirt, and Fenris savoured the warmth of her hands on his skin as she embraced him. A long, silent moment later, he leaned away slightly to look at her.

Her eyes were red with tears, and her expression was serious and sad. When he gazed at her without speaking, a tiny smile lifted the corner of her lips. 

“I’m all hideous from snivelling, I know,” she said. “Don’t look at me. Even Samson’s had better days.” She laughed.

Fenris didn’t laugh. He stroked her cheek instead. “I need you to promise you will not do anything so drastic again without speaking to me first,” he said quietly.

She dropped her gaze, but Fenris didn’t give up. He tipped her chin up until she looked him in the eye again. 

“Swear this to me,” he murmured. “We discuss these risks first. Anything so… life-changing. Anything so dire that it affects us both to this terrible degree: we discuss it first. We walk these paths together or not at all.”

At long last, she sighed and nodded. “All right. Fine. I swear,” she whispered.

Finally, for the first time all day, Fenris relaxed. “Good,” he said. “I could not bear this life alone, Hawke. It is ash unless we move through it together.”

She offered him a tremulous smile. “You smooth talker.”

He smiled faintly at her, then kissed her forehead. As he was pulling away, she tipped her chin up and brushed her lips lightly to his. 

Fenris easily returned her kiss, savouring the plumpness of her lips as she pressed them to his. When she deepened the kiss, nipping gently at his lower lip and pulling him closer with her firm hands on the bare skin of his back, he sank into the depth of her touch for a moment before leaning back to look at her. 

“Are you certain you’re in the mood?” he murmured. Her face still bore the signs of her distress, and although the press of her hips to his was suggestive, the slow stroke of her palms on his back was more tender than heated.

She nodded. “I want to be close to you.” She took a step away from him and started unbuckling his belt.

Fenris watched fondly as she pulled his belt off. She pushed up the edge of his tunic, and Fenris obligingly helped her to tug it over his head. She walked him back toward the bed, sliding her hands along his bare abdomen as she did, and when he was lying back on the pillows, she peeled his leggings down, leaving him bare. 

While Hawke was stripping him, Fenris watched her face. Her expression was content but serious, and it was quite a departure from the heated smirk that usually lifted her lips when she was pulling off his clothes. Even her removal of his clothing was more… purposeful than normal. Usually her stripping was either sloppy and rushed or very sinuous and slow, but the way she was taking off his clothes now, in this purposeful and careful way: it was unusual for Hawke. Particularly intentional, somehow, even beyond her obvious amorous aims.  

She unbuttoned her shirt and threw it aside, then started unlacing her bustier. But just as the bustier was about to come off, she met his eye and paused. 

She raised one eyebrow. “You look strange. Am I doing something wrong?” Her eyes widened. “Are you not in the mood?” Her gaze darted to his cock, which was standing at half-mast.

“No, I’m – it’s not that,” he assured her. “I’m just…” He paused and studied her for a moment before speaking again. “There is something on your mind. I can see it.”

She blinked at him, then let out a little laugh and continued untying her bustier. “I suppose. I just…” She fell silent as she dropped her bustier carelessly on the floor, then slid off of the bed and pushed her breeches and smallclothes off.

She turned to face him. “I have a mouth full of shit,” she said.

He tore his eyes from her bare body back to her face. “What?” he said flatly.

A brief grin lifted her lips. “I just mean… well, you have all your nice smooth words, and I don’t have any of that. I can talk shit, and I can bullshit, but I don’t have anything… you know, nice.” She shrugged. “I might have helped you learn to read, but you’re the one who has all the words,” she said seriously. “The things you say to me sometimes, Fenris, I just…” She pressed her lips together and dropped her eyes, and Fenris waited patiently until she met his gaze once more. 

His belly did a giddy little flip: her tearstained face was a lovely picture of pure affection. “You’ve always been the wordsmith,” she said. “I don’t have sonnets for you, but I have this.” She struck an alluring pose, then let out a little laugh and ran her hand slowly along the length of her nude torso. “I can give you this.”

His heart thumped painfully. Hawke was being playful and coy, but Fenris knew her well, and he knew she wouldn’t joke about this if it wasn’t how she really felt, at least to some degree. 

It was ludicrous, though. Fenris didn’t need Hawke to give him her body. He didn’t need to lie with her to know how much she loved him. Her ill-advised actions in the Arbour Wilds were the most terrible and obvious demonstration of her love.

