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reginrokkr · 1 year

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At the edge of time when all dust has settled does the Twilight Sword of old return to where it all began: Irminsul. In its presence he reminisces the hard fights that have been won: against corrupt divine, imposters to the original first gods to exist in Teyvat; against the star-devouring ailment they brought with themselves that was silenced by his hand. When all threads of fate have been re-weaved by the hand of the just and balance betwixt all creatures, short-living and carriers of longevity alike irregardless of their power —for in Teyvat there is no such thing as imbalance in power, divine or human: both are equally as important in this star's health—, a wondering mind questions the All-Knowing that has been ever present in his mind and soul since the beginning of his own existence:

Where did forbidden knowledge come from?

Irminsul always answers to his voice, yet this time it is in the form of a new variable that Dáinsleif has never encountered before. As if he was plunged into the Abyss that Khaenri'ah wished so much to conquer and explore with their own flesh and blood only to resign to resort to a fallen star from afar, everything around him is naught but a dark sky filled with stars. His eyes close once, the next time they open he finds himself before what he believes to be Irminsul at first due to its reasonable similarity, only to reject this idea as soon as he listens to this new entity's voice upon smoothing the palm of his hand over its golden-white trunk: the Imaginary Tree.

Though no connection whatsoever would be expected to remain with the Axis Mundi that belongs to a world when he's at the core of the universe, recognition is made manifest in the Imaginary Tree of a man chosen by one of its infinite extensions and so a link is established nonetheless. Wordlessly does the tree show images of other stars that fought against an energy called Honkai, others struggling against one by a different name: Stellaron. Individuals who gave it they all to defend humankind as he successfully did in Teyvat and a clear image of the last man who touched the Imaginary Tree before him, a man with alarm-inducing similarities.

From unspoken imagery does Dáinsleif come to the conclusion that this energy that once desolated Teyvat and threatened to consume it whole is no different than a stellar cancer that affects other corners of the cosmos as well. Thus a question reverberates within the confines of his mind next, ethereal:

Now that your question has been answered, what will you do? Return to your homeworld to spend the river of time peacefully of your long-lasting life? Or—?

That is true. Even if the curse has been lifted from him at the end of the crisis, his status as a long-living creature never changed. For he was never human through and through since the very beginning, despite his humane traits. He whom looks at the tree, core of everything that was birthed in this universe, he wonders: Was Phanes, who gave life to humanity in Teyvat originated from this tree too? This tree where time flows in the trunk of the Imaginary Tree and branches out into an infinity of worlds. Whose every branch is a form of civilization, while every bud is their past and present etched onto the dimension of time. Where each twig is a world line and each leaf is a bubble universe.

There is no continuation to the second option given, but Dáinsleif knows what follows. Looking back to all his life experiences, there is no more left for him in a world where he has closed one chapter. When a door closes, a window opens— or so they say. Perhaps this is the moment to say goodbye to a chapter of his life that has found its closure that welcome a new phase of his long-lasting life.

❝It has been decided.❞

A knight knows no end to his battles, neither does the Twilight Sword of old. In this battle for humanity's sake where he has the means and the strength to tip the scales in the right directions, his love for humanity will become the first step towards an unknown that doesn't frighten him.

Do it.

Through telepathic communication as per the eternal link that connects him to Irminsul's brethren in the center of the universe his answer is communicated, and so the tree that glows golden-white inundates Dáinsleif's starry vision with its light and a parting gift: he who remained a wingless seraph in soul and mind only to be displayed in his realm of consciousness has been elevated back to his celestial origins, so would Dáinsleif come to realize upon setting foot to a new world and seeing himself atop water's reflection. With his state of completion that he hasn't felt in several centuries, he now treads unknown grounds with a clear destiny in mind from the start— unlike when he was lost after everything was taken from him once.

