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rainbows-fanfics · 2 years

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Our Nightmare (Chapter 16)

Summary: Sally moves in with the man of her screams. But there is still so much she has to learn of Halloween Town, and what it’s like living with The Pumpkin King.

A sequel to Two Dearest Friends, where the Christmas incident never happens. But there are still many ends that haven’t been met, and much for these two dreamers to learn as they start to spend their deaths together.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally, Dr Finklestein/Jewel

–

Note: This is a SEQUEL to my other story, TWO DEAREST FRIENDS. To read the original story, go here.

Sally Finklestein trudges on for what feels like hours. The way from the Hinterlands forest back to Halloween Town is much longer than she anticipates. Her legs grow exhausted by the minute. She neglects to notice the fallen tree branch in her way and is sent tumbling to the ground when her feet make contact with it. Her arm detaches upon impact, scattering loose leaves on the fresh dirt. The wind picks them up and carries them off. Sally grabs her arm in a panic and covers the opening with her other hand, noticing how many she’s lost.

She reaches for her thread and needle, but finds her pocket empty and no sewing needle behind her ear. Then she remembers she gave them to Oogie Boogie after losing their betting game. She gasps at this realization: she's truly vulnerable out here .

“Oh, no..!” She exclaims to herself. “This is bad…I have to get home!”

Grasping onto her appendage tightly, she picks up her pace and continues on the path. It takes several minutes before she sees the image of Halloween Town. She sighs in relief and practically runs to it - only to find herself tripping and stumbling on the way. Then she slows her pace in caution of losing anymore limbs. By the time she reaches the front gate, she’s so fatigued that she can only end up mumbling to the gatekeeper. The crow looks at her oddly and raises the gate for her. She thanks him with a nod of her head.

He notices the gaping hole in her arm as she passes by. “Are you okay, miss..?”

She waves him off and continues on her way. She’ll apologize for her curt behavior later - the sky is getting dark, and all she wants to do is to return to the Skellington Manor. Her sanctuary . Far from Oogie Boogie and those naughty children…Where the love of her death and their pets reside, undoubtedly waiting for her return…she feels guilty for keeping them waiting. For where she has gone today. She should’ve never left Halloween Town to begin with.

‘Maybe I can sneak inside,’ She thinks as she approaches the manor. ‘Just so I can sew my arm back on without anyone noticing…’

She tiptoes up the steps and opens the door as quietly as she can. She makes little noise closing it and wastes no time rushing inside, past the den and up the staircase. She tries to do this in a speedy manner despite struggling the entire way. Her body feels numb by the time she makes it to their bedroom. She starts searching through various drawers for a sewing needle and thread. She mutters under her breath before finding the desired items, and grins in satisfaction.

“Sally..?”

She turns around and finds Jack Skellington’s concerned face in the doorway. He is currently eying the area where her arm should be, before his gaze comes to what she’s holding in her hand. It isn’t a shocking sight to find his beloved without an arm at times, but it still brings alarm to the skeleton every time something like this happens. He steps further into the room and notes how empty it looks in the opening. Like she’s lost a terrible amount of leaves…the concern grows in his bones as he looks to her for an explanation.

She feels a little flustered to be caught in a situation like this. She smiles at him nervously. “I tripped..?”

“Why didn’t you take care of it earlier?” He lifts her dress’ sleeve to further observe the hole. “You’ve lost a lot of-”

“--Leaves. I know.” She cuts him off. She sets her arm down and attempts to thread the needle with one hand. He notices her difficulty and offers to do it for her. She gives him the items with a small ‘thank you’ .

“I just didn’t have the needle and thread on me, at the time…” She confesses. He looks at her doubtfully as he goes to sew her arm back on - sparing her the demanding effort of doing it one-handed. She’s grateful for this, but doesn’t have the opportunity to express it before he questions her.

“But you always have them on you. I mean, you should. What if something like this happens? If you were to fall apart, trip somewhere and lose more than this…”

He begins to mutter as he finishes the job, his voice growing worried at the possibilities he’s put into his mind. He has to calm himself down. Sally waits until he’s no longer tense before she speaks again, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I used them in my sewing shop today and forgot they were there, that's all. I tripped on my way back.” She grits her teeth lying like this. She doesn’t feel comfortable doing it anymore. “I’ll make sure I always have them on me, from now on.”

He sighs before removing her hand and bringing it to his lips, to leave a tender kiss on her stitched knuckles. Her heart flutters at this gesture. He slowly brings it down and holds it in both of his large hands. He can feel how lighter her right arm is now - no doubt causing an imbalance to her body. They’ll have to visit the Doctor and collect more leaves when they can.

“I’ll believe you.” He tells her. “But, please, be careful.”

He leads them out of the bedroom and down the stairs, holding onto her tightly the entire time. She appreciates the extra support - drained from all the running and fretting she’s done today. She can use some relaxation. She makes this obvious when he politely sets her down on the couch. She moans in relief when the weight is taken off her feet. He looks at her in surprise and she quickly changes topics.

“Can you kindle a fire, Jack..? It’s cold tonight.”

He obliges to her demand and starts a fire in the hearth. While he’s busy, his ghostly dog and her black cat come running in from the other room. Ophelia mewls delightfully at the sight of Sally. She jumps into her lap without hesitation while Zero flies forward to lick the side of her face. They both have clearly been worrying about her. She gently hugs Zero before petting her cat, assuring the both of them that she is alright. The Pumpkin King stands to his full height once the logs catch fire. He turns to enter the kitchen right away.

“I’ll heat some leftovers for us tonight, and make some warm tea.” His voice informs her from the other room. She perks up and smiles.

“That sounds just fine.”

Ophelia jumps off to join Zero by the fire while they wait. It takes awhile until he returns to the room with trays of food and cups in his hands. He sets them down and hands Sally her tea first. She enjoys the way the liquid warms her stomach. She can’t deny she was freezing, after being outside for so long, enduring that harsh wind…and the chill she’s felt on her spine ever since her unfortunate encounter with the boogeyman…her gut sinks as she recalls everything that’s happened, and promptly places her tea down. She starts eating to try and clear her thoughts.

“How was your day today..?” She asks quietly. She hopes hearing about it will empty her mind. He pauses at her question.

His time that day had been spent finalizing his concept for Sally’s engagement ring. He remembers struggling trying to pick just one design out of the several he’d come up with. But he’s happy with his decision, and went to start on it right away. Sure, he’s a little behind on his paperwork now, but…it is ever so worth it, in his eyes. It is coming out beautifully. The only part he’s uncertain about is her ring size, which he will have to obtain discreetly…but other than that, his day went particularly well.

“Oh, you know. Just the usual planning in the town hall.” He replies casually.

She dips her head as she finishes her food. Nowhere near the intricate explanation like she’d been hoping to hear from him…he usually goes into such light about the Halloween planning and anything unexpected that ever happens…her mind is still unfortunately swarmed with the events from today. Her chewing slows and she drinks more tea to stop her chest from growing cold. There’s one question that hasn’t been able to leave her mind, no matter how much she pushes it aside.

She decides to appease her curiosity. Swallowing harshly, she soon asks him, “Jack..? What do you know about Oogie Boogie?”

His reaction is similar to the last time she mentioned him. The moment the name slips off her tongue, he visibly tenses and stiffens his jaw. He sets down the food in his hand as well as his cup, and grips his knees tightly. He avoids giving an answer right away. “-Why do you ask..?”

His hesitation confirms her suspicions. She thinks of any possible way to answer him without revealing what happened today - but she falls short on thinking of any excuses. It already hurt her to lie to him once, and it just doesn’t feel right to continue doing so. He might think she’s stupid for believing those children, and going to their treehouse so willy-nilly…but it’s brought a heavy weight onto her shoulders. And she desperately wants it to go away. Before she can come to terms with herself, the tears begin to fall from her eyes and she gravely looks at the floor.

“Something happened today.” She says in a small voice.

Her boyfriend notices the moistness leaving her eyes and relaxes his frame right away. He comes forward to hold her tightly, bringing her face to rest in the crook of his neck. She presses her entire weight on him as she closes her eyes and begins to cry. To finally let out her concealed emotions from what happened - to express how frightened she was, feeling used and violated by a scary man…and not the delightful ‘scary’ like Jack was, but from someone more…threatening .

“I did something really stupid.” She spits out regretfully. “I should’ve listened to you. I shouldn’t have ever given them the benefit of the doubt..”

“..What happened, exactly?” He asks. He feels unpleasant hearing her talk this way.

“They tricked me. I let Lock, Shock, and Barrel bring me to their treehouse...and I got trapped in Oogie Boogie’s casino.” He tightens his grip around her figure. “He offered me a betting game to leave, so we played, and…I-I lost. He let me go, anyway…but he…he….”

Her words drift off as she looks away. She feels anxious telling the rest of the story - afraid of what he would think of her, agreeing to do what she did. If he’d be disgusted. Hurt . Or even betrayed. She only did it for her freedom. She doesn’t know what to expect; she can’t imagine what it will be like to keep something like this to herself. To know she was touched in a way that made her feel like she was nothing more than a doll…

Jack pulls away to look at her face, combing the strands of her yarn hair behind her ears. Her eyes are red and her cheeks puffy. She’s refusing to look at him. The stitched lines on the ends of her mouth are quivering as she reaches for his arms. Her figure starts to tremble - and an unusual coldness overcomes him. It occurs to him what could have possibly happened in his absence.

“ What did he do to you? ” He asks coldly. She finally looks at him and whimpers, wiping her tears away with a free hand.

