#it's an indee amatuer thing
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I'm hearing a podcast about some mage girl in a mage school
Kinda like Hogwarts but it's a totalitarian regime and attendance is mandatory. So she goes there but surprise surprise she's like super powerful. That cliche aside she gets challenged to a duel couse she's super powerful and got some sort of privelage couse of that.
And the whole internal monologue is about how she just wants to sit this whole school out and then return to her mundane life with her father in the mountains. And how she doesn't want to get noticed or special.
And then she accepts the duel? And tries to win for some reason? Like if I were in that situation I would hug the girl that issued the duel and then let her beat me senseless out of the arena or something. If she wants her reputation gone so bad why did she even care about winning? I know plot needs to happen but come on.
#it's an indee amatuer thing#2nd podcast of the guy i think?#electromancy#it's good enough for me tolistento it#if only for the good sound quality and no terrible awful sounds#also i like clearly amaturish things#the only thing i really hate about media is when it's senselessly bloated and 'cinematic'#the orphans come to mind#just not good
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I didn't realize it had gone through as a submission my bad 😂
Inquisition LIs reaction to hearing their Inquisitor through a door saying things like "you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, you are a gift from the Maker, I love you, I'd die for you, etc.", thinking they're with someone else and running in, just to find out the Inq. is talking to a baby nug/Mabari pup they snuck into Skyhold?
“Romanced Companions reacting to Secret Baby Nug/Mabari Pup”
Here you go and thank you again, @queer-edmundpevensie for the ask! Also, more jokes!
When the Inquisitor asked Bull if he had a spare plug they could use, he said “Sorry, I don’t have any Chargers.” (Maybe a little sorry)
-Lord Lex
Cullen
”I- Honestly, I can’t even blame you for your choice of words. He is handsome.”
-Was split between being upset and feeling remorse. If indeed you had found someone else, you would most definitely deserve someone better than him but you could have at least told him. Pleasantly surprised to find the nug/mabari. Maker forbid if it’s a mabari because he will dote on that thing, saying how your “true love” is a very good boy.
Josephine
“Love, who are you talking to-? Oh! Aren’t they just the sweetest!”
-Didn’t doubt you for a second. She knows that if there was something wrong with you two, you’d tell her. Also, your wording was a little strange for if you were talking to someone else. Suggests on getting it a collar. You actually might be the jealous one when you find her cuddling it more than you.
Solas
“...”
-What was he expecting? Not this. But he has full fate in you to know you wouldn’t go behind his back if your feelings had changed. Honestly a little jealous of the mabari/nug. It’s actually kinda cute- wait, how did you even get it into Skyhold? Oh well. He’ll also tell you about how, in old tales, different animals used to run through Skyhold so having it here just makes sense.
If they go missing, it’s because they started following Solas around. No, he doesn’t know why.
Cassandra
“Inquisitor, I-!...How did you manage to get that here?”
-Yes, she was a little irked that you might be with someone behind her back. And yes, she does feel horrible that she’d assume the worst. She’ll admit what she was thinking was going on and apologize. Cassandra, to most people’s surprise, is a big softie when it comes to animals so her confusion and irritation is put on hold when your chosen creature looks at her with them big ol’ eyes.
The Iron Bull
“Well, Varric owes me money.”
-He knew from the beginning that you snuck it in. But hearing you talk in such a way to it did make him pause. If you two are only fooling around right now, he doesn’t mind and doesn’t care who you sleep with. Now, if you’re his kadan, might be a different story. But, again, he knew you had the creature somewhere and that certainly sounds like how you’d baby an animal. Lo and behold, he was right and Varric has less pocket gold. Also, if you don’t stop him, he’ll carry the animal around like a baby.
Dorian
“Dearest. Amatus. Love of my life. My chosen partner….What the fuck.”
-One of the only people who puts up with your shit anymore. He’ll be one of the people who is severely split. Yes, you deserve better than him, knowing his history and how he can act sometimes. But also how dare you go behind his back when he has given you his heart? He has to pause to let his heart settle after walking in on you cuddling the thing before he very irritable tells you to watch your wording.
Sera
“Alright, what the fuck! Who are you talking-? Wait, that’s not a person.”
-Fully thought it was someone else and wanted to rain hell on them. So it was a little shocking to see your door kicked open and Sera holding a jar of bees at the ready. If you choose a mabari over a nug, she’ll put the bees away and start petting it, acting like nothing happened. Now, if you choose a nug, she’ll make a disgusted face and back away. Not very fond of nugs, but fond of you.
Blackwall
“I’m gonna admit it, I thought there was someone else in here. Glad to see I was both wrong and right.”
-Same boat as Cullen, he kinda expected you to find someone else by now. Hurt his feelings a bit to know that you might have a secret admirer other than him. Does not find it funny (ok, maybe a little) if you name the beast after him. It’s even more funny to see him try to watch his step around it, especially a nug, as he would not like to step on the creature that has your affection.
#dai#dragon age inquisition#inquisitor#cullen rutherford#dai cullen#dragon age josephine#josephine montilyet#dai solas#fenharel#dai cassandra#cassandra pentaghast#the iron bull#iron bull#dai dorian#dorian pavus#dai sera#sera#blackwall#thom rainier
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[[ RETURN TO HALAMSHIRAL - PART TWO ]]
A missing Queen Cousland, whispers of an elven rebellion, and one hell of a party: Hawke, Fenris, and Varric attend a lavish ball at the Winter Palace celebrating Empress Celene and Marquise Briala's alliance, where Hawke finds himself enlisted to help by a man with a strong Fereldan accent and a deep-seeded fear of swooping. A Trevelyan-Dorian & Fen(m!)hawke imagining of the events leading up to Dread Wolf, sequel to The Seat of Power.
CHAPTERS: ♕ [1] [2]
♕
“Dorian?”
Angus, leaning over himself in the library under the rookery at Skyhold, muttered into the flipped-open sending crystal his boyfriend had given him. He should’ve attended the party. Why did he let Josephine talk him into staying behind? And Leliana had been rather keen on him staying at Skyhold, too. Angus had long ago begun to put two and two together about “the safety of the Inquisitor”, but he was starting to get lonely in Skyhold, all alone, this evening. Even Cullen had gone off to the party, or, possibly, given up in defeat and was drinking alone in his carriage waiting for everyone to go home.
Angus waited, hoping Dorian would be in a quiet enough place in the party to hear him through the crystal. He knew Dorian wore it around his neck everywhere they went without each other - if only so Dorian could update him on the assorted social and/or fashion disasters he encountered on his many trips back to Minrathous.
“Dorian? Doriannnn. Come onnnn.” Angus, uncharacteristically, whined into the crystal. Next to him were several empty miniature novelty bottles of Seheron dry, which he insisted he hadn’t drank all by himself, and half a glass of whiskey. The whiskey, of course, counted as dessert.
Meanwhile, back at Halamshiral, Dorian could hear a faint buzzing coming from the locket he wore around his neck, as he continued to prime Alistair for more information - and pump him full of more ale. Unfortunately, the ale was indeed dwarven and watered-down, which meant he’d have to feed him much more of the stuff to get to the juicy bits.
Holding a finger up to Alistair, who was mid-woeful-rant, Dorian flipped open the locket, and strained to hear Angus’s soft, Marcher accent over the loud hustle of the party.
“Yes, my dear amatus?” he greeted, over the crystal, holding the rest of it towards his ear, frowning at the background noise.
“....come home soon so I can tell you I miss you… …bet you look good in your formal coat.. ….osephine left so many of these bottles here for the guests, can you believe….”
Dorian sighed. He could barely hear a thing, although it seemed like Angus, at least, was keeping occupied.
“Amatus,” he repeated, holding the crystal closer to his lips. “I can see you’ve had a lot of fun without me, and I can’t wait to get back to Skyhold to see how my Inquisitor wants to handle his lack of handling, but - you’re never going to believe who I’m talking to right now.”
Alistair watched, as Dorian continued his conversation, one-sidedly.
“Yes. No, not you. I know I’m also talking to you, but - yes. Mm-hmm. You know, next time I’ll just ask Josephine to put some mixers in with the wine for you to slow it down. No, you’re rotten. You are. …. Keep that up and I’ll really have to leave the party early.”
Alistair narrowed his eyes and sighed again, in defeat, taking another swig from his ale as Dorian’s conversation took another turn.
“You know just how to push my buttons. All right. But no necromancy this time. We both thought it would be funny but it just ended up being unsavory.”
Alistair raised his eyebrows. Dorian, it seemed, finally remembered why he’d interrupted Angus in the first place.
“But you haven’t guessed who! Right, right. Remember the meeting you had back at Haven? Yes! I know! That’s what I asked him!”
Dorian clapped a hand over the crystal, and turned to Alistair. “Angus wants to know if you’ve found your missing wife yet.”
Alistair gave him the most despairing look yet. Dorian perked up.
“Right! Right. That’s what you were telling me.” He turned back to the crystal. “No, he hasn’t. And he’s asking us if we know where she’s gone. I know. I told him about Hawke going to Weisshaupt. He is? He has? He - is - are they all here? …I’m going to murder Varric.”
With that, Dorian clapped the crystal locket shut, and carefully slipped it back under his shirt.
Giving Alistair the slyest of smiles, he leaned coyly over the bartop.
“Today, I think, is your lucky day,” Dorian smiled.
Alistair felt himself involuntarily skip a beat. Whatever was coming was sure to be something big.
-
The lowly music of the single harp played through the open courtyard, the golden light of the strung-up candles glinting off the gold and augments of the gathered Orlesian nobles, craning their necks to get a good look at the plucky minstrel who was chiming classic folk tunes, her belting lighting up the entire garden.
Away from the huddled crowds, in a secluded cloister, were Hawke and Fenris - and only one of them seemed to be having any sort of a good time.
Clutching one of his many beignets he’d tucked away, Hawke smirked. “You think the words are the same in Orlesian?”
“What?”
“They could be saying anything, you know. I don’t speak Orlesian. I wager you don’t, either. They could be singing about how all Marchers are freeloading anarchist backwater pigs, for all I know.”
Fenris glanced sideways at Hawke, who was grinning. He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile back. “I doubt that.”
“That’s what I’d do,” Hawke said, breezily, waving a hand at the bard. “If I was supposed to be entertaining a bunch of jackasses all night, I’d definitely try to take the piss.”
“That’s why we don’t let you entertain,” Fenris smirked.
Inside, the orchestra was starting to begin its triumphant wailing, the music coursing through the echoing halls and out into the gardens, just faint enough to mix with the bard’s singing.
“They’ve begun the formalities,” Fenris muttered, barely able to contain his scowl. “If they’re not entertained at every turn, they’ll start to turn on each other.”
“I can understand that,” Hawke said, thoughtfully, face full of beignet. “If I were a noble, I’d want my attention grabbed at every second. No point being bored, I bet.”
“Hawke, you are a noble,” Fenris replied, a bit despairingly. “I must admit, I wonder if your enchantment over snacks and lute-playing won’t betray a more deep-seeded sense of entitlement in the future, judging by how all these Orlesian courtiers act.”
“Me? Entitled? Over a title? Don’t be silly, goose,” Hawke grinned, elbowing Fenris playfully in the side. Fenris didn’t quite scowl, but he didn’t quite grin back, either.
Looking to either side of him, Hawke’s grin widened. Fenris could see the gears clicking together in his head, in ways that made him slightly suspicious - and even more trepidatious.