#◟༺✦༻◞ noctilucent crossroads: hsr ┊info.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ sapphire flames in their wake ┊ic.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ echoes of a fallen star ┊drabble.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ chasing luminous river of stars ┊noctilucent crossroads.┊#forgive my rusty writing #it's been a few weeks #since the last time I wrote properly dfhjg #but this will make the beginning of his HSR verse #which ironically can work for every other fandom too in a way #I'll change the banner soon #when I decide which one to use #and the next post will be about #more trivia-like things!

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dcwnrisen-aa · 1 year

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Lysander's thighs were to be gripped by scarred palms, lifted as if they weighed nothing, for the bear needed a place to rest. So he did, settle himself between them and sigh in much desired bliss, finally met. "Why do people exist..."

gods, that was such a turn on, but lysandra told herself to control her hormone's as she shifted her attention from the sprig of lavender she twirled in her grasp. putting it down, her hands drop to his hair, combing through it and allowing her nails to gently scrape along his scalp.

❝ ━ mmm, why indeed. no need to worry about them any longer. ❞ gently squeezing her thighs around his head, she grins down at the bear, keeping her hands in his hair as she begun to hum, a soft tune in her throat as she turned her attention to bringing her a little peace. and it extended to herself, for she thrived this way, even if she'd deny it otherwise, ❝ ━ rest a little, handsome. people are draining and well, my thighs can be your recharge. ❞

#🥀. the darkest parts of magic. ⁽ ᶤᶰ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳˑ ⁾#⚔️ ( TZVULT. ) ╱ » enchanting as the storm and twice as captivating as the yearning for the rain.#nvrcmplt #🌺ˑ » petals swaying in autumn breeze.#forgive my rusty writing

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stsgsk · 7 months

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"You've saved me as what?" Satoru repeats for what must have been the fifth time.

You sigh, speaking again, slowly. "Cotton Swab. I saved you as Cotton Swab"

Satoru gapes at you, mouth opening and closing without a single word coming out. In the end, he pouts and look away.

You frown. "Hey, come on. Don't be like that," You walk around him so you're directly in his line of view, his pink lips sticking out as he crosses his arms. You show him your phone, where his contact really is saved as 'Cotton Swab'. "It's a term of endearment. An affectionate nickname. I mean, would you rather just be saved as Satoru? How boring is that?"

Satoru glances at your screen once, then looks away, clearly unimpressed. "You didn't even give me an emoji."

"Alright, alright" you say, going ahead to edit his contact name. "I'll add some emojis. Which ones do you want?"

Before you could blink, satoru had taken your phone. He gives it back to you a few seconds later, leaving you chuckling at the long list of emojis he had put after his name. His name, you just realised, he changed to 'bf'.

You look up at him with a grin. "You gonna explain that?"

"Nope" he says back with a matching grin.

He didn't explain that you two were now matching, because he had long since had you saved as 'gf' with a whole bunch of emojis after too.

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vampykween · 5 months

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sex with bestfriend!simon is absolutely slow and sweet. you two had just finished up a twilight movie marathon because he knows it’s your favorite and god he was honestly to sweet to you. coming over with treats and cuddling up with you to watch your favorite movie, all just to cheer you up.

you’re not sure what came over you, but suddenly your argument with your parents is in the back of your head and you’re straddling simon’s waist. he’s hesitant in his movements, letting you take the lead because otherwise he’ll reveal just how eager he is for you. your hands are all over him, your lips sucking dark bruises into his neck, the scent of your shampoo filling his nose and he can’t help the moan he lets out. there’s nothing he wants more than to be consumed by you; fill you up and have every part of you intertwined with him.

his large hand gently tugs your hair until you’re looking into his eyes. they’re dark and lustful, a look you’ve never seen on simon before. has he always looked at you this way? his voice is low and sensual when he whispers “tell me you want this. just say the words and i’m all yours love” and god you absolutely melt at that.

