#can you tell I miss dorian a normal amount | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saphirered · 3 years

Note

Hi there, I really liked your recent vox machina headcanon list - could I get a version with the EXU crew? Where they wake up in the reader's quarters and try to remember how they got there, and are flustered by the reader when they come into the room in the morning? Thank you xxx

I really like writing these little short scenes. I need to fight so hard to contain myself from making these waaaay too long 😅 but it worked and I've managed to keep this to a readable length. Anyway, thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy this one!

(Dorian)

As an early riser Dorian wakes with the sun. Wether insane amounts of alcohol disturb this morning ritual or not, he’s not disclosed but today is no different. The sun comes up, the light hits his face through the open window. Normally this is a pleasant wakeup but for now it leaves him groaning in discomfort. Nevertheless, time to get up. Time for a morning stroll. Walk off the hangover. Come on Dorian. You can do this.

He spots his clothes. Hm. He doesn’t remember a vase full of colourful flowers? Maybe Fearne left them for him? That would be nice. Amidst putting on a boot jumping on one leg there’s a knock on the door before he can reply the door opens carefully and you peak through the crack.

You only get visual of the bed and seeing it neatly made you expect Dorian to have left your room already. It’s sunrise after all. You push the door further open ready to get your belongings no longer fearing you might accidentally wake up the genasi as you do. There you are met with that very genasi balanced on one leg. You make eye contact and surprised at your presence he loses focus just enough to fall flat on his ass.

With his cheeks turning purple you cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. Though, it’s probably visible through your eyes you find this entirely amusing. Playing it off cool he gets back up quickly, straightens his clothes and posture as he does leaning one hand on the table.

“Hey? Hey, good morning! I didn’t expect to see you here?” He quickly runs his fingers through his hair to make sure no case of bedhead remains. Why are you here? In his room? This early? That’s not like you to just go into someone else’s room.

“Good Morning, Dorian. I just came to grab my things. I though you’d already left. I’ll just take my stuff and leave you to your day.” You rush over to your pack in the corner of the room. Why would you have put your things in his room? Isn’t there a table in his room right there? That’s where he leaves his instruments…. Where are his instruments? He never leaves them just laying around anywhere.

“Hey, soooo… I’m not in my room am I?” Dorian tries to piece together what happened the night before but it’s just completely blank on how he ended up here. He looks at you for help.

“No. You’re in my room.” You state the obvious and there’s a sarcastic thank you from the genasi.

“So would you mind, graciously enlightening me on how I got here?” Dorian’s desperate to know that much is clear. The waking up with memories missing has been happening a little too reoccurring for his liking.

“Believe me when I say you do not want to know, for your sake.” You press your lips together resisting the urge to tell the embarrassing story of last night. Let the man keep his dignity.

—————

(Orym)

As a naturally early riser Orym takes just a little longer to get up than usual trying to banish the haze of the night before from his mind and return his attention to the morning. Warmth touching his shoulder and shaking lightly pulls him out of his own mind and opening his eyes they go wide when met with your face smiling down on him. Getting a view of the room from his peripheral it’s very clear he’s not in his room and this is definitely yours.

Rubbing his eyes considering the fact you may be an illusion or a figment of his imagination and he must be dreaming still, he’s surprised to see you do not fade into the void. You say something but the words do not register. Realising he’d been staring when you call his name a few times he feels heat rise to his cheeks. Because ogling someone is just something that goes unnoticed… Especially when they’re right in front of you…

“Orym? Are you listening?” You speak and he’s almost ashamed to admit it takes him a hot second to process what you’re saying. He does catch on this time luckily. At least he takes comfort in the fact you might not rat him out to the others or they might tease him to the end of days.

“Yeah. Uh, sorry. You were saying?” He sits up rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He’s not prepared and whatever social skills he may once have possessed have escaped him upon the merciless winds.

“I was asking if you’re still willing to go get some food for the house and maybe get some breakfast like we planned a few days ago?” How could he forget? Last night’s party really must have been something if he ended up in your room with no memory of how he got there and forget your date- no, not a date- your shopping trip. (It’s totally a date)

“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.” Orym kicks the blankets back, grabs his things ready to go without much effort or time. The two of you are extra quiet when leaving the house as you want to avoid unwanted tag-alongs on your little shopping date.

—————

(Fearne)

You’re being dragged back to your room by a determined monkey. He’s pulling your hair, ears, arms anything he can get his hands on to pull you along. No matter how much you protest the little mister doesn’t let you go and for a monkey he’s surprisingly strong. You’re going wherever Mister wants you to go and there’s nothing you can do about it. That doesn’t mean you don’t struggle.

Fearne’s ears perch up at the sound from the hall. Still very much curled up in a comfortable cradle of twisted blankets and pillows she still holds onto that last sliver of unconsciousness in the hopes that the sound will go away and she gets to sleep a little longer. She grabs hold of that sliver and sleep returns. Sweet dreams of home yet in the background there’s still muffled voices and some screeching.

Mister pulls the door open dragging you along pulling whatever he can get his hand on. You try to pry his little hands away from you and release you but as soon as you untangle his hold he grabs whatever’s closest so you can’t make your escape.

“Mister, let go of me this very second!” You hiss as he pulls your hair. The monkey screeches albeit a little quieter showing his sharp teeth and the embers popping between them. He keeps pulling you along towards the bed where a sleeping Fearne lays comfortably curled up. At the bedside of the sleeping faun you hear her mutter something. Is… is that your name? You hear it again. That is definitely your name. Mister hisses at you again.

“What would you have me do then? Fearne’s asleep. Let her sleep, little fiend.” You whisper, scolding the monkey who seems to care little for your opinions and judgements. You’ve only gotten him more determined to do whatever he was gonna do and you just hope you won’t find monkey excrements smeared on your belonging or your person in the near future for your lack of cooperation.

The monkey shoves you hardly. You’re caught off guard and before you can catch yourself you topple over onto Fearne. The Faun awakens from the sudden impact to the sight of you supporting yourself to not fully crush onto her mere inches away from your face. Flustered Fearne looks at you confused.

“I swear… one day…” You mutter recovering and sitting back. “Sorry for waking you, Fearne. Mister was very… persistent to get you out of my room for some reason.” You send the monkey a harsh glare and if a monkey could shrug innocently, this is it… He gains a disapproving look from Fearne herself.

—————

(Dariax)

Snoring lightly on the couch protectively hugging the spear to prevent another monkey incident lays a sleeping Dariax, the blade of the spear a little too close to his face. One wrong move and the poor bastard loses an eyeball if he’s unlucky or (in his opinion) probably a cool scar down his face. Someone should teach this dwarf about weapon safety.

The late afternoon approaches but after a party until late and more drinks after in your room you didn’t feel like the best course of action was sending Dariax back to his own quarters. Neither of you made it to a bed and stuck to your couches the proof of your afterparty clear in the several empty bottles discarded on the table. You’d been out and about for a while but decided to let Dariax sleep in. Not like you had anything better to do that day.

When you returned to your room and saw Dariax curled up with his spear you can’t deny you had a mini-heart attack. Carefully you kneel down at the man’s side and slowly one by one begin to remove his fingers from the spear until his grip releases. One hand off, he grabs onto your wrist pulling your arm closer to him where the spear used to be. Challenged to now literally singlehandedly get him to release his grasp you’re in for quite the task.

Finally getting Dariax to let go of the spear you get it away from his face. Next your wrist. That’s a little more difficult but you got this. Dariax stirs a little when you’re a fraction of an inch away from removing his index finger from his hold and slip out of his grip. You freeze. Hold for a second until he stops and quickly pull your wrist away. Searching for something to grab onto you rise to your feet spear in one hand and take a step back as he turns onto his back with a sigh. You don’t dare to breathe as you watch, eyes move behind his eyelids, brow scrunching. Eyes squint open.

“Are you the angel visiting again?” Dariax asks still half asleep. You’re unsure how to reply.

Opening his eyes Dariax sees a figure, a bright radiant halo glow behind them holding a spear in one hand glancing down upon him. When his vision focusses he realises it’s you. Though the notion doesn’t seem to bother him in any way. He smiles your name but a whisper as he clears his throat.

“You look positively radiant. Can I have my spear back please.” You swear you can see a dusting of red spread across his cheeks as he holds his hand out of the spear. You’re a bit taken aback and still unsure how to come back from that comment.

—————

(Opal)

Starfished across the bed, terrible case of bedhead, makeup smudged and a bit of drool threatening to drip from the corner of her mouth Opal snores loudly. Deep asleep caught in a dream of her sister Ted and her being up to all sorts of mischief in her home town Opal reachers over for whatever’s nearby.

Whatever’s nearby happens to be you at the edge of the bed. After a night drinking and just how completely and utterly wasted Opal got you didn’t feel safe leaving her alone at night in case she did something incredibly stupid or dangerous. So, because your room was the nearest you crashed there. Before you had a chance to do anything Opal had dropped herself on your bed and taken up the majority of it. Not that you minded. You could take your own little corner and be all fine.

With a surprising strength the woman pulls you close to her engulfing you in a death grip you cannot escape from. So you relent. Maybe her grip will ease up or release in a little. Opal doesn’t and you’re there for what feels like quite a while to the point your limbs are starting to tingle. It’s not very comfortable so you try to pry yourself free. The grip keeps tightening and if she’s not careful she might crack a rib of yours. Well, better rip the bandaid off fast you use all your force to pull yourself free.

“No. Ted, don’t go. You need to meet-“ She shouts your name arms still around you and her eyes open. This wasn’t a dream and she was actually holding you so close. Quickly letting go of you Opal’s cheeks flush, a blush spreading, embarrassed. She dives beneath the blankets with a squeal.

“Thanks.” You say rubbing your ribs in slight discomfort flexing your limbs to get rid of that tingling just before they fall asleep. “Opal, what are you doing?” You look at the heap of blanket.

“Can you turn around? Or leave the room? You know what, just close your eyes. I’ll be done in like half an hour.” Opal speaks from beneath the blankets. Gaining no reply she peaks out from them and dodges back below when she sees you looking.

“Opal? What?” You’re just really confused.

“I’m not decent!” Opal shouts. She fell asleep wearing her clothes and she’s not someone to get self conscious about her body so that’s a strange request? Excuse? But you’ll do as she asks anyway because it’s Opal and how can you deny the bubbly pink girl?

“You fell asleep in your clothes but okay, whatever you say.” You laugh covering your eyes. Opal peaks again seeing you’re not watching she gets out of the bed and rushes over to the nearest mirror. Her hair’s a mess, her makeup smudged. Reaching for her makeup she’s frustrated to realise she’s not in her room but yours. What’s she supposed to do now?! With her fingers she tries to fix her hair as much as she can.

“Okay you can look.” You remove your hands from your face and see she’s quickly tried to fix her hair but there’s still parts sticking out at odd angles. Probably for the best she doesn’t have a back view of her hair. She might have a panic attack. She looks fine. Perfect even but when Opal is in the presence of someone she’s only slightly crushing on, everything needs to be her kind of perfect. And she happens to be crushing hard on you…

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #exu x reader #exandria unlimited x reader #dorian x reader #dorian storm x reader #orym x reader #fearne x reader #fearne calloway x reader #dariax x reader #dariax zaveon x reader #opal x reader #critical role #critrole #exandria unlimited #exu

59 notes · View notes

theoceanfaewriter · 3 years

Text

Laws and Lattes

Merry Christmas @clockworkgraystairs!! Have a Manorian coffee shop au as your cliche little Christmas gift 😂 Thank you for all the scheming (as well as screaming. coughs in the infernal devices) and help with other fics. ily!

Dorian was 28 years old and had long since given up on finding love in a coffee shop. A coffee shop. He was the youngest politician in the country, for fuck’s sake.

When the magic ink showed up on his wrist at midnight on his 18th birthday, he'd guffawed at Chaol who'd waited up with him, ever the believer in this soulmate crap. In miniscule white, bubbly letters, the words "Hi. Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?" Great. That was really just his luck. Just 2 weeks before, Chaol's wrist had been emblazoned with "Not tonight, buddy. I'm just a girl in a bar tonight." She sounded like a fun girl.

Suffice it to say, considering that he was born and raised in New York then moved to Seattle, he'd seen more than his fair share of the chain's stores. For the first couple of years, he'd replied to every hot barista's greeting with "Is it you?" and secretly prayed that none of the more homely ones would perk up after hearing his order. By the time he'd graduated university, he'd given up.

When he walked into the establishment at 4th and Pine, he glanced down at his wrist and rolled his eyes, joining the queue.

At midnight on her 18th birthday, Manon Blackbeak sat in a circle with her half sisters, Asterin and Vesta, and her little sister Sorrel. When "I'm sorry, no, I just got called into a city meeting," appeared on her wrist in sloppy, harsh lettering, Asterin and Vesta let out excited squeals, while Sorrel just rolled her eyes.

The three of them had decided ages ago that they were all going to be surgeons like Asterin and Vesta's mom. "So, that settles that, then. Political science is a definite."

“You were supposed to come to the dark side," Asterin growled, climbing into her little sister's lap and nearly knocking her over. She was already in her first year of Med School and Manon's hero. Somehow, she was managing to take care of Asterin, who was still in high school, and their ailing mother, all while managing to progress in her classes at UW. Manon remembered the long, teary phone call with her the week before her graduation from Dartmouth, telling her about her mother's diagnosis, and how she'd have to forgo Northwestern and settle for UW, citing that at least she'd be nearer to her. It had taken its toll on her, but by then, almost a full year from that phone call, you could hardly tell.