But he also knew his wife, and he knew what the meeting of their bodies really meant to her. As salacious and lewd as Hawke was in public, the love she and Fenris made had always been more than mere sex. Even from their very first time together, Hawke had poured her affection into her palms and the press of her lips, stroking his skin and treating him with an uninhibited tenderness that was more healing than the cool green magic that she used to knit his wounds.

On that fateful first night together, Fenris was too conflicted and scarred to accept the love that her bare body had implied. But now, so many years later, Fenris understood Hawke’s intentions, and he was more than happy to accept what she was trying to give. 

He sat up on the bed and reached for her hand, pulling her close until she was straddling his hips. “You’re paying for my words with your body, then?” he said playfully. 

Her grin was instantaneous, and it chased away the remaining hint of melancholy in her face, exactly as he’d hoped it would. Even so, her answer was serious. “Nothing nearly so crass,” she replied. “I just… I love you, and I want you to know it, but my mouth is full of shit, all right?”

He pulled her closer on his lap and tilted his chin up to meet her lips. “Perhaps you can start by no longer saying that your mouth is full of shit,” he murmured.

She laughed and cradled his face in her hands. “I’ll fill it with something else, then,” she whispered, and she kissed him.

Fenris smiled despite her kiss, and she smiled as well until they were laughing against each other’s lips. It was a giddy and intimate sort of laugh, the kind that lovers share over something so inane and particular that no one else would ever laugh about, and Fenris savoured this moment of mirth for its very nature: the secrecy of it and the closeness it implied, and the sheer simple pleasure of having someone so dear that he could enjoy this sort of mirth. 

Hawke kissed him again, her slender fingers stroking his jaw and his neck as her lips glided over his own, and Fenris followed the cues of her body as she arched her back and tilted her hips down to meet the hardness of his shaft. She ran her fingers over his nipples until the air stalled in his lungs, then shifted lower on his body and pushed him down to lie on his back, and then she was kneeling between his legs and running her beloved hands along the insides of his tattooed thighs… 

He gasped and lifted his hips. Her tongue was trailing up along his shaft, and the warmth of her palm was cupping his balls. “Hawke,” he begged.

“All right, all right. So impatient,” she purred. Then she took his length into her mouth. 

He groaned and stretched languorously beneath her. The heat of her throat was a sweet contrast with the coolness of their sheets beneath his back. Her hands were sliding smoothly along his inner thighs, and Fenris closed his eyes and melted happily into her loving ministrations, savouring the caress of her caring hands as much as the rapturous pressure of her lips around his cock.

She suckled him sweetly, pulling his pleasure closer with every firm stroke of her mouth, and it wasn’t long before Fenris’s climax announced itself with a shivering rush of ecstasy that he groaned into the back of his fist. Hawke continued to take him deep, suckling his shaft until he reached down and stroked her cheekbone with his knuckles in a wordless plea to stop. 

She lifted her face from between his legs, then crawled up the bed to lie beside him. When Fenris opened his eyes and looked at her, it was to find her smiling at him with that soft and tender smile that he so adored.

Her smile broadened as he met her eye. “I love you,” she whispered.

He rolled onto his side to face her. “I love you as well,” he said. He gathered her close and slowly slipped his thigh between her legs. 

Her eyelids fluttered as his knee slid higher. When he pressed his leg against the telltale heat between her legs, her lips dropped open on a gasp. 

Fenris shifted closer still and kissed her. She curled her fingers in his hair and delved her tongue into his mouth, and he could taste the faint bitterness of his seed at the back of her tongue, but he savoured it for exactly what it was: a remnant of his own pleasure, the pleasure she’d given him so freely to show him how she felt. 

And now, as Hawke whimpered into his mouth and pressed herself against the rigid line of his thigh, Fenris wanted to show her the same affection in kind. 

He reluctantly peeled himself away from her lips and rolled her onto her back before kissing her again, but this time along the line of her neck just the way she liked. She drew a shaky breath and craned her neck to the side, and by the time Fenris’s questing mouth had trailed its way down her throat to her collarbone, she was arching her spine and spreading her legs. 

He slid one hand along the inside of her parted thigh. Her muscles were taut beneath his palm, but the skin of her breast was soft and smooth beneath his lips, and Fenris enjoyed the velvet of her skin beneath his tongue before tugging her nipple between his lips. When Hawke was straining toward him and whimpering with want, he slid down on the bed and brushed his lips along the tense line of her inner thigh. 

He placed a soft kiss on the fragrant wetness between her legs, and she gasped and twisted her hips. “Fenris, please…!” 

He kissed her again, then once more, and when she moaned his name a second time, he lifted his face to smirk at her. “Now who is the impatient one?”