“si- please i want you. i need you so bad.”

as if in the blink of an eye you’re on your back with simon’s head between your thighs. he kisses and licks at your cunt slowly, yet passionately and when he languidly slides his thick digits into your tight heat, you know you’re in for one hell of a night.

#mic drabbles #this just popped in head because i was listening to a thousand years on the way home hehe #omg i’m rusty with my writing already ahhhh forgive me #bestfriend!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley

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noirleo · 11 months

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confession hcs

bayverse tmnt (aged up, dont be weird <3)

mikey

mikey has confessed his feelings for you at least twice a day since you first met. he was convinced he was in love with you from the first meeting, and it wasn’t until several days later that he realized he was so caught up in planning your entire future relationship that he didn’t actually get your name.

which, of course, just presented an excellent excuse to need to see you again. and again.

before you even realize, you have a very talkative escort to and from your apartment at night. late night walks graduate to movie nights at the lair, and before you realize it, you’re spending every weekend at the lair, watching old horror movies or carefully curated playlist of funny youtube compilations he put together just for the two of you.

you didn’t take his flirting seriously at first. mikey flirts with every person he meets as surely as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west—hell, you’ve seen him make passes at casey once or twice. you brushed it off, taking his declarations of love all in good fun.

slowly but surely, though, your feelings for him crept in, burrowing their way under your skin and stubbornly taking root in your chest. you found yourself anticipating his “come over???? :)” texts and buying him little trinkets and things you think he might like when you go shopping with your friends. the two of you have become inseparable over the past several months; the brothers claim that they never really see one without the other anymore.

tonight you and mikey are crashed out on the couch, facing each other with your legs folded over one another’s gracelessly. a bowl of popcorn balances precariously on your entangled legs, and mikey’s eyes are glued to the screen, excitement lighting up his features as he mouths the words in time with the actress on the screen. it’s the third night in a row he’s chosen terminator, and at this point you could probably quote it backwards without having to spare a glance at the screen.

you tell yourself that’s why you’re staring at him again—you’re just bored, no other reason— but you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from his face to look at the tv.

“see something you like, babe?” mikey asks cheekily, not even turning his head away from the tv. you take a piece of popcorn and throw it at him; it bounces off the side of his head before he turns back to you, mouth dropped in mock disappointment.

“aw no, wait, i wasn’t ready that time! go again,” he pleads, and you toss a few pieces high into the air. he snaps them up and raises his hands, waving to a fake cheering audience. you giggle and kick at his leg, which he easily catches, pulling you closer to him. your breath catches as he pulls you onto his lap, still giggling, and you wrap your arms around his neck without thinking.

“when are you finally gonna kiss me, ‘angelo?” the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. emotions flash across mikey’s face within a split second before his usual, wide grin spreads across his face.

“you saying you want me to, angel face?” he asks, not even trying to hide the hopefulness in his voice. you don’t even respond, glancing from his eyes to his lips, before he pulls you into a kiss.

the movie you were supposed to be watching ends at some point, but the two of you are much to busy to notice.

#i refuse to use correct capitalization #i like the idea that mikey flirts with you so often that he doesnt even realize hes doing it its fr just how he talks #anyway i havent written in like three years so forgive me if im a little rusty #im lazy and going to break it up into 4 parts for each turtle #moon.txt #my writing #tmnt bayverse #bayverse x reader #bayverse michelangelo #bayverse mikey #mikey x reader #michelangelo x reader #tmnt x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016

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leadersguilt · 8 months

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cant remember bringing this up for a while so honestly i'll never be over the reiiteration that jean himself has a bleeding heart. he is going to be both blunt and honest with whoever hes speaking to, but in a way that he hopes will come to help them understand the situation but also does it so whoever he's speaking with actually understands the full situation and what that may entail despite the gruesome outcome.