“He wanted to feel my leg and my foot…he-he even tickled me…I didn’t like the way he touched me…he said he wanted to feel a woman’s touch. And he kept saying such things ..! How I haven’t aged a bit, and-and how he liked how I had a mouth on me…he was stroking my face when-”

“That BASTARD..!” The skeleton yells, a small flame escaping his mouth. Sally jumps in surprise at his outburst. She grabs him by the shoulders and sets him back down beside her. She clings onto him and sobs some more, wishing to release everything in this moment.

“Pl-please don’t be mad..! I only did it because he wasn’t going to let me go. It was my only-”

He stops her words by holding her very tightly. The closest embrace they’ve ever had so far. She closes her eyes and shakes within his grasp - calming the longer he holds her, and warms her skin. He says nothing in these few minutes, letting the sound of the fire crackling soothe them instead. Zero and Ophelia watch them with worried expressions from the floor. They decide to keep their distance after seeing their master’s reaction. They express their sympathy with their eyes. He eventually withdraws and continues to hold her sides firmly.

“Sally..” He begins. “Do you know what could have happened? What could he have done to you?”

“-I know and I’m sorry!” She exclaims regretfully. “All I wanted was to see how those children lived, so I could help them..! It was wrong to believe them. They trapped me down there. I should have just listened to you and the witches-”

“- Shh, sh . Don’t blame yourself for anything…those three are cunning. You’re not the first they’ve tricked, nor will you be the last.” He sighs as he rocks them both. She snivels into his suit. “Anyone else could’ve done what you did. You’re not stupid. You’re just kind, that's what you are.”

“And it nearly got me….killed, or… or …” She mutters with a soft cry. He kisses her forehead and brushes her hair back again.

“What matters is you’re safe now. We’re fortunate he decided to let you go. I don’t know how I could’ve found you otherwise - I would’ve had no idea where you were…”

“I’m s-”

“ Shh .”

This time, they exchange no words as he moves her gently. They do this for several minutes until he feels her relax in his arms. She closes her eyes and steadies her breathing, enjoying this peaceful moment. She’d been so scared of him being outraged for what she did. But he isn’t. If anything, he seems upset with Oogie Boogie instead…she holds her breath as she thinks of what to say. She still hasn’t received any answers to her question - and she feels comfortable enough to pry again.

“He told me to ask you about him. That you two have a past I should know about…” She mutters. He doesn’t respond right away. He becomes strained again, so she rubs his back. “-Is that true?”

“I…” He breathes on her hair. “I was a different person back then, Sally. Not one I’m necessarily proud of…”

“Is that why you haven’t told me?” He nods weakly. “It won’t matter to me. What matters is who you are now …the man of my screams. The one who took me out of that tower.” His grip strengthens again. “I love you, and I…I want to know about your past, if you’re willing to tell me.”

He clutches her hands before letting go of them. He looks into the fire for a bit, thinking of where to begin. He hasn’t ever had to tell anyone about this before. She waits patiently in this time - curious as to what happened between him and Oogie Boogie, and what he must’ve been like back then…He finally takes a deep breath and relaxes, beginning to spill his story:

“Oogie and I were once friends a long time ago. I was young and reckless - and he, the same. I had just gotten my crown and began my reputation as the master of fright. I was willing to do anything… try anything. I wanted to be the most feared being alive - or, rather, dead. And Oogie…he liked doing things differently. We both had a passion for scaring people. So that’s what we did.”

She scoots closer as she becomes invested in this story. He struggles to speak for a moment and she places her hand on his knee encouragingly. He smiles softly before continuing, more confidently this time:

“Back then, every Halloween was to the human world. And, Oogie and I - we had a scare streak that lasted for years..! I was in tough competition. The boogeyman didn’t get his title for nothing , mind you. But it was all in good spirit. We kept trying new things, new methods to scare humans with. Some were his ideas, others were mine. We often bonded on this sort of thing - learning what humans feared, and how to use that to our advantage. We were close doing what we did together.”

He rubs his jaw in thought, his look turning troubled.

“But over time, I noticed something different about Boogie. He was spending a lot of time with the humans - even after Halloween, he would leave town to visit their world. I was bothered by this, since such a thing was forbidden, and asked him why. He told me it was to visit their dreams and study them - and I believed him. It was his job to do that, after all. But he came back with these strange desires, new ideas of his I hadn’t heard of….”

“What were they?” She asks curiously. He clicks his tongue.

“He was having all sorts of suggestions that didn’t involve scaring them…though he’d convince me otherwise.” Jack murmured. “He wanted to use torture devices. To gamble with them. Play games. He said it was using the fear of threatening their lives - and I…believed it, so I tried it with him. I’m ashamed to say we had fun when we started…humans were terrified when their lives were on the line, and we both enjoyed the terror. But something happened one night that changed everything between us.”

He pauses. She holds her breath.

“-A human had died.” He confesses solemnly. “We placed a bet with one that lost the game. Oogie was using one of his torture machines, and…the man was clearly in pain ..! We’d never gone so far as to physically hurt them. Just intimidate them..! It was Boogie’s intention all along; he told me he was testing a new theory of his. So he killed him. And that…was ‘true fear’, he told me…To take their life.”

He looks away, clearly ashamed of his words.

“If I’d have known he was going to kill that man, I would’ve stopped him. I wouldn’t have helped him to begin with. I was so furious that I didn’t talk to him for days…he was confused as to why. I had to tell him I didn’t believe in killing anyone. I’ve frightened some into an early grave, yes , but…never intentionally would I physically torture or mutilate them like he did! It was unnecessary, and…and it was sickening! We never saw eye-to-eye on this thing, so we didn’t reconcile after that.

Over the next few years, Oogie became an entirely different person. I knew he was doing these things - taking these innocent humans and gambling on their lives…some he took just to have his ‘fun’ with…and it all disgusted me. I tried to put a stop to it, but he always found a way to sneak into the human world and claim his victims. Every Halloween, he became ruthless. It was no longer a friendly competition - he was challenging me with every opportunity he had. And eventually, he got jealous of my crown.”

“Your crown..?” She asks. He nods in confirmation.

“Boogie challenged my throne, claiming that the way I scared others wasn’t ‘effective’ . That being nice was my flaw as a King. And Oogie wanted my place. So he could turn Halloween Town into the casino he wanted…it was the toughest scaring competition I’d ever been in. But I won. After that, I had just about enough and never spoke to him again. Then he tried to overthrow me with his ‘Bug Day’ nonsense, and - well, you were there for that…”

Sally is quiet as she takes in this new information. It makes her tremble remembering how close she had been to this man, who committed such terrible actions. She feels no sympathy for him whatsoever. And Jack…she’s sad hearing that their friendship fell apart, and he was tricked into such an awful thing…she hugs his side without a word, and he places his hand over hers. He sounds regretful with his next words.

“Believe me, I’m not proud of what I’d done back then. I helped him do most of these things, and…some of that blood was on my own hands, that night. I’ve never forgiven myself for it. I should’ve banished him a long time ago. I always regret that I didn’t. There would’ve been less victims, if I had acted in time...”

“It happened so long ago, and you know better, now. You wouldn’t let such a thing happen.” She assures him confidently. “I think you’re a great ruler, Jack. You look out for your people. You make sure they’re not mean, just doing their job…imagine how many people would have been taken if Oogie was in your place.”

He sucks at his teeth. “Exactly what I fear, sometimes…that he’s going to try and revolt again…I think you now understand why you should stay away from him..? And come and tell me if Lock, Shock, and Barrel try anything with you again?”

“Absolutely.” She agrees without hesitation. “I’m sorry. You had a right to worry. I didn’t know he could be so bad.”

They rest comfortably by the roaring fire, watching the flames dance to pass the time. Both Zero and Ophelia are asleep, enjoying the warmth and cuddling next to each other. Even Sally feels her eyes drooping the longer they remain there, the exhaustion finally catching up with her. It’s been an unimaginably long day, and now that she’s safely protected in Jack’s arms again…she wants to rest. To know she’s with a man who is so much better than the creature she encountered earlier. She nestles his side and hums in delight.

“Thank you, by the way.” He tells her quietly. She rests her head on his shoulder. “No one’s asked me about my past like this. They’ve never wanted to really know…and I…I’m glad you still trust me, after hearing it..”

“I was a different person, too.” She mumbles. “Before you, I was never confident or really happy…I was willing to be a housewife and nothing more…but now I matter to the town, and I have a place here. And I know you’re nothing like what you used to be, either.”

He smiles and leans over to kiss her on the cheek. She returns it on his stitched lips, holding his skull close as they lock lips. They eventually pull away. She rubs the side of his cheek with her thumb.

“You should forgive yourself.” She tells him sternly. “What happened wasn’t your fault…you didn’t know. You couldn’t have. He tricked you, like those trick-or-treaters did with me. And like you told me - you shouldn’t blame yourself for being kind.”

He sighs as he runs his hand through her hair. “You’re too good for me, Sally, you know that..?”

She says nothing and presses herself against him, preparing to rest her eyes. He senses her drowsiness and picks her up from the couch, carrying her over to the stairs. The animals finally stir from their sleep and groggily follow after, yawning as they climb into their bed. Jack gently sets Sally in the blankets and smiles as he observes her. She’s passed out already. She looks so content, finally peaceful after what happened to her…

A familiar fire burns in his throat. He clenches his fists to channel his anger. It doesn’t matter what Oogie did with her - he held her captive once, and had the audacity to touch her again. There is no doubt in his mind that he ordered Lock, Shock, and Barrel to trick her. He is always the mastermind behind their plans. And this time, he won’t be forgiven. He’ll make sure of it.

“I’ll kill him if he touches you again. I swear by it.” He mutters under his breath, cupping his beloved’s face in his hand. He leans forward and kisses her once more. “Sleep well, my dear.”