“I’m always the impatient one where you’re concerned,” Hawke retorted. 

He smiled. “Fair enough,” he said, and he slicked his tongue between her legs. 

She twisted her fingers into the pillows and lifted her hips, and Fenris held her thighs steady as he tasted her. He was thorough and careful, running his tongue along the length of her cleft and taking her in until he could taste her at the back of his tongue, just the way she’d taken him. Soon his mouth was filled with her heady taste, and her primal scent was filling his lungs, and as Fenris teased the delicate bud between her legs, she tensed and shivered beneath his lips before crying her pleasure to the canopy of their bed. 

He continued to taste her, slipping his tongue gently along the plump folds of her flesh until she reached down and stroked his jaw to coax him to stop. He lifted his face and met her gaze, and as he basked in the lucid amber heat of her eyes, it struck him that this pose was an exact mirror of how they’d been positioned just moments ago, with Hawke stretched between his parted thighs as she brought him to his peak.

This equalness, Fenris thought, was exactly the point of all of this. This was the point of the life they shared and these trials they walked and the countless times they fell together in this tangle of hands and tongues and tenderness. He and Hawke were here together, sharing this life side-by-side and moving as one through every mess that was placed along their path, and Fenris refused to have it any other way. 

He crawled up the bed to join her, satisfied by the way her brilliant copper gaze shifted from lazy pleasure to a fresh flare of excitement. When Fenris roughly rolled her onto her belly, she gasped in surprise. 

She was flat on her belly on the bed, and he stared lovingly at the expanse of her tattooed back for a moment before pushing her legs apart. Her breathing grew sharp and desperate as she lifted her bottom to accommodate the angle, and when Fenris pumped his hardening cock against her slick cleft, she jerked and pressed her ass back toward him. 

“F-Fenris,” she stammered. “I – ah! Fuck me, please!”

I need you, he thought feverishly. He lowered himself over her until his chest was pressed to her back, pressed as close as he could possibly be. His shaft slid smoothly between her legs, and it wasn’t long before her smoothness and warmth brought him to full attention once more. 

“Fenris,” she mewled. She could hardly move beneath his weight, but she arched her back nonetheless, and Fenris indulged himself by tasting the tattoo that curled across her left shoulder before brushing his lips over her ear. 

“Do you want me, Hawke?” he murmured.

“Yes,” she said loudly. “Yes, of course I do.”

He slowly slid his cock along her folds. A desperate sob burst from her lips, and she tried to twist beneath him, but she was hindered by his body trapping her against the bed. 

“Fenris!” she whined. 

He pumped his hips again in a slow and torturous grind until she burst out another needy sob. “Fenris, please! I need you!”

That was what he’d wanted to hear. With her desperate and needy words ringing in his ears, he shifted his hips and fed himself into her slick and waiting heat. 

She mewled and scraped the mattress with her nails as he sheathed himself inside of her. Once he was fully buried inside of her, he lowered his lips to her ear once more. “Am I close enough to you now?” he whispered. 

To Fenris’s surprise, she shook her head. “No,” she panted. “There’s no such thing as being too close to you.” 

A rush of emotion squeezed his thrumming heart. He felt exactly the same. Hawke was ensnared in his arms, pressed so tightly to his chest that he could feel her every desperate breath and every bead of sweat that was collecting between them, and still it wasn’t enough. 

Without releasing her from his embrace, he pumped his hips. Hawke jerked and gasped, and Fenris slid into her in a slow and steady rhythm until their breathing was ragged and rough. 

He panted against her ink-clad shoulder before pressing his mouth to her ear once more. “I feel the same,” he said. “I will tear my way through a thousand battles as long as the promise of your arms awaits me at the end.”

She sobbed out a little laugh. “See, you and your fucking gorgeous words – ah!” She broke off with a gasp as he thrust into her hard. 

“I am not finished with these words,” he rasped. “Rynne, I promise you this: only a lifetime at your side will satisfy me. There is nothing in this world or the Fade that will tear me from your grasp.”

She sobbed again and scrabbled in the sheets until she found his hand. “You promise?” she whimpered. 

“I do,” he whispered. Then he continued to fuck her, giving himself to her in a hard rhythm that he knew she particularly liked. 

Sure enough, her eager breaths grew sharper and more broken, and Fenris carefully shifted his hips until she cried out and dug her nails into his arm. “”F-fuck,” she moaned. “I – oh Maker...” 

He tilted and rolled his hips, and a breathless minute later, she shuddered and cried out in ecstasy. Encouraged and riled by her pleasure, Fenris fucked her faster as his own climax bloomed, lifting its way from his cock to his belly and up past his pounding heart until it burst from his mouth in a guttural groan. 