#out of.#i know so many people respect erwins RTS speech bc its so important but #his honesty to the corps completely parallels what 15 year old jean was saying to the scouts in trost arc and that is. IMPORTANT TO ME #rusty honesty is the most lore accurate name for his theme bc jean is. at his very core. AWFUL at this when he starts off #esp as a scout bc ... so much of it gets held back. just not enough for marco to not see it :pray:#his first proper scout interaction with eren is something i always write as a big regret for him but i also think its good to say he was a #fifteen year old who was suddenly becoming his own and a lot of peoples therapists.#he gets so much better with all this. he GROWS #i was talking abt this with angel a second ago but it's just part of the reiner and jean parallel that makes me enjoy writing them the most #reiner originally was this massive older brother figure role following all he had learnt from marcel. but peoples trust in him snapped so #easily when the reveal took place and he then spent the rest of the series trying to gain it back #( the only character who really seemed to forgive him the most being jean )#whereas jean was the character everyone loved to be mad at / tease / not get too close to #into becoming someone the majority of the scouts trusted the most #one day i will write my meta explaining all these diff characters jean mirrors but ... i shall leave you with this for now

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rocket-mxn · 21 days

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The captain is picked up by his helmet light. Then he is placed down onto a yellow gloved palm, a large rabbit peered at the tiny being. A wide yellow tooth grin with matching yellow scleras. “…Whoa, hey little..uh…guy? hope you don’t mind being picked up..I almost stepped on ya you’re so small.”

Around the size of a bumblebee..

(( :> h-hello ))

Record scratch-- Yep, that's him. You're probably wondering how he ended up in this situation... Well, it all started when he tried to gather up a Courage Reactor to bring back to the ship! And then, out of nowhere, this giant--- oh, right, you probably know the rest. The little captain's body shuddered all throughout his suit. Just.. WHO was this? A titan? A beast? " I .. I am--" Whoo.. okay, he's a little dizzy on his feet from the initial pick-up. Steady yourself, Oli. "Captain... Olimar. Pilot of the S.S Dolphin! And... I.. am eternally grateful you.... didn't step on me."

"L-listen I... don't have much to offer, O great beast! - If you'll just let me get back to my--" Olimar pauses a moment, peering over his shoulder. His... ship. Where was his ship!? Oh no... "My... My ship! Do you know where--"

#PLS FORGIVE ME MY WRITING HAS BEEN SO RUSTY FOR SOME REASON #ITS SHAMEFUL #jaxasstm

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zeehva · 1 year

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His large, smooth hands glided across her warm skin with ease. Following every curvature and caressing her closely. Her flesh was dappled with small imperfections, beauty marks here, scars there. It was well traveled as she liked to call it. Though as his fingers trailed across each scar, one in particular caught his attention. “How’d you get this scar?” He asked as his thumb traced it once more.

Zeehva looked over her shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of the jagged scar on her back thigh. Breathing out a soft laugh as she relaxed down onto her arms, lazing about like a cat while he rubbed at her muscles. “Father and I.. We were retrieving our goods from a pretty big bust. Real valuable stuff ya’ know. Couldn’t believe we found it honestly. But of course, we weren’t the only ones sniffing for that treasure.. Some other relic hunters came along as we were heading back to the caravan. We usually try to be honorable, if someone finds the goods first, we’d usually just back off and go to our next lead. Of course, not these folks. They intended to steal the treasure. But they didn’t stand a chance against Mistah Belrose..” She laughed, her voice emphasizing her fathers nickname in a deep baritone.

“That was until they got their hands on me.” Her lips pursed, turning into a slight frown as she recalled the memory. “He let them take it all once they stabbed me. I wasn’t strong enough to break free or anything. He put his dagger in my thigh and dragged it down until my father promised to let them have the goods. I couldn’t help but scream. It felt like he had lit my leg on fire. I’m used to being hurt from falling and what not but that was.. that was something else.” She ran a hand through her dark raven locks, ruffling her hair some. “I never did forgive him for giving in to their demands, even if my life was at risk. After that was when I started learning combat though. I wasn’t going to let others use me against my father. He didn’t have a choice to take me on the road with him, and I was a weakness. We knew that, but it was that moment in particular that truly opened my eyes to just how big a weakness I was. We’d never survive if all anyone had to do is make me their punching bag in order to get what they want from us..”