Even though she seemed genuinely happy for Manon's definitive first-words, it still stung that her tattoo had merely said "Excuse me."

While she herself was a sophomore in College already by then, having skipped grades when she was younger, Manon wasn't sure that surgery was where she was headed, despite being pre-med. That merely sealed the deal.

She'd only gotten this job to kill time and save up a few dollars while waiting for her internship at the hospital to start. She just knew that she wasn't going to meet the love of her life in a coffee shop. How cliche and boring would that be? Still, it was cute the amount of young adults who came in, eyeing her suspiciously and asking some variation on "Are you her?" after her company-standard greeting with a wanton desperation, only to deflate when she shook her head sadly. That just wouldn't be it for her.

She knew that it was frustrating. She saw it in the way Asterin had flinched every time a stranger moved around her on the street or tried to get her attention in a bar up until the night before she started her internship. The fact that he turned out to be a surgeon and her boss proved only to be a minor stumbling block the next morning.

That was all going to come to a close for Manon soon. She could feel it. She was going to be a kickass politician and find her equally kickass politician spouse. The fact that this was her last shift just made it all that much better.

Despite all that, she couldn't help but notice the ridiculously sexy, brooding man that just walked in and secretly mourned that her tattoo didn't read something like "Doppio Espresso and a coffee cake, please." After a moment, she let it go.

The line progressed efficiently and there he was in front of her and, god, he was even more beautiful up close, she thought, but found herself interrupted by the sharp chirp of an old school pager. Pager, she thought cheerfully. Politicians use those! Returning to reality, she found herself absently chorusing the typical greeting, "Hi. Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order."

The words didn't seem to rouse the man from the device. "I'm sorry, no, I just got called into a city meeting," he answered and turned and walked out just like that.

Manon's heart hammered away in her chest as the next guest babbled their long, frothy order at her, but it was irrelevant. She hadn't heard a word they'd said. Turning away, she waved over a coworker and pointed at the register, before she retreated into the back of the store. Holy shit. She'd met her soulmate in a coffee shop. And as quickly as he'd come, he was gone.

That night, Manon cried in her sister's arms, describing him over and over to Asterin in perfect detail thanks to her photographic memory, and swearing she hadn't made him up. "His first words defined who I'd become. What if this was it? What if I'm destined to be alone because I let him walk out?" she hiccuped. "What if he's my soulmate but I'm not his? Can that happen?"

"No, Manon," Asterin cooed. "That doesn’t happen.”

It was only after the 5th time that it clicked in her head. "What time did you say it was?"

Sniffling pathetically, she answered "8:11".

"And, you said he was tall, with salt and pepper hair?" she asked, straightening herself out in front of her and putting her hands out on her shoulders.

She nodded a little.

"Do you love me?" Asterin asked her sister, question met with an indignant grunt. "Come in early for your shift tomorrow. There's someone I want you to meet. Get some sleep, hon." With little more argument, Manon headed up the stairs and into bed. As soon as she was certain she was out of earshot, Mer reached into her pocket and called her own soulmate, remembering how she'd bonded with someone over having a generic tattoo, but how she'd assured him that his soulmate probably had something great because he would be so sick of listening for it. "Chaol, are you busy?"

Morning light changes people. When she woke up, Manon felt incredibly stupid. Obviously, that couldn't have been him. She had a lifetime full of customers in front of her. The chance of meeting a politician and her soulmate in a Starbucks? Slim. Infinitesimal, even. That didn't change the fact that Asterin's persistence in getting her in early this morning was thoroughly irritating.

"Just trust me," had been the incessant refrain. "You won't regret it." She couldn't help but take her sister's urgence as a slight mockery of her reaction the night before.

Rolling her eyes, Manon sighed impatiently, "I'm fine." She grabbed her coat off the hook and headed for the door. "Really, this isn't necessary."

She merely smiled, practically pushing her to the car.

"This is stupid," Dorian moaned from where Chaol had him lodged in the hallway. "Why do I have to be here to meet your stupid girlfriend's stupid little sister?

His best friend smiled his normal 'because-I-know-what's-best-for-you-dipshit' smile, and answered "To humor me? Besides," he urged, "You never know. She might be fun to hang around."

He turned away from his best friend coldly, rolling his eyes and burying his shoulder in the wall, having decided that he wasn't just going to stare at the elevator like a chump.

Leaning against the handrail, Manon groaned "This is stupid." She couldn't believe she'd had her sleep cut back an hour before work. “You know I'm going to be here later than anyone else. Why did you have to make it even longer?" She missed her bed already and they weren’t even out of the car.

"Because you trust me. And I'm your evil big sister." Who you're going to thank endlessly in 5... 4... 3... 2...

The elevator dinged and the two girls left the car and Asterin dragged Manon straight for the men leaning against the wall with an absurd amount of pep. She couldn't even bring herself to mind that her little sister seemed more interested in her shoelaces.

"Hey, beautiful," he started, planting a chaste kiss to his girlfriend's cheek. "Manon," Chaol greeted, swatting at Dorian to get his attention.

Asterin smiled, bumping her hip against her sister. "Manon, this is Dorian. He's the senator here." From his posture, Asterin wondered if he'd fallen asleep.

She looked up with her standard friendly smile and stopped cold, jaw suddenly lax. She recognized him instantly. The guy from yesterday. Glancing between her sister and Chaol, not sure what to do. Chaol tapped his wrist and pointed at Dorian. Asterin nodded and whispered "Say it."

Her tongue grew thick in her mouth. She shrugged at Chaol. She knew what she'd said to him, obviously, but all she was sure of was that what he said was on her wrist. She decided to give it a shot. She tapped Dorian on the shoulder and repeated the company line one final time: "Hi. Welcome to Starbucks, may I take your order?"

The older man whipped around and stared at the girl, ready to lay into her, until he realized that she was holding her wrist out to him. He read the words in his handwriting over and over again, trying to place why they sounded so familiar until it clicked. Starbucks yesterday. When he'd ran out, that's what he said to the barista. He hadn't even thought to look up before he took off. Now, he wished more than anything he had.

After the brief silence grew to an uncomfortable length, she repositioned her hand from showing the white ink on her wrist to offering it to Dorian. "Manon Blackbeak."

"Dorian," he fumbled, reaching out to shake it. He stared at her for a long time, like he couldn't believe after all this time that she was real.

She smiled, pulling his hand closer and looking down at the etching inside his wrist. Her handwriting. Those words. "I thought I'd never see you again after you ran out of there."

"Guess it was meant to be," he answered. In that moment, some 10 years after his ink showed up, Dorian really, firmly believed in soulmates.

TOG taglist: @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves @starborn-faerie-queen @addies-invisible-life

#manorian #manorian fanfic #coffee shop au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #i am what queue made me #clockworkgraystairs #theoceanfaewriter #nyka writes

41 notes · View notes

ofheroesandvillains · 4 years

Text

Home (Hearth) - Geralt

Words: 4k Warnings: none really. Summary: Geralt returns to Skellige. Kind of a prequel to Hearth, but I guess it can also be read as a stand-alone.

Hi folks! I gotta be honest, I feel like my writing just isn’t cooperating at the moment so I’m sorry for the delay in Dorian...again (there’s loads of Jaskier shenanigans in the next part though!). Hope you’re all staying safe!

(gif not mine)

It was an unfortunate fact that Geralt didn’t often visit the Isles of Skellige. His work took him to all corners of the world, but there was a particular feeling that crept into his heart when he thought of Skellige—an eagerness he hid even from himself.

When the ship pulled into dock that afternoon he felt it swell in his chest, and it showed in the way his eyes searched the crowded streets. Geralt shook his head at his own foolishness; no one was aware of his arrival. And if they were aware, they had other matters to attended to.

A great celebration was underway, the King’s daughter was to be wed and his services had been requested in exchange for a hefty amount of coin. Even without the coin, Geralt knew he would have obliged. As the flowery poets and bards of the world liked to preach, there were more important things in life than gold—and his treasure was hidden away in Skellige.

“This way, Master Witcher!” Lord Balden called out from ahead.

He was a stout old man with a soft heart and an overactive mind. Geralt had stumbled upon him by chance in a haunted old church on the Continent. Lord Balden had fancied himself indebted ever since Geralt had saved his life, and had naturally requested his services across the seas as well.

Geralt didn’t bother telling him that he knew exactly where he was going—that these were streets he’d longed to see for years. He just followed.

———

Lord Balden had shown him to his room and then promptly disappeared, rambling on about guests and decorations as he went.

Geralt would give credit where it was due—it had been a beautiful wedding, as was expected whenever royals flaunted their riches about, but most seemed to be more excited for the feast that followed. Stuck-up lords and their prim and proper ladies had come undone under the influence of alcohol, stray hairs sticking to sweat-slicked skin and dresses fluttering about as they danced amid drunken laughter.

The noise grated on Geralt’s nerves, but he’d long ago grown used to the assault on his ears. Still, he tucked himself away in hidden corners, on the periphery where no one could bother him as he nursed an ale. He watched the crowd with sharp eyes, anticipating danger and searching, though he’d never admit it. He hadn’t seen her yet—near impossible considering her friendship with the royal family—but he was certain that she had somehow managed to avoid his line of sight.

It was a game she played in their younger years, trying her hardest to evade his sense. Her power alone would give her away, but she didn’t know then that he was hyperaware of her presence. He didn’t needs his eyes to see her. He could smell her on the wind, taste her happiness in the air. He could feel her without touch, hear her without sound.

And for a brief moment Geralt felt a weight settle in his chest. If he couldn’t sense her then perhaps she wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d left Skellige and hadn’t told him. It had been years after all and ambitions changed, people changed, and he feared that even if he did see her, he wouldn’t recognise the person she’d become.

His grip tightened around his tankard, and his shoulders tensed with the new presence he felt at his back.

“I’m told there is a great Witcher among us.”

Geralt’s eyes slipped shut for no more than a few second—long enough to suppress the shiver that threatened to snake down his spine and send goosebumps skittering along his skin.

“Oh yes,” she continued, draping a gentle hand over his shoulder, “a hero of the highest calibre. The stuff of legend, found only in song and story.”

Geralt hummed, eyes unblinking as she took the seat opposite him. Beautiful. It was just a fact he could slot away with the sky being blue, and the grass green. But there was a saying old mothers would tell their daughters when husbands went off to war. Distance, Geralt knew, really did make the heart grow fonder.

Her eyes glittered with amusement.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find this brave and noble warrior, would you? I would like to enlist his help.”

“Is that right?” Geralt lips curled at the edges and he raised a brow. “He doesn’t work for free, you know.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” she gave him an indulgent smile. “A favour then.”

“Two,” he bargained.

“Two?” Her eyes narrowed. “I think he’s overestimated the difficulty of this particular task.”

Geralt shrugged nonchalantly.

“The difficulty doesn’t concern him.”

She arched a brow, curiosity in her eyes. “Then what does?”

Geralt rested his elbows atop the table, and her eyelashes fluttered as his thumb gently swiped a stray off her cheek.

“The fact that it’s you,” he said, before softly adding, “and I’ll take what I can get.”

She tried to fight back a bashful smile, but knew by the warmth in his gaze that he’d already seen it.

“Charmer,” she teased, trying to ignore the ghost of his touch.

Geralt’s lips twitched.

“It’s good to see you, little mage.”

“I thought you’d gone and forgotten us,” she said, and though he could hear the humour in her tone, it wasn’t without an equal amount of sorrow. Perhaps a normal man would have also missed the way her smile faltered, the way she couldn’t quite meet his eye with the admission, but not Geralt.

He could tell her of those long journeys across the continent, the way the scenery would blur into nothingness until all he could see were the streets of Skellige. He could tell her of the strangers he met, the women he’d try to find her in and the men she’d enrapture the moment she stepped into the room. He could tell her that not a single day went by that he didn’t think of her, that he didn’t wish to return to her…

“You’re a difficult woman to forget.”

She smiled, a full and beautiful smile that would have sent a normal man’s heart racing. Geralt golden eyes greedily took in the sight he’d been deprived of for too many years.

“Ah! I’ve found you at long last, my lady!”

Her smile faltered at the interruption, if only for a moment.

“Lord Dalvis,” she greeted with a polite bow of her head, “I was unaware you were searching for me.”

“All my life,” Lord Dalvis shot back with what he must have thought was incredible wit.

Geralt’s jaw ticked at the sound of her laugh and he eyed the man who was looking at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Traditionally handsome, if a little scrawny—certainly no warrior—but a sight better than the other lordlings scattered about the hall.

“Yes, well, how can I help you?” She asked.

Lord Dalvis’s eyes softened and he cleared his throat.

“I was hoping for that dance you promised me, my lady,” his dark eyes darted to Geralt nervously, and he shifted when she didn’t answer for a few long seconds.

Whatever comfort Geralt felt at her clear moment of indecision was quickly forgotten when she rose from her seat.

“A promise is a promise,” she conceded, eyes apologetically flicking over to Geralt. “I’ll be back soon,” she reassured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze for good measure.

Geralt sighed as he watched the young lord lead her away.