He pressed his lips to her back to muffle himself. Her golden skin was scented with an intoxicating mixture of heat and sweat and the sweetness of their sheets, and Fenris hungrily licked her tattooed skin as his rapture climbed through his limbs. 

When the last pulses of pleasure eased away, leaving him limp and satisfyingly spent, he carefully withdrew from her. 

She gripped his wrist. “Stay,” she pleaded. 

He kissed her shoulder blade. “I plan to,” he murmured. He and Hawke might be spent from their exertions, but Fenris couldn’t bear to move away from her warm and pliant body. 

He tried to shift slightly so his weight wasn’t resting on her, but she gripped his wrist even harder. “Fenris, don’t go,” she insisted.

“I’m not,” he said. “I am only trying not to crush you.” 

She rolled over to face him and twined her legs with his. “I would happily be crushed by you,” she said. “It would make a lovely epitaph. ‘Rynne Hawke, squished by handsome elven husband.’” She smiled cheekily. “I think it would make a good story.”

Fenris huffed. “Fortunate, then, that you are not the writer among our friends.”

She laughed. “Who says I’m not? Maybe that’s what I’ve been doing all this time in the mage tower: writing a book about all the times you fucked me and nearly crushed me afterwards.” She tapped his chin playfully. “Maybe I’ll name it after something of Varric’s. Hard in Skyhold: Fuck Harder–”

“Vishante kaffas,” he complained, and Hawke burst out laughing. 

As always, her laughter was loud and bright and uninhibited. It filled his chest with lightness and hope and a dizzying rush of love, and he couldn’t help but smile and pinch her waist. 

She squealed and laughed even more raucously, and Fenris finally laughed as well. “You’re an idiot,” he said fondly. 

She hiccupped with mirth and ran her hand through his hair. “Only for you, Fenris. Only for you.”

Her smile was warm and broad, and Fenris admired the unmitigated happiness in her face. But to his own dismay, her words plucked a fresh note of worry in his heart. 

Only for you, Fenris. These words carried a weight now that they never used to before. Hawke had sworn not to do anything rash again without consulting him first, and Fenris wanted to believe her – no, he did believe her. But these words were tainted now, coloured with the ugly what-ifs of what had nearly transpired in the Arbour Wilds. 

And along with the reminder of this afternoon’s nearly-disastrous events came his worries about what would happen next. 

They’d successfully foiled Corypheus’s plan yet again. But how many more times would they have to chase the cursed magister down before this ordeal was done? How many more times would they be presented with these terrible opportunities for danger – opportunities where Hawke would be bound and determined to keep Fenris safe, just as he was determined to shelter her?

How long would it be before they could have the peace they’d wanted for so long?

“Fenris?” 

He looked at Hawke. Her face was still content, but her expression was soft with concern. “Where did you go?” she murmured.

He tightened his arm around her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m right here.” 

She smoothed her thumb over his eyebrow. “You’re worried.”

He sighed heavily. “I don’t want to think of anything else right now…”

“... but you can’t help it,” she murmured, and he shook his head. 

She was quiet for a moment, and Fenris waited silently as she rubbed his earlobe between her fingers. Finally she lifted her eyes to his face. “Can I help?”

He swallowed hard. Her face was businesslike, but her legs were still tangled with his, and… kaffas, he couldn’t imagine doing this without her. He couldn’t imagine trying to cope with all of these burdens without her.

He tucked a damp strand of her hair behind her ear. “You already are,” he said. “This is where I want to be. Keep me here, Hawke.”

She smiled. “Is that an order from the Inquisitor?”

He gave her a chiding smirk. “No. It is a suggestion from your husband.” 

“Even better,” she whispered, and she snuggled closer still. 

He held her close and pressed his nose to her sandalwood-scented hair. Even without the presence of the Inquisition’ army, there were matters that needed to be deal with now that they’d returned: the misbegotten knowledge in Morrigan’s possession, and the suspicions that Fenris now harboured about Solas, and what in the Maker’s name was going to happen next in this seemingly never-ending quest to destroy Corypheus once and for all.

But Hawke was pressed against him, fragrant and warm from the love they’d just shared. Her eyes were closed and there was a tiny smile on her raspberry-red lips, and as Fenris breathed in the perfume of her hair, he allowed his busy mind to drift. 

For once, Skyhold was quiet and still, and Fenris had done all that he could do to avert another major disaster. 

And for now, he would savour this moment of peace in Hawke’s arms. 

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