She rolled over, head propped up on her hand as she looked at Ikhaara. “And I’ve never been a punching bag since..” She smiled warmly, though her gaze squinted as she thought briefly to herself, “Well.. For the most part anyway. The spear only scares off so many..”

| This was inspired by a prompt from a writing discord community I’m in. So enjoy the little drabble and thank you to @ratdorei for running the discord and inspiring people to write again! @ikhaara for mentions. |

#My writing #ZeehvaxIkhaara #Drabbles #Im very rusty plz forgive

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greypetrel · 1 year

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14 for Aisling? C:

Ooooh thank you for this! It’s been challenging but ultimately satisfying to write… And I think I may even re-use this, meheheh. <3

With some music recommendation! (and yes if you need it this is your clue to go and watch Master&Commander again.)

And since I’m a sucker, here’s Aisling’s dress .

Tis, on the other hand, is the prompt list!

14. Holding each other's gaze

Aisling is restless.

She doesn’t know if it’s still some lingering side effects of Adamant or the new balance in friendships that the aftermath has brought, the big question mark over Solas after her decision to rehabilitate the Wardens and their quarrel in Redcliffe, Varric who’s still struggling with Cole, Radha who… She doesn’t want to think about her. Or, some nerves for the upcoming Winter Ball, now approaching closer and closer.

Oh, she’s pretty ready for the Ball, or as ready as she’ll ever be. Josephine, sweet and clever Josephine, has organised a series of formal dinners with this and that fancy noble, to ease her into the environment and into the Game with far less at stake. This is one of those evenings: the great hall, now fully functional and polished to a shine is elegantly decorated with tables and candles to welcome guests, everyone in her inner Circle who wished to participate in their best clothes, the small string quintet Josie has found and hired to teach her dancing is softly playing in a corner a suite from a composer she really likes. It’s a nice evening, for a formal dinner, she didn’t mix the forks, not even once, the food was good and Sera has still not barged in with a full beehive.

And yet, she’s ill at ease in her skin and can’t wait to just jump on her horse and leave. Even if the next planned mission is in the Dirthavaren and it’s not going to be pleasant from the reports. She is irked by staying there and look pretty and play pretend and not being able to do what she wants. For example, her favourite passacalle just started and she can’t just leave Comte and Comtesse de Renard to grab Dorian and start dancing because she’d love to and they always have so much fun with passacalles.

But no, she reckons that this is all useful, so she puts up a nice smile, sips another bit of the sweet wine (the “stale molasses” in Dorian’s word, but he’s been scolded by Lady Montilyet to be on his best behaviour too) and just nods and reply something absolutely inconsequential over fox-hunting and riding in the countryside, shifting the topic to just riding with ease, at least.

The music changes to something slower, and the de Renards excuse themselves to go and dance, leaving her alone – for the wild luxury of maybe five minutes, if she’ll be very lucky and Josephine won’t notice her. So, she walks to the side, nodding to other people, gently raising her gown with a swish of green silk and petticoats underneath as she steps down to reach one of the tables and sit down for a while. The evil contraptions she has on her feet started to hurt, and between that and her growing antsier and more impatient… She needs to sit down. And so she does, placing her glass on the table as both hands discreetly fixes her skirt to sit on it without wrinkling the precious fabric, fixing the gown under her bottom before sinking on the chair and slipping her feet out of the shoes. Another sip of wine to hide the satisfied smile of toes blissfully splaying on the cool stones beneath them, pressing flat and wide and free, finally. Long skirts at least are useful to hide these little much needed moments of rebellion.

But it doesn’t last long, unluckily for her: not even the time to finish her wine, and Josephine’s there with her, looking like a jewel on herself in a dress of light, sheer silk that’s similar to what she usually wears but more forgiving and loose, more fit for a soirée.