——— It turned out that Lord Dalvis was only one of many, and if Geralt thought his night couldn’t get worse than watching her ridiculous suitors flock to her without pause, he was wrong.

He’d lost count of the amount of men and women who’d approached him with lust in their eyes, or a pouch of gold in exchange for the head of a political rival. Then, of course, were the ones who whispered insults behind his back.

What strange eyes, very exotic, they charge double for that kind of thing down at the brothel. I can make it worth your while, Witcher.

He’s a nasty man, really, no different from the monsters you hunt, I swear!

Who invited the mutant? Filthy little things, can’t believe he was allowed past the front gate.

He stood out like a sore thumb in a place like this, and in any other situation he would have left by now, but if he left he’d miss her. And he’d been missing her long enough. When she finally did return, breathless and exasperated, Geralt was holding his tankard so tightly his fingers had dented the metal.

“Forgive me. They’re worse than nekkers, they are,” she huffed with a small laugh.

Geralt’s answering smile was tight and she took notice immediately.

“I really am sorry,” she continued her brow furrowed in concern. “Lord Dalvis has become a dear friend to me, I didn’t have the heart to turn him down. You do understand, don’t you?”

It was foolish of him to think that she’d be locked away in a tower somewhere barred from seeing a man other than himself, but the minuscule, irrational part of him flared bitterly. He scolded himself inwardly. How many nameless, faceless women had he been with, women that weren’t her? Even that wasn’t a thought he was glad to have.

“Of course,” said Geralt, gruffer than he would have liked, and moodier than she deserved.

He felt guilt settle in his chest when her shoulders slumped. Geralt sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “Seems I’m bad company tonight.”

He stood then, though he wanted nothing more than to stay close to her. He cleared his throat and stared off at the crowd to avoid the question in her eyes.

“You should find your lord,” the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but they were genuine. “You’re dear to him too.”

He left without another word, slipping through the crowd with more ease than a man of his size should have displayed.

“Geralt…” she called after him.

He ignored the confusion that laced her tone, and kept his gaze ahead and his feet following the same path. If he gave in, he’d have to speak, if he spoke he’d say too much, and if he said too much, he’d be handing her a hammer and his heart to shatter beneath it.

Skellige may have been her home, but it wasn’t his. He had no home, no place to call his own, nothing he could offer her that would make him a better choice than a lord whose heart raced like a hummingbird’s at the sight of her. He would give her anything she asked for, and he’d give it to her here, in Skellige. Not in some foreign land she’d neither seen nor heard of.

She deserved better than a Witcher and Geralt feared she knew it. Why would she choose him and his life of uncertainty over the comfort of home?

———

His feet led him outside to the balcony. It was only slightly quieter than the main hall, and if Geralt turned away from the view of sparkling waters and the kingdom laid out before him, he could see the merrymakers clearly through the ornate windows that were entirely too tall to be practical.

But he didn’t turn away, instead leaning against the balustrade with a deep frown unconsciously settling on his features.

“You look like a man with regrets.”

Geralt sighed, no matter how nice it was to see his old friend. It had been so very long, and if there was one thing that kept him sane at the thought of leaving her in Skellige, it was the knowledge that her half-brother was there to watch over her.

“Not now, Mousesack.”

“Oh, dear,” he chuckled, “I’m certain of it now.”

“I said, not now.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time.”

Geralt’s jaw ticked, and he shot his old friend an irritated look.

“Oh, cheer up, Geralt.” Mousesack clapped a hand on the Witcher’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re not here often enough to greet us with this terrible mood. The night is young, enjoy yourself! You’ve been missed far too much to be sulking over here on your own.”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder to the dancing couples.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Mousesack’s brows furrowed as he followed Geralt’s gaze, and realisation dawned on him. He laughed.

“If you truly think so, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Geralt looked back to the druid with an arched a brow. “You thought I was a fool?”

Mousesack scoffed. “Still do. And I’ll continue to do so with each day you spend pining in the shadows.”

“I don’t pine.”

“You do. Incessantly, and unnecessarily.” Mousesack’s expression softened. “She’d give you the world if you asked it of her.”

That was debatable at best, thought Geralt.

“She has a life here, a duty.” Geralt looked at Mousesack pointedly. “Family.”

“Not much of a life when it’s spent counting down the days until she sees you again. Her duty is little more than a distraction from those thoughts, and her family will remain her family no matter where she goes.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment as he contemplated Mousesack’s words. “You sound like you’re trying to get rid of her.”

Mousesack scoffed with a frustration he’d been bottling for too long.

“You don’t know what it’s like, watching her wither away. This is the happiest I’ve seen her in years, and it’s no coincidence that it happens to be the day you returned.”

It was rare for Geralt to experience remorse, but it was etched into the crease of his brow when he looked back to the dancing couples and realised that, though she twirled around with practiced ease, her smile was empty and her eyes were too busy drifting around the room to focus on her partner. She was looking for him, just as he had been looking for her.

“I know you don’t come back here for me, old friend,” Mousesack continued gently. “If you love her, tell her. I can’t keep watching the hope leave her eyes each time you set sail, and she’s too far gone to accept the stableboy’s proposal at this point.”

Geralt frowned, blinked out of his guilt-ridden stupor and sent Mousesack an offended look.

“The stableboy proposed?”

Mousesack shook his head in exasperation. Good to see his priorities are in check.

“The stableboy, the innkeeper…Lord Dalvis will soon, no doubt.”

Geralt’s jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed at the horizon.

“I’ll tell her.”

Mousesack snorted.

“Good.”

———

When he entered the hall once more, he knew for certain that she was no longer there. Lord Dalvis was glumly sitting by himself and her presence hadn’t lingered. Uncertainty was something he tried to ignore in life—it often was the difference between life and death for someone like himself. But as he walked to her chambers, his thoughts were a jumble.

He would tell her tonight—the secret they both knew but never spoke of. He would tell her his greatest desire and his greatest weakness, and then…then he didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t know what she would do.

Geralt didn’t have all that much time to think on the matter. His long strides had seen him to her room entirely too quickly, and the door eased open of its own accord as soon as he approached it—a silent invitation.

The room was dim, and bathed in the golden glow of candlelight. It looked as it did the last time he’d seen it, but he was certain that she’d grown more beautiful, and the evidence was right there in front of him, wrapped up in a pretty little pearl-coloured nightgown that left little to the imagination and glimmered in the candlelight.

The task had been difficult from its inception, and she’d introduced an entirely new obstacle it seemed. Geralt watched as she wordlessly fluffed a pillow, her face unnaturally solemn. She hit the pillow with more force than necessary, panting between strikes until he caught her wrists.

She glared down at the pillow as if it had wronged her in his place, and Geralt gently urged her to face him. She stared at his chest for a moment before she sighed.

“You’re upset with me,” she finally said, brow furrowing. “I just can’t figure out what I’ve done.”

Geralt tilted her chin up with this thumb and forefinger and gave her a sad smile.

“You haven’t done anything.”

“Then what is it?” She asked with a desperation that made his stomach churn with guilt once more. “I…I don’t understand. It’s been years and I thought…” she trailed off with a frown. “I thought you’d be happy.”

He opened his mouth, ready to reassure her that yes, he was happy. But he didn’t. Instead, he told her the truth.

“Do you know why I stayed away from Skellige as long as I did?”

She stared down at her feet, the question itself seemingly bringing tears to her eyes. As if the idea of him intentionally avoiding the islands was one she hadn’t even considered. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. His own voice was quiet when he spoke; his words a confession he once thought he’d take to his grave.

“I used to torture myself with thoughts of you. Knowing that if returned I could see you, touch you,” he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, “and still not have you. But I ached for more than just the memory of you. I still do. That’s why I’m here.”

She held his calloused and scarred hand to her cheek, goosebumps prickling at her skin as her eyes slipped shut and a tear rolled down to meet the thumb that would swipe it away.

“You know my heart, Geralt,” she said, voice thick. “You’ve always known.”

“I never wanted to be selfish with you. You of all people…you deserve more than I can give you.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy and cheeks moist. But there, behind the reflection of candlelight in the dark of her pupil was a flicker of another kind—hope.

“Can you give me yourself?”

It was a question that held the weight of the world. To say yes would condemn her, and to say no would be a lie. His head fell forward and their lips brushed as he answered.

“I can.”

He felt, more than saw, her smile, and despite his reservations he knew it felt right.

“Then you’ve given me all I need.”

He dreamt of having her in his arms like this a thousand times over, imagined the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin. He never imagined how intoxicating it would be. Her arms thrown over his broad shoulders, her soft body pressed against him, surrounding him as he surrounded her. He could have lost his senses in that moment, he almost did until he realised his feet were moving in the direction of her bed and she was leading them there.

“You’re sure?” He managed to ask between kisses.

“Yes.”

Geralt paused, his hands caught her waist and he pulled back for a moment. She blinked owlishly at the loss of his lips.

“Really sure,” he took a steadying breath, his control a moment away from slipping, and when she met his gaze he had no doubt that she was aware of how it had darkened.

“Because once I have you…” his jaw clenched as he watched her fingers ease the straps of her nightgown off of her shoulders. “Once I have you you’ll never be free of me.”

“You’re not leaving without me,” she whispered.

“No,” Geralt agreed. “No, I’m not.”

Her nightgown fell to the floor.

———

It was a quiet morning in Skellige, the day Geralt would depart. The wedding celebrations had lasted all week and he suspected that most were still nursing hangovers and sleeping their days away to catch up on the nights they’d lost.

He couldn’t judge them too harshly, he’d lost several nights too, albeit for other reasons. His lips quirked when he heard the squabbling siblings following behind him.

“…yes, I already told you, I’ve checked it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with double checking.”

“No, there isn’t. But this would be the fourth time and that’s a little unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“It’ll also be a little unnecessary when you’re on a ship back here because you’ve forgotten something.”

“Unlike some, I don’t need a ship to travel half way across the world.”

Geralt snorted, regretting doing so when the small chest perched upon the other two he was carrying swayed to the side.

It turned out that the favour she needed her brave and noble Witcher to see to was helping her cart her luggage to the port. She had no intention of staying behind. It was decided the moment she heard of his arrival, and she’d be going with or without his approval.

“Careful with that, my love!”

Despite his exasperation, Geralt couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his lips. When the last of her belongings were loaded onto the wide-eyed and pot-bellied captain’s ship, Mousesack caught Geralt in a hug.

“Protect her for me?”

Geralt nodded, though they both knew the request was merely a formality. “With my life.”

They both turned when a loud scoff sounded behind them.

“Don’t be so dramatic. If anyone is protecting anyone, it’ll be me.”

Mousesack and Geralt shared a look and shrugged.

She did have a point.

Mousesack clapped Geralt on the shoulder and grinned at his little sister. “Well then, she’s your problem now. I expect to see you both here soon, understood?”

She wrapped him up in a tight hug as the captain called out that it was time to leave.

“Of course. It’ll be like I never left.”

They shared a watery smile, and Geralt cleared his throat, an apologetic look on his face.

“It’s time to go.”

With a shaky smile, she nodded at her brother and accepted the steadying hand Geralt held out to her as she boarded the ship. She stood waving to her brother until the dock was out of sight and Skellige was behind them. Never before had she considered the vastness of the seas, how isolated and alone they could make one feel—nothing but flat horizon on all sides.

But she wasn’t alone. There was a hand holding her upright until she could manage a few shaky steps herself, and a broad chest that pillowed her head as they looked out across the horizon together—one filled with wonder and opportunity. Something new and exciting.

“Where will we go?” She asked and he gave her hip a reassuring squeeze.

“Wherever you want.”

“Hm…somewhere quiet. I think I’ve had enough of Kings and courts, I want a dog,” she mused, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smile. “That, and I think I’d quite like to keep you to myself for a while.”

Geralt hummed, his chest rumbling against her back. “I think I’d like that too. You still owe me two favours after all.”

------

Tags: @dinchenrockt @notyouraveragemochii @alwayshave-faith @no-shxt-sherl @szhead31 @comicbeginning

I am very bad at keeping track of my lag list, but I didn’t tag anyone who only asked for a Dorian tag. I’ll figure a better system out soon!

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt imagine #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geralt

136 notes · View notes

salexectrian-heir · 4 years

Text

Loki: Chapter 13

Pairing: Solavellan Rating: E*

Summary: Lavellan rescued a mischievious sphynx kitten outside her work who loves her dearly. But his destructive habits start to get out of hand when he steals her attractive neighbor’s underwear… repeatedly.

Chapter 13

It had been the single most perfect Valentine’s Day she had ever had. The dinner, the candles, the bath…

Ar lath ma.

The admission had been a whisper against her skin. She thought she might have even made it up, hearing things she wanted to hear, so desperately. Her heart beat took off in a rapid staccato, spurring her to wrap her arms around his neck and slate her mouth over his. His confession had tasted even sweeter on her lips. Had felt more steady than the way he carried her out of the bath. Had been more intoxicating than the pleasure he gave her over and over in his bed that night.

And yet it got caught in her throat when she tried to return it.

But that was why she was here now, outside his apartment. If she couldn’t say it yet, then she would show it. And then try to figure out why.

A small voice hissed at the back of her head that she knew the reason, that she was just a coward.

Nothing good lasts forever. Look what happened the last time a man told you that. Screaming matches, a family feud, heartbreak, a broken engagement, and running away.