“Fenris?” Hawke ventured, with a sideways grin. “Can I make up for the Chateau in another way?”
Fenris looked wary, but his expression betrayed his true sense of curiosity. After all, he wouldn’t have followed this idiotic lug of a man all the way here if it weren’t for his morbid sense of passion.
“Make up for it how, Hawke?”
Hawke grinned even wider, and bowed, deeply and theatrically, like a footman. He extended a half-gloved hand to Fenris, without stooping back up, and smiled.
“Would you accompany me to the ballroom floor, milord?” he grinned.
For a brief second, everything froze. Fenris felt his face crack a little, as time came to a whopping halt, and Hawke immediately sensed he had done Something. Not necessarily something wrong, mind you, but the world didn’t come screeching to a standstill with the worries of a thousand centuries plastered across your beloved’s face for nothing.
“Hawke,” Fenris ventured, his voice cracking, like the first jolt of dry lightning in a canyon wracked with drought.
Hawke looked up at him, perplexed, then, immediately, read the expression on his face, backtracking as fast as possible.
“Sorry - I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I didn’t -”
Fenris, as if coming out of a daze, shook his head, rather firmly. “No, no. It’s just - not with - there’s all these people, Hawke-”
“Wait. Wait. I have an idea.”
Hawke got that mischievous glint in his eye - the one that meant he was about to get them both into massive trouble.
“Hawke - what - ”
Pulling Fenris by the hand, Hawke led him down the hallway into the vestibule, through the halls of the public appartements and out into the garden, where even more various nobles had gathered, listening to the dulcet tones of one of Orlais’ most talented bards. For a moment, Hawke could have sworn it was Maryden Halliwell’s voice, singing in the Orlesian tongue, but he chalked it up to his time spent at Skyhold having taken quite a toll on him.
Tucking into a cloister to the side of the garden, just out of sight - and just in the shadows - for naught but the nosiest of nobles to be seen, Hawke let Fenris go, and placed his hands on his hips, looking rather pleased with himself.
Fenris, bemused, placed his own hands behind his back.
“Plans, Hawke?”
Hawke, with a flourish, took a great, theatrical bow. “Indeed, my dear,” he said, putting one arm behind his own back, and extending the other in a deep, dramatic gesture, offering his open palm to Fenris like a noble on the ballroom floor. Which, for all intents and purposes, he was.
Suppressing a laugh, Fenris cocked a smile at Hawke, who looked up at him - still stooped - through his brow.
“Well?” said Hawke, raising his eyebrows, and tottering a little. “I’m starting to get a little sore, here.”
Letting out an actual chuckle - or, to Fenris’s denial, an actual giggle - he placed his hand in Hawke’s, and Hawke raised himself back up to full height, romantically sweeping Fenris in towards him by the small of his back.
“Your hand goes on my shoulder, I think,” Hawke smiled, teasing, a little primly, but full of warmth. “Unless you don’t want me to lead. Which I always offer, but we know how things usually go,” Hawke winked.
Fenris, glancing away for a moment, braced himself. For a second, he flicked his eyes towards the gathered nobles, through the shadowed cloisters into the well-lit gardens, entranced by the lute-playing of the bard and the thick, scented air of the evening. They were so occupied with their own, brightly-lit world, that they scarcely - if at all - noticed Fenris and Hawke, hidden in the depths of the marbled shadows.
He looked back at Hawke, his eyes expectant.
“I’ve - I’ve never actually danced. With anyone. Before,” Fenris ended, somewhat lamely. He looked away again, but his hand was still firmly placed in Hawke’s.
Despite himself, Hawke burst out in a brief spurt of laughter. Fenris, annoyed, looked back at him, but Hawke was clearly gazing at him with the look he only reserved for the man he loved.
“What, never? Not even at a party? Not even as a joke?” Hawke went on, tucking Fenris in closer by the waist.
Fenris, getting more annoyed by the minute, sighed. “No. It’s not something I had time to do in Tevinter. At all.”
“And in Kirkwall?” asked Hawke, holding Fenris’s hand aloft.
“Kirkwall is not exactly the place that makes one want to dance,” Fenris said, bitterly. “Despite any claims.”
“No one ever asked you?”
“There’s never been such an occasion. And I doubt I’d want to dance with anyone. At all.”
Hawke pouted, a little comically. “Not even me?”
Fenris, finally looking back up, saw that Hawke was trying his damndest to cheer him up. And he couldn’t help but smile.
“...Perhaps you’re the exception.” Fenris flicked his eyes downward, then back up at Hawke, their verdance as clear as ever. “….You’re always the exception.”
Smiling, Hawke finished pulling Fenris in, and, laying a hand on his arm, gently guided it towards his shoulder.
“I’m not a very good dancer, I’m afraid,” Hawke said, as Fenris lay his hand against Hawke’s shoulder. Hawke’s stubble - which he was very bad at shaving consistently - poked through the thin Orlesian cotton of his upcollared formal shirt.
“Would I have been able to tell?” Fenris replied, smirking, flirtatiously.
“No, probably not. I should just keep my mouth shut,” Hawke said, laughing.
“Don’t,” said Fenris, softly.
Slowly, smiling, Hawke, holding Fenris by the hand, stepped in a graceful circle - as gracefully as he could - as the bard continued her enchanting rhyme. In the shadows of the cloister, nobody could see the two, slowly revolving, like planets gathered around a burning star.
Fenris, trepidatiously, laid his head against Hawke’s chest, as they turned; Hawke immediately clutched him closer, lowering his own head so it tucked gently into his.
As the song wound to a close, Fenris found his head still resting on Hawke’s chest, and he could hear Hawke’s heart beating at a breakneck speed. His fingers wrapped around Hawke’s collar, as he could feel his breath, hot as the night air was cold, burning down Fenris’s own neck.
Hawke, still holding Fenris in one muscular arm, the other hand wandering its way back down towards Fenris’s waist, felt the elf press closely against him, the clink of his armored shoulders and arms rubbing up against the thick fabric of Hawke’s formal coat. Fenris pushed against him, pulling him closer, and as Hawke felt Fenris’s cold, gauntleted fingers close around his neck, he grabbed him even more firmly, crushing him against his chest and hips, feeling the elf open up underneath him as Fenris intensely pushed his body against his, pressing every inch of himself against Hawke’s, as Hawke nudged his knee between Fenris’ legs - both of the men like pendulums in an imminent swing - if either of them moved, even one inch further, the whole thing would come crashing down.
Hawke, breathing heavily, scarcely dared to move Fenris from his position, lest he lose control completely and pin him to the ground, disgracing this entire social affair - and probably causing the fine bard singing in the garden to completely lose her footing.
“Hawke,” Fenris breathed, roughly, in Hawke’s ear.
Hawke felt his heart skip a beat.
Intensely, softly, without breaking eye contact, Fenris pushed one thumb against Hawke’s Adam’s apple, biting his lower lip. Hawke gulped, feeling Fenris’s fingers press against him, barely choking him, the pointed backs of his gauntlet scratching the back of Hawke’s neck as his hairs stood on end, and he stood at attention. He knew that, at any moment, he could break Fenris’s hold, sweep him up by the legs and pull them both against him, pull his head back and take control, let Fenris drive him to the wilderness of extinction. He hoped that Fenris wouldn’t think he was too uncouth for already planning lines about needing a lot of help with handling his oversized, two-handed warhammer, since that was Fenris’s specialty, after all.
Hawke locked eyes with him, and Fenris’s eyes glowed with an intensity that sent the usually confident Hawke into a venusian, cloudy-headed rabbit hole.
“Perhaps it is my turn to surprise you,” Fenris growled, with an insistent half smile.
Hawke, losing control entirely, pressed his face against Fenris’s, biting on Fenris’s lip before sending himself into a spiral, flicking the inside of Fenris’s mouth with his tongue, holding him in place with one arm while running the other up and down his back, then his side, then down the front of his hips.
“Wait,” Fenris breathed, his voice still guttural, putting a single finger to Hawke’s lips. “Not here.”
He held Hawke by the hand, this time, and pulled him towards the end of the cloister, where a latticed wall covered in nightblooms anchored the corner between the palace and the gardens proper.
Indicating the wall with his head, Fenris withdrew his finger from Hawke’s lips, smiling with an intense, mischievous grin. Letting Hawke go, he backed up into the lattice, where Hawke, cottoning on, began grinning himself, helping Fenris up and over the garden wall with a light foothold, making a step with his cupped hands.
Following him over the wall, Hawke paused for a moment, at the top of the wall; one foot in the party, the other imminently in the outer gardens - and examined the scene.
The whole of Halamshiral spread out before him, the excitement, the romance, the buzz of the party, the ham that tasted of despair, the tittering gossip of the nobles, the rampant fireflies and the clink-clink-splash of caprice coins being thrown in the fountain - all accented by the intoxicating scent of jasmines and Andraste’s Grace - and he sighed, with great contentment.
Truly, really, it did not get any better than this.
He looked back down, at Fenris, who was already playing with the top buttons of his guardsman’s jacket, giving Hawke the most smoldering look he could manage.
Hawke grinned. Perhaps the night had great potential, indeed, for getting even better.
#return to halamshiral#dragon age fic#mild spice at the end!#fenhawke#m!hawke#da2 oc#dragon age fanfic#purple hawke#fenris#dorian pavus#angus trevelyan#andey hawke#dragon age#also I LOVE WRITING ANGUS sorry
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happy friday! for one of your Lavellans perhaps, "‘the only thing that makes them listen is power.’" from the circe prompts?
Happy friday indeed! I'm not sure how this is the scene I decided on but here's some just-barely-before-Trespasser Atrian Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, when Atrian learns what Dorian's planning for Tevinter.
@dadrunkwriting
“You know what you’re planning here,” Atrian sucked in a harsh breath as the depth of Dorian’s notes truly struck him. When had it started? “If you do this, everything in Tevinter changes.”
“Yes, well, I suppose I have to do something to live up to your legend, haven’t I?” Dorian coughed into his hand, clearly discomfited by the wonder in Atrian’s voice. “Perhaps I’ve simply come to realize that my homeland needs some changes.”
“This isn’t ‘some’.” Atrian released one slow breath. It was ambitious, but if Dorian had the allies he thought he did, even if the Inquisition didn’t help him openly it would change so much. Freeing the slaves was only a single facet. “You’ll be a modern day Andraste.”
“Does that make you Mafarath? No, don’t answer Amatus, I don’t think I want this particular analogy to go any further.” He’d learned his lesson about Atrian’s witty tongue apparently. It had only taken him a few years. “So. What do you think? Really?”
“I think I want to drag you up to my tower. And that you deserve all the wine.”
“While that is sweet and very tempting, you know that isn’t what I meant.”
“I’m- Dorian, I’ve never been so glad we had a shouting match in the middle of Haven. Really. But Archon? Do you think you can do it?”
“Well it’s- it’s not strictly necessary to make things work but- well, you know how these people are. Take Orlesian nobility, make them all mages and wedge the sticks another foot up their asses and you get the picture. Also the blood magic but I'm not sure where that fits in the analogy. Maybe that's the frilly cakes. You know there’s little else that will get their attention; the only thing that makes them listen is power. Else the only other option is likely a civil war, and I’d rather like to avoid it.”