“Josie!”

Mistake. Josie pouts, clicking her tongue over her palate.

“Lady Montilyet or Ambassador, now, Lady Inquisitor.” She chides her, softly. “Can I steal you for a moment, or has someone asked you to dance?”

“No, Dorian’s…” Where’s Dorian, exactly? Which is by now the only one who invites her to dance in these occasions. She looks around her, but the mage is nowhere to be found. “…Lord Pavus took flight.”

Aisling states, frowning and pouting in offence that he just managed to slip away from the room without her. She’s gonna put salt in his coffee, tomorrow. As a retaliation for not even letting her know the nearest escape route and leaving her there to envy him a lot.

“Yes, I think he slipped into the gardens…” Josie whispers, soft enough that just she can hear, before clearing her throat, with an apologetic smile on her face. “On that matter… Duc and Duchesse de Mourny expressed their… Interest in speaking with you directly.”

“Why would that be related?” She asks, suspecting something.

“They have expressed… Opinions on Lord Pavus’ upbringing.”

“I see.” Maybe no salt in his coffee, then. She sighs, slipping back into her shoes and raising up, gulping down the remnant of her wine -Josie scoffs but she cares not, she’s gonna need it- and leaving the glass on the table. “Let’s go.”

“You look lovely in this dress, by the way.” Josie adds, satisfied. She chose all of her formal dresses after all, Aisling just put some words in colours and in staying away from too many frills and ruffles, which is really not her style.

“You too, you look like you’re out of a painting! Yellow looks so good on you.”

“As long as I don’t look out of my sister’s paintings.”

“Why so? Is she bad?”

“No… It’s that she never finishes them. I would hate being here with half a gown, you see.”

They giggles together at that, walking on the other side of the room, close to the door that leads to the Undercroft. The Duc and the Duchesse are there, talking with Cullen and Leliana, and they may be the most richly dressed people in the room: the invitations to the soirée clearly specified it wasn’t that formal of an event, but they must have missed the line. They’re both dressed in the most precious and translucent brocades and silks, in clothes that would be fit for a gran gala. The Duc’s mask is made of pure silverite encrusted in sapphires, the same sapphires that adorns the heavy necklace and earrings of his wife, face hidden by a mask of ivory very delicately carved in a net of flowers and vines. Her raven black hair is up on her head and made even higher by a pair of ostrich feathers that looks as soft as snow and dwindles in every little minute movement of her head. They would make even Vivienne run for the prize of best-dressed, and Aisling suddenly feels underdressed and very much like the chubby and clumsy chick of a cuckoo, with her dress that yes, it’s silk and has a round of lace to embellish the wide neckline, but that’s it.

Rule number one, tho, the one Leliana always insists onto: don’t let them know, act like you’re in control. And Lavellan’s good at control. So, she just smiles and hints a curtsey to them both, checking her movement, not going too deeply down, just the necessary. They exchange with a nod of their heads, the Duchess waves her fan -ostrich feathers for that as well of course- and Aisling instantly knows they’re not there to have a good evening.

“Your Graces, it’s such a honour to have you finally here. Please forgive me for not being able to welcome you to Skyhold before.”

“Bien-sure, Inquisitor. Your advisers were just informing us of how busy you all are, no need for you to reiterate.” The Duc says, dismissively. The lack of Lady speaks volumes.

“This war won’t be easily won, Your Graces, but the busier we are, the quicker peace will be restored, hopefully. I am enchanted that it still gave us the chance to meet.”

“Such lovely words and such a lovely girl all for our pleasure, isn’t it, darling?” The Duchess chortles, mirthlessly. “So polite and charming, even speaking to nobles from the Empire she favours less!”

“Your Graces” Josephine speaks, as polite and diplomatic as ever. “I’m sure you’d realise that the Inquisition was founded by will of the late Divine Justinia as an organisation that’s super-partes. Lord Pavus’ presence is detached from the Magisterium, and honours that will.”