She let out a sharp exhale, and quickly rolled her shoulders to chase away the fear. This time it would be different. She would be different. She had grown from that, and would shake off hold it had on her heart.

The key to his apartment was warm in her hand. Correction, now her key. She had been holding it tightly for the last five minutes standing outside his door, not quite ready to let herself in, mind revelling in the memories. If being honest, she was still not entirely over the fact that he gave her it in the first place. She had made him swear not to get her any gifts for Valentine's day on their date a week ago. She didn’t need chocolates or flowers (though she really did love getting flowers), and didn’t want him to feel like he had to buy her things just because some holiday dictated it. She would much rather receive a gift spontaneously, because he thought of her in the moment. And he listened. He did not give her his key on Valentine’s day. Instead, he waited until they had gone to bed.

“It is 1:03 AM,” he had said, reaching over her body to open the drawer of his bedside table and to take something out.

“Yeah, so?” She twisted beneath him, trying to get a better look at what he was doing.

“It’s no longer Valentine’s Day. I can now give you a gift.”

“Oi,” she had begun to protest, “I said we’d split this date evenly, and you already broke that rule.” Her attempt to pin his arm back down had been easily thwarted, “and now you’re about to break--” he interrupted with a kiss to her lips. Then to her nose. Then to her cheek, trailing down her jaw to her neck. Needless to say that distraction worked. While preoccupied with his mouth, he had pressed something into her the palm of her hand in the darkness. The shape was unmistakable.

“It is not much, but I figured it would be wise if you had a key to my place. That is, if you ever wanted to come over, even if it is three am after your shift when I am not away, or--”

Anise had not been so chaste in her interruption. Not at all.

“I said no presents,” she had said between kisses, “you lied to me.”

“Only by omission.”

She turned the key over in her hand. She was here to show her love, to fill his fridge with groceries so he would have something to eat when he got in tonight because she knew he would be too tired to go to the store himself before coming home.

The lock came open with ease, and the light from the hall trickled in as she opened the door.

In the dark, his apartment screamed ‘I’m lonely’. Flicking on the hall light didn’t do much to help, now it screamed ‘I’m lonely’ but with a fluorescent twist. She made a mental note to get him some better mood lighting. Candles seemed to be his go to, which are fantastic and romantic, but not always practical. And the amount of time he spent staring at his computer screen and doing paperwork… his eyes would thank him for it.

She loaded his fridge with the essentials for breakfast she knew he liked. Almond milk, berry yogurt, eggs, granola for his pantry, a few boxes of protein bars. And a few things he could make for a later meal, fresh vegetables and fish. On a notepad she found on the counter she left him a note about what he would find, a little heart.

On her way out, she paused by his bedroom door. His bed was immaculately made with not a wrinkle in sight. Like they had never spent nights together in it together. Like it had never been slept in at all. Heat rose rapidly in her cheeks at the idea her mind conjured staring at his bed. She shifted her weight as she stood in the doorway, debating whether or not to follow through on it.

“Why the hell not,” she thought and walked towards the bed, pulling her hair out of the bun that had kept it piled on top of her head.

She tossed back the comforter and broke the seal on the neatly tucked sheets. Phone in hand, she pulled her t-shirt over her head, left her bra and yoga pants on the floor, and climbed into his bed. She arranged his gray sheets over her body, pulled out her phone and laid down, her red hair spilling onto his pillows. With the front facing camera, she took a picture and sent it to Solas. quickly following up with a text of “i miss you”. He was most definitely on his flight by now, and most likely wouldn’t get it until he landed, and she would be well into her shift.

She didn’t fix his sheets before she left.

***

The first on-call room she tried to open she was met with a chorus of shocked outbursts. She slammed the door shut before she could see anything she would later regret.

“Locks exist for a reason,” she snapped at the couple through the door, pounding her fist on it for good measure.

The next one over was, graciously, empty and she quickly flopped down onto one of the beds. She needed just ten minutes to herself. The moment she had arrived at the hospital it had been chaos. A tractor trailer crashed into the bus that ran between downtown Haven and the suburbs on the highway, causing the ER to flood with bodies. She immediately started her shift scrubbing into an emergency surgery to assist Vivienne. Normally, the opportunity to scrub in with the Chief was well fought over by the residents, but no one protested when Vivienne called on Anise. There hadn’t been time for petty in-fighting this afternoon.

Their patient, the bus driver, suffered several ruptured organs in their abdomen causing massive hemorrhaging, and a few broken ribs. In the end, their spleen had to be removed but their liver was salvaged and the perforations along their intestinal track repaired.

The vibration of her phone trapped between her thigh and the firm mattress ultimately stirred her from the depths of her mindlessness. A smile formed her lips when she saw she had a text from Solas. The perfect distraction.

[Vhenan]

Thank you for the groceries. You are too kind.

[10:03pm]

A few seconds later, he sent another.

[Vhenan]

[Image]

Why are you not still in it?

[10:04pm]

It was a picture of his empty, ruined bed. Her smile broke into a full grin.

[Anise]

duty called, and it has been non-stop. but i just so happen to have some free time on my hands right now

[10:05pm]

[Vhenan]

Wasted, granted you are not here. I could think of many things to do to you with your hands in that free time

[10:05pm]

Heat pooled in her belly, trickling down to ignite that oh so sweet sensation between her thighs.

[Vhenan]

Though, I should not distract you from your duty. That would be unkind.

[10:05pm]

[Anise]

You. Tease.

[10:06pm]

[Vhenan]

Come over after your shift ends. Whatever time that is. I will make it up to you.

[10:06pm]

The sudden opening of the on-call room door startled Anise, and she dropped her phone right onto her face.

“I didn’t...interrupt something… did I?” Hawke said, hesitating in the doorway.

Anise’s already flaming face burned even hotter.

“No,” she said defensively, scrambling to sit up and stash her phone in her lab coat pocket.

“You aren’t really selling it.” Hawke kicked the door shut behind her and face planted on the bed on the opposite side of the room. Her voice came out muffled. “I’m laying down here anyway. Now spill it, Spice.”

Anise rubbed her face with both hands. Hawke wasn’t going anywhere, and she had been dodging her for weeks about her personal life, after she overhead Dorian’s well-intentioned teasing of her extracurricular affairs. So she decided to be honest.

“Well, I… started talking to someone.”

Hawke’s head immediately shot up. “Ooh, can I guess?”

Anise crossed her arms. “They don’t work here, so no.”

“Damn,” Hawke said, rolling over to face Anise, “you were able to meet someone outside of work? Where are you getting your free time, I would like some of that.”

With a dismissive wave of her hand Anise said, “It was more of an accident. Chance encounter type thing.”

There was no way in hell Anise was going to tell Hawke she only met Solas because her kitten stole his underwear. Nope, not ever. Hawke would never let her live it down.

“Lucky you, I take it that’s why you were grinning all doe-eyed at your phone?”

“I was no--”

“Oh, come on,” Hawke teased, and made a cheesy, hopeless romantic facial expression, “total lovestruck doofus.”

Anise grabbed her pillow and lobbed it at Hawke’s face for a direct hit. “Ass.”

“You got it bad, Spice,” Hawke cackled as she put the second pillow under her head, watching Anise stand and head to the door. “By the way, the new rotation schedule is up.”

Anise paused, her hand on the handle and looked over her shoulder. Hawke’s face broke into a shit-eating grin.

“Judging by your smugness, you got what you wanted. Ortho?”

“Hell yeah I did.” Hawke’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “You on the other hand…”

“Oh no, I don’t like that look…Hawke, just tell me. What’s my verdict?”

“You’re on Cardio.”

Anise gulped.

“Good luck dealing with Fenris.”

Hawke’s snickering followed her out the door.

***

Anise gasped and shot up in bed, fingers digging into the center of her chest, scratching at the skin and bone barrier that separated her lungs from the oxygen she so desperately lacked. It was only a small relief to find as she raked her fingernails down her sternum that her chest cavity was not in fact split open, but wholly sealed and unbroken.

Firm hands yanked her own away from her body, and pulled her forward into a tight embrace as she continued to get down as much air as she could. He cradled her head under his chin and held her close to his body.

“I’m right here.” His voice cut through the static buzzing in her head and she latched onto it. “Okay?” The familiar and comforting scent of him washed over her in seconds, and she began to relax in his arms. The steady rise and fall of his chest against her shoulder grounded her, and she tried to sync her own in time with his.

“Nightmare,” he said more so than asked, after a few minutes had passed and her breaths came at less labored pace.

She nodded.and shifted so she could face him. “I was in the OR for open heart surgery.”

A hand rubbed at her back in slow circles down her spine. “Aren’t you always?”

“Yes,” she laughed, but it was mirthless. More of a slight gasp. “But I was on the operating table. Awake,” she said, knuckles digging into her breast bone again, feeling its solid resistance against her touch. The beat of her heart was still a little too fast to be normal. “It felt so real, I could feel everything. I–I couldn’t tell it was a dream. How do I know this isn’t? And it’s not the anesthesia kicking in and–”

“Anise.” He entwined the fingers of his free hand with hers and guided it away from her body again. “Do you have a history of heart problems?”

Since I met you, perhaps.

“No,” she said instead, and felt more of the tension bleed out from her body.

“You’ve been working too much.”

As he said it, it clicked.

“I just found out I’m on cardio rotation next week, that has to be why.”

The cardiothoracic attending was a bit of a nightmare himself, to say he was impossibly judgemental and incredibly intimidating would have been an understatement. And on top of that, there was some kind of unspoken feud between him and Anders, which made it difficult to get to know him. Seeing as she was friends with Anders, he didn’t really give her the time of day.

She sighed. “I just can’t shake how… how real it was.”

“Well, I am reasonably certain we are awake now, half-dressed, in my bedroom.”

That made her truly laugh, and chased away the remaining fear that had been lingering in her body. “Only reasonably certain?” She traced a path long his bare thigh with her fingertips, enjoying the way he tensed at her touch.

His exasperation was evident in the sharp exhale he let out against the top of her head.

“Forgive me for my poor choice of words.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “But if I am being honest, you continue to surprise me every time you wish to stay.”

She turned her face so that it was only inches away from his own.

“I sometimes believe you are a figment of a dream I created and expect to wake in an empty bed.”

“So dramatic,” she said, and tilted her face so that she could capture his lips before he could pull away. “Am I everything you dreamed I would be?”

“That and more,” he said without missing a beat, laying her back down with a kiss and pulling the covers back over their bodies.

His hands continued to hold her as one kiss turned into another, and another...

Eventually, he drifted off into sleep. Her head tucked neatly under his chin, arms wrapped loosely around her body, and a thigh resting between her own. She was on the verge of joining him, but wanted to stay awake just a little longer in the comfort of his embrace.

Ar lath ma was her last conscious thought.

#solas #solavellan #solas x lavellan #solavellan fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #light chapter

28 notes · View notes

meanstreak-girl · 3 years

Text

Dragon Age: Dark Age Chapter 6

"What do you mean she is not what she seems?" Both Cullen and Duncan asked at the same time.

"I can tell that there is some heavy magic radiating off this girl. I suspect that blood magic has been used."

Both Cullen and Duncan looked at each other when Duncan nodded his head to Cullen.

" Is there anything was can do to reverse what was done with her without blood magic?"

"There is however it will take too much time that we no longer have. I heard that Andruil and some of the elven gods are looking for her. I, for one, don't want to see if this elven goddess lives up to her name."

Cullen, Duncan and the other gentleman grouped and decided what to do. Cullen nodded and the other man left the tent. After a few minutes went by and the mysterious man walked in with what looked like a wanted mage. Alyndra recognized his face for being a rebellious sympathizer as he had been missing for months and was assumed to have joined the rebellion. He was known to dabble in blood magic which was still frowned upon even though the Elves took over.

"Untie her Dorian, and hold her still so that he can do what he needs to do. After that, his sentence will be carried out."

Dorian untied Alyndras hands from above her head and put them behind her back. Dorian had her kneel down so that the mage could work his spell. The mage cut his arm and a swirl of blood began to encircle Alyndra. Then everything started to hurt. Alyndras head felt like it was going to burst as the mage struggled to find what he was looking for. It was like he was trying to find the end of a tangled string to unravel all that was hidden or changed.

Finally, he was able to find the end and unraveled everything that was changed to make Aneirin. There was a burst of blood and light as the spell was released. Alyndra fell to the ground breathing heavily and barely concious. You could hear a pin drop as everyone waited to see if anything had happened. Then there was more change than any of them had expected.

Aneirin's hair began to change from a dark brown to a beautiful golden blonde color, her ears began to shrink from elf ears to normal human ears, and even the build of her body began to change by getting longer and a bit more muscular like that of a human. Slowly Alyndra began to open her eyes and when she did, they were a bright blue with a golden ring.

She saw both Cullen and Duncan standing over her with distraught and confused faces. All she heard were muffled vocies before she passed out.

*******

When she awoke she was in a small tent and the man named Dorian was sitting next to her watching her. She felt dazzed and as if she was hit had by a Druffalo.

"It seems passing out is a habit for you." Dorian said as he swapped a damp rag for a cloder wet one.

"What happened to me? I feel very strange."

"Well lets just say you are now a completely different person."