She snores lightly.

“Jewel! We have someone at the door!”

The tall woman looks up in surprise as the doorbell rings loudly above them. She drops what she’s doing to rush over and pull the handle. She’s delighted to find two familiar faces on the other side. One belongs to the Pumpkin King, and the other to Dr. Finklestein’s daughter, Sally. She lets them in right away, leading the two to their usual sitting room as she closes the door behind them.

“Welcome! What a horrible time to visit..!”

The ragdoll is more comfortable speaking to her this time. Their conversations over the phone have helped immensely. She approaches her politely. “We’re here to see the Doctor about something. It’s not really that important, so if he’s-”

“-Doctor!” Jewel exclaims into the other room. “Jack and Sally have come to see you! Are you busy, dear?”

Some bizarre noises come from the currently-ajar laboratory door. No doubt he’s experimenting right now. He sounds out-of-breath as he replies. “I’m afraid so..! Why don’t you take care of it for me? Practice your science?”

“How awful!” She claps her hands together and turns back to Sally. “What is it you need help with? I will try to be of assistance.”

The ragdoll glances with uncertainty towards Jack, who smiles back encouragingly. She’s never had anyone else do this sort of thing before. Only the Doctor has ever worked on her, besides Igor’s occasional help. She undoes the thread on her arm and shows her the somewhat-empty opening.

“Well…I recently lost some leaves in my arm. I just need some replacement ones.”

“A change of leaves - simple.” She comments confidently. She begins motioning her into another room and waves to the skeleton as they leave. “Wait right there, Mr. Skellington..! She’ll be back in a moment.”

The tall skeleton stays in his place as he watches them go. He’s confident Jewel will do the job just fine, compared to his girlfriend’s hesitancy. Once he’s alone, he sits down in one of the chairs. He passes the time by looking around and patiently tapping his digits together. He ends up waiting longer than he expects. Finding he has nothing else to do, he reaches into his pocket and unfolds a piece of paper. He finds the final sketch of the engagement ring on it - marveling at the design as he sometimes does in his free time. He has the unfinished project waiting back in the Skellington Manor - hidden exclusively in a drawer that Sally can’t find.

He is so captivated by the drawing that he doesn’t see the two figures emerging from the laboratory. Dr Finklestein notices his regal company and sends his assistant into the kitchen, asking him to make some refreshments. Once they’re alone, he moves his wheelchair forward until he’s close enough to get a glance at what the Pumpkin King is holding. He decides not to be nosy and greets him instead.

“Jack, my boy..! Terrible to see you today!”

He startles the King right out of his seat. He folds the paper again in a rush and slips it back into his pocket, smiling sheepishly at his old friend. “-Ah! Hello there, Doctor! I didn’t see you there…”

“It was not my intention to surprise you.” He laughs and rests his hands in his lap. “What is it you’ve come here for today?”

“Sally is getting some of her leaves replaced. She, erm …lost quite a few the other day.” His eyelids lower as he recalls the previous night. He decides to change subjects. “You’re having Jewel practice science now..?”

“She has half of my knowledge on the subject..! I want her to put it to good use. She’s been quite the help lately. We’ve gotten a lot done this time.” He realizes his words and quickly adds, “-You’re still free to come around and help anytime you’d like! I know we don’t experiment anymore like we used to.”

He recalls the last time they worked together on something, and remembers the unpleasant result that came…not from their work, but from their rather troubled relationship at the time…he shrugs this thought off and grins right back at him. He can tell the Doctor is a much happier man now - he’s never seen him so inspired before. It reminds him of himself with the Halloween plans, after Sally came into his death.

“It’s quite alright. I’ve been busy with the planning, anyway.” He decides to pry. “I assume things are going well for you two?”

“Positively perfect ! I finally have the wife I’ve always envisioned having.” He answers with pride. “I’m no longer the lonely, old man I used to be. Every day is worth waking up to, now.”

He understands what he means. It’s been the greatest experience to wake up next to the love of his death ever since they started sleeping together. Finklestein’s words suddenly remind him of something and an idea crosses Jack’s skull. He reaches in his pocket and surfaces the paper again, slowly unfolding it with a smile. He ensures no one else is in the room as he does this, wanting to keep this an utmost secret. He presents the paper to him proudly.

“Would you mind helping me with something, Doctor..?

He looks at him curiously as he takes it in his small hands and observes it. His jaw drops open at the detailed drawing he sees. He’s always secretly admired the King’s artistic talent - this being a perfect example as to why . The design that looks back at him is of a gorgeous engagement ring, modeled after his initial jack-o-lantern idea, except now it is complimented with red gems and the vines stretch to the shoulders just before the shank. It is a beautiful piece of art, to say at the least. He can only imagine what something like this would look like in-person.

“...Is this what I think it is?” He asks quietly.

“Indeed it is. I just need to know Sally’s ring size; I have a feeling you might know this information..?”

He glances at him knowingly. “You guessed right. I have a few replacements in a box somewhere we can check.”

“I can only do that if I ask one thing.” He takes another look around the room to ensure they are alone. He sits himself back in the chair to look him properly in the eye. “Doctor, will you give me your blessing to marry your daughter?”

He pauses, registering this question. Then a smile spreads on his face. “Of course, my boy. You’re the only one I trust to take care of her. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He returns the smile, overcome with a feeling of emotion. It means a lot to him to have the blessing of Finklestein - a long-time friend of his whom he’s come to regard as his own father figure. And if things go as well as he’s hoping…then a true one, at that. A wave of relief washes over him as he takes the paper and puts it away. He’s glad to get this part done, and finally receive the last piece of information he needs to make the ring.

“I assume you’re planning on keeping this a surprise..?” He is met with a nod. “I’ll have Igor retrieve the measurements for you. And I won’t say a word about this. Not even to my Jewel.”

With that, he calls for his hunchbacked assistant, who scampers into the room and traditionally bows to the Pumpkin King. The Doctor whispers something to him and the shorter man agrees eagerly, disappearing out of the room and rushing up the ramps. It is then Jewel and Sally finally return. The ragdoll has an easy time walking as she approaches Jack. Nothing looks different about her - but he can tell she's more balanced on her feet this time. Finklestein turns away to address his wife.

“I’m assuming it all went well..?”

“Of course, sweetie. I checked the rest of Sally’s leaves and replaced the ones that needed it. A lot of her thread was loose, too, but I fastened them. You should be good for a long time now, hun..!”

“Thank you, again.” She moves to hug her mother figure. “You’re going to make a wonderful scientist.”

“I appreciate that.” She pats her head as the woman lets go and turns to the skeleton. “I hope we didn’t take too long..?”

“--Just the right amount of time.” He replies with a chuckle.

Igor rushes into the room and passes a piece of paper to the Doctor. He doesn't even look at it. Instead, he wastes no time handing this to Jack, who takes it and easily pockets it. Sally watches this movement with confusion and opens her mouth to ask. He brings her to the door before she can. Then she forgets this matter completely as she gives her father a parting hug. The Doctor holds onto her while Jack exchanges a polite handshake with Jewel in the background. The moment they withdraw, he gives his daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law a proud look.

“Good luck, you two.”

#the nightmare before christmas #nightmare before christmas #oogie boogie #jack skellington #sally finklestein #jack x sally #jack and sally #fanfic #fanfiction #tim burton #disney #tnbc #our nightmare #long post #long #dr finklestein #lock shock and barrel

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varricmancer · 4 years

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Lost And Found | 4

Also available on AO3

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

A/N: Okay, a million years later and here is Varric's POV. It's a bit choppy, but I meant for it to be like that because it's, ya know, from his POV. It's not a retelling of events but simply a glance into his mind. Also, he's a man - and a horny bastard at that - so there's a bit of nsfw thoughts going on in this chapter. Lots of body appreciation. I love writing characters that are already whipped and can't figure out what that means lmao. You poor sod, you had no chance.I'll try to be faster with the next chapter, because I'm just as excited as you guys to see what's happening

A wave of relief spread through the party as the clanging of swords and crinkle of lightning were silenced. As one, they holstered their weapons and strode back to the waiting wagon and the rest of their traveling companions.

Varric spared a glance for one of the bodies lying still as he passed - an unfortunate young apostate sporting one of his arrows in his chest.

Killing never got easier, never mind what kind of bullshit he spouted. No matter that it was his life or theirs - he’d still be seeing the startled green lifeless eyes of a boy barely reaching adulthood in his dreams, along with all of the countless others that already haunted him.

He sighed wearily and climbed back onto his pony, adjusting his saddle sore ass as well as he could while he waited for the party to get back into position. The wagon of supplies and it’s guards were back into place behind him soon enough, with the Seeker and “The Herald” leading in the front.

The group of fighting Templars and Apostates were cleared from the road ahead which lead to their destination of a little hamlet called the Crossroads. By all reports, it was a tiny village barely worthy of even being called that, but due to its position (and that fact that Redcliffe was unreachable at the moment), it had become a sanctuary for refugees and the wounded.

A chantry mother had sent word to Haven asking for help with protection and supplies. Apparently, she’d even asked for the Herald to come himself. They’d all agreed it was an excellent chance to get word out about their newly formed band of do-gooders and let the people get a look at Maxwell Trevalyn, the freshly dubbed Herald of Andraste.

Varric wasn’t too sure if it was true, but he’d also seen too much shit throughout the years to rule it out completely. Regardless of whatever lofty title they were trying to burden him with, Maxwell still looked like a scared kid who just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. However, the way he worked hard and silently accepted leadership despite being completely out of his element reminded Varric of Hawke in their early days - if he were tamer and had been raised as a pampered nobleman, that is.