“Mais certainement, ma chère Josephine, the institution was never in doubt. One would wonder, tho, where the true master of its pretty head lies, seeing the lenience she has for Magisters and people who were in their service.”

Dorian ran, it was for his upbringing. So, that’s it. She can see in the corner of her eyes Leliana casually moving her eyes on her, without saying a word. Expectantly. And Cullen clenching his fist on itself, reaching for the pommel of a sword that isn’t there. At least she didn’t call her rabbit. And at least now she knows that the danger lies in the Duchess, not the Duc.

“I apologise for giving you the wrong impression, Your Grace. I’m really desolate my conduct led you to think so poorly of me, but your concerns aren’t founded. Lord Pavus is far from the Magisterium, and I just freed people who were unfairly tricked in conditions of servitude. I’m sure you learnt of Magister Erimond.”

“We did, Inquisitor.” The Duchess smile, a satisfied curl in her smile. “We learnt that the Magisterium gave you space to deal with you as you see fit. And after the disaster that was Adamant... The occupation of Orlesian forts in the Approach... One wonders.”

Oh, she hates this. She hates having to justify herself to a woman who never saw more than her own monthly blood. People who killed but never by their own hands, never in front of their eyes. Josie warned her. Josie knew. Aisling thought she was prepared, but she’s not. She schools herself as best as she can, smiling amiably as she tries to think of anything that isn’t an insult to reply.

But it’s not her who speaks.

Weirdly enough, it’s Cullen to step forward and clearing his throat, catching the attention of the pair.

“One would argue, tho, what would have become of the Approach should the Inquisition have chosen to leave the matter to Orlais, and whether the Empress had means to face that threat or the War without us, right now.”

"How quaint.” The Duc smiled, venomous. “Ignoring all our effort to end the Civil War and taking all the merit for yourself. It was me who conceded Citadelle du Courbeau to the Empress, after all, and the strategic position will eventually allow her Generals to win. But what would a Fereldan country boy know? If I’m not wrong, all your experience resides in the Circles of Kinloch and Kirkwall … A couple of remarkably positive examples.”

“A Fereldan country boy who’s responsible to the aid to your own lands, your Graces.” Chimes Leliana in, smiling sweetly at the Duc. “You should thank him and the Inquisitor for their effort in freeing them from the Civil War, so you will be able to spend the summer in Fort Revasan, which Gaspard’s troops luckily conquered with no damages at all to the structure. I heard there’s a lovely view over the river from there.”

And that line, sweet as honey and sharp as a knife, has the effect of silencing the two. The Duchesse’s smile grows strained at the corners, and the Duc just scoffs, clearing his throat and not able to reply anymore without confirming that they had, indeed, conceded the other fort to Gaspard. Josie gently elbows her, signalling that it’s her turn to calm the situation down, and Aisling swiftly replies.

“Our main effort, Your Graces, is only towards peace. People, soldiers and nobles alike have suffered enough in the last year, and this only enforces Corypheus’ and the Venatori’s threat. But I am sure we can all forget about War and just enjoy the soirée, now, all matters of War could be discussed tomorrow over tea.”

The Duchesse snaps to her, her smile widening with a threat and swaying her fan gently as she but turns to Josephine, without deigning Aisling of a direct answer.

“What a remarkable work you’re doing with her, Lady Montilyet. Your dear mother would be so proud! One would almost think her a Lady, and not the wild rabbit that she is. A pity you couldn’t do anything for her poor looks. Without the ears, those horrible marks on her face and the poor dress, the transformation would really be complete.”