Alyndra gave him a weird look and sat up quickly to find a mirror to look at herself in. There was a small mirror that was attached to a wash basin. when she saw herself in the mirror she was stunned. She touched her face and studied what she looked like. The biggest thing that she made her want to cry is that she was actually human. Growing up she always felt that there was something about her that did not feel right. Now she knew why.

As she looked at herslef there was also something else that she noticed had changed. She felt less angry. No matter what she did or where she was, there was always anger that would linger inside her. In fact it was fuled her to the assassin that she was, Her mother also encouraged her anger as well so that she always had a reason to kill rebels. Because she had felt this anger for so long it almost felt as if there were was a weight lifted off her shoulders.

She was in a trance till she noticed that she was no longer in the clothes that she was in previously. She was now in a white night gown that went down to her knees.

"How did I change into these clothes? What happened after I passed out?"

" We moved you here to recover and one of the ladies changed you so that you could rest eaisly. You have been through a lot and we figured we could get to questioning later. I have laid some new clothes on the bed for you, also if you try running, just know I have an enchantment on you that will keep you from leaving the camp, just in case you had any ideas."

Alyndra understood the predicament that she was in and agreed not to run. Through all the years that Alyndra had been an assassin she knew when she could not do anything. All she could do was plan and wait. Dorian left to let her get dressed and she she did, a million questions ran through her mind. Did her mother know that she was actually a human, if she did why did she not tell her, how did she turn into an elf anyway, if she was not an elf then who was she? This time a small amount of ander came back to but this time it was directed towards Andruil. There were too many questions that needed to be answered and she was the only one that had those answers,

Once she was dressed she left her tent where Duncan was waiting for her,

"Follow me." Duncan said as he started to walk away from the tent.

Alyndra followed Duncan over to a tent that was reletuvely bigger that the rest of the tents and in the middle of them. She figured that this was the Commanders tent. Duncan held open the fabric that acted as door to the tent for her to go in. When she went in, Commander Cullen was kneeling before a statue of Andraste, praying. She could not tell what he was saying only that he seemed desperate for some sort of answer.

Once he was dine praying he stood up and walked over to the portrait of the old Inquisitor and stared at her for a second. When he turned around and saw Alyndra he turned as white as a ghost. He didn't say anything for what seemed like an eternity till finally he cleared his throat and motioned for her to some closer.

"What do you know about the Elven gods?"

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age confessions #Dragon Age Universe #dragon age inquisition #cullen x inquisitor #cullen x trevelyan #cullen rutherford #papa!cullen #cullen!dad #uncle dorian #Duncan Therin #fanfiction #fantasy #fanfic

2 notes · View notes

pellelavellan-a · 4 years

Text

14 Days of Da Lovers - 4

Pairing: Dorian x M!Lavellan

Theme: Napping Together

Words: 1,538

It’d been years since Pelle had felt this sick. He didn’t miss it: the migraines, the way all the strength in his body had abandoned him, the way he was so hungry and yet his body refused to keep down any kind of nourishment. When he was a child, his illness had left Deshanna afraid he may die by adolescence, yet here he was. Thank Mythal he’d grown out of his poor childhood health--mostly if he wanted to consider today a sign that this flu of his wasn’t quite done with him yet.

He’d shut the curtains draping over his bed to keep as much of the light from his windows as he could, the exposure only made his splitting headaches worse. A forgotten cup of chamomile tea sat on the bedside table half consumed. Tea was one of the only things his body was willing to keep down, Josephine had been bringing him some every few hours to make sure he wasn’t wasting away in his quarters.

The only good thing about being this sick was that it was not the first time, which meant that Pelle knew exactly how to deal with it. He knew what he could and could not consume as well as what treatments would help him recover in a reasonable amount of time should he get the required rest to make it happen. It wasn’t hard to tell Josephine or even Solas what he needed, both of them seemed pretty open to assisting him.

It was nighttime now, the sun had finally gone down leaving only a small hint of moonlight on his balcony. He was sitting up in bed, a candle near his tea as he read through the book Dorian had left for him not so very long ago. It was a thoughtful gift, given Pelle had expressed an interest in the stars that he could not sate at home thanks to a majority of astrology coming from what he had been told was Tevinter heritage.

How lucky he was that Dorian himself, was from Tevinter.

“Feeling any better?” asked Dorian.

By now he knew he needed no invitation to Pelle’s tower. He could come and go as he pleased--or stay in some cases. Pelle had made it quite clear that he did not mind Dorian’s attention, the Altus might even go so far as to say the elf craved it. They’d spoken little in the recent week thanks to Dorian being on an assignment, but once he’d heard Pelle was ill he made it a point to see him once he’d settled back in.

Pelle offered him a weary smile, turning his attention away from the book he was perusing. “You’re back.”

He didn’t even need an answer once he’d gotten a look at Pelle’s face. The elf was exhausted--quite frankly he looked like shit. His skin looked pale and his eyes heavy from the fatigue. His hair was let down leaving his blond curls to settle anywhere they pleased. He was dressed in no more than one of Dorian’s shirts which hung off of him due to his rather small frame. He hadn’t even mentioned the half-drunken tea, the tower of books beside his bed, or wooden stick barely peeking out from under the linens that could only be a bed warmer.

The verdict: He was not feeling better.

“You look terrible amatus...” said Dorian crossing the room to place his hands over the elf’s cheeks and examine him a little closer.

Pelle shrugged. “It’s just a bad cold,” he assured him.

But Dorian wasn’t convinced. His face was riddled with concern the longer he stared at Pelle. Not that he was any doctor but--it was hard for him to believe that Pelle just had a bad cold. This seemed far worse.

“I used to get sick like this a lot when I was younger,” Pelle continued, “I’m familiar with it, and I know how to treat it. I look bad now but I promise I’ll be alright.”

Dorian sighed deeply, “If you’re sure...I guess I’ve no choice but to believe you do I?” He replied, releasing Pelle’s face from his touch.

He would remain concerned, as any lover would. However, he did not think Pelle would lie to him about something as serious as his health. He could drag this out if he wanted to, tell Pelle that he worked too hard and wasn’t taking care of himself, but even that wasn’t entirely true. Pelle may have worked tirelessly but he never neglected himself in the process. Even on the busiest of days, Dorian had never seen Pelle in public looking disheveled or out of touch.

In a way, it was a bit sad, because he knew Pelle only stayed so put together to prove that he wasn’t some savage running an army but a collected and respectable person. Had he the choice, Dorian was sure he would wander these halls dressed as comfortably as he, please. But he couldn’t. He had a reputation to uphold and people whose respect demanded that he fall into some form of conformity...or that seemed to be how Pelle saw it at least.

But his concern had all but been cast aside by Pelle who had scooted over to leave Dorian space in his bed. He glanced at the bed then back to Dorian before patting the empty space and ushering Dorian to have a seat.

“Take off your shoes and lie down with me,” the elf requested. “You’re human so you’re already immune to what I’ve got.”

“Oh?” Was Dorian’s only response.

“What I’ve got would only be a threat to you if you were an elf,” Pelle elaborated. “So come, lie down. I know you’re tired too I can see it in your face.”

Any other day he might have taken offense to the comment, but Pelle was right. He’d only returned a little over an hour ago. He’d been back only enough time to remove his armor and to bathe before rushing to check on his amatus. There was no sense in denying that he could use a nap, Pelle knew him well enough to know that the lack of his usual vain and self-confident persona was a sign that he did not have the energy to play that role, he was quieter than normal, offering rather short responses as opposed to glamorizing himself in the face of being pointed out as anything but perfection.

Pelle was not blind to what he was like when he was tired, and so Dorian took off his shoes and climbed in.

Pelle wasted no time closing in on Dorian to cuddle with him. Anyone could guess that the elf might have been getting a bit lonely lying up here by himself only speaking to someone for a few minutes every few hours. Pelle was actually quite social for someone who seemed to loathe idle chatter of the court. He’d grown up in with people around him almost constantly--Dalish and their small living arrangements and all that. But even more than that his attention was constantly competed for as Inquisitor, it was a miracle Dorian could even steal some alone time with him once in a while.

Being up here in complete silence for hours at a time must have been maddening to him.

Dorian was quick to accept the elf’s affection. Carefully he shifted about until he found a place in bed that he was comfortable, Pelle too moved about as needed until he and Dorian were comfortably lying together. Neither of them said another word to each other, both simply enjoying the other’s company.

Pelle was the first to drift into sleep, leaving Dorian to lay there simply petting the mess of curls that had gone ahead and sprawled all over the both of them. Even if Pelle was sick, he couldn’t help smiling just a little watching him sleep. It was one of the only times he really felt that Pelle didn’t have some underlying expression of stress on his face.

He wasn’t awake so he wasn’t constantly going through lists of things to do, pondering how what he said or had done might affect those around or their perception of him. He wasn’t thinking about the people he’d let down back home or all the people who yet lived that depended upon him. When he was asleep he was just Pelle. And to Dorian, Pelle was beautiful.

It didn’t take much longer for sleep to find him as well. Quite frankly it snuck up on him with little to no warning. He’d simply been lying there caressing the elf whose head lay over his chest as he took in the most pointless details of his room. He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

By the time Josephine had made another round to check on Pelle in the morning, both of them were still wrapped up in the other fast asleep. The ambassador could not resist grinning at the two. She turned back to the stairs and left them alone, Dorian seemed to have Pelle well taken care of.

#14 Days Of DA Lovers #14 days of da lovers prompts #Dorian x lavellan #Dorian x M!Lavellan #dorian x inquisitor #dorian pavus

26 notes · View notes

heartslogos · 5 years

Text

the unclassified texts from the inquisition’s elite [27]

(775): I'm too depressed to drink my wine. That is what I would call a serious problem

“Well. Did he say what kind of wine it was?” Herah asks, handing Evelyn her phone back. “And should you really be letting other people see your private conversations with your friends?

“You’re missing the point, I think,” Evelyn frowns. “Dorian’s so depressed he can’t drink. He’s already on the side of alcoholism. I don’t want to think about where he could possibly go from here. I’m really concerned, Herah. He wasn’t even like this when his dad came to see him. Slash…abduct him. It’s not like Dorian to be so despondent. Normally he bounces back angry and loud and in your face and that’s wonderful. I really do mean it. I admire his ability to be so resilient in the face of other people’s vitriol. But in this situation he’s…not bouncing back and I don know how to help him.”

“Dorian isn’t going to spiral off into the deep end of drugs,” Herah shrugs. “I know we talk shit all the time, but Dorian’s got an impressive amount of self discipline where it counts. Consider the fact that he’s here, with us, rather than in his own country where he was born and raised. Dorian has some sense of knowing what’s good for him and what’s right and wrong.”

“Alright, but. I’m still worried about him, Herah. What’s wrong with Dorian? What happened?”

Herah raises an eyebrow. “In a general sense? Within the past twenty four hours? Spiritually? Physically? Emotionally? Is there an exact frame of reference for this extremely loaded question? Can you narrow this down? Because as much as I’d love to, I can’t be with you for the next week going through Dorian Pavus’ many, many, many issues one by one.”

Evelyn gives Herah her sternest look, the one she used to give students who only talked to make trouble and talk shit in her lectures. Herah succumbs. They usually do.

“Alright, fine. I don’t know. Dorian doesn’t come to me when he has problems. He goes to you. Sometimes Ellana if he’s sure she isn’t going to make him regret it. Honestly? Most people go to you. So I don’t know why you think I’d be able to help you on Dorian’s problems.”

“Why me?” Evelyn asks, eyebrows raising in incredulity. “Herah, I am not someone you want to be asking for advice. I was framed for murder, I was a literal criminal with a bounty on my head. I almost had my degrees taken away from me. Did you know that my bank accounts were frozen? People were out for my head.”

“And now you’re running an international semi-legal and acknowledged military-intelligence organization that fights terrorism and acts of human rights violations,” Herah points out. “Something about you makes people think you have your shit together. Maybe it’s the haircut or the way you dress. Maybe it’s because you used to be a professor? Point is — if someone told me to go get an adult I’d go looking for you.”

“Herah, you are an adult.”

“Spoken like a true adult,” Herah taps her temple and points at Evelyn, “You even talk like one.”

Evelyn sighs.

“Anyway, you’re the one people go to when they have problems, not necessarily to fix them, but because you make people feel better like things are going to be alright. Did Dorian tell you anything about why wine isn’t helping him anymore?”

“No, that’s why I’m asking you.”

“Why me?”

“Because when someone says go get an adult I’d go looking for you!”

The two women stare at each other for a moment, held at a stalemate.

“Yikes, Evelyn.” Herah frowns. “I’m…really concerned about that. I’m considering revoking your adult status for the fact that you think I’m a responsible adult who can help you.”

“Please do revoke my adult status in your head. But. You’re dating Josephine Montilyet.”

If there’s anyone who’s a reasonable adult, it seems reasonable that it would be Josephine Montilyet. She’s an ambassador. She’s literally in charge of keeping civil relationships between nations.

“So?”

“I don’t think she’d date someone who wasn’t a responsible adult.”

“You thought wrong, because here I am. And here we are. A couple. And me still not a responsible adult that should be turned to for respectable, implemental, or legally sound advice. Oh, I can do plenty of things. But none of those things would make me sound, on paper or out loud, like an adult.”

“Well, it’s too late now. I’ve already asked you for help and you can’t turn around and ask me to help you to help me for help. Now what? Who’s the adult we turn to now?”