“If that’s what it takes.” Atrian nibbled his lip. “I’ll do what I can to convince the Council to back you up-”
“That’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I don’t want the Inquisition involved if we can avoid it. A revolution created by outsiders, especially ones affiliated with the Southern Chantry, it wouldn’t work. We’re proud people, and if there’s even the slightest inkling that it’s the work of outside forces- it wouldn’t take. Because it wouldn’t be Tevinter reforming itself, and slavery and the blood magic- it would return in our lifetime, if I succeed on those terms.”
Dorian’s words were a blow, much as Atrian understood. “You’re leaving then.” Alone. Atrian had thought he might finally lay down his mantle and follow, but if Dorian needed him to stay in the South… “When?” It hurt.
“After your grand hearing at the Winter Palace, I suppose. I’d rather not leave you alone to handle it, and Maevaris says there’s a bit more to do to lay the groundwork for my return. But it can’t be long after. I… I hear my father has taken ill, and I should at least do my filial duty to sit at his death bed if it’s come to that.”
“Of course.” Atrian didn’t really try to keep the hurt from his voice, so it was no surprise that Dorian noticed this time.
“Amatus, I- I won’t be gone forever you know. A few years perhaps. Or you could come to Tevinter, just not- not immediately.”
“You’re right, Vhenan.” Atrian took Dorian’s hand from his cheek and pressed a kiss into the palm. “It won’t be long. Besides, you’ve spent all this time as the Inquisitor’s man, perhaps it’s time we reverse that a bit.”
The nobles wanted the Inquisition dismantled? That worked just fine for Atrian. He’d not leave Dorian along in the viper’s nest for long, not if he could help it.
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TLDR: I wouldn’t recommend it, except for it’s maybe being amongst the most important films of the Century, and 100% necessary pre-watching if you plan to visit India. NSFW, NSFL, Warnings for everything humanly possible, refused rating, beyond NC-17, contender for scariest/most disturbing film ever made, IRL Infohazard, IRL Lovecraftian Horror, IRL Spiritual danger, might be a crime to view/own/recommend in Europe, probably read the review first.
…
It is said by the wise anons of 4Chan and Twitter that one can never be truly Fascist until they watch the first season of the anime series K-On.
…
Only by immersing oneself in Japanese sentimentality can one see an approximation of what Victorian and Edwardian sentimentality was, and why Fascists were willing to fight so hard against the sudden imposition of Weimar’s Proto-21st-century culture and conditions.
…
In that case then, the “Nature Doc” India: The Worst Country on Earth, also known simply by the Anti-Indian Racial slur Pajeets (Akin to Cunts, Kikes, or Niggers), is a film much more unique than simply being the first AI Feature Film and the first proof of concept that an Amatuer with AI can now compete with Hollywood… or atleast with the BBC and Michael Moore.
Made by the mysterious creator known only as “Thames”, It is the immediate opposite and ideological complement of K-On.
If the light of K-On’s innocence does not permanently kill your egalitarian universalist values and sense of human brotherhood, convincing you that some people and ways of life are uniquely worth fighting for, then, for the purposes of analogy, Pajeets’ pitch black horror would almost certainly convince you there are certainly some uniquely worth fighting against.
…
It is a testament to the writer’s extraordinarily refined sense of racist 4Chan humor that the film remains as watchable as it, indeed the raw quantity of racist humour and ironic references required to stomach any of these realities is almost certainly why so much of this is vaguely felt but almost entirely unknown and certainly unexpressed in the West.
Even then, by the time we reach the title card, precisely at minute 3, I wouldn’t be shocked if a great number of viewers had already turned off the film in sheer physical revulsion. Many who make it that far report turning it off by minute 16.
I’ve watched it in its entirety multiple times now. And still I find myself intuitively bracing for cuts and edits… not specific cuts and edits, but in general. Any shot that lasts too long creates a brief window of comfortable familiarity, and resultant nervous anticipation… knowing that safety will end any second.
However those who bear through to reach the title and hear the inspired musical choice of Open Your Eyes by Guano Ape soon see the sight of men touching live high-voltage wires, dead bodies floating in the Ganges, dozens of deaths of stupidity, multiple rapes, scatalogical and hygenic horrors straining comprehenision, and even worse things I cannot bring myself to describe.
…
And, oh yes, it is all real. Artificial intelligence has only been used to digitally draw David Attenborough from his aged retirement, and add a few humorous cartoon-ish stills.
Thames has assembled presumably hours of viral videos, internet memes, 4chan gross-out clips, liveleak clips, documentary footage, TikTok videos, and news stories to make this film. I recognize many of the clips, stories, and “cultural curiosities” having seen them make the rounds on Twitter and 4Chan to memery and disgust.
…
Thames has just assembled it all into a feature film length package so violently racist it is doubtful the likes of Goebels, Bull Connor, or the racist terrorist factions of Revisionist Ultra-Zionism such as Rabbi Yitzhak Shapira or Moche Orbach, have ever produced its approximation. The humor and conceit of the BBC nature documentary format, as well as his technical and literary mastery of the 2000s-2010s environmentalist polemic, merely serve as the artistic structure for perhaps the most uninterruptedly hateful film ever produced.
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And this is why I think the film is artistically significant.
Setting aside Thames’ Attenboroughian auditory appeal to abhorrence and animosity, as a connoisseur of horror films and shock productions I can't really think of anything so unbroken in its aesthetic hatefulness, its visual vitriol and verisimilitude of valueless violence.
The pestilence of it! I’ve never seen such gross gangrenous gutter gore portrayed so unflinchingly and unbrokenly.
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However aside from the depressing damage to the environment, epidemiology, world cuisine, animal welfare, and the gag reflexes of the poor viewer… the most disturbing part of the documentary is the Sexual violence: against woman, child, man, and beast.
I have never seen a documentary with so much real footage of real rape and sexual assault. I’ve seen footage of sexual assaults, one cannot peruse Twitter or 4Chan without the seeing the newest outrages, likewise the presentation of real criminal sexual assaults in documentaries is not unheard of, but on top of everything else you see in the documentary, if the cruel and unhygienic horrors imposed on animals and wallowed in by men did not tempt you to shut off the film, the sexual horrors certainly might.
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Why make this the first film reviewed on Anarchonomicon if we don’t count Macbeth 2015 and Blackberry (neither of which anyone read).
Am I just scoring points in my unending quest to become the great curator of Forbidden Knowledge, to gain clout amongst extremiscists and connoisseur of the callous?
Maybe… but I think there’s something more here.
The Shocking is necessarily the surprising, and the disturbing is necessarily the confusing.
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Meanwhile surgeons and anatomists do not find gore disgusting, they might find violence or jump scares difficult… but they’re used to bodies coming apart. Seeing it happen vividly on film doesn’t violate their intuitive subconscious expectations and models of the world the way it does for most people. Likewise veterans of major wars (notably several of Napoleon’s Marshals) have been noted to seemingly ignore gunshots or grievous wounds even to themselves the second they find they’re non-fatal. They’ve seen it countless times before and it’s merely a nuisance for it to have afflicted them as opposed to others. Likewise farmers, butchers, paramedics, and horror fans are often shockingly calm in comparable medical emergencies even when it’s themselves.
So if even gunshot wounds and maimed limbs can be ignorable discomforts to those already familiar with their like, in the immediate second and even first person… How is it so much visceral shock, horror, and lasting disturbance can be attained through a screen… depicting archival and documentary footage!
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This isn’t some great violation of all expectations and norms.
When Samara crawls out of the TV Screen at the end of The Ring after an hour and half of built up tension and filmic and narrative tricks to get your mind feeling threatened and expecting a violation of all laws of physics, whilst employing every editing and pacing technique to subtly trick your mind into fleetingly thinking that she’s crawled out of your TV and she’s coming for you! That provokes a lesser reaction in most people.
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Whereas India: TWCoE has people shutting off the video before the Title and opening song at minute 3. For archival and cellphone footage! Nothing fictional, no jump scares, no ghosts coming out of the TV itself, no tricks or spooky artificial atmosphere. The only filmic conceit: an AI voice changer meant to make the subject matter funnier, more tolerable, more intellectually distant.
“It’s disgusting”
Do you react to footage of farm animals in manure covered barns this way? What about photos of roadkill or decaying animals carcasses? I see both all the time on long bicycles rides through the country.
I showed this to a family member who immediately wanted to turn it off… she regularly watches horror movies of the most disgusting violence, the film Ready or Not which she considered a fun horror/comedy, had a scene in which a woman shot in the hand falls into a “gore pit” of animal carcasses, and must crawl over the decaying flesh using her mangled bleeding hand to escape (it is a genuinely fun/funny movie). Yet she could endure that laughing and wincing, but not this.
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This has been the state of a country of 1.4 billion, comprising 1 in 6 human beings on earth, for the entirety of your life. Why is this shocking? Why is this surprising?
What overwhelmingly massive truth has been purposefully concealed from you, such that this experience is maybe amongst the most violently unpleasant and soulshaking experiences a western can endure without leaving their living room?
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But whereas most countries and societies are improving… India is one of the few countries in which such metrics are getting worse. Indian height and penis sizes are shrinking, both proxies for nutrition as well as exposure to pollution and parasites. Indian civilization is quite literally “degenerate”, they are physically deteriorating before our very eyes.
And while I cannot bring myself to describe the hygenic horrors, one need not watch much of the documentary to more than sufficiently understand why.
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Egalitarian minded Westerners, even after accepting that IQ stats measure meaningful differences within national and ethnic groups, or who accept many of the tests and proxies for intelligence, protest that if the average IQ was so low as the international scores suggest, then low IQ societies would not be able to function at all, that they’d go about in a violent, horrifying, screaming, shit-covered madness…
Such Egalitarian minded westerners react less than happily when you point out that they in fact do so go about.
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The dark truth is that morality, cleanliness, and almost all ordinary exercises of will and judgement necessary for any human functionality, are all IQ tests. Very simple and easy IQ tests… but ones which billions of people are incapable of. Indeed according to many classical western definitions of “person” the bottom 1-2 billion are not “people”. If you define “man” as the moral or rational animal then these are not men.
Many dissident linguists have noted many sub-Saharan languages do not have any functional way to express abstractions and indeed the concept of promises or other moral commitments are alien to the tribes who speak them, or only are expressed through elaborate metaphors taught to them by white missionaries.
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But Whilst Africa has countless slums equally as horrifying, as of yet the population density is such that the Africans are not universally forced into the urban and sprawling horrors we see in india. Whilst they pollute at comparable rates, one may still see large areas that are tribal, post-tribal, and suitably primitive such that the median African settlement is not sickly and decaying as what is witnessed in India, primevally wild Africans still go in states of relatively noble health, analogous to the beautiful wildlife of Africa, they are not yet past the population density event horizon of becoming the sort of decaying hive societies beset by cults of Nurgle, which we witness in India. Median Height, intelligence and Penis size is not yet shrinking.
Indeed the much maligned African Warlord, acting as apex predator, serves to keep various regions and populations thinned to a less than truly horrifying state of health.
In India, and as Egyptian and other commentators have noted, in an expanding suite of countries, we see the true nightmare scenario of the modern state just barely existing in an anarcho-tyrannical form able to sustain and regulate the human organism well past the point of degeneration, and able to prevent the wars and violence so desperately needed to restore the slow march of IQ and other markers of genetic and physical fitness.
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The violent discomfort and horror felt by the Western egalitarian at India: The Worst Country on Earth which is not felt upon viewing Pigs wallowing in manure or seeing roadkill or animals dead in equally bizarre, miserable or stupid manners, The reason we recoil at the sexual horrors of India but feel relatively little for the incest sexual assault and worse that occurs in the animal kingdom… is because the Western Egalitarian is trained to identify with the brown foreigner, in many instances even beyond their identification with their own ethnicity or race.
In their religious and now post-religious ecstasies, purity spirals, and consciousness raising, in their more than decade of moral instruction under the priesthood of the public school teachers, and the legacy priesthood of the lamb of God; in their daily prayers and religious contemplations of diverse television, film, and media, the modern westerners are taught the belief in the universal moral merit, intelligence, worthiness, and nobility of man irrespective of race, religion, sexuality, and creed… it is not simply A moral good, but THE moral good. The Axiom upon which all civilization, moral worthiness, and hope of salvation rests. At the moment of death their passing or failing the final judgement of God or “History” depends on how sincerely they earnestly believed, in spite of the constant knawing of evidence, in this universal equality and brotherhood.
India: The Worst Country on Earth inflicts violence of a spiritual and metaphysical variety upon the westerner. If only Samara was crawling out of their TV to kill their physical body, they might die cursing a white girl and their salvation would be assured. Instead India: TWCoE attacks their very soul.
The Westerner MUST identity with the foreigner. MUST empathize. MUST psychically place themselves in the Indian’s shoes. MUST Imagine themselves one and the same.
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They MUST empathize, and their gag reflexes must activate and they must feel their skin crawl as if beset by parasites and sexual diseases welcomed in through a million disgusting wallowing practices.
They cannot do what Hundreds of millions of high caste indians and upper class third worlders do every day: Stop Empathizing.
Stop looking on them as your fellow man, and instead look upon them as revolting stupid bottom feeding animals, akin to diseased racoons or possums…or various mamilians who wallow in their own filth, or seek their missing nutrition in the droppings of more noble creatures such as the bovine.
For to stop empathizing, so the western thinks, to stop believing “there is only one race the human race” or “that all men are created equal” would be to abandon all that is good and true and transcendent in this world.
Except for the what is obvious to plainly see: it is neither good, nor true, nor transcendent.
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Of course if one disagrees, and still believes in the universal egalitarian brotherhood… they can just Watch the Movie.
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In the end I can guarantee you the most offended by this film or this review will be a white westerner. Intelligent and upper-class people from the third world are very aware of the decayed state of their lower-classes and keenly aware of the Caste, ethnic, class, and genealogical differences that separate them from those horrific masses.
Amongst the intelligent aristocratic upper-classes of more decayed countries they develop very specific exclusionist identities to describe their separateness from the masses about them (mostly accurately, some are delusional… but none who read this blog). Ironically the people who suffer the most racial panic upon accepting HBD ideas are intelligent mixed race westerners who, in the egalitarian doublespeak of the west, never have anyone to tell them that they actually are exceptional or actually can achieve great things, or actually should feel empowered and confident… as opposed to all the fake empowerment, fake expectations, and fake encouragement we pour upon the 75 IQ illiterate urban criminal classes.
One need only speak to people in commonwealth countries to see many of the most opposed to mass immigration are earlier waves of Immigrants who had to pass a higher standard and were of that aristocratic upper class, and now don’t want the people they’ve escaped following them to the west.
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But the most significant impact of the film, which is already showing a surprisingly viral interest, is going to be on Western political discussions around diversity and Immigration.
“This is what we’re importing” as the warning goes.
But beyond that the wider politics of disgust, and its relation to conservative, fascist, ethno-exclusionist and other right wing politics is a long established phenomenon. A film this vomitously moving, cannot but become a modern staple of the online right. Like K-On it too immediately sums up the worldview of far-right politics to be ignored
I may have been the first to write a review of this film, and I am almost certainly the best. But I will not be the last.
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FOUNDATIONS: Halaqa #1 Notes
Halaqa Details
Step 1, Reading: 1
Schedule
short introduction from the facilitator (u/travelingprincess)
Reading: Publisher's Note
Reading: Foreword
Reading: Chapter 1 (The Categories of Tawheed)
questions & answers
discussion
Notes
Publisher's Note
The author, Dr. Abu Ameenah Bilal Philips, is a graduate of Madinah University
Foreword
Tawheed and its importance is often misunderstood or dismissed, even (and maybe especially) among Muslims
By the Islamic definition, Islam is the ONLY monotheistic religion
Christianity is polytheism
Judaism is a subtle form of idolatry
All the deviations and misguidances in the religion stem from a corruption of the concept of Tawheed
The importance of understanding Tawheed (and indeed, the whole of the religion) as it was understood by the Companions of the Prophet (ﷺ)
Chapter 1: The Categories of Thawheed
Tawheed ar-Rububiyyah (singling out Allah in His Lordship)
affirming that Allah is one, without partners in his sovereignty
nothing happens except by the will and permission of Allah
what man considers fortune or misfortune, fate, etc. is just part of the qadr of Allah (predestiny)
"Man proposes and God disposes"
The Sahaba considered those who denied the qadr of Allah to be kuffar
Tawheed al-Asma was-Sifat (the uniqueness of Allah's Names and Attributes)
affirming that they (His perfect Names and Attributes) are incomparable and unique
5 Main Aspects
Allah must be referred to according to how He and His Prophet (ﷺ) have described Him, with their apparent meanings
God's attributes are free from imperfection, and unlike any of His Creation
example: humans and animals see, but we don't see the way Allah sees; we know things, but we do not have perfect, all-encompassing knowledge as Allah does
example: we cannot say that "Allah's anger" doesn't mean His anger, but rather, his punishment
We do not give Allah any new names or attributes that He has not given Himself
the Creation is in no position to describe the Creator
this is important in order to prevent the false description of God
We do not give Allah the attributes of His Creation
We do not give Allah, Who is Perfect and Self-Sufficient, the attributes of His creation, who are deficient and needy. (EDIT: added on 7/4)
in Christianity and Judaism, it is written that God created the world in 6 days, then rested on the 7th (aouthubillah); resting is a human attribute. It is the finite creation which requires rest to recuperate from work. Allah is free from such needs.
Man cannot be given the attributes of Allah
In the New Testament, both Melchizedek and Jesus are described as having no beginning or end (aouthubillah). In reality, it is only Allah who is infinite.
Shi'as believe their imams to be infallible, able to control the universe and have knowledge of the unseen (astaghfirullah). In reality, it is only Allah that controls the Universe (see: Tawheed ar-Rububiyyah) and has knowledge of the Unseen.
It is not permissible to give Allah's names in their definite forms to humans without adding "'Abd" (male) or "Amatu" (female) before them, which means "slave / servant" of
Permissible Name: 'Abdur-Rahim = slave of The Most Merciful
Impermissible Name: Ar-Rahim = The Most Merciful (this is only for Allah)
Tawheed al-Uluhiyyah / al-Ibadah (singling out Allah for Worship)
affirming that Allah is alone in His right to be worshipped
can be considered the most important category of Tawheed
the kuffar of Makkah during the time of the Prophet already affirmed the first 2 categories of Tawheed, yet Allah calls them pagans and idolaters in the Qur'an and speaks harshly about their condition in the Hereafter
Du'a is worship, and must be for Allah alone1
it is haram (SHIRK!) to make du'a to other than Allah; you cannot use anyone (peers, saints, holy men, the Prophet (ﷺ), angels, jinns, etc.) as intermediaries to Allah. Your relationship with Allah is direct.2
Allah is the ultimate lawgiver: His is the Creation and His is the Command
at the very least, the Muslim should not be pleased with systems of law and governance other than Allah's (including democracy, communism, etc.)
The systematic categorization and science of Tawheed was not done nor needed during the time of the Prophet, as everyone's understanding of the concept was complete. After the death of RasoolAllah (ﷺ) however, when deviations started creeping in from the expanding Islamic empire, the scholars began to put this together in order to teach the people the correct understanding.
Questions & Answers
I had a family member suggest that other people's dislike of something for you can cause bad things to happen to you. Could that be considered believing in omens?
Yes and no. It’s not other people’s dislike but their jealousy that leads to evil eye which may cause someone to be harmed. It is not the same as believing in omens (EDIT added on 7/4). Evil eye ('ayn) is a real phenomenon, and it may cause a person to encounter problems in their life or in the thing which was envied / made to amaze others, etc.3 So in that sense, that is from Islam and not an innovation. But to believe in amulets, taweez, good luck charms or horoscopes, that is haram.
The solution from the Shari'a to remove evil eye is that the one who gave it must give his wudu water to the afflicted, to be poured over them.4,5,6
How do we reconcile free will with fate?
We all have free will, Allah simply knows the condition of our hearts and the choices we'll make. For example: each of us chose to attend today's lecture, while we could have been doing any number of other things. We were not forced.
Is calling yourself servant of the Prophet considered forbidden? There's a sheikh that calls himself that.
Yes, it is not permissible to add the "'Abd" prefix to anyone other than Allah. This violates the 5th aspect of Tawheed Al-Asma was-Sifat.
And what does it mean that Allah SWT blew his spirits into us
In the Qur'an, Allah explains how the angel whose job it is to place the soul in the fetus does his work, so this may be the "blowing of the soul" that is referred. Elsewhere in the Qur'an, Jibril (alayhisalaam) is referred to as Ruh-Allah, it is a title, similar to the title of Ibrahim (alayhisalaam) of KhalilAllah.
I have a family member who would make dua by asking Allah for something through the barakah of someone else or by virtue that Allah gave that person barakah. Does that relate to what Mujahid said towards the end of his commentary on page 33?
It is from the perfection of one's tawakkul in Allah, that he only asks Allah for his needs, not the people, including asking others to make du'a. It is not haram, though, but a level of perfection to aspire to, inshallah. In the lecture section of this course, we will see also that it is permissible to ask Allah to grant you good or accept your du'a on the back of the good deeds you've done.
[EDIT additional information on this question added 7/4): As for making du'a for the sake of so and so or through so and so, this is a bid’a and minor shirk, which should be avoided completely. You can ask Allah through
His Names and Attributes
Righteous deeds you’ve done for the sake of Allah
Ask someone you know, who is alive and present, to make dua for you.
Anything outside of these 3 is not allowed.
Is it safe for us to say that rather the Prophet Muhammad Sallalhu Alayhi wa Salaam has a rank above all creation and of course not above Allah?
The Prophet (ﷺ) does have a rank above the rest of Creation, as he is from the Prophets, who all have a special rank. From the Prophets, He is the best of them, and the Leader of them.
There are images in sheikhs in my house (cant do anything about it cause they get put up again) I have a family member that says when he looks at the picture of the sheikh that he reminds him of Allah. Does this relate to ayah 38:3 on page 38?
Subhanallah, this is exactly how shirk and idol worship was first introduced to humanity by Shaiytaan during the time of Nuh (alayhisalaam). A generation of pious worshippers passed away, and Shaiytaan whispered to the people that they should make status and pictures of these men, then erect them in the town squares and in their homes. That way, when the people passed by them, they would remember Allah and would increase in worship. So the people did that. When those people passed away, Shaiytaan whispered to the next generation that their parents used to worship these statues and pictures, so they should, too. And they did that. Thus in 3 generations' time, idol worship became manifest among mankind.7,8
Should we avoid scholars or people of knowledege who even though they were on the right track for the most part, saying ambiguous or potentially problematic things?
Yes; the religion, your imaan, your tawheed is the most important thing you have. Once people excuse a speaker for small transgressions, the larger heresies are easier to forgive and thus deviation and misguidance set in. Avoid.
Discussion & Benefits
Social media is a fast-track to gaining 'ayn; avoid it.
We learn from the story of Yusuf (alayhisalaam) that even your own family can have ill wishes for you
not everyone needs to know your business; if you fear someone doesn't have the cleanest heart with regards to you, keep it brief even if they're family. You don't need to share all the details of your blessings with others.
You can give evil eye even to yourself!
There is a difference of opinion among students of knowledge. I've heard some say you should say "mashallah" I've heard others say you should say "mashallah" when you're enjoying a blessing of your own, and say "Allahumma barik / Allahumma barik lahu" when you see something you like of others' blessings. Allahu 'alim, either should be fine, inshallah.
Citations
1: Sunan Abu Dawud 1479
2: Qur'an (al-Baqarah) 2:186
3: Sahih Muslim 2188
4: Muwatta of Imam Malik 50/1
5: The Evil Eye - Causes & Cures
6: How to get rid of Evil Eye if you know who gave it to you?
7: Stories of the Prophets by ibn Kathir
8: Sahih al-Bukhari 3322
#0025#qur'an#Qur'an: Al-Baqarah (2)#hadith#Sahih Al-Bukhari#Abu Dawud#Muwatta Malik#FOUNDATIONS#ruqyah#discord#notes
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Here you go, @pikapeppa. 💕
Qunari Street Food is the working title of a oneshot to be included in Til It Squeaks. Set a couple years after TSM ends, it's about Carly and Iron Bull realizing that Earth food and Qunari food aren't so different. It's only half written at this point, one of those 'I'll get back to it sooner or later' kind of things.
(Name and gender of the Dread Pup are redacted for spoiler reasons, since that hasn't been posted yet.)
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She flexed her ceramic hand and marveled once again at the magic possible in Skyhold now. The leather covering was utterly seamless, molded over the prosthetic hand as closely as skin, and just as flexible. It even nearly matched her real skin tone, but then again, what did she expect? Little halla, indeed, she snorted to herself as she measured out some of the yeast into the bowl. She added water and a healthy handful of sugar and stirred it around with her favorite wooden spoon.
And how strange was that? She had a favorite wooden spoon. Misyl would be beaming when she found out.
She was grabbing the large crock where the flour was kept when the kitchen door slammed open and two bodies came through it. One was large and horned, and the other was...giggling.
“Gentlemen,” Carly said loudly, breaking the pair apart with something very nearly like guilt on their faces. “My kitchen is not the appropriate place for your antics,” she added with mock severity. “You should know better, Iron Bull.”
She expected a teasing glint in his eye or something equally as naughty. She was unprepared for the way he suddenly stood very straight, hands behind his back. He looked for all the world like a child that had just been caught stealing sweets. She raised her eyebrows at him.
“Yes, ma'am.”
If anything her eyebrows shot higher on her face. And then Dorian began to laugh. He laughed so hard he doubled over, holding himself balanced with a grip on Bull's belt. He was wheezing when he stood up again, wiping his eyes and fixing his hair. “Oh, amatus, you should see your face.”
Bull seemed to remember himself and finally cracked a grin. “Motherhood...uh...suits you, Boss.”
“Is that what that was?” She shrugged and tossed him a grin of her own. “Good to know I've apparently mastered the Mother Voice. I would never have guessed considering how [redacted] ignores it.”
“Where is my darling [redacted], anyway?” Dorian asked.
“With Solas for a couple hours. I fully expect they're napping somewhere cozy, surrounded by spirits.”
Bull made a face, but didn't say anything. It was remarkable how much he'd changed in just a few years in that regard. Or maybe he just felt it was rude to comment on the number of free spirits roaming the keep now that the Veil no longer existed here and he was more of a guest than an inhabitant. Then he noticed the bowl in front of her as she measured flour into it.
“What are you making, Boss?”
“Pizza.”
“What, pray tell, is pizza? More insane inter-dimensional food?” Dorian asked sardonically.
“You have never complained before.”
“All right, that's...fair.”
“And since you're both here, you've just been conscripted. Bull, I need the heavy baking sheets and Dorian I need the dark oil in the stoneware jar.”
She laughed lightly to herself as the pair rushed to do her bidding. Apparently some things didn't change even though she hadn't been their leader in years. She poured the oil Dorian brought her with a free hand, measuring more by sight than anything remotely like actual calculation and set the jug down on the counter while she stirred her sticky mess into a smooth batter. A pinch of salt, more flour and the mass turned shaggy and ready for her hands in it. Bull put the heavy sheets down where she could reach them and began to stoke the fire in the oven.
“How hot?” he asked.
“Hot. 450 degrees.”
“As if he knows what that means,” Dorian muttered, but Bull just nodded and added more wood while he opened the vents a little wider.
“Good temperature for baking flat bread.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Dorian sputtered.
“Ben-Hassrath.” Bull grinned broadly and took up a position behind Dorian to watch Carly knead the dough lightly. She covered the bowl with a damp towel to rise and faced the pair. Bull tilted his head. “Reminds me a bit of the stuff we used to get in the Seheron markets. I wonder if I still remember how to make it...”
“Go for it, Bull, we've got plenty of supplies.”
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Blade; chapter 2
summary: Parker "Blade" Wiles, a high ranking SHIELD agent with an aptitude for sharp objects, goes missing. When Blade is found again with a darker and colder demeanor, SHIELD, with the help of The Avengers, are tasked with finding out what happened to their colleague and friend.
OC is ace and uses they/them pronouns
pairing: Natasha Romanoff x OC! reader (Blade)
warnings: knives, dead mom?? if anything else, let me know
RECAP:
“You are not gonna make it out alive” a voice came from the right of you. You pull out your swords and turn to the right. You gasp. “You’re a woman!” “Indeed I am. But, like I said earlier, you’re not making it out of this one, sweetheart” “Oh honey, they call me Blade for a reason, so you might not make it out alive.” “I highly doubt that” she said as she hit you upside the head, knocking you out.
*At the HYDRA base
“Blade!” Natasha called out. “Blade! I heard a loud thump and I don't know if you just fell or if you’re dead!” She gets no response. By this time, everyone's comms have gone out. Great. You’ve been knocked out and no one knows. Even better.
“Blade! Come on, this isn’t funny!” It’s not. Natasha starts searching every room on the way out of the base in search of you. She makes her way back into the room that she left you in. She's worked with you in the past, she knew you could handle yourself, so something bad has had to happen for you not to respond.
“Blade!” She was frantic, something happened to you and no one knows what. She starts to make her way back to the Quinjet, looking for you everywhere she can.
“Where's Blade?”
“Does it look like I fucking know Sam??” Natasha yells back. “I don't know! We split up! Okay, we split up, they were in one room, I was in the other! And then comms went out. And then they were gone. I don't know.” She says in one breath. “I don’t know.” She whispers.
“Okay, let's head home and figure out what happened and go from there.”
“What?! No! We can’t leave! What if they're still in there? Tony, if we leave and they’re still there, they could die.”
“Nat, if they aren’t in there, which they aren’t, they could already be dead”
“Don’t say that Tony! Don't say that.” She exclaims. They enter the jet, heading home, while Natasha plops down in the seat you sat in on your way there.
*Meanwhile at an abandoned HYDRA base
“Ya know, for someone as intimidating as you, I thought it would be harder to get you here.” fucking bitch.
“Ya know, for a bitch of your caliber, I thought it would be easier to take you out. I was wrong apparently.'' You sassed back. Of course you were wrong! You’re fucking tied to a chair, you dumb shit.
“Here's what's going to happen-”
“Nah nah nah sister, I am not going to do anything you tell me to do, that is simply, how I roll” you interrupt her. Nice way to set boundaries.
“I am not telling you to do anything” She replies “I am going to turn you into my personal-” “assistant?” “No! Let me finish!” She sighs, grabs a chair and sits down right in front of you.
“I am going to turn you into my very own winter soldier.” You scoff.
“That's dumb. It obviously didn’t end very well in the past.” She stares at you. “I mean, with the words and stuff too?” You ask. “Well, yeah” amatuer. “Dude, Bucky escaped and found his long lost lover and now they live together in happy gay paradise, fighting the people who wronged either of them in the name of justice.” #stucky forever.
“You are so stupid.” She sighs. “I am right though, you could give me that.” My goal is to be the most annoying person she has ever met, in hopes of returning me. I think it’s working.
“Fine, I won’t use words. I wasn’t going to anyways” Catfishing bitch!
She gets up and starts to untie you from the chair. Before you could make a run for it, she cuffs your feet. HAH HAH she forgot my hands! She then cuffs your hands, while you are distracted. FUCK!
“Where are we going? Because I'm not too sure we’re on the same page here.” You ask. “The lab.” The lab? Of course the lab! Why wouldn’t we be going to the lab?!
“Huh, the lab. Got it.” She’s basically dragging you down the hallway to the lab. You look like a mom and a toddler who doesn’t want to go somewhere, so they end up getting dragged. I feel so stupid. Maybe Nat was right. I do do stupid things.
“So, what's your name?” You ask the woman.
“You don’t need to know my name.”
“Pssh, why not? Is it bad?”
“It’s not bad.” She says.
“Is it like Bertha or something?”
“It's not fucking Bertha. If you really feel the need to call me something, then call me Madam” She finally replies.
“Kinky” You say with a smirk. EWWW NO. WHY DID YOU SAY THAT???
“Ugh, why did I pick this one?” Madam mutters to herself.
You get to the lab and immediately get strapped down to a table. This is a terrible way to die. I wish I could’ve gone out a cooler way, like, I don’t know, an avalanche could’ve taken me out or something. If you would’ve known this is how this mission ended for you, you would have faked a stomach ache like ferris bueller or some shit. As you lay there, spiralling into what you could’ve done to change this situation Natasha’s face pops up. If it wasn’t you who got kidnapped, it would've been her. That didn’t sit right with you. So, if you ended up dead in a place called “the lab” instead of Nat, then it was for the better.
“Why do you have this pout on your face? You seem upset” Madam asks.
“Now why would I be upset?” You retort. “I'm tied to a goddamn table, probably gonna die at the hands of HYDRA!”
“A new and improved HYDRA” She pressed. “The old HYDRA was a waste. Only using men. They saw what the Red Room did and were afraid of what a powerful woman could do. So they made it impossible for change, unless they were destroyed. And they were, which gave us room to grow. We aren’t HYDRA, we are MYST.” And with that, she left the room.
She wasn’t wrong about a powerful woman, FUCK. As she walks away another woman comes up to you.
“Hey, hey! What the hell are you doing?!”
“my job” She says as she pokes you with something.
“Ouch” you say drowsily “What was that?”
“Something to make you sleep.” She says and walks away.
Soon after you pass out and the team of scientists begin experimenting. They work for what seems like days, but in actuality, was only a couple hours. You wake up, in a cell, strapped to what seems like a hospital bed. A nurse, or what you think is a nurse is next to you and pushes a blue button. Seconds later, Madam buzzes into the cell.
“Awww, they’re up. How was your nap sweetheart? Get some beauty sleep?” She coos.
“Oh yeah, dreamed about fairies and unicorns.” You sass “what's your play Madam? I’m an Avenger-” She cuts you off
“That no one knows about.” You stare at her. “I chose you, not entirely because of your skills, but because no one knows who you are. You have been shielded from the spotlight your entire life, and with both parents dead, you were an easy grab. Sorry about your mother, by the way. It was a price I was willing to pay.”
“What?” You say breathlessly.
“Oh, you don’t know?”
“Excuse me? What don’t I know?”
''That accident wasn't an accident. We contacted her, Florence, about rebuilding HYDRA, with you as the fist, but she declined. She would’ve made some incredible improvements to our experiment, but she decided to keep you safe” She says in a demeaning tone.
“Keep my mothers name out of your mouth.”
“Oh don't act upset! You barely talked to the woman after you joined the god forsaken Avengers!” You stayed silent.
It was true. You didn’t talk to her that often after joining the avengers. You only really sent her christmas and birthday cards when the time came. But then she showed up. Saying bad people were after her. You got her a new home, armed with Stark Industries best home alarm system possible and got in the car. You were almost there too. You were 10 miles away from the home when a heavily armoured truck rear ended you so hard the car almost flipped. Then another truck showed up, only in front of you this time. You walked away from the accident. She didn’t. Told you run. To go back to your new, and loving family. And you did. And look where you ended up anyways. Tied to a table with a crazy woman who only wanted to be called Madam.
“Just because I left does not mean that she should be put in danger,” You said slowly, “She did nothing wrong.”
“That's where you’re wrong sweetheart. You see, your mother was a leading scientist in the Red Room before she escaped and wanted to start a family.” Madam starts,
“She wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”
“Ding ding ding! Ten points for Blade! You are right! She wouldn’t do anything to hurt you! That's the problem! She kept you hidden for so long and so well that when you moved to New York to join the righteous group of heroes, she couldn’t protect you anymore! That's where I come into the picture. I'm doing the thing Florence Wiles could never do.” The room went silent. All the lab assistants stopped working. Everyone just stared at the two of you.
“Knock her out and put em’ under, I don't have time for this.” Madam barks and for the second time that day, everything went black.
#natasha romanoff x reader#Natasha Romanoff x ace!raeder#natasha x reader#natasha romanoff fanfic#natasha romanoff fluff#natasha romanoff#black widow#black widow x reader#black widow fluff#black widow x ace!reader#black widow imagine#marvel x reader#marvel x ace!reader
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Designing Men
An ikevamp Leonardo story, approx. 1500 words of pure fluffy goodness.
First: That First Night
Previous: Three Words
Leonardo was up early. He hadn’t been able to sleep well after his ‘nap’ in the library. All he could think of was the touch of cara’s lips on his own and the sound of her muffled sobs as she cried herself to sleep. Leo wanted to make it up to her - it being the distance he put between them. He needed to make her happy, even if that joy was only fleeting.
The kitchen was empty when he got there. He set about making a pot of coffee. He sat down on a stool beside the counter and stared at the kettle, waiting for it to boil.
“A watched pot never boils, old friend.” Comte spoke from the doorway, one hand on the frame.
“That so? I’m pretty sure it heats at the same rate.” Leo grinned. “Anyway, what are you doing up at this hour?”
Le Comte shrugged. “I have business to attend to in town. The appointment is quite early.”
Leonardo’s eyebrows rose.
“Nothing you’d be interested in. Just visiting some clothiers.”
“Because you need another closet full of clothes?” Leo chuckled. The kettle began to hiss, and he took a moment to pull it off the heat and pour it over the coffee grounds. The rich scent filled the room, a heady good morning for a man that loved to sleep.
Comte waited for him to pour the coffee before answering. “It isn’t for me. But if you’ll remember, there’s a lovely young lady under our roof with a fancy party to attend. I plan to get her the most expensive gown in Paris, with jewelry to match. A little token of my affection.”
Leonardo took a moment to process this. “My cara mia? You’re buying her dress?” He blinked. “But I’m her date.”
“Yes, and it was very kind of you to agree to escort her. I’m sure seeing the two of you out together will quiet your -”
“Comte. I should be buying her dress.” Leonardo’s golden eyes met his old friend’s amber ones. The silence between them was thick.
Le Comte was the first to turn away, looking to the side as he took a cautious sip of coffee. “Normally, yes, of course. But you’ve no interest in this beyond the practical benefit - right? It’s not as if you care what the girl wears.”
Which was generally true. Leonardo cared little about fashion or high society. But for his cara . . . that was different. He wanted her to have a gown that was as special as she was. “I care if I’m the escort.” He gave his old friend a half-smile. “But I think you knew that. More of your meddling?”
“If you want to call it that.” Comte set his coffee down. “I leave in fifteen minutes. Should I assume you’ll be accompanying me?”
“Make it ten.” Leonardo rushed upstairs to change his shirt and find his good shoes. There was one thing he knew about shopping with le Comte. It would be an all day affair.
The two men arrived in town. The coach let them off near the Champs Elysees, where all the modern, fashionable shops did business. Most were still closed at this hour, but one had their light on. The sign read House of Worth in bold, gold letters. An old man stood by the door, waiting. When he spotted them, he waved.
“Monsieur le Comte, welcome. Welcome. And I see you’ve brought an assistant?” The man had a distinct British accent and something about him looked familiar to Leonardo, though he couldn’t place it.
“Yes, thank you Charles. This is my dear friend, Leonard. Leo, this is our clothier - Monsieur Charles Worth.” Comte introduced them as they were led inside.
The dressmaker shook Leo’s hand. “Please, call me Charles. Any friend of le Comte is a friend of mine.” He was practically wagging his tail with excitement.
Leonardo had the distinct feeling Comte must have made many purchases from this shop to be on such terms with the man. He couldn’t help but wonder how many times his old friend needed to buy a lady a fancy dress. Probably best not to ask.
Charles led them to a comfortably appointed back room. He’d already hung several racks with swaths of fabric. There was a deep blue dangerously close to blue de France, a pale golden yellow, wavering dip-dyed red, and a green that was the same shade as a flower bud in spring.
“You know, normally the lady in question is present to match the tone of the dye to her skin, hair, and eyes. Is it possible to -”
Comte shook his head, interrupting. “No, Charles. This is meant to be a surprise. I’m afraid you’ll have to trust us on the color.”
“Yes, of course, but I don’t see how I’m to determine the cut and measurements and -”
This time it was Leonardo that spoke over the clothier. “I’m an artist and a designer myself. And I know all her measurements. Let’s get on with it.”
“Oh? Indeed, sirs.” Charles’ eyebrows went up as he said it but his tone was still obsequious. Had it not been for his vampiric hearing, Leo would have missed the muttered “Know-it-all-amatuer artists” the clothier added under his breath.
Predictably, Comte went for the red material first. He was always drawn to scarlet and ruby tones. Leonardo ignored his friend’s chatter with the dressmaker, focusing instead on how the colors would look against his cara’s skin. Warm tones would look better, he decided. Something less the color of gore and more the color of caramel or chocolate. Sweet as she was.
“‘Scuse,” he interrupted. “The lady would look better in -” He let his eyes travel around the room, settling on a deep cocoa colored silk. “That.”
“Monsieur, with all due respect, that color is an accent at best. This year’s fashion tends toward light and bright and -” Charles’ hands danced through the air, outlining the dress silhouettes he was imagining.
Leo grinned. “Sure. But this lady needs that fabric.”
Charles looked to le Comte.
“I am afraid I must yield to my friend. Leonard will be her escort and knows her tastes better than I.”
Leonardo and Charles went through an entire shipment of various chocolate and cinnamon tones, each just slightly different than the one before. With dye chosen, there was fabric finish and weight, weave and thread count. Comte sat himself down with a small, satisfied smile.
Two hours later, the three men were hunched over a desk, exchanging charcoal sketches on thin sheets of paper. Leonardo proffered three designs for his cara while Charles had one he had labored over for some time.
“I swear to you, monsieur, this one is in fashion this season. Your lady friend will be the toast of the event with this hemline and cold shoulder. Like a goddess.” Charles pushed the sketch to le Comte hopefully.
Leo snagged it, studying the lines of the gown. “It’s actually not bad,” he admitted. “But perhaps some adjustment - she’s delicate. This much fabric will drown her.”
The clothier sniffed. “I don’t know why you asked me to offer anything. I am the premier couturiere in Paris and you hate all my designs.”
“I don’t hate ‘em,” Leo awkwardly patted the offended man’s shoulder. “I just know her better than you.” This seemed to mollify Charles a bit and he bent forward to see what changes were being suggested.
“I rather like this one,” Comte pushed one of Leo’s designs in front of the two men. “You could adopt the cold shoulder Charles loves and the lower hem - yes? And the other gown - “ he pointed to the sketch Leo was re-working, “We could order that in a deep carmine. For some other occasion, of course.”
Charles was nodding at this. “Yes, I like that idea. Two dresses for the lucky lady. A girl can never have too much finery.”
Comte gave a wry laugh. “You are not wrong, friend.”
It took a bit longer to wrangle the embroidery and other finishings for both gowns. Leonardo’s selections were more subdued than le Comte, but then, they’d always had different tastes. Leo was still looking over the last bits when le Comte finished and stepped out for some air.
“You know, monsieur,” Charles said, his voice pitched for Leo’s ear only. “You have an eye for design. A bit rough and in need of my guidance but still. If you are ever looking for work, my team would be happy to bring you on.”
Leonardo couldn’t hold in a laugh, which earned him an offended look from the clothier. “Ah Charles, I don’t mean to make light of your offer. I’m just no clothing designer. This is my one time effort for a girl I - a girl that’s special to me.”
Charles nodded after a moment. “I see, monsieur. Nevertheless, you have an eye. My offer stands.”
“I appreciate the compliment.” Leonardo shook the clothier’s hand. “I’ll be back in a few days to check on progress.”
Comte met Leo out front. He wore the most insufferable smug smile. “So. That was fun. Want to come with me to pick out the jewelry?”
“I’d better or you’ll have her dressed in nothing but rubies and diamonds,” Leonardo replied.
“There are worse outcomes,” Comte said speculatively. “I for one, would not mind seeing her in nothing but jewelry . . .”
Leo shot him a hot glare.
Comte just laughed.
Next: Not Alone
**sidenote** Charles Frederick Worth was a real person, and considered the father of modern day haute couture. I just imagine Comte would be one of his special clients, entitled to a private session with the famous designer.**
#ikemen vampire#ikevamp#ikevamp leonardo#ikevamp leo#ikevamp comte#ikevamp le comte de saint germain#otome guys#otome#fanfiction#fanfic
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"I called you at 2am because I need you" for... is it too indulgent to ask for Dorian x Anders?
never too much! Decided on a straight sequel to the last one, so here’s modern au resident!Anders and politician!Dorian after a long shift.
--
He had three hours left in his shift when he got the text from Barb. He looked suspiciously down at his phone when it buzzed. Barb’s contact was in his phone with a little butterfly next to her name, to match the tattoo on her ankle and the bright and fluttery nature of her personality. He liked Barb, but she was almost definitely asking him to cover her shift, and he debated opening the message for several minutes before doing so with a reluctant sigh. Barb was going through some things; messy divorce, two little kids to look after all on her own, the pay they made here and the stress that came with it.
“Can’t find a sitter, can you take a shift?” read the first text, Anders was going to say yes anyway, but then two more came in, buzzing in quick succession. “unless you want to babysit? I’d give you my pay!” bright, chipper texting tone, accompanied by several hopeful looking emojis, “and brownies! 🍫” Barb did make really excellent brownies. He considered taking her up on the second offer, but he really wasn’t sure he had the energy for kids who weren’t bed-ridden or in need of medical care. He could turn on Fun Doctor Mode like a lightswitch for the kids down in pediatrics, but kids who wanted to refuse bedtime and stay up watching TV they weren’t mature enough to handle? He shook his head, half smiling over the offer of brownies, half frowning over the decision he’d made before he even opened the first message. Barb deserved to get the time with her kids, anyway.
“I’ve got you covered.” Kissy face cat emoji, knife and fork emoji.
“Lifesaver!!!!!” every single colour of heart.
He pencilled his name in on the clipboard for the next rotation, and began to regret the fact that he’d so quickly stuffed down the pastry Dorian had brought him earlier as he tried to remember if he had enough coins in the pockets of his coat for both a bag of pretzels from the vending machine and the bus home. He didn’t, but he’d have more luck charming the bus driver into a free ride than the vending machine into giving up its snacks, so he went to his locker and fished out the last of his bus money.
The rest of his shift went by in a blur of activity, up and down halls as his white-soled shoes squeaked and squawked along the linoleum floors, up and down stairs that were faster than waiting for elevators, thankless pages from doctors all across the sprawling hospital, avoiding his shift supervisor in case she asked about Barb. Then Barb’s shift was much the same, for the four and a half hours after that. It was nearing two am when he finally staggered out to the bus stop, and well past it by the time he arrived home — on foot, because the bus driver had not, in fact, let him ride for free. Just what he got for putting hope into the kindness of strangers. One kind act was, apparently, the extent of his daily karma allotment. Fair enough — he could still almost taste the honey of that pastry on his lips; either an uncommonly good morsel, or he was just drastically underfed. The latter, but the pastry-giver was certainly more than he deserved.
Shit. Dorian. He’d asked him to call. Anders looked blearily at the clock on his stove as he kicked off his shoes and plodded over to the cabinet to dish out some kibble for Ser Pounce. The cold tile floor was a welcome relief on his worn out feet, though the fact that he could feel it at all was a testament to the grave state of his socks. Ser Pounce pounced down from his perch above the cabinets to give some love and a swath of shedding cat hair to Anders’ legs, then nibbled at his food while Anders opened his fridge to try to figure something out for himself. He sniffed at the milk, decided it was probably still fine, and then poured it over a heaping bowl of sugary cereal. Yeah, he’d have made a pretty shit babysitter.
Anders took his bowl with him to his bed, flopping down on the lumpy mattress with a sigh that fully emptied his lungs, and pulled out his phone. He opened his message history and pulled up the conversation with Dorian. Not much there, but what there was made him smile. Mostly short, friendly messages. No emojis except for the one he’d stuck next to Dorian’s name in the contact page — a snake, not his first choice, but he’d embarassed himself by asking the man which one he’d like when he first scored his number, and snake was what he’d picked. Anders would have gone with the diamond, or the little tophat, or maybe the cat with hearts for eyes…
Anyway, then it had turned out that Dorian was a very formal texter. Proper punctuation and fully articulated words and all that. Anders had spent far too many minutes in their text-based conversations together fretting over how immature it would come off to use an abbreviation for laughter versus spelling out the words “haha”, or if even that was too juvenile. But he and Dorian were both all sarcastic humour and chastising bits of flirtation, and he also fretted about the tone of that without it.
“you up?” he wrote, then hovered his thumb over the send button for thirty or so seconds before deciding that it was worth the shot. Worse came to worst, Dorian would reply with a friendly apology and an offer to chat the next morning. He was dependable like that.
“Depends, is this a booty call?” came the almost instant reply. Alone in his room, Anders blushed.
Blushing emoji, monkey covering his eyes emoji, sweat-smile emoji… delete, delete, delete. “No, just miss you,” DELETE, definitely delete. He tried typing some other things. “Just got in, but thinking of you…” no. “You wish lol” haha? Neither. He erased the message and began again, but then the phone screen lit up with “Dorian🐍”, buzzing as it rang.
“The little dots were driving me mad. Did you just get in?” His voice was like honey, too.
“Yeah, covered for Barb.”
“Again?”
Anders leaned back against his pillow, closing his eyes as Dorian’s concern blanketed over him. “She couldn’t find a sitter.”
“You’re too nice for your own good.” Dorian scolded him gently through the phone, and it probably said something unhealthy about Anders that hearing Dorian admiringly call him nice made the whole last five hours of life-draining overtime and bitter walk home worth it.
“She offered me brownies,” he shrugged the compliment off, “what can I say? I’m a sucker for chocolate.”
“I’ll remember that.” Dorian purred, causing Anders to almost second guess his response to the idea of a booty call, exhausted or not. “So, not a booty call then?” Anders groaned inwardly, wishing it were, but no. Not unless Dorian wanted to talk to him on the phone the whole way over to keep him from falling asleep before he arrived, and even then.
“I just — uh…” he was going to say something about the book, but he hadn’t actually had time yet to look at it. His heart rate quickened with panic, he needed to find something to keep Dorian on the phone. “Thanks for the visit today.” Yes, because that warranted a phone call at three in the morning. “Sorry if I woke you…”
“Nonsense. I’m always awake at this hour. It’s a terrible habit of mine.” Dorian did indeed sound very wakeful. Probably also very disappointed in the grogginess of Anders’ own voice.
“Mm,” Anders muttered, his eyes closing under the warmth of Dorian’s voice through the phone again.
“But you sound awful.”
“Ran out of bus fare,” Anders explained, “had to walk… long day.” On a better night, Dorian might listen to his work gossip and share some rants of his own; they made quite a pair, both always seeming too short on time and too packed with stress to get out much, both always angry with their bosses — though Dorian was frustrated by beaurocracy constantly getting in the way of his efforts at world-saving, while Anders’ patients gave him fulfilment enough, it was just that his pockets were perpetually empty and all his managers were slave drivers.
“Why don’t you have a bus pass?” Dorian sighed at him. A bus pass was a hundred bucks up front at the beginning of the month, and with payday always landing two weeks after but every other bill needing to paid right then too… but he didn’t really want to explain that particular predicament to Dorian, who had a flashy suit for every day of the week and a car that cost about as much as Anders was worth in medical school debt. “Well, you can call me next time. I’d give you a ride.” he purred on that note too, having fun with his double entendres. Anders chuckled.
“I’ll keep you in mind,” he promised. Though the thought of begging his quasi-boyfriend for a ride at two am made him shudder. Still, not quite a lie; he always seemed to have Dorian on his mind at the end of a long shift.
“Since I have you, dinner?” The inflection of the question was a little high. Anders crunched on a mouthful of cereal with his eyes still closed and mumbled something unintelligable. “You’re off Friday, aren’t you? Do me a favour and don’t pick up any more shifts. I have a place in mind I think you’ll like.”
“Mm?” He thought about the kind of places Dorian would think were good spots for a dinner date, and was very glad that he couldn’t see the blue-tinted milk running down his chin.
“It’s a surprise.” Back to low purring, that nervousness or whatever it had been apparently gone again. Anders liked the warm flirtatious tone, but the little breaks into uncertainty were what kept him coming back for more. So much in common. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”
Anders “mm”’d through his mouthful of cereal in the affirmative.
“Amatus?” Even his pet names were classy. Anders would go with “love” if it weren’t so close to an unthinkable state of being, or “babe” if it weren’t for the fact that Dorian outshone that by a mile with amatus. His thoughts were all cat-with-heart-eyes emoji at the sound, and not much else.
Anders swallowed. “Yeah?”
“Get some sleep.”
“Mm.” Anders moved the bowl from his lap to the cluttered chair at his bedside, and leaned deeper into his pillow. “See you Friday, Dor” Dor, was that really the best he could do?
He heard Dorian hum contentedly on the other side of the line, “looking forward to it.” he said.
“Night, love.” Anders muttered, then very very quickly he hit end call, and shut his eyes tight.
#dorian x anders#modern au#my writing#my fic#I just wanted to write with emojis lol#late night phonecalls
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○ red devil ○
➣ the beast from another realm loves a mortal meta human
❒ pairing: min yoongi x reader
❒ genre: fluff, slight angst
❒ alternative universe: hellboy au (tbh idk if I managed to really covey it)
❒ rating: NC 17
❒ word count: 1.3k +
warnings/disclosures: yoongi has a tail, he is indeed red (hence the nickname), mc is institutionalized, the cats have no names, almost smut scene, hellboy yoongi, meta human fire user mc, cameos from human retainer Hoseok, fishman namjoon, Yoongi’s father Seokjin *cough*
monster mash ml • main ml • AO3
It’s dark out when Yoongi makes his way across town, the darkness is his friend after all because people wouldn't take kindly to seeing him in the daylight. He’d rather not be the subject of yet another scandal, especially if his father has anything to do with it. He shivers at the thought, he hated when that old fart gave him lectures especially when looking so damn smug. If anything he much rather prefer the lectures from his know it all amphibious friend Namjoon. His destination is in sight, the building is shrouded in darkness but if he knows anything it’s that you are already waiting for him. He tries not to acknowledge the grin that tugs at his lips, but it’s there.
Your room in the west wing of the facility, basically abandoned compared to the east. He knows it’s because of your powers, it’s for the safety of the normal human patients. His father had gotten them to allow you to keep your cats with you, your children you had liked to remind him whenever he snuck out to see you. He missed those furry little shits but he missed you more. He’s quick to climb the fire escape, one that leads right to your bedroom but also the roof. He can feel his tail flick behind him as he climbs the ladders higher and higher and then comes to a stop on the roof.
Candles flicker as the soft wisps of wind that brush over his cheeks, your back is to him as you sit on the futon spread out across the bed sheets to protect it from dirt. He can hear the soft purrs of the cats that sit in your lap without even looking. The soft crunch of gravel under his boots catches your attention as you glance over your shoulder at him. You smile at him all soft and dreamy just like he’s used to, the cats dart around your body rubbing themselves against his legs as he closes the distance between you.
“Hey.” you breathe softly.
“Hey.” he mimics and this time when the smile splits his lips he can't help himself. He kisses you soft and sweet just how you like. Hands cupping your cheeks, as he presses closer, you sigh taking his lower lip between your teeth. He groans pushing you slowly so you're on your back and his weight rests comfortable against you.
“Missed you.” he whispers, twining his fingers with yours and squeezing gently.
“Missed you more Red.” you mewl spreading your thighs to get him closer. His tail swishes behind him as he shifts again pressing his body tight to yours to really feel the softness of your thighs, and how your body cradles him. You’re empty hand moves to tangle in his hair pulling just the slightest as you kiss at his jaw.
“Want you.” you whine nipping at his neck playfully.
“I know baby, want you too.” He’s kissing you again before he nuzzles your temple, the cats have joined you on the futon rubbing themselves against the two of you. You giggle happily turning your head to kiss them as one of them butts their head against your cheek. Yoongi laughs along with you, wrapping his arms tight around you so he can roll the both of you onto your sides. The soft press of your breasts against his chest reminds him just how long he’s gone without seeing you.
“The babies ruined the mood.” you murmur into his chest.
“Hmm, I don't know about that.” you smack at his chest playfully with a scoff reaching out to pet at your calico that manages to slip in between your bodies comfortably. He’s holding you close pinky resting just above the swell of your ass as he sighs heavily coming to the conclusion that he’s been effectively cock blocked by your furry brats. Still he loves that he can spend this time with you, because he just misses you so much.
“What are you thinking about?”
“You.” he breathes, meeting your gaze. There are tears in your lashes and you blink rapidly to try and clear them. They fall anyways as Yoongi coos at you rubbing at your back to sooth you, it works as you begin to hiccup. He’s raining kisses across your face, the salt of your tears on your cheeks are bitter on his tongue and he wished he could do more to comfort you.
“Hey, shh, c’mon don't cry it makes my eyes sweat.”
“M’sorry, I don't like it here.”
“I know baby, but this is for your own good. Just hang in there a little longer.”
“How much longer? I wanna go home.” He doesn't say anything else, just pulls you closer because the truth is he doesn't know how much longer you have to stay here. Hadn’t agreed when Seokjin had admitted you to this facility, but he understood the reasons why he had done so. You were young and struggling with your powers, and spontaneous combustions were a hard thing to explain especially when they were so frequent. The cats, all three of the fur balls hiss at something or someone who has come to interrupt your moment.
“Yoongi, ___.” Hoseok says in a clipped tone. You peek over Yoongi’s shoulder at Hoseok, and he smiles briefly before sighing heavily.
“Always the faithful dog Seok, what does the geezer want?” Yoongi asks miffed.
“You need to get home, and ___ you should go back to your room. The staff is lenient but not that lenient.”
“Sorry Hobi, is Jin mad?”
“No, but he will be if this one doesn't get home soon.”
“Do I have to go? I can stay with her, just for today.” Yoongi whines.
“I’m afraid not, your father wants you home now. To be perfectly honest I’m shocked to even see you made it here unseen.”
“I’m stealthy like a cat.” You burst out laughing as Yoongi looks down at you. You don't mean to but he’s been the center of attention since you’d been admitted. Always caught by some amatuer or security camera as he made his way to see you, and at first you’d been upset because he could get hurt. Then slowly you’d found it funny because how had he gotten caught so many times? It was almost like he’d made it his purpose. Hoseok lets out a chuckle quickly covering it up with a cough murmuring about how cold it is.
“Yoongi please can you just listen to me for once?” Hoseok almost begs because it's always a struggle to get him to leave your side.
“No, not when what I ask for is something this simple.”
“___, will you please say something to him.”
“Can I go with him?” you add rather unhelpfully, but your tone is so hopeful he just wants to give in and say yes. Instead he opts for something a little more helpful to his cause.
“I wasn't supposed to tell you, but you’re being released the coming week.” You dart up and out of Yoongi’s hold, eyes widened.
“Really?” you ask excitedly, as something sparks around you. The cats are quick to leave darting away from the futon as your body ignites and you gape happily at Yoongi. He stares in wonder and not for the first time as the blue flames engulf your being. It’s beautiful as it always has been the shifting colors that wrap around your being, he startled out of his thoughts when you throw yourself at him again. He’s lucky that he and the futon you lay on are flame retardant.
“I can’t wait to go home.” you laugh and cry into his shoulder.
“Me neither.” He whispers into your hair. Hoseok is watching the two of you embrace and he wonders if he should tell Yoongi that he’s been seen, again by some kid with a disposable camera. Well he guess the news can wait until the old man is yelling at him for it, he doesn't want to ruin the moment after all.
#houseofddaeng#heartsforbtsnet#bangtanuniversity#bangtanarmynet#emm writes#monster mash day 2#spoopy season 2020#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi#reader#jung hoseok#Kim Seokjin#alternative universe: hellboy au#genre: fluff#genre: angst#hellboy yoongi#fire meta human mc
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“Fen, this is beautiful, thank you!” Farren wrapped the cowl around her shoulders, brushing her cheek against the soft fur. “Did you hunt and make this yourself?” she asked with a look in his direction as she continued to appreciate his efforts.
“Indeed I did,” he confirmed, “I thought the red fox fur would compliment your hair and it does quite beautifully.”
Farren took the one remaining gift off of the side table next to her chair. “Last one,” she murmured with a smile.
Fenris pulled the twine free and set it aside, peeling back the plain brown paper. He had gotten used to receiving books from Farren for various occasions, or simply because she wanted to, but this one surprised him. There was no title on the cover or spine and when he flipped through the pages, he found them blank.
“Amatus, this book is missing all of its words.” He raised a brow and looked up at her.
“It’s supposed to be. It’s for your thoughts and feelings, or anything else you might choose to use it for. I thought you could use it to practice your writing. You don’t have to show it to anyone so you can do whatever you’d like.”
“Does that mean we will no longer be reading together?” Farren noticed the audible hint of disappointment in his voice. When it was just the two of them, he allowed those emotions to show a bit more. Though, not completely. Yet.
“No, I enjoy that too much. I love when you read to me,” she assured him.
“I cannot fathom why. You are constantly having to assist me or correct my pronunciation.” He closed the journal and set it on his lap.
“It isn’t how you read to me, Fen, but that you do.” Farren smiled and leaned forward in her chair. “I never grow tired of your voice.”
“Nor I yours,” he gave her that hint of a smile that always made her heart beat faster. He held up the journal. “Would it be rude of me to write in this now?”
Farren was surprised by his eagerness, but certainly pleased. “Not at all. You can use my desk and supplies. I’ll be here by the fire if you need any help.”
With a slight nod, he rose from his chair and moved to her writing desk. He stayed there for the better part of an hour, slowly forming each letter. Occasionally he would scratch something out and grunt in frustration or sound out a word under his breath. Farren glanced over intermittently, unable to stop her smiles. That he would show her that vulnerability, with his back to her and the door no less. He trusted her to both protect him when he was distracted and to withhold judgment on his lack of ability to read and write.
Maker, she loved him.
Farren set down her book when he finally rose and sat in the chair across from her again. He held out the closed journal, looking down at it rather than her.
“Would you read it?” he asked, finally glancing up with his captivating green eyes.
“You know it’s private right? You don’t have to share it.” Farren wanted to make it clear that the journal was his personal space.
“I would like you to,” he insisted, “please.”
She pursed her lips in a tight smile to hide her absolute joy and took the leather-bound journal, opening it to the first page. Fenris’s familiar shaky handwriting took up the full space and spilled onto the next. It was filled with spelling and punctuation errors, but the more she read, the less she noticed.
My amatus is a mage. She has taut me many things. Not all mages korupt everything they touch. She tries to make the world beter, even if I do not always agre how she does it. She maks me want to be beter. I thawt my love for her made me a slayve to her but it does naut. I am a free man bekause of her and I chose to be free with her bekause I love her.
The way he’d written over and underlined ‘with’ made a lump of emotion form in her throat. By the time she looked up at him, tears had gathered in her eyes. His expressive brows furrowed, green eyes darkening. “Is it so bad? Are you not able to read it?”
“No, I can read it.” Farren had a hard time speaking any louder than a whisper for fear of her voice breaking. She swallowed thickly, looking back down at his words. “These are your thoughts and feelings about me?”
“Yes. They are much harder to say than to write, even with my literary deficiencies,” he admitted hesitantly.
She sat forward, handing him the journal back. “Will you read me the last three words?”
Fenris glanced down to remember what they were and smiled ever so slightly. “Those three words should not be a surprise to you.”
“No, but I like hearing them anyway.” She brushed away the tears that had gathered at the corner of her eyes.
“I love her,” he quoted, meeting her gaze as he spoke them. She knew that he did, but it was still rare for him to voice it aloud. “I love you, amatus.”
She rose from the chair and took the journal gently from his hands, setting it aside with the utmost of care. Climbing onto his lap, she straddled his hips and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you too,” Farren murmured against his lips before kissing him gently.
It very rapidly evolved into something much more urgent and needy. She finally broke away with a gasp, rolling her hips slightly to feel his grasp against her backside, not having realized until then that his hands had traveled there. She smiled, brushing back his hair so that she could fully appreciate his hungry gaze.
“How about we retire to our room and you can unwrap me?” she suggested, pressing into the cradle of his hips and the bulge in his pants.��
With his hands still on her backside, he surged up from the chair. “Absolutely,” he growled. Farren wrapped her legs around him with a laugh. As he walked them to the bedroom, she lavished his neck with kisses, licks, and love bites. “If you keep that up, there will be no unwrapping. I will rip everything off of you.”
Farren’s only reaction to his words was to bite the lobe of his ear and tug, prompting him to take the remaining stairs two at a time.
#headcanon du jour#hdj#satinalia edition#stainalia 2020#lemony there at the end#i don't think here are any trigger warnings but lt me know if i missed any#biting a little?#fenris#farren hawke#femhawke#fenris x farren#sweet fenris just needs love#deserves love#dragon age#dragon age 2#da2
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Chapter 26: Love, continued (Trevelyan/Dorian)
Excerpt:
As they lie back, relaxing, Dorian is first to break the silence.
"Amatus," he says. "I should never have said that word. You're going to be insufferable now because of it."
He's smiling, however, and Galen grins back at him. He knows he has to get up soon — a morning full of meetings awaits — but he cherishes these little moments. The teasing, absurd conversations, and the pleasant lulls when neither of them speak. All the love is here, resting with them. It lives in the space and the laughter and the gentle silences between them.
"Yes, that's what I'm talking about," Dorian says, eyes narrowing as he studies Galen's expression. "That look, right there. So smug and self-satisfied. Far too pleased with yourself."
"Don't I have reason to be?" Galen asks. He's teasing and so he doesn't expect a serious answer.
"You do, in fact," Dorian says. "Probably more than you realize."
"What do you mean?"
"Back home, an altus like me — or a magister for that matter — would not use that word to refer to another man. It simply isn't done."
"Not even privately?" Galen says. "Who would know?"
He's been wondering whether this topic would reemerge eventually. Dorian talked about Tevinter's restrictive milieu in the immediate aftermath of his father's visit to Redcliffe. But then he stopped talking about it and Galen felt no great need to pry. It occurs to him now that he has trouble imagining how an entire ruling class could successfully prevent everyone among their ranks from pursuing romances and declaring their feelings where they saw fit. How would that even work?
"No," Dorian says, "not worth the risk. It would be among the worst of secrets — something that, if revealed, would bring ruin."
"Ruin?" Galen asks.
"Public shame and disavowal. A fall from grace and power. The threat of Tranquility if you don't fall in line. That or... some variation on what my father tried to do to me." Dorian shakes his head. "I knew things were different here, but this? You're the Inquisitor, for Maker's sake. And beyond the petty joy of gossiping about us, nobody cares that you prefer my company."
Galen knows very well that some of that beneficence is Vivienne's doing. True to her word, she's been crushing the life out of all the most malicious rumors — the ones where Dorian is the evil magister using blood magic and mind control to have his way with the gentle and trusting Inquisitor.
"You've never felt shame a day in your life, have you?" Dorian asks.
But he's wrong. The deep shame of magic comes to mind.
"Well, yes, of course," Galen says, "shame for days, but not about this."
Though, now that he thinks about it, it's been a while since he's felt that twinge of shame in being a mage. He's been whittling away at it, destroying its foundations within him — a striking change that's happened little by little as he works for the Inquisition. Galen also never considered the extent to which Dorian may be working to banish his own discomfort and shame. In a way, they've been modeling it for each other — what it looks like to live without shame. Dorian bears no shame in magic and Galen has none in sex.
"Even at a permissive Circle like mine, nobody wanted mages having children. That's never been a chance with me and anyone I've slept with. So... model mage behavior on my part," Galen says. "It's hard to feel ashamed of something