It’s not the first time she’s been called rabbit. It’s the first time that she’s not being addressed directly with the insult, and treated like she’s not even there. It adds to the jab, and by the way the Duchesse’s eyes darts to her on the side, it’s all orchestrated. She freezes with a smile on her face, thinking of everything else and just reacting with her hands clenching slightly in front of her, over the little bow on the belt hiding the hem of the corset. They cut her out, and she can’t reply without-

“We have different opinions on what a Lady is, Your Grace.” It’s Cullen to interrupt, again, badly hiding chagrin in his tone as he pronounces the honorific. “We may all be too simple for your taste, but at the end of the day, modesty and humbleness will get you through the winter. It will get through the winter even the people you left on their own devices in your lands, left helpless and with no shelter or resources so you could afford gemstones and feathers. Our Lady has no need to cover the smell of rot with fancy ornaments, her actions shine brighter than the most precious of diamonds.”

Were Aisling able to move her eyes, she would see Leliana smirking, an amused glint in her eyes as she observes the situation unfurling, she would see the Duc and Duchesse grumbling and falling on themselves, hear their answer lose its bite. And yet, she’s fixed on Cullen’s eyes, grateful for the saving, with him looking back at her earnestly, steadfast and proud as ever, like a rock in a storm. Thinking better of it, it’s not the first time he saved her, even if she never saw him this polished and elegant, a fancy jacket in the place of the armour, under the usual cape, face neatly shaved – no, that’s a pity, some stubble really suits him better, as it suits him better his usual attire, rough around the edges and honest. Has he ever had such pretty eyes or it’s just his words? She muses, not able to look away as she feels even more restless than before. She can’t make up her mind whether she’s blushing for real or if it’s just an impression. All that exist, for a moment, is just him, the deep, warming respect in his eyes and words, and the look they’re holding on between them.

It's gratefulness that makes her heart beat faster, sure, but maybe it’s something else, a doubt in her thoughts creeping its way up.

Her train of thoughts is abruptly interrupted by Josephine, elbowing her again casually as she clears her throat. Aisling startles, suddenly even more restless and antsy in her skin, but snapping back to the present, as Josie finally concludes one of the most unpleasant exchanges in the last series of dinners and teas with aristocrats.

“Now, this is too lovely an evening to talk about War, Your Graces. Shall we forget all unpleasantries and enjoy the rest of the soirée? You haven’t told me how did you find the canard à l’orange. We heard it’s your favourite.”

Aisling doesn’t care of the duck. It was delicious and tart and she loves citruses in savoury dishes, now. But, she’s still with the deep need of running out and find the loose strand of her thoughts, unfurl them one by one and hopefully get a grip over herself. She answers mechanically at a couple of questions that are asked to her, frowns at Leliana who’s still looking at her like the cat who licked the cream, and politely excuses herself out of the group with an excuse, promising everyone and no one in particular that she’ll be back in no time, wishing a nice evening.

Dorian had an escape route. To the gardens, then. She struggles not to raise her skirt with both hands, launch the heeled slippers somewhere -she doesn’t care now, she doesn’t care that they were bought by Mahariel and she treasures the chance to wear them- and just run out and away. All her self-control gets in keeping her pace poised, smiling and nodding at people who greet her along the way, and finally -finally!- open the door to the garden and slip out in a swish of silk.

The air outside is chilly, Spring still too early to warm the evenings up. She doesn’t care about goosebumps, and now, just now, bends down to take both shoes in a hand and finally run to a quiet, dark corner where she can fold on herself and groan loudly, voice muffled by the green silk on her thighs.

It’s friendship.

It’s just friendship.

He did it out of friendship, she would have done the same in an inverted situation.

The word, tho, has now a crack in it. It’s friendship, she counts him as one of her best friends here, after all...

And yet-

She wonders, for the first time, how would it feel to thread her finger in his hair and undo whatever he did with so much pomade to keep it in order.

She shouldn’t think these things. He’s her Commander, they’re at war and he’s her friend.

And yet-

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #cullavellan #cullen x lavellan #dragon age fic #greypetrel #aisling lavellan #cullen rutherford #forgive my French I studied it but I'm terribly rusty #writing petrel

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