“Josephine, probably.”

“Probably?”

“Listen. I hate to be the one to break this to you.” Herah puts her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. With her other hand she gestures around them. “This entire Inquisition thing? Running on the shoulders of the insane. You want to find one single logical, morally and ethically sound, reasonable person of adult status? Look in a mirror. I love Josephine with my entire existence but I cannot in good conscience say she is a completely functional adult because I’ve seen her before she fully wakes up in the morning and that image? That person she is before she’s Ambassador to the Inquisition? Not an adult. Now, I won’t say what I’ve seen because I value my life and my relationship. But I can promise you that if you did see what I’ve seen you would not be able to definitively put her on a list of absolutely functional adults.”

“Don’t tell me that Herah. Don’t tell me things like that. You know how easily I turn to panic and near obsessive-compulsive desires to control things when I start to get nervous,” Evelyn deadpans. “Herah, do not bring this down on me when I’m just trying to figure out how to help Dorian. Don’t send me into this spiral and too late. Here we go. I can see myself falling into this spiral. I”ll see you guys on the other end. Bye.”

#heartsfic #gather your party and venture forth

2 notes · View notes

madamedeher · 5 years

Text

Inquisitor as a Companion

Because I have no self control.

This is technically a mash up of 2 tags, the details of the Inqy companion and the banter can be found here and here.

Happy reading this is my son and I love him.

p.s Obviously Rivaini people wouldn’t use maker or Andraste as an exclamation SO since their society is ran by women I thought... why not make mother that kind of word.

Inquisitor’s Name: Cassian Bijor

Race / Class / Specialisation: Elf, Mage, Shape-shifter

Gender Identity: Male

Varric’s Nickname for them: Shocker

Short bio: Cassian Bijor, and elf who is half Dalish with an Orliesian last name is no stranger to questioning looks. As the son of a Rivaini seeker, he is gifted in the magic arts and knowledge of the fade.

Childhood was average for the man (or, as average as it could be). A lingering jealousy caused by his twin sister being next in line to be seer caused a large rift between the two. His sister, Misha, was a rather naive and tender-hearted woman, and Cassian thought he should be the seer instead of her.

Nonetheless, Cassian followed Rivaini tradition and trained to become head guard of his seaside village. When news of the rift spread to Rivain, so did news of the Inquisition looking for those who might have more than average knowledge of the fade. Bored of his born-into living style, Cassian jumped at the opportunity to help the Inquisition stop this evil spread.

What would their companion card look like? Cassian would be deep water with only his nose and above visible. His black hair would be spread across the water like tendrils. While you see little of his face, his expression seems calm/serene. In the background it looks like the beginning of a lightning storm behind him.

Recruitment mission: After getting a certain amount of power, Leliana would approach the inquisitor about a friend of hers who has ample knowledge on the fade and spirits. The Inquisitor can accompany her to a tavern where Cassian would approach the two, hugging Leliana and introducing himself.

The recruitment dialogue would breakdown as follows:

Inquisitor I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Cassian Bijor, son of Seer Aniha of Apricce. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

---> Inquisitor Option 1: You’re the one Leliana was talking about.

The one and only. Has she talked of me much? Miss me that dearly, honey? [Leliana: Only for you, Cassie.] Come Inquisitor, sit, I imagine you want to hear why I asked for you.

---> IO2: Pleasure to meet you too, Cassian.

I appreciate the politeness. Come, sit, I imagine you want to hear why I asked for you.

---> IO3: Ah, when Leliana said she had a friend I shouldn’t have expected someone normal.

...Ha. Sit. Let me tell you why I asked for you.

---> (If Mage): Son of a seer? Isn’t a Seer a guardian mage in Rivain?

Mm, yes, sort of. I’d consider a Seer more of a leader such as a mayor than a strict guardian. Nonetheless, sit, I imagine you want to hear why I asked for you.

---+++---

When I heard of the Inquisition, I was instantly taken by the cause, as I’m sure many are. I have extensive knowledge on the fade and would like to formally extend that knowledge to you. I understand you already have am, “expert” on the matter, but tell me, do you know what makes a Seer?

---> IO1: Does it work like nobility in Ferelden where power is passed down?

Ah, well, yes that too, but that is not the main reason. A seer will allow herself to become possessed by a benevolent spirit when of age. Only then can she have the power and wisdom to protect her village.

---> IO2: Do I look like I know that, elf.

I suppose not. I’ll talk slowly for you. A seer will allow herself to become possessed by a benevolent spirit. With the power of the spirit, she can be a Seer.

---> IO3: Because they won a lottery picked out from a funny hat?

I suppose that would be more entertaining, but no. To be transparent, it’s actually quite a serious act. A seer will allow herself to become possessed by a benevolent spirit when of age. Only then can she have the power and wisdom to protect her village.

(If Solas is in the party, he’ll interject. “They let their seers become possessed by spirits, Inquisitor.”)

Neatly put, stranger. That is, in short, what happens.

---+++---

[Cassian Joins The Inquisition.] Sounds fun if anything. I’d like to have you on.

[Cassian Does Not Join The Inquisition.] You really think I’d let someone who allows possession in my Inquisition? No.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven:

Haven: Sitting in the tavern reading through a stack of books.

Skyhold: A table on the second floor of the tavern, reading a larger stack of books.

Personal quests:

Quest 1: Twin, Interrupted - Cassian gets a panicked note from his twin sister, Misha, who says she’s being held hostage by a group of cult-like templars who want to put her into a homemade circle. Cassian begs the Inquisitor to help him rescue his sister from the deranged group who holds her. After rescuing her she tells that she came to Fereldan looking for her brother. Their mother has started acting very strangely and she didn’t know what to do. Cassian leaves the inquisition until Skyhold. [Can’t initiate full romance unless this quest is complete and has to be done before leaving Skyhold]

Quest 2: Sheep’s Clothing, Wolf’s Call - Cassian returns to the Inquisition with his face scars and falls into a soldier’s arms. He’s taken to an infirmary where the Inquisitor tries to confront him about his absence, but he’s found to be in a coma. The Inquisitor can find a special plant through finding it on missions or a Leliana war table mission to give to Cassian and revive him. When given a poultice version of the plant, Cassian, after a bit of rest, reveals that his mother has been possessed by a demon. He tried taking care of it himself but he didn’t have it in him to kill his mother. Cassian instead held his now demon mother in a self made prison in a cave as to keep her from the village. Eventually he got too weak and had his sister keep her back while he went back the inquisition for help. Cassian tells the Inquisitor how he feels ashamed of his mother and is always criticized for his religion so he didn’t want to reveal his mother is one of the few Seer’s to succumb to temptation.

The Inquisitor can validate Cassian and help him deal with the situation.

There's a romance option here, where Inq can say he should never be ashamed of who he is and they personally quite like it. He kisses Inq and they’re now locked in his romance.

The Inquisitor can reject helping Cassian. Cassian will disappear until a certain amount of power reached and reports of a large bear is reported in the Hinterlands. If the Inquisitor goes to the Hinterlands to defeat the bear, on the bear’s body is a note written by Cassian saying he has nothing to live for. It’s heavily implied the bear the Inquisitor just killed is Cassian.

Quest 3: Death Comes In... - If helping Cassian he takes the Inquisitor and companions to the cave. His sister Misha and father Lemren are outside the cave, his sister casting a large shield at the mouth of the cave. Cassian dismisses his sister who is very physically tired and is helped by their father to rest. Lemren then explains to the group that the twins’ mother had started acting out of sorts a little after Cassian joined the inquisition. The group all advance into the cave (Lemren comes along, he’s a rogue with a bow and arrow). Aniha, possessed by a hunger demon, initiates a fight in her human form. When under a certain health point, Aniha will stop fighting and try to spark a deal with the group. The hunger demon from within says it will leave Aniha willingly if it can ravage the unsuspecting village she was the seer for in Rivain.

Option 1: If the deal is taken, the village is doomed for everyone in it to die. This also makes the Bijor family pariahs in Rivain and are ran out of the country. They stay in an alienage outside of Orlais instead of Rivain.

Option 2: If the deal isn’t taken, the hunger demon takes it’s true form and essentially becomes a boss battle. When defeated, it’s seen that the hunger demon targeted Lemren and Misha whom are mortally wounded. Lemren can be offered to become a warden but refuses. Aniha, Lemren, and Misha all die within this option, but the village in Rivain is saved and Cassian isn’t run out of his home country.

How to get their approval:

Recruit Cole [Greatly Approves]

Turning Cole human gets a Slightly Approves

Choosing the mages [Greatly Approves]

Allying with the mages earns Approves

Disband the Templars [Approves]

Help Vivienne with her main personal quest. [Slightly approves]

Side with mages in pretty much any instance

Have an open mind about the fade or magic in general

Inquire about Rivain or express an interest in going one day

How to get their disapproval:

Turn away Cole [Greatly Disapproves]

Choosing the Templars [Disapproves]

Allying earns Slightly Disapproves

Make the mages your soldiers instead of allies [Greatly Disapproves]

Leave Hawke behind in the fade [Disapproves]

Be mean to Sera or Cole

Are they romanceable? Yes, but getting to the romance is a kinda slowburn lmao. Can also be romanced by anyone. But there will be a cutscene that changes depending on race where he gives them a token of affection that relates to their culture.

Can you have sex with them? Yes, a bit before the final battle if you talk to him a scene will trigger

Are they open to polyamoury? Sort of. He’s technically open but extremely picky. The only person in Inquisition I can even kind of see that happening with is with Bull.

If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who? Canonically he romances Bull, so sorry adoribull shippers Cassian will snatch him up.

Who are they friendly with? Leliana, Vivienne, Cole, Morrigan, Bull

Who do they dislike? Dorian, Solas, Cullen

Companion card changes:

Loyalty: After the 2nd personal quest, his card goes to him completely submerged with his hands up out the water. His black hair almost completely fills the water around him. When all of his personal quests are completed the card changes for a last time to him about ankle deep in the water, emptying a jug that seems to be filled with that water. His hair is shorter now and less wily, but completely covers his face.

Romance: Instead of being face deep in water, he’s now completely out of it. He also appears to be leaning over a figure and cradling them. The black tendril hair is still there and it seems to be wrapping itself around them. He’s wearing a slightly open golden robe. The storm from earlier is completely over them, but it seems like a ray of sun shines down on just them.

Side Missions: (eg: fetch / gather / kill quests) Probably random quests to find memorabilia of his home country. If you haven’t noticed he loves the place.

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit? Like everyone he pretty much in panic mode. He doesn’t really understand what the mages go through but has clear sympathy for them. As someone who wasn’t raised by the chantry one iota he doesn’t understand the templars and the Andrastien religion, like, at all.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: Being mean to Cole is like the quickest way to stack disapproval, so.

Special Events:

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How is your Inquisitor holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year? He’s barely lucid, probably. He can get enough thought collected to follow the inquisitor and throw some spells but he just wants to die.

At the Winter Palace: Does your Inquisitor enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace? He would have never experienced anything as grand and would fumble his way through the complicated manners.

In the Fade: Your Inquisitor’s reaction upon entering the Fade? Archdemon’s taunt, and Inquisitor’s response? Epitaph on their grave? The taunt would be his hidden regret yet jealousy towards his sister. He hates that he couldn’t be seer, but also feels guilty because he knows his sister didn’t want it either. He held resentment towards her for several years. Also his fear would take the shape of himself possessed. The tombstone was a little bit of a tough one. I think, in the end, it would say corruption.

Trespasser: What is your Inquisitor up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? Any special events with them over the events of Trespasser? This all depends on the personal quests endings. Obviously if you deny helping him in quest 2, he dies. If his family survives, he moves to the alienage they’re in in Trespasser and ends up dying on a missionary mission, squalid and poor (he also breaks up with the Inquisitor like right at the end of Trespasser). If the village is saved, and not romanced, he joins the chargers and ends up with bull. If romanced, he and the Inquisitor do odd work in Rivain and live in a lil cottage.

Banter

Cole’s reflection on their thoughts: Confusion, guilt, longing, rage... Rage. Rage. Past lives, past actions, so much anger compartmentalized into a tender heart. He wonders what life would be life if he could be as soft as he once was. He wants to be that innocent, that pure, that untouched. A mother’s touch fades away. It’d been years since someone hugged him.

Damn the fade.

Comment(s) on Mages: “These ignorant souls. They have no idea what good they could do in the world, trapped in those towers.”

Comment(s) on Templars: “What is the point of this sect of guard? Rivain has existed for centuries without them, yet they act so scandalized when I tell them that fact.”

When looking for something: “Shall I cast a locating spell?”

When finding a campsite: “Ah, a place to rest our heads.”

When the Inquisitor Falls: “Attention to the inquisitor!”

When they are low on Health: “I’m falling back!”

When they see a Dragon:

[First time seeing a dragon with him in the party] “Sweet Mother… I’ve never seen a dragon before. They really are magnificent.”

“Poor creatures, trapped in their own powerful body. I wish we could domesticate them.”

When during their small side quest: “I truly appreciate this, Inquisitor”

Default Saying:

Hostile/Cold/Neutral

“Yes, Inquisitor?”

“Inquisitor, may I help?”

“I have a moment.”

Warm/Friendly

“Hello you!”

“My friend, something you need?”

“Of course I have a moment.”