The point was, Varric had taken one look at the kid and known he wasn’t going to be going home anytime soon. This Maxwell was going to make a name for himself and spawn a tale for the ages, he was sure - if he had the right kind of people watching out for him. He was getting too old for this shit and wanted to go home, but he felt like this kid was going to need someone in his corner. And this whole situation felt off in so many ways that he’d probably feel guilty if he did try to leave.

So that's how he found himself traveling around the godforsaken Hinterlands - saddle sore, sunburnt and with a newfound hatred of bears - towards the beginning of their adventure. At first glance, this was simply a goodwill quest - show up and shake some hands, pass out food, kiss a few babies - but that group of apostates and templars that had been blocking the road were troubling. Sadly, he knew who to blame for it.

When the Crossroads came into view, he finally realized how much they were needed here. The chantry mother hadn’t mentioned how dire it really was or he suspected they would have sent help earlier. The people walking around were gaunt and dirty, many of them sporting bruises or missing limbs. They all looked severely malnourished, more so than the usual peasant. The moans and screams from the wounded were near-constant, adding to the practically visible cloud of desperation over the village. Add a bit more sewage stench and some unreasonably large rats and it would be just like good old Darktown.

They were able to spot the bright plumage of the chantry members working with the wounded and quickly made their way over to them. Villagers watched them with dawning hope in their eyes. A few of them started to cry and some of the children had even begun to cheer.

This. This was why Varric kept putting his own ass on the line all the time.

While Maxwell and Cassandra spoke to the chantry mother, Varric and Solas helped pass out the goods to the villagers. Soon enough, the pain in the ass bear that had attacked them earlier was chopped to bits and passed out among everyone to be cooked for the evening meal. Blankets and soaps, grain, and potions were all tearfully accepted by the people he handed them to. He may not be a very good man, but the joy he found in helping these people assured him that at least he wasn’t a bad one.

He was just handing off the last of the goods when Maxwell strides over, the weathered mother walking behind him imperiously.

“Everyone, this is Mother Giselle. She has some interesting news,” Maxwell grins, practically bouncing on his heels.

“Is it that everyone here is standing on death's doorstep? Because we noticed,” Varric drawled.

He was technically Andrastean, but that didn’t mean he let corrupt clergy off easy.

Her only tell that the words hit was a slight tick in her jaw as she nodded once.

“The situation here is deplorable, however, with the status of things we were unsure of where to ask for aid. I took a chance when I heard the hands of the Divine were involved in your “Inquisition.”

“And we are happy to help,” Cassandra stated as she rejoined the party. Her raised eyebrow towards Varric was something he’d long ago interpreted to mean behave .

“Yes, well,” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Mother Giselle says that another fell from a rift. A woman, no visible marks though.”

“An abomination perhaps?” Cassandra muses, standing straighter and placing a light hand on her sword.

“She appears to be a regular woman, free of magic or any signs of corruption. She fell from the rift and beyond a few broken bones and a few odd quirks here and there, nothing seems off about her,” Mother Giselle answers with a weary sigh. The way that she’d said ‘odd quirks’ like just mentioning them gave her a headache made Varric want to meet this woman very much.

The mother waved them away like annoying gnats soon after, with instructions to ask around for information on the area and what they could do to help. He supposed it was too much to expect her to already know that kind of (extremely important) information.

Thankfully, they found a soldier called Corporal Vale that seemed more informed and actually cared about taking care of the people there. Between him and a few others that piped in their opinions, the party discovered that what the people of the crossroads needed most right now was food and protection from the increasingly cold nights. They’d get a nice reprieve with the supplies that they’d brought from Haven, but that still wouldn’t be enough.

“I heard ye’re wanting to be put to work. I reckon I have a thing or two for ya,” a man called out as he strode towards them. They had just been discussing where to go from here, so anything was helpful.

“Of course, good sir. How may we assist you?” Maxwell plastered on his charming court smile, which seemed to have little effect on the man. Not that surprising considering the fellow looked as rugged and of the land as they come, and Maxwell reeked of privilege.

He grunts and looks over their little band as though he found them wanting, but good enough for now. His gaze only showed a sliver of appreciation when they landed on Cassadra (how original), then he seemed to meet Varric’s eyes straight on as though he assumed that he was really in charge.

“The goods that you brought us will help for a few days, but we’ll need more if we’re to recover enough to get back on our feet. Our lass Crystal says there’s a flock of rams over the hill. We’ve been unable to do any hunting what with the fighting all about so we’d appreciate if you brought in a few.”

“Of course,” Maxwell nods. “And you seem to know Crystal well?”

“Aye, I’m the mayor of this little corner. Know all my people. Whatever that daft old mother has been filling your head with needs to be ignored. Crystal is just a sweet and quiet lassie doing her best.”

“Oh, yes of course. We simply wanted to meet her.”

“After the hunting, if you please. She’s one of the ones that's been giving her rations to the little ones and I’ll not have her interrogated on an empty stomach.”

This Crystal must be quite the woman to inspire such loyalty despite her origins, Varric muses.

He can tell Maxwell has more questions, but with a few whispered words (orders) from Cassandra, they head off to hunt.

****

It was dark by the time they made it back and The Crossroads already appeared refreshed. There was a massive bonfire in the middle of the road where numerous pots and spits were working overtime to prepare the food they’d brought earlier. Kids were running around screaming and laughing as their parents watched with obvious relief. A few had even set up some rickety old instruments nearby to liven the place as they celebrated their newfound hope.

Several villagers rushed to greet their wagon and relieve them of the burden. They’d easily hunted down ten whole rams, stopping when it seemed like it would be enough to feed them for a few days and have enough left to preserve.

Varric wished there was more he could do at the moment, but he promised himself he’d write a few letters once they got back to Haven. A few favors called in and a bit of coin spread around and he’d have this little Hamlet healed in no time. And best of all, if he did it using the right channels, no one would know that Varric and his cursed bleeding heart was responsible for it.

Cassandra and Maxwell got pulled into a conversation with the Mother and the mayor (who had finally introduced himself as Giles) that Varric ignored as unimportant while he observed everyone else instead.

They already seemed in awe of Maxwell, sneaking glances his way with eyes shining with admiration. A few whispered words here and there would make today’s rescue seem more romantic than passing out a few slabs of dead sheep. It was always amazing watching the beginning of a legend be born.

His eyes flitted from one person to the next, all of them looking fairly similar as lower class humans tend to do. The sun-burnt skin, hunched backs, callused hands. The men smiling with three teeth left and the women looking haggard and drained after at least fifteen pregnancies.

It wasn’t until a couple of men moved to the side that he noticed the lone figure in the back.

At first glance, she was just as average as the rest. Peasant clothing without a shred of adornment anywhere. Injured somehow, as she had her left arm in a linen sling. Normal brown hair and eyes, pale skin, thin lips. But something was telling him to take a second look, so he did. And then he began to observe the little things. The way that her skin was free of marks except for a few freckles, no sun-burnt patches, and semi-clean like she at least made an attempt to wash up here in the wilderness.

Her hair was basically average brown and pulled into a no-nonsense braid, but it was so long it reached her waist and when it caught the light of the fire it shone with a fiery copper highlight, as though to hint at hidden depths. Her eyes glinted like amber, big and trained on his party with just as much wonder as the rest of them. He thought they rather reminded him of Halla eyes. He didn’t believe a woman would find that complimentary though, so he’d try to think of something else.

Her lips were thin but appeared soft and kissable (where the fuck did that thought come from?). She smiled a little when she looked at Cassandra, and he noticed she had some of the whitest teeth he’d ever seen, bright and straight. A full set, too. Even he was missing one after a brawl a few years ago.

And that body! Andraste’s ass, he hadn’t seen a body like that on a human female outside of brothels. He’d bet that before she’d been forced to essentially starve she’d been voluptuous , but even now she was a good handful. Peasants never had this much meat on their bones, so that was his first hint that she was not like the rest. She was short, boasting only an inch or two above him, but he thought that maybe added to the appeal.

Those tits looked like they were trying their best to burst out of that ill-fitting dress, and the backside wasn’t faring much better. And the way that her waist curved in before flaring out into hips made for a man to grab onto.

Shit.

He glanced down at his pants, grateful that between the darkness of night and the constriction of the leather, his growing problem shouldn’t be too obvious. He shook his head and went back to studying her.

Her most damning feature, however, was her hands. You could tell a lot about a person by their hands. His were callused and scarred, with ink permanently staining his nails. The average human peasant’s hands were even worse, usually the color of leather from their life working outdoors and short jagged nails were practical.

Hers were so tiny he could easily fit them both in one of his hands and have room to spare. He could tell how soft they were even from here. Pink and not a spot in sight, with nails that were long and rounded, with flecks of pink on them like they’d once been painted (something he’d only seen done in Orlais).

A lady. And despite her small stature, definitely a human. Why was she here?

He crept through the crowd, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible until he made his way to her side.

“It’s always us short ones that get stuck in the back, huh?”

He patted himself on the back mentally for such a smooth intro. She turned to him and he was struck by the emotion in her eyes. She was excited to see him ? She could be a fan, he supposed, but not many actually knew his face.

Up close, she was even more intriguing. He stood close enough for her breath to touch his cheek, and was amazed to smell clove and peppermint. Third hint that she wasn’t from around here, as human peasants always smelled like mead and rotting teeth.

He let his gaze travel over her, mostly to gauge her reaction and slightly because he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the massive mounds of flesh trying to burst from her borrowed dress. She blushed sweetly, making him feel like a lecher for a moment, but she didn’t seem to mind him looking.

Interesting.

Just as he was about to lay it on thick, Maxwell found them and drew her into a conversation. It turned out that his hunch was right and she wasn’t from around here. In fact, she was the one they’d been told about. The other “Fade Walker.” She didn’t seem to be touched by the experience like Maxwell had been, but the fall from the rift had been what injured her.

Her voice when she talked to Maxwell was quiet and shy like she wasn’t sure they wanted to hear what she had to say. Her body language was like she was primed for flight the moment one of them made a wrong step, even as she practically begged for their help. In fact, she reminded him of the injured dove that Fenris had rescued once. Dog had injured the bird’s wing and Fenris had taken it in and patched it up. It had been a timid little thing, jumping over every sound. But it was sweet and would trill and coo whenever Fenris spoke to it.

Varric frowned as he listened to them talk and stood at her side as Solas healed her fractured wrist, feeling a strange sort of protectiveness well up inside him. The feeling itself wasn’t unfamiliar - he was protective of his friends, of his dumbass brother, of Bia - her . But he barely knew this woman.

Maybe it was just that she seemed so...vulnerable. So soft. Every emotion played out on her face like she just wore her heart out for everyone to see. Anyone with decent skill in observation could tell this was the sort of woman that you protect from the world. That you keep safe behind walls filled with love and laughter, flowers in her hair and children at her feet.

It had been a long time since Varric had ever seen such a woman. Had he ever?

Even with the reveal of her “knowledge,” he could tell that she’d only held the rest back out of fear. Either that or she was literally the best spy in all of Thedas.

When they’d finally left that evening, he’d thrown her the sending crystal on a whim. He’d been holding onto that to give to Maxwell, and they were not cheap or easy to come by. However, he’d noticed her anxious gaze following him as they walked away and had again felt that urge to protect. Anything could happen and they’d be gone for an entire week. He sincerely doubted she knew how to even hold a knife, let alone protect herself with one.

The nightly storytelling was to reassure himself as well as her. He was sure letting Crystal hear them talk would ease any worries she might have about traveling with strangers. And when she silently answered and let him talk, he knew it was still in her possession and everything seemed fine. If something happened, he hoped that she’d be able to figure out how to use it and alert him. He’d have the apostate elf figure some way to get back quickly since he had the look of someone who knew more than he let on.

****

A week flew by and their party was growing increasingly hopeful about Crystal’s “usefulness” to the inquisition. Varric had to grit his teeth and clench his fist to keep from hitting Solas every time he used that word in conjunction with her. “Useful.” Like she was an item instead of one those that they were meant to protect.

Her notes that she’d shared had been really good, however. They’d managed to close down the rebel camps and clear the roads, took down a creepy green demon thing, and gotten a decent amount of horses to tide them over until they completed Master Dennett’s tasks.

Maxwell had declared the night before that they would take Crystal with them when they left for Haven. Varric knew that once they got there he’d have to watch out for the Nightingale, but at least he felt better about leaving her in a place surrounded by people he semi-trusted while he fought the good fight. Why he felt like that was his responsibility to worry about, he still hadn’t quite figured out.

It had become a little clearer, however, when they’d finally reached the Crossroads again and there’d she’d been like a ray of sunshine waiting for him. Maybe this protectiveness over her was 85% his cock’s fault, he thought, his pants tightening as she neared.

She looked a lot healthier since their last visit, obviously having made good use of the rations they’d left. Her eyes were bright and full of genuine happiness, smiling up at him. She’d let her hair free today, and it fell in luscious waves to her waist. Her clothes were once again borrowed and ill-fitting, but obviously the nicest she had. If it was possible, it seemed even tighter than the last dress, her modesty being miraculously saved by a worn strip of leather around the bodice.

It was strange how he felt like he could breathe properly now that she was in his sight. Had he been that stressed before? What was it about this damned woman? There hadn’t been anyone that had stirred him this much since...her .

And she was so easy to talk to. She spoke mostly only after someone else had spoken first, but she took his flirting in stride and offered witty responses. But every reaction to his touch and heated gaze seemed genuine and refreshingly honest. No practiced teasing he was used to.

And much later that evening was when he realized he was in trouble.

With a capital fucking T.

Because he’d been teasing her with the shirtlessness and letting his hair down, he’d admit it. If he was going to share a room with her for the night he wanted to play a little. Her reaction to him was flattering. So no one could blame her if she’d been trying to tease him back.

And that had been his first instinct when he’d turned to face her standing in front of the fire. That she’d finally shown her true colors and was asking for it. Begging for it. He’d been one step away from throwing her onto the bed and making her scream.

Until he’d looked at her face and seen the genuine innocent embarrassment of a lady. It had taken everything in him to calm down and let her run past him towards the bed. The damage had already been done to his mind, though, as everything the chemise had revealed to him was imprinted there like a tattoo. The dusky rose nipples firmed by cold, every inch of unblemished skin begging for his mouth, the strange nakedness of her mound.

He was sure if he played his cards right he could have her. Say a few things that women like to hear, promise a bauble or two, and she would let him fuck her. He wasn’t a saint and he’d done it before.

But there was something about the way she looked at him with such...admiration. Maybe even a little wonder and, yes, even a little attraction. He’s seen it all before, of course. He’s Varric Tethras - famous author, the right hand of the Champion, and heavy player in the underworld. Having people offer themselves for a night was a regular occurrence, and he was silver-tongued enough to get anyone else he might want.

With her, he just couldn’t do that. Couldn’t watch the trust and admiration fade from her eyes. She probably wasn’t as “innocent” as she seemed, but she certainly wasn’t one of his usual types of paramours. She was the type you kept, the kind that could wrap themselves around your heart so tight you couldn’t exist without them. He’d been there before and didn’t think he could survive that again.

****

Varric couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from straying to the newest member of their crew as he spun a (only slightly embellished) tale to entertain them for the evening. He was used to his audiences gasping in shock or staring raptly with excitement. Instead, she was watching him with a smirk that tilted her pretty lips, like she knew he was full of crap and was letting him spew it all anyway. But even more captivating was the look in her eyes - warm and fond, dangerously so. Like all he had to do was say the right words for her to tumble into his arms.

It was a look that he was growing increasingly familiar with over the past few days as they traveled back to Haven. And the idea of talking her into his bed was also becoming a regular thing. No matter how many times he told himself no, how often he argued with his own damn self explaining all the perfectly sensible reasons he shouldn’t, it still floated around in there.

Three days of taking up the rear of the party so she and her giant nug would be protected in the middle were beginning to take its toll. Because back there he had a perfect view of her.

He could see when she was amazed and cooing over some new sight. When she giggled because her stupid nug stopped in the middle of a trail to eat a flower. When she and Maxwell would chat about art, something she seemed educated on. When she tried so hard to fight off her exhaustion, yawning and stretching her arms until he thought her shirt would finally pop open.

And that damned shirt. It was his , and she had no right to look so appealing in it. She hadn’t had enough clothing with her so he’d tossed some spares to her and he’s regretted it ever since. The pants stretched over her legs like a second skin, cupping her ass and luscious thighs. The shirt was made with a purposely low v on the front since that’s how he liked them. On her, it was damn near scandalous. Her cleavage was out there for everyone to see. She looked incredible . And he was suffering .

“I said what do you think, Varric ?”

The louder than necessary yell near his ear jolted him from his thoughts. He turned towards Cassandra, the annoyance on her face comfortingly familiar.

“Pardon, Seeker. I got lost in the story. Did you need something?”

“You finished the story at least ten minutes ago. We were now discussing arming Crystal,” Cassandra scoffed, her disgust with Varric’s apparent lack of awareness evident.

“Arming? What for?” He tried for nonchalance, the thought of sending her into battle raising his hackles.

“Protection, dwarf. I only have so many eyes and if we get ambushed there’s no guarantee we’ll be able to protect her completely. She says she’s never handled a weapon before. What should we start her with? A dagger, perhaps?” Cassandra stares at Crystal in thought.

The woman in question scrunches her nose. “I suppose so. It’s small enough that I could handle it, I guess. But actually stabbing someone?” she shivers.

“A dagger is handy to have on hand, of course. I’d prefer you to be farther away from any combat, though. Take up the rear with me,” he suggests. He'd rather her be somewhere he could keep an eye on her, and right at his side seemed like the best idea.

“Like a bow and arrow? I know for a fact I can’t pick up that monster of a crossbow.”

Varric chuckles, suddenly warming up to the topic. He didn’t want her fighting, true, but it would be good for her to be prepared.

“I have a regular bow I’ve been holding onto. I was going to see if someone back in Haven wanted it since it’s decent. Hold on.”

He grunts and stands up, walking over to his pony to rifle around the packs. He pulls out a medium-sized bundle in leather, unwrapping it as he walks back to her. He pulls out a bow and hands it to her to look at.

“Its a Dalish hunting bow. I think it was made for a kid. Compact enough for you, though. Woods sturdy. I restrung it myself. And I think the carvings are just birds, nothing religious,” Varric explains, hovering by her shoulder as she looks it over.

“You’ll teach me?” she asks softly, the beginnings of a smile tilting her lips.

“Anything you want, little dove.”

The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, his eyes meeting her’s as they wore matching shocked expressions.

She stared at him and he felt not for the first time that she could see every inch of his tarred soul...and somehow still felt like smiling at him?

Her grin was tiny and shy, but it was there, making him puff out his chest like a fool for pleasing her.

“You’re the best,” she said softly then turned back to coo more at her new bow.

He wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t the best. He wasn’t even good.

But she made him want to try.

****

Some questions you probably have now:

1. Why do you keep writing Giles like he's from Scotland? - I dunno either, bruh. He writes himself and he decided he liked the word lassie. But notice that he can sometimes string a whole sentance together perfectly normal. It's like that on purpose. He's hiding something, I'm sure of it. Who stands in the middle of the road all day long and just watches people. Suspicious.

2. Why is Varric always talking about tits and ass - he's a dude. 97% of their thought process comes from their dick. Real science numbers. Totally didn't make that up.

3. It doesn't make sense. How can he like her this much already? - You're seeing into Varric's confused brain right now. He doesn't know what's going on either. Sometimes it be like that.

4. I thought you weren't going to make Crystal some bad ass warrior chick? - I'm not. But it's also unrealistic to not be able to arm yourself somewhat in such a wild land. Varric's watching out, don't worry.

5. Why does he keep calling Bianca "Her"? - I think there's a lot of stuff that's going on in Varric's giant noggin. For him, the bow is a safe way to say the name. Keep her in his thoughts without really thinking of her. But thinking of her name when it applies to her the person makes him think of...well, her. Does that make sense? It's a mental health protection thing, because minds are curious and we all have strange quirks up there. Separating the two in his mind helps keep him sane.

ANYWAY, I hope you all enjoyed! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment! Even just a couple words. I need to know how I'm doing so I can improve future chapters. I can't wait to delve more into these two.

#dragon age #dai #da2 #dragon age inquisition #varric #varric tethras #varric x oc #varric x reader #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #varricmancer #lost and found #fanfiction #fanfic

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veridium · 5 years

Text

dragon age day

I know today might be a bit overwhelming for the fandom since it is, of course, the day (the day of all days). When I thought about what I wanted to contribute, if anything, I could only think of saying thanks. As I am in the midst of finals and grading assignments, I don’t have many spoons to spare, except to reiterate what I have said so many times before: dragon age has provided me with so many blessings.

CW: discussion of toxic relationship, emotional abuse.

Some of you know that around the time I joined the fandom in 2018 (after having only played Inquisition for several months beforehand), I was in the midst of an incredibly toxic, emotionally abusive, and failing relationship. I had just graduated college and was at a crossroads. Because the relationship was the longest and most serious I had ever known I was incredibly attached to it, even as it became detrimental to my happiness. We were planning on getting engaged this past summer. Our entire lives were planned and I was in it for the long haul.

Earlier that year my ex had gifted me Inquisition after I kept seeing it in GameStop and saying I had always wanted to try it. I played it once, got infuriated by the Hinterlands, and put it down for a long time. Around the time I finished undergrad I decided to give it another try, and quickly became hooked. I would spend hours and hours in front of the TV learning by trial and error how to play. My ex was the more prolific gamer but that quickly started to change.

That wasn’t the only shift that was happening.

One of the symptoms of my ex’s and her family’s toxicity and its impact on me was that I had become incredibly detached from art. I have been artistic since I was strong enough to hold a crayon in my hand. My family swore for years I’d be an artist, or an actress. But I have learned that, what all-too-often happens when you choose to love something that doesn’t love you the way you deserve in return, you lose touch with all the things that remind you of why you’re so worthy of a great love. You don’t invest in it, you don’t nourish it, because it becomes all about preserving this person in your life and what you believe they bring to it. When things turn dark the natural inclination is to sacrifice more in order to save it: to prove that you can be as loyal as your promised.

A year later and I am still unpacking the trauma that was inflicted upon me during that time of my life, trauma I didn’t know by name as it was happening because I had given my all to someone I loved and the future we wanted. But not everything was rosey and blissful, and I am reflecting upon that. I think back to what finally woke me up, and it’s quite literally this: I turned into a huge, enthusiastic, and clumsy nerd.

Playing a game with such a vivid world took what was perhaps one of the last surviving matchsticks there was, lighting it, and dropping it on me. My imagination consumed Thedas like water after a 40-year drought. I began theorizing characters, researching the prior games, and scrolling through the wiki site hunting for lore. I realized the universe was so much bigger than what Inquisition represented.

Then, I bought the first sketchbook I had in over a year.

My characters became my muse, and over time, their portraits grew into stories. I looked up Tumblr and rejoined specifically to engage with the fandom and see what sharing my love with other people could do for my creativity. Even though art and writing were lifelong passions of mine, I had no intention whatsoever of writing fanfiction until I read other people’s work, saw the fun they were having with it and what it was doing for their healing, and I decided to go out on a limb.

The more stories I wrote the more I remembered my marrow: I was so much more than what my relationship, and my partner’s family, warped me into seeing. My original characters started out as projections of the qualities and traits I loved and missed about myself, as well as love letters to the women and queer people in my life. And in the canon characters I grew attached to I saw hope and inspiration for surviving adversities. Tests of faith, conviction, and courage under pressure. In their stories I found refuge and reliability for a terrible era of my life where I felt so completely alone.

As I gave more and more time to my passions, my relationship strained even further than it had. I was no longer hopelessly devoted to its endurance, I had something that was purely mine again, and my partner’s encouragement waned. It turned into jealousy -- for this and many other parts of my life I used as an escape from the sadness -- and rather than bend as I had done before, I pushed back. I protected what was my own and I did not sacrifice it. To be fair it wasn’t always healthy: I would log hours and hours into the game to escape the stress of the relationship, to distract myself from the fact that my mental health was the lowest and frailest it had been in years, and the cold, hard truth: it was over, or else I was going to commit my life to something terrible.

Months later, I said enough. I ended the relationship once and for all. I was moving my life out of an apartment I had lived in for years, saying goodbye to everything I had fought so hard to build. In your early 20s everything feels like a vast unknown and you have a manual with no writing on its pages. Every serious decision feels like invoking a storm you have to hunker down in. I still deal with that, and am learning from it with every new season. I have also learned that sometimes destruction, and creative recklessness, is about so much more than loss. I had given up security I was paying for with my emotional well-being.

But I kept me, and my sketchbooks, and my art supplies, and my stories. I had my cat, too, but you know, technicalities (haha).

So, for as imperfect as my fandom experience has been, and for as grumpy as I have become with society’s bullshit (which is quite the high level), I will always be grateful to these games for existing. For giving me something to hold onto when my life was falling apart, a world I could slip away to when I wasn’t ready to face the evils in my own. Because when I was finally ready, and willing to be my own warrior, my imagination was ready to make something out of nothing. These games and this universe helped me save myself.

Thank you to Dragon Age, to the fandom community I have made in its name, and to everyone who makes it worthwhile. But it wouldn’t be me without saying: fuck off to every single bullshit game writer who used its medium to perpetuate harmful tropes and norms, fuck off to fandom racists and racist apologists, to queerphobes who hated my meta on account of it using the word queer even though it was my explicit voice as a queer creative on queer issues (did I forget to say queer? queer!), to Vivienne haters, sexist gamer bros, fetishists; but explicitly to romanticizers of unhealthy power dynamics between couples and friends alike. These horror stories (yes, horror stories) exist enough in real life, take it from me. We don’t need them made into romanticized, co-opted, and misused fictions here.

The reason why I and so many others write for this universe, and participate creatively, is to combat these influences. With our own blood, sweat, and tears as artists, might I add. I am so, so proud to be included in that community.

So, happy Dragon Age Day, ya’ll. Let us keep warm on this, our trash can fire.

#dragon age day #DALoveDay #dragon age #fandom love #fandom positivity

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sleepy-sunlight · 7 years

Note

Oh wait, I’m sorry, earlier I requested Alistair, but then I realized you’re a DA:I writer XD Instead then maybe Cullen x Inquisitor for 14?

I have no clue if you also want this request answered but I didn’t just want to ignore it so I thought I might go ahead and do another instance of this!!!

Anyhow thank you so much and have a wonderful day!! Enjoy!! (*´╰╯`๓)♬

14. “I’ve got you. Breathe, okay? I’ve got you.”

———————————————————————————————————–

If you were to be honest, you didn’t know a single person who liked weary and uneasy bridges that swayed with the slightest wind.

But when it came to be the quickest way of travel – it was a necessary evil.

“Are you ready?” Cullen approached you as you stared over the roaring rapids it hung above, bits of exhausted ice clinging at its edges.

“Are you sure this is the only way…?”

He laughed softly, a sort of softness in his voice only meant for you as he spoke. “As much as I wish we could do something about it there’s no steady ground for us to build from and to go around would be mad,” He explained. “It may as well stretch from Redcliffe to Val Royeaux.”

He had joined you on a scouting of new territory, farther off in the HInterlands to not truly be claimed but still hold scattered and abandoned homesteads of refugees.

“I think I just might rather take my chances that way.”

He set a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing it fondly as he ushered you towards the bridge. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.”

You nodded awkwardly, pressing close to him in your nervousness as you took a step forward, snatching a deep breath from your shut teeth.

“See, it’s fine,” He hummed, guiding you forward with the hand hovering gently around your waist. “You’re doing great love.”

You felt your confidence begin to rise, taking the next few steps calmly – almost able to drift away from the commander.

But you’d be lying if you were to say you didn’t enjoy finding an excuse to be so close to him – even with the whispering and snickering of the few soldiers nearby.

And by how he’d keep his head just beside your ear, whispering tender praises in your ear, the feeling was utterly mutual.

You nearly thought you could make it.

Until it, all seemed to turn its back to you.

You moved on, your foot pressing against the wooden plank, fighting back a yell as it broke beneath the pressure. Your entire body snatched back as Cullen’s arms ensnared around your waist, pulling you so close you thought you may be plastered to him.

“A-Andraste’s sake…!” You gasped, gripping tight onto your commander in your horror. “I-I thought I would slip! I could’ve fallen and died!” You exclaimed, failing to hide your shivering. “P-Perhaps we should turn back…”

Cullen turned you to face him, offering a small smile as he sighed worriedly despite his attempts to calm you.

“I’ve got you. Breathe, okay? I’ve got you.” He cooed softly. “Nothing is going to happen to you – not while I’m around.”

He noticed how your brow still furrowed.

“I promise darling.”

You tried to hide how you reddened at the nickname, nodding sheepishly before turning back around. Your fingers ribboned with his instinctively, the only comfort you could find being in the small, adoring squeezes he’d give to your palm, urging you on.

“You know I wouldn’t think the one leading an entire army would be afraid of creaky bridges,” He amused, failing to hide the heat that trickled onto his cheeks.

“I hope that isn’t disappointing is it?”

“No… I think it’s… cute.”

You puffed out your cheeks indignantly, hardly helping as he snickered kindly.

“Cute? Did you just happen to miss that whole part about leading an army?”

“No, I didn’t,” He remarked. “but knowing you may be as smooth on your feet as me it’s… it’s a bit reassuring.”

“There is a difference-”

You stopped when you no longer felt the wood under your feet, gawking at the scattered, blood-painted area before you.

“I… I did it!” You cried, twisting to Cullen with eyes wider than dinner plates in your excitement. “I… I really did it!”

“You did!”

He scooped you up in a moment’s notice, embracing you with an endless kind of delight that you couldn’t help but adore.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now was it?” He questioned, giving a crooked grin as he set you down before you.

“Well…”

You debated briefly,

“It could’ve been much worse I’ll give you that.”

“And what kept it from being so much worse?”

You crinkled your nose, sniggering as you ruffled his hair playfully, feeling your heart threatened to burst as he melted at your touch.

“It might’ve been because of a certain commander?”

“Is that so?”

You nodded, your forehead tipping against his, neither of you able to stop your foolish, delighted smiles as you pressed your lips to his.

And for once, the world felt truly and absolutely wonderful. As long as it were with him.

“It most certainly is.”

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livironheart · 7 years

Text

Legends Never Die

Maybe if the Golden Law was still intact, we could have prevented the corruption from spreading so far within the guard, Otulissa thought bitterly as she ghosted along through the night, her cowl drawn up over her head. Returning to Stormwind had been a risk, but she wasn’t in any real legal trouble anymore. Still, members of the syndicate likely wanted her head, and she wasn’t about to give it to them.

Steering clear of Old Town, the ranger’s dark eyes took in the city streets as she walked along. They weren’t nearly as bustling as they were in the daytime, but there were still people about, and not all of them were shady. She saw a boy racing through an alleyway, a pair of lovers sitting by the canals, and weary guards looking as if they might fall over and pass out, perhaps nearing the end of their shift. A strange sense of nostalgia washed over her.

These familiar surroundings only served to encourage her in her task; she was going to seek out an old friend, one who she sorely needed to catch up with. Ducking into the Golden Keg, Otulissa stepped aside to clear the way to the door and edged up against the wall, surveying the tavern to see if her tip had proven correct. Within a few seconds, she spotted her.

Elise was just as old as the Gilnean now, but not quite as weathered. Her black hair was tied up in a messy bun, and Otulissa recognized the familiar freckles as well as the rogue tipped her head back in laughter, clear and bright. She was sitting at a larger table across from a dwarf and a gnome, eagerly sharing the entertaining stories of their day.

A shadow passed across the ranger’s expression. She remembered that joy, she remembered what it felt like to be so innocent. Elise was nearly forty years old, so how did she still have that brightness in her spirit? How had it not left her?

“Elise!” Otulissa called suddenly, stepping forward to pull her cowl down. Her own raven hair was tied in a side braid, better seen once the ranger moved into the light.

The rogue turned around, green eyes growing wide as if she’d seen a ghost. “Otu? Is that you?!” With a gasp, Elise jolted up from her chair, leaving her friends to their conversation and ran over to the ranger, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “It’s been ages, how have you been?”

“I can fill you in later, but life hasn’t been all that pretty,” the ranger replied, unable to stop her grin from spreading. Her friend had been sorely missed. “But I’m back, and I’m ready to get on my feet. Do you want to catch up, or were you planning on heading home to sleep soon?”

“Are you kidding? I have all the time in the world!”

“Oh, good! Should you, uh.. say goodbye to your friends?”

Elise glanced back at the dwarf and the gnome, both of them deep in chatter with one another, and grinned. “I actually don’t know them. But they both looked a little down, so I offered to buy them drinks. Looks like it picked them up better than anything else ever could. I’m a little worried about the gnome, though. She doesn’t look like she can handle much alcohol, and she’s not with the best influence right now.”

“Oh!” Otulissa blinked, slightly taken aback by Elise’s energy, but the positivity was more than welcome. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. He looks nice. I was thinking we could go down to the harbor?”

“The harbor sounds lovely. You have to tell me what you’ve been up to. I’ve been getting your letters, but it’s nice to finally see your face again for the first time in years.” Elise waved to the two at the table, then took the ranger’s hand and led her outside, the two quickly leaving the Dwarven District.

“And maybe you can finally tell me what happened in Arathi,” Otulissa replied quietly. “It’s been nagging at me for years.”

The rogue’s grip loosened, and she turned her saddened gaze upon the ranger. “I’m sorry about that,” she murmured. “I didn’t have time to leave a note. The truth was, it was the deaders.”

“Deaders? That’s why you left without a word?” Her brow furrowed.

“I couldn’t sleep that night,” Elise started. “I went to get firewood and there was a group that had strayed pretty far. Or.. or maybe we had strayed far from our path. But they were armed, they were deadly. And they came around behind me, so I couldn’t run back to camp. And if I did, I would only have led them to you.”

Realization struck the ranger. The explanation was so easy, so simple. It had tortured her for years, wondering why her best friend and loyal companion had left her in the dead of the night. And now it was clear. “You led them away?”

The rogue nodded, leading her friend past the fountain behind the cathedral. “As soon as I lost them, I tried to find my way back to you. But in the highlands.. Everything looked the same, and I was lost. I had no idea where I was or where you were.”

“You know, for a former bandit, you’re pretty damn loyal. We probably could have fought them, though.”

“No. No, we couldn’t. We were young with maybe three weapons between us. There were a lot of them, they were trained, they were going to show no mercy. I’m sorry.” Elise studied the ranger’s expression for a long moment, her gaze soft. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone like that. And I should have made more of an effort to contact you when I finally found you in the city, but you were busy.”

“I would have made time for you,” Otulissa insisted. “I’m never too busy for you, Elise.”

The other woman frowned, her eyes shifting to the side. “We made plans to catch up, remember? You stood me up.”

Oh. The memory hit her like thunder. The order had been suddenly called out that night, and of course Otu had forgotten to inform Elise of the fact. “Oh. Oh, I didn’t.. I’m so sorry, Elise. I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean to, I know.” She smiled faintly, giving the Gilnean’s hand a comforting squeeze. “We’ve both made our mistakes, but I forgive you, if you’ll forgive me.”

“I do forgive you.”

“Then let us never separate again, how about that?”

Otulissa was unable to hold back a small smile of her own as the two of them finally passed through a small tunnel and looked out over the wide stretch of the harbor. “What is it you’re doing for work lately?”

“Oh, it’s just mercenary stuff,” Elise replied sheepishly, lifting her free hand to rub at her neck. “Nothing as noble as what you do, but it pays.”

“I haven’t done anything noble in a decade. I’m not going to judge what you do so long as you’re making a living off of it. I’m glad to hear you’re doing well.”

“And I’m glad you’re doing well. Or.. kind of, I guess. Are you well?”

“Not so good as I’d like to be,” Otulissa mumbled, her eyes narrowing slightly at a figure silhouetted down at the end of one of the piers. “The guard has grown so corrupt that trying to take out the head of a syndicate brings both the criminals and the law down upon you, even if you fail.”

Elise cocked her head to the side, studying her friend carefully as she tried to discern her meaning. “Oh,” she said finally. “I’m sorry. No wonder you’ve been so scarce even now that you’re back from the Hinterlands. I’ll help you if you want to try again, you know.”

“I do want to try again, more than anything,” the ranger replied in a strained voice. “But I can’t. I made a promise.”

“A promise? You want to tell me more?”

Otulissa offered over a sad smile. “Another time, I’ll explain all the details. This world is full of horrible people, Elise. We can’t get rid of them all.”

“That’s fine, I can be patient. And.. I understand.” Elise shifted, staring down at the figure Otulissa had been looking at earlier, absently watching their movements. “In your letters, you mentioned you had a daughter. Olivier, right? How is she?”

“Highly emotional, highly unstable. Mixed in with the wrong crowd. I think she’s going to have to make some kind of decision over which path she wants to take. Teenagers, you know? One event can send them right over the edge.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. After all, you raised her.” Elise winked over at the woman.

“Not as well as I should have,” Otulissa breathed. “It’s my fault she doesn’t know how to act around people. I isolated her.”

“You had your reasons. You needed to keep yourself safe. I’m sure isolation is better than abandonment. It might have been worse if you just dropped her at an orphanage somewhere.”

“She’s very powerful, Elise. I don’t know how, but there’s something in her that I can’t quite place. I think the Kirin Tor would have snatched her up if I hadn’t protected her for as long as I did.”

Elise hummed softly for a moment in thought, then offered a nod, finally releasing her friend’s hand. “Then we’re in agreement. You did the best you could. It’s up to her to choose the right path, wherever she is. If she’s really got so much power, that can prove dangerous if she seeks out the darkness.”

“Thank you for caring.” Otulissa’s tone was genuine as she glanced over at the rogue again. “It’s not too late to name you godmother, is it?”

“Absolutely not. I would be honored.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

Elise blinked over at the ranger. “And what’s that?”

Otulissa drew in a long, slow breath. She wasn’t sure if Elise was ready or if she was willing to take up this offer, but if she was going all in, she could think of no one better to share her last moments with. She turned her imploring violet gaze fully onto her best friend.

“Come to Argus with me. I’m going into action again.”

#YES #writing about otu and elise is so fun #liv is mentioned in this as well!#otu and elise are actually the two protagonists of a novel i started to write ages ago #i haven't done much with it because i still have to world-build #but they are characters that i don't really rp anymore #and they needed some love!#op #journal

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hobgoblinsandpeachfuzz · 7 years

Note

26 for Sula/Blackwall, and 43 for Dot/Reyes ? *3*

Still working on the Dot/Reyes one, but here’s this little AU comic where Sula and Blackwall’s first kiss happens earlier. ;) I’ve literally always wanted to write this fic, but I never could get it right. I should note though, I know literally 0 about horseback riding, so sorry for that.

26. “I didn’t intend to kiss you.” - Sula/Blackwall

The Hinterlands were a better place to learn to ride, even as far as it was from Haven, and as busy as they always were around these parts, they still found time for lessons.

When they first got the horses from Dennet, the Herald had unconvincingly pretended that she was overjoyed, and enthusiastic about the acquisition. When she was told that she had to ride them as well, to aid in travel, she found any excuse not to. After Dennet’s daughter tried racing her, and the Herald fell flat on her face to the Iron Bull’s great amusement, the rest of her inner circle caught on.

Blackwall knew what it was like to have to learn something nobles found second nature—he remembered the early days after leaving Markham, trying his hand at learning on his own, Chevaliers and minor nobs alike laughing at the idiot Markham boy, until some busty Starkhaven girl took pity on him and taught him (for a very convenient price). It wasn’t a necessary skill, but it was a useful one. When they left the Redcliffe farms, he took the Herald aside and asked if she’d like some pointers. Purely business—she’d have to be among nobles of all sorts, and striking an imposing figure on horseback was a guarantee for quick respect with them. Any additional time spent with the Herald, on a one on one basis? He hadn’t even entertained thought.

Much.

And now, riding lessons were a great activity when the rest of the camp had turned in, and the two of them were still restless.

“You’re still putting too much strain on the reins,” he said, riding up beside her. She was nervous on the horse, and the animal could tell. He took her hands holding its reins, and tried to ease her and the horse both with a smile and kind words. “You don’t need to strangle it. It won’t move unless you want it to.”

“That is plainly untrue,” Sula said, and though she laughed, he could feel her shaking still, though her hands loosened their grip on the reins. “I did not do anything to that horse Senna lent me, and it bucked me off.”

“You don’t have to be afraid. That won’t happen again, not while I’m here.”

He didn’t miss her smile, nor her blush, and he tried very hard not to think about it, even as he involuntarily squeezed her hand, and felt his heart speed up. Focus, he told himself.

“You’ve been doing well besides. We just have to get you actually going faster than a trot, and you’ll have figured the whole thing out.”

She shrugged, but gave moving the horse a try. He let go of her hand (he’d still been holding it, damn it), and moved his own horse back to give her space.

He hadn’t meant to laugh, but she was so stiff as they rode the slowest pace possible, it looked like she’d been turned to stone. “There, you’ve got that! Now… Try… faster?”

She glared at him, “Exactly how much faster do I need to go?”

“Well, the idea is the horse is faster than you walking.”

She sighed, and kicked the horse’s sides gently, like he’d instructed. He laughed again, but was pleased that she was starting to look less terrified as things went smoothly. She kicked again, and the horse picked up its pace again. When they turned back around, she was smiling despite herself.

“Alright… This… This isn’t so bad,” she said, and she laughed a little as she kicked again to canter over, and stopping short of him and his horse. “Not so bad at all!”

“You just can’t be scared. It’s easy enough to direct it—it’s trained to listen. Just remember that, and you won’t fall,” it felt good to help her this way. She was a good student, put in the work, and this was an interaction that felt… More in line with a Grey Warden in the service to the Herald. It prevented too close of quarters. There was a focus that kept them from their penchant for flirting. And he could still admire her from a distance, knowing that he couldn’t flat out stop admiring her. Sitting confidently and calmly on the horse, she did strike the figure of a noble lady, tall, carefree, and lovely. She was an objectively beautiful woman in this way, rather than the sweet, kind, and cautious Sula Adaar, with golden eyes, and freckles, and pink lips and faintly greyish pink cheeks that blushed under his gaze, and spoke low and teasingly dirty jokes in the tavern—Focus, he told himself, remembering that they still had to cover galloping, jumping, evasive action, far too much to start day dreaming about the Herald.

And while he was daydreaming, she’d gotten cocky. “You know, I might not even need more lessons?” she said, laughing, cantering about in a circle in the surrounding area. “I’ve got the basics! That’s probably all there is to it, right?”

“Well, no,” he said, starting to ride closer. “It’s enough to get by, for sure, but if we’re going to be riding these all around, we’ll probably need to cover jumps, fighting from horseback…”

“Jump? That seems easy enough? Ride up to something fast enough and it just knows, right?”

“No, it won’t,” he said, laughing, until he realized she was serious. “Sula, it won’t.”

But she’d already made her first mistake. Already in a canter, she tried to kick the horse to go faster. It did, and she immediately tensed up, and lost the reins. “Shit!” she cried, and he echoed her sentiment, racing after her as the horse began running wild.

The string of curses the two of them shouted as the horse ran and ran and ran further away from the camp echoed off the mountains surrounding them. We’ll be lucky if no one hears, Blackwall thought, filled with dread, as his horse began to close in on the runaway Herald. He couldn’t really blame her though. Once he’d figured out the basics, he had tried the same thing. Unlucky for him, the horse bucked him into the side of a barn. Lucky for the Herald, he managed to grab hold of her horse’s reins, and slow them sufficiently to a trot, before it decided to kick at either of them.

They were both breathing heavy by the time they came to a stop. She looked down at him, cheeks aglow from the exertion and embarrassment, her eyes wide and guilty. “I’m… So sorry.”

He couldn’t take it. He burst out laughing. He laughed so hard, he had to get down from the horse, or he would have fallen from it. She followed, also laughing.

“We’re so far from the camp! Damn it, I shouldn’t have gotten so—Aaah, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said in between her laughter and trying to catch her breath.

He grabbed her shoulder, to lean on, and to assure her that it was quite alright, but something caught, her foot in the horse’s reins perhaps, or him on some slippery rock or log, but they both tumbled forward, and the laughter continued, covered in leaves and mulch.

“This is still better than my first time, believe me,” he said, turning to look at her, and she turned as well, smiling, her mouth open to ask something, but the question died on her lips.

He felt almost stuck in a memory, thinking back to that busty Starkhaven girl, and how easy it had been to fall from his horse, and right into her arms, surrendering to her hungry kisses. Such a thing could happen right now, so easily, and Sula Adaar was just as beautiful a companion as the Starkhaven girl had once been. Perhaps more so. Perhaps that was just the knowledge that he could not and should not kiss the Herald. Blackwall, a noble man, probably would have reminded himself sternly of that knowledge, stood, and prepared their horses for the short ride back to camp, and been done with it.

Sula Adaar had that same hungry look in her eyes, as she looked down at his lips, and bit her own, turning slightly closer, her hand inching ever so slightly his way. When she looked back up from his lips, there was want in her eyes.

Thom Rainier had always been very bad at not doing whatever it was he wanted.

He kissed her. He pulled her close, probably too fast, but when their lips met, she was just as forceful, her hand tangling itself in his hair, her tongue meeting his, her legs wrapping themselves around his, every inch of her wanting him. Instinct drove his hand to the ties of her gambeson, and she moaned as his other hand roamed her thigh, and that’s when noble thoughts returned to Thom Rainier.

Focus. She’s the Herald of Andraste. You can’t undress the Herald of Andraste, Blackwall thought. He pulled away, and her eyes were still closed when he realized his mistake.

He sat up when she opened her eyes, and bit her lip in confusion. He looked away when she whispered, “Blackwall?”

“Forgive me,” he said, and it felt like the blood pounded angrily all throughout his body, aching to be kissing her again. “I did… I did not intend to kiss you.”

“You don’t have to apologize… I wanted to kiss you,” she laughed, “I don’t think you lured me out here for this, and even if you did, I don’t mind.” That was too much. He could not indulge this.

The Herald of Andraste was a much different caliber of woman than the Starkhaven girl. Both were sweet, decent folk, to be sure, but the Starkhaven girl suffered no slight to her character, no damage to her cause for succumbing to a quick fling with Thom Rainier. Perhaps a bastard, but a stable hand in Starkhaven could expect those. The Herald? Too much was at stake, for him and her. He stood, and walked to the horses, careful not to look at the Herald. “We should head back,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, and without emotion.

“We… Aren’t in any hurry,” she said. She was making this difficult. She sounded sad.

“I should head back. I left some work I have to attend to. Forgive me,” all lies, but what wasn’t? He had to leave her side, that was the only thing that was certain. He mounted his horse, and gave her a slight nod before riding away.

It was an idiotic thing to leave her alone, to not discuss what had just occurred, but he couldn’t face it, not then, not while he still wanted her, not while he could still taste her on his lips. He needed to be alone.

There were no more riding lessons after that.

#adaar x blackwall #dragon age blackwall #inquisitor adaar #blackwall x inquisitor #blackwall x adaar #thom rainier #sula x thom #long post #dragon age fan fiction #dragon age: inquisition #my writing #sula adaar #blogteas

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