Romanced

“Hello, beautiful boy/girl.”

“Always glad to see you, mi vida.”

Travel Banter with Canon Companions of your choice:

[Varric] You mad at me, Shocker?

[Cassian] Beg pardon?

[Varric] You always look at me with this face that says, “I’ll bury you alive if you step too close.”

[Cassian] That’s just my face, Varric.

----

[Cassian] So, Blackwall, I saw you woodworking the other day. You seem quite talented.

[Blackwall] (Sputters on breath) You- you were watching me? When? Where?

[Cassian] (Sigh) Still scared of me, are you.

[Blackwall] ...I apologize.

[Cassian] Don’t bother. I still don’t know why Sera told you that scary story about my supposed ghost friends.

----

If Not Romanced

[The Iron Bull] Hng!

[Inquisitor] Something wrong, Bull?

[The Iron Bull] Cass just shocked me!

[Cassian] He pinched my bottom. But that didn’t sound like a noise of pain, did it.

[The Iron Bull] Ha, nah, it really wasn’t.

[Literally Everyone] (GROANS)

---

If Romanced

[Cassian] Ahem, please do take time and remember to be careful.

[Inquisitor] Hm? Have I hurt myself recently?

[Cassian] The fact that you can’t keep track of your injuries is enough evidence you need to be more cautious, Mi Vida.

Friendship?: “Ah, the faithful Inquisitor. It’s good to see you again, friend.”

Leaving the Inquisition: “I thought... I thought the inquisition was different. You were different. Mother... why did I leave Rivain. I apologize, inquisitor, but I can no longer accompany you in good faith. Goodbye.”

#inquisitor as a companion #ask tag #that i didnt get asked for ahdagsdh #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #au #cassian bijor

4 notes · View notes

rospeaks · 6 years

Text

listen for the breath, the inhale before i speak (that’s where my care lives)

Dalish inquisitor who allied with templars

[title courtesy of @tylerknott ]

The first time Dorian meets Lavellan -- really meets him, once Dorian is no longer struggling with mana exhaustion and Lavellan is no longer throwing himself on the nearest sword he can find just because some templar tells him it's their only path -- he thinks that the elf is keeping it together remarkably well. Apparently, you get a week's worth of sleep and a solid meal into him, and Lavellan's practically chipper, darting here and there all across Skyhold like he doesn't have the shadow of Corypheus hanging over him, looming nearly as large as that stupid sword they'd tossed his way as soon as they'd crossed the fortress's threshold.

Regardless, Dorian had been pretty sure that the Inquisitor was going to slip right past him. After all, there are templars lurking about in nearly every corner of this place, so Dorian feels safe in assuming that mages aren't very high on the man's list of trustworthy individuals. Which honestly didnt give Dorian very high hopes for Lavellan's life expectancy. Maker help him, the South was going to get the man killed, if Haven was any indication of the sacrifices that they were willing to demand of their saviors. It was nearly as bad as Corypheus himself, though that was bad enough.

Just the memory of it, despite it being several days old and a lifetime ago, has Dorian working up to a small rant even as Lavellan makes his way up the stairs after a short conversation with Solas.

All he knows about Lavellan can be fit into a handful of rumors, a thousand different anecdotes, and the urgent whispering of a dying man. Lavellan's the Herald of Andraste. The Inquisitor. He's walked in the Fade and closed the Breach. He's kind as well as powerful, the enticing blend of a generous soul with the eerie green of the Anchor. Everywhere Dorian went in the Hinterlands and he couldn't go ten feet without tripping over some commoner that Lavellan had aided or recruited or saved from certain death.

That and he had to distract Corypheus while the rest of them ran. Dorian remembers looking back only once, with Roderick's arm slung over his shoulder. Haven had been aflame. Corypheus was a tall, hulking shadow amidst the flames, but Lavellan had been so small -- a dark speck in comparison, identifiable only by the Anchor’s green glow. Dorian had been certain that that would be the last he'd see of the man after a handful of moments alone, and with his presumed death, all his hope... gone.

Hearing the Inquisitor’s footsteps coming to a stop behind him -- light, gliding, quick as only an elf’s can be -- seems like some kind of minor miracle, and the utter relief Dorian feels about Lavellan being alive at all, let alone fully capable of traipsing across the entirety of Skyhold for a whole morning, makes the words spill out of Dorian’s mouth like a waterfall. He feels fit to bursting, but every word makes him feel a little less like he’s going to explode with his worries and anxieties. He must keep talking if he has any hope of preventing the Inquisitor of kicking him out on the first day.

It’s rare that one gets the opportunity to make a second first impression, but luckily, Dorian’s father had drilled into him at least some amount of propriety. He makes introductions, but smoothly moves toward business. If Lavellan prefers Templars so strongly as to refuse the help of a Tevinter mage, then at least Dorian will be able to comfort himself with passing on as much knowledge as he has about the Venatori into the hands that can do the most about them. It will be a disappointment, to be sure, but Dorian will make do. He always has.

The resulting conversation is just this side of terrible. Lavellan knows all the worst things about Tevinter and shares all the popular assumptions that every Southerner does. It grates on Dorian’s already ragged nerves, makes him just a smidge more hostile between his usual self-aggrandizing, but amazingly Lavellan seems to appreciate it.

The more honest and passionate Dorian’s responses, the more Lavellan’s truly generous mouth starts to curve into a smile. It’s hard not to notice, even when Lavellan suggests the possibility of Dorian as a spy. While it’s comforting to realize that the Inquisitor isn’t just accepting people without thought, it’s also too difficult to avoid pointing out that he would make an excellent spy. So he doesn’t, and Lavellan’s smile bursts into an unfortunately attractive grin.

The general haziness resulting from fadestepping his way from Redcliffe to the Frostbacks had prevented Dorian from properly appreciating Lavellan from the start. It’s a lot to take in, honestly -- the sweep of pale hair around sun-kissed skin, the thin lines of a tattoo that rest upon his brow like a crown, and oh... eyes that frankly glow in what little light is provided by the little window nearby. It’s a travesty that Dorian missed it the first time around.

“What you did for us at Haven was very brave, you know,” Lavellan points out when the conversation falls into momentary lull.

Dorian’s eyes go a bit round. Brave. Not normally an adjective that one hears applied to any Tevinter. It feels strange in his ears, ringing especially loud when it comes from the person who had literally stood between Dorian and Corypheus a week ago. It’s a word to live up to now, if he can.

Unlike Dorian, Lavellan doesn’t seem to be bothered by the expectation. Considering the people that surround the Inquisitor, bravery is in no short supply. The formal incline to the Inquisitor’s head as he welcomes Dorian into the fold seems very practiced. It makes Dorian wonder how many foolish ventures this man is going to lure him into.

Too many, probably, and Lavellan will probably get himself killed in the process, if Haven was any indication.

“No one will thank me, whatever happens. No one will thank you, either. You know that, yes?”

Dorian has to be sure.

Lavellan’s eyes lower, briefly, his expression solemn. It’s one moment alone, but out of all the ones that have made up this little meeting, it’s the one that makes Dorian truly confident about his decision to join, especially when Lavellan’s gaze comes back up, gaze like embers burning bright against the darkness creeping into Thedas. There’s a fire to Lavellan that puts steel into Dorian’s spine, makes him all the more capable of striding tall and arrogant past his shoulder.

Dorian twists back at the last second and catches the Inquisitor jerking his gaze up from one of Dorian’s best assets. “Oh. And congratulations on that whole leading-the-Inquisition thing, by the way,” he says, tone just a bit teasing.

The Inquisitor’s brow wrinkles just a bit, caught off guard, but he stares after Dorian as he walks away.

All in all, one of the better introductions Dorian could have asked for.

#dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #dorian x lavellan #pavellan #dai #dragon age #my dai fic #heavy breathing i cannot belieeeve

43 notes · View notes

pb1138 · 5 years

Text

A Reunion, Ch.2

Apparently this is turning into a multi-chapter fic. Don’t worry!! I already have an ending in mind. It’s just getting from now to there that’s going to be the problem.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Cassandra’s understanding of Varric’s situation wasn’t enough to truly wane her anger for long. She regretted the way she behaved towards Varric, attacking him as she had. Even more so after the Inquisitor got involved and scolded her like a child. Regardless, she stands by what she said—if Hawke had been here from the start, things could be going much better. But she begrudgingly could see his side, that if she had been here from the start, she could’ve died in the Conclave, too. What a mess.

It’s because of this doubt, of the regret over her actions that she found herself outside the Great Hall that night. Normally, she didn’t go beyond the courtyard, avoiding the fancy prats as much as she could. She fidgeted for a moment, wondering if she shouldn’t just go back to the armory and leave well enough alone.

No.

She had to do this, had to understand. With a heavy sigh, she dropped her shoulders and stepped through the giant doors, rubbing her hands together nervously.

They were sat at a table near the fireplace, their shoulders touching, several empty tankards of ale sat in front of them. A few people had gathered around the table to listen to their tales, including Sera and The Iron Bull. Up above, Cassandra was surprised to see Dorian and Vivienne had also taken a seat to listen, and Cole was sat in a corner out of the way, obviously paying them great heed. He seemed…oddly pleased, a cryptic smile spread across his face. She wandered over to him despite the niggling warning in her gut telling her to avoid him, and she cleared her throat. “I see the Champion has settled in.”

Cole nodded his giant hat. “He’s happier now. All glitters and stars and warmth, like the comfort of a hearth at night. Her hands touch his and it feels like the sun, warm and welcoming and wondrous. He’s whole, now, complete, the piece that was missing before finally returned, and it’s as though she was never gone.”

Cassandra regarded the spirit out of the corner of her eye before turning to look at the couple. She could see what he was talking about. There was a light in Varric’s eyes that she’d not seen there before. He was smiling wider and with more feeling, and even in his gesticulations he always remained touching a part of her.

Her.

It occurred to Cassandra she’d never seen Hawke before, not personally, and certainly not this close. It wasn’t difficult to see that she was a truly beautiful woman, every bit as amazing and out of this world as Varric made her out to be in his books and tall tales. Underneath long, curled maroon hair sat two large eyes, so lightly blue that they almost seemed clear. Her thick pink lips were stretched wide in a laugh from something Varric said, and a dusting of dark freckles and a light blush were set across her cheek and her once-broken nose. She was elegant, every bit the regal lady Cassandra had pictured in her mind, with good but easy posture.

Cassandra didn’t even know the woman and she was practically in love.

Varric noticed her lurking, and his expression darkened almost immediately. He was quick to slap his crowd-pleasing face back on and made some lame excuse about the lateness of the hour and how “he needs his beauty rest.” Many of the on-lookers groaned. Bull positively looked as if he’d just lost an arm and been struck across the face in one fell swoop. Everyone drifted away, and Varric stood, his hand resting on Hawke’s shoulder for a moment before he walked over.

“Seeker.”

She looked down at him, then back at where Hawke sat watching warily. Though she didn’t have her staff, Cassandra could feel the energy coming off of her, ready to defend Varric if need be. Cassandra cleared her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but struggled to find the words. “I. Uh. Well.” She sighed, rubbing her face. “I…wanted to…apologize. I was…harsh this afternoon.” Varric snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s just… No. There’s no excuse. I am sorry for my behavior.”

He regarded her a moment then glanced at Cole who tipped his hat in a nod and vanished. “I won’t say I forgive you, but I’m listening. You obviously want something.”

She looked back up at Hawke then back down at him. “I know I have no right to ask this but... I would like the real story. Not as a Seeker but…as a friend.”

His expression softened slightly, but he paused a long moment, contemplating her words. After a torturous amount of time, he gestured towards the table and moved back to his seat. She couldn’t help but notice the way he moved forward as if to guard Hawke from her. It was endearing, really.

“What do you want to know?” A feeling of déjà vu spread across her, promptly followed by guilt. It occurred to her she might have been the cause of their separation.

“Everything.”

He smiled then, soft but true. “Well then.” He turned back to Hawke and took her hand in his, relaxing at her soft smile. “It all started 8 years ago.”

Xxx 8 Years Ago xxX

Varric first heard of the Hawke siblings not long after they joined Athenril’s gang. He didn’t think much of it at the time, just a few more refugees being taken advantage of, nothing special.

And then Belladonna started making a name for herself. She was better a smuggler than most rogues, especially with Aveline’s and Carver’s added backbone. Within weeks, she’d gone from being Athenril’s lowly errand runner to damn near a partner, rather rare for Athenril. Her skill did nothing to shorten her servitude, though.

Once her year was up, Varric isn’t ashamed to say he had been following her exploits a little more closely. He knew she’d be looking for work, and something told him she’d find her way to Bartand’s ugly mug after they went public with their expedition. Good. She’d be quite the asset to them.

It was an unusually warm day in Kirkwall, the day he met her. He couldn’t have planned the meeting better if he’d orchestrated it himself. He’d been on his way to see Bartrand with a few names of interest, but then the pickpocket had come along, and it was as if Andraste herself were smiling upon him. With one expertly placed arrow, he valiantly took down the idiot and retrieved the coin, a smug grin spread across his face. But when he turned to give it to her, he almost lost his footing. Almost. The fact that he didn’t stutter or fall over his words was a Maker-given miracle. He jokes that all humans look alike, but he never really thought that. Sure, looking up from his height, a few features can get a little muddled, a little repetitive, but her? Maker, she was something else. Even in her hideous smugglers’ robes, she took his breath away. He faked through it, though, putting on the charm he’d spent years cultivating. It was easy enough, sliding the mask back into place. A small part of him was relieved he tossed her the coin so easily and that he didn’t drop the arrow as he twirled it back into its quiver. He was speaking words, an introduction, flashy most likely, but he had a hard time focusing on anything other than her eyes. They were bluer than the Amaranthine Sea and seemed to see right through his guise. Could she see through it? Maker’s breath, he hoped not.

He was surprised to find just how charming and witty she was. Many of her sharp retorts were enough to rival even his own quick wit. They often fell into seemingly endless streams of snarky comments that made those around them groan with exasperation.

Everything about this woman both confounded and enthralled him. In the few short weeks he’d known her, he’d already come to think of her as a friend. She was kind but harsh (particularly towards her brother who was quick to respond with stronger hostility, something to unpack for later,) hardened but not hopeless, smart but naïve, and most of all, she was generous. Despite their time limit and the lengths they were going to to earn the gold to sway Bartrand, she never turned down a plea for help. Andraste’s ass, she’d given a full 5 sovreign’s to Lirene’s charity box the moment she knew what it was there for. As pressed for time as they were, Varric couldn’t help but admire this quality in her. Sure, she was setting back hours, days of hard work, but that only seemed to make it more meaningful. She was funny, too. He hadn’t laughed so much around other people since the good old days when Bianca was still kicking around. Varric had been so prepared to hate this woman, to find her snotty and rude and unlikeable, but in almost no time at all he’d come to be unable to imagine his life without her in it. What had he done before Belladonna Hawke?

xxx

They were almost ready to leave for the Deep Roads. They’d collected a few new friends—Broody, Daisy, Rivaini, even the mysterious Blondie had thrown his hat in with them. They were all gathered at the Inn, laughing over one of Isabela’s stories, and as Varric looked around at his new friends he couldn’t help but feel as though he might call these people family someday. Someday? Who was he kidding? They already were. At least better family than Bartrand ever was.

Something in the glow of the candles seemed to light Hawke’s hair on fire, and when she caught his eye from across the table, her whole body shaking with laughter, the shear brilliance of her eyes seemed to knock the air out of him. He prayed with all his might that no one noticed how quickly his laughter died out.

“So, Hawke, do you think we’re ready to approach Bartrand?” Broody set his chin on his hand, looking at her with a carefully masked interest.

Most everyone tuned in to the conversation as Daisy went to fetch more drinks for the table. Hawke cleared her throat and smiled slightly, shaking her head. “No, there’s one more thing Carver and I have to do before we can leave.”

Junior peaked up from his slouch in the corner, a raised eyebrow pointed at his sister. “We do?”

She rolled her eyes and said a soft word of thanks to Daisy as she took the newly filled flagon. “The will, stupid. I know, I know.” She turned towards him and put her hand up, silencing the boy. “You don’t care about the estate. But Mother does. She’ll need something to focus on while we’re away so she doesn’t run herself ragged with worry.”

He narrowed his eyes at her as he took a flagon from Daisy. He downed a good half of it before slamming it back down and glowering at the elder Hawke. “By all means. You’re the boss.”

Varric and Fenris both seemed to catch the hostility in Carver’s voice. They caught each other’s eyes from across the table, and Varric was relieved to see that Fenris seemed as bothered by it as he was. Hawke seemed to ignore it, aside from a quick glare that Varric almost missed. Instead, she just turned back to her friends and smiled sweetly. “Fenris, Varric, would you mind accompanying us?” She smirked at Fenris. “Carver tells me the estate is filled with slavers.”

Fenris smirked but nodded silently, and Varric grinned. She didn’t need to ask at this point—he’d never turned her down, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. “Bianca and I are at your beck and call, messere.” He tipped his head dramatically, and a deep part of him was thrilled by the soft giggle that his actions elicited from her.

The others began to drift away, heading back to their respective homes for the evening, until it was just Hawke and him. Something was on her mind, but for whatever reason she seemed to not want to bring it up. He wasn’t going to force the issue, but he turned to face her openly so that she might know that he was there for her if she needed him. They were several flagons and a few stories deep when she finally sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “Varric.”

He looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Mm?”

Her words were thick with drink, and she swayed slightly in her seat. When she looked up at him, her mask had fallen away, showing him just how concerned she was. “I’m…Well, I’m worried. About what we’ll find. At the estate.” She narrowed her eyes in what Varric was sure was an attempt at anger. “I just know Gamlen screwed my mother out of her money. I just know it. But Carver doesn’t. For whatever Andraste-cursed reason, he likes that bastard.” Her knuckles were white around the handle on her mug. “Worse still, what if we find nothing? What if we find we truly have no claim to the estate and then we don’t find enough in the Deep Roads to buy our way to nobility? What if we’re stuck in that hovel for the rest of our lives?”

Varric reached across the table and covered her hand with his own, offering her a soft smile. “You won’t be. I swear it.”

She scoffed. “And how could you know that? What? Would you marry me, offer me your wealth and a status as the wife of a deshyr?”

He chuckled, though a part of him fluttered at the thought. “Not my first choice, but always an option.” He grinned at her giggle. “No matter what happens, whether we find thousands of sovreigns’ worth of crap, we find the deed to your estate, whatever, you’re my friend, Bells. And I take care of my friends.”

Her eyes misted over with tears before she brushed them away. She put her other hand over his and gripped it tightly. “Thank you, Varric.” Then, as if the gravity of their discussion was too much for her, “I’ve wanted a nickname from you for ages now.”

They’d laughed, spent another hour or so drinking themselves under, telling stories, speculating on their venture-to-be before Hawke began to yawn. Varric, ever the gentleman, insisted she allow him to escort her home. He’d had twice as much as her to drink, but he was barely buzzed whereas she was practically stumbling over every step. As they reached Gamlen’s “house,” she leaned against the door and stared down at him, eyes oddly focused. She looked as if she were going to say something but thought better of it. In one quick sweep, she leaned down and pressed a soft-but-sloppy kiss to his cheek. She straightened up and smiled as she opened the door and slipped backwards inside.

Maker’s breath.

2 notes · View notes

aimee-does-things · 4 years

Text

The Big Easy Decision

"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." - Ferris Bueller

The whole world can change in a week. We've seen it happen over and over again in 2020. We started the year with the devastating loss of our cat Soggy. He was a stray who showed up at my doorstep when I moved into my last apartment in mid-2019. He would greet me whenever I got home, rolling over to show his belly. He was always happy, and because of the constant rain in Florida, always wet, thus the name, Soggy. When Hurricane Dorian was on the way, I got worried about the little cat that seemed to live on my front porch. I took him in, bathed him, treated him for fleas, and let him ride out the storm in my apartment. Once the storm had passed, my boyfriend George and I took him to the vet to get his shots. He stayed with us for three months. One fateful day in January of this year, I walked into the hallway and noticed a trail of feces. "These damn cats!" My first thought was to grab the paper towels and bleach. But why would they have pooped all over the floor?

I looked toward the bedroom and saw Soggy's tail twitching. "Soggy?" I said nervously as I peeked behind the door. There, curled on the floor, was Soggy. Mouth open, tongue hanging out, eyes fogged over, twitching. We were immediately in the car driving down the street to the vet. We were too late. The vet said she thought it was a stroke. We buried him in the back yard and spent the next week in tears. We had lost our baby, and the year had just started. It was devastating, but we were optimistic; it was January, and we had plenty of time to make happy memories for 2020. February and early March were sprinkled with good and bad. George lost an old friend to depression, but we got to see one of his best friends get married, and we took a trip with his Nephews and my son to the NBA Experience in Orlando, Florida, and had a fantastic time.

In mid-march, COVID-19 had become a worldwide pandemic, and we were in lockdown. George is an actor, so he was entirely out of work, and I was worried that I'd soon lose my job. The bad of 2020 certainly seemed to be taking over. In June, I tested positive for COVID-19; even though I hadn't gone out (I had even been having my groceries delivered), I was supposed to paint a sign for The Riverside Children's Arts Center, where I work. I had been delaying it because I didn't want to go to the hardware store to buy the supplies I needed. On June 24th, I decided to wear a mask and get the stuff. I walked in, stealthily dodging people, staying ten feet away from everyone I saw, went straight to the lumber section, grabbed my piece of wood, and did self-check-out. I got back to my car, doused myself in hand sanitizer, and went straight home. Later that day, I realized that I couldn't smell anything. I was hesitant to tell George because I didn't want to be locked up in a room by myself for 14 days. But I did the right thing. I quarantined myself and got tested. It took ten days for my results to get back to me, but I was sure I had it. I was coughing, had shortness of breath, going to the bathroom made me feel like I had run a marathon. I had so much resentment for that stupid sign. 2020 was totally sucking, but I am happy to say I have made a full recovery, including regaining my sense of smell.

It's been a prolonged year. It's August, and losing Soggy seems like something that happened ten years ago. Since March, George and I have started a nightly routine of drinking hot tea on the front porch in the evenings before bed. This past Friday, during our porch time, we came up with a crazy idea. What if we went on a road trip out to California and back? We talked for over an hour; I gushed about my love for California; it's my home. The next morning when I opened my eyes, George was already awake, he greeted me with his bright blue eyes and sparkling smile, "So, are we doing this?" I knew exactly what he was talking about, "Yes!"

At breakfast, we had a more serious discussion about it. Could we actually travel across the country with only a few day's notice? More importantly, could we travel across the country during a pandemic? I guess the even more important question was actually, should we travel across the country during a pandemic? I know that the most obvious answer is no, we shouldn't. But I had spent most of 2020 indoors, and our recent venture out to Americus, Georgia, had me aching to travel again. So I justified it like this: we want to go. That's it. Now, I'm not thinking that I'm immune to COVID just because I already had it, and I don't believe that a mask is going to protect me from everything, and I'm not one of those people that's like, "Fuck the coronavirus, I do what I want." But I am someone who wants to enjoy life, and see the world. So we decided that we would go, and we would be as careful as possible. As someone that's done a decent amount of traveling, I was very uncertain about how exactly we'd have a fulfilling vacation with so many things being different. So we packed our things, and plenty of hand sanitizer and face masks, and we headed out on the road.

Our first stop was New Orleans, Louisiana. While I had been to Louisiana many times, I had never been to New Orleans, and George visited last when he was eight years old. So it would be a new experience for both of us. The first day of the trip included driving through Alabama and Mississippi. When I was younger, I looked really young. I mean, when I was in 7th grade, I could have passed for seven years old. I spent nearly all junior high feeling insecure, and like I was being judged for what I was wearing because my mom would dress me in matching short sets meant for 7-year-olds. I thought those feelings had long been forgotten until I wore a face mask in Alabama. At one of our restroom stops, there was even a man that looked at me, smirked, and stood so close he was touching my shoulder as he browsed the donut case. He let out a light chuckle as I immediately stepped away, not just because of COVID, but because, ew!

We arrived in New Orleans around 3 pm, and checked into our Hotel. We had a goal to try to spend no more than $50 per night on hotels and had managed to find a Motel 6 for $47 per night taxes included. I love staying at fancy 4-star hotels, which probably goes without saying, because who really is against luxury? That said, I'm not above staying somewhere cheap, especially if it means more money for my favorite part of travel; the food. It was everything you'd expect a $47 per night motel to be, no-frills, and pretty shabby. The room itself was okay; they provided us with two towels, a tiny soap, and sheets that looked clean, minus the cigarette burns. We wiped everything in the room down with disinfectant wipes (just to make sure.) After resting awhile and getting cleaned up, we headed out to check out the French Quarter about which we'd heard so much. I was delighted with the Creole townhouses and cottages that lined the streets, New Orleans Square was always my favorite area of Disneyland as a kid, and seeing the real-life version was very exciting. We decided to go for a walk down Canal Street and Bourbon street because as tourists, that was our job. It wasn't terribly crowded, but there were still plenty of street performers out filling the air with music and a sense that everything was fine, and life is entirely normal, which is everything I would expect from Louisiana in general. The city's downside was a massive homeless population and panhandlers that ask for money seemingly every few feet. We decided to risk going inside a restaurant for dinner; we ate at Olde Nola Cookery, which we found based on online reviews. We both had catfish, which was terrific, and the restaurant staff took extra care to keep germ free. They wore masks properly, gloves when serving food, and even had digital menus so that we didn't have to touch a menu used by anyone else. After dinner, we were exhausted from our trip and returned to our rented rat's nest to sleep.

We awoke the next morning at 7 am, and by eight we were out at breakfast. We chose Two Chicks Cafe because it was highly rated for breakfast, and it didn't disappoint. We had their special eggs Benedict, with a cajun hollandaise sauce, and a croissant instead of an English muffin. The croissant was decent, not the delicate thousand-layer dream you'd get from an authentic French Bakery, but far from a Pillsbury recent roll. It was a respectable croissant. The poached eggs were really poached eggs; they didn't use any kind of egg-poaching device, someone actually poached this egg with expert skill.

After breakfast we stopped by the Metairie Cemetery, these beautiful old cemeteries are something I've always wanted to see, and I was so happy that we got to stop. We're now on our way to Dallas Texas!

#neworleans frenchquarter NOLA Cemetery roadtrip travel vacation

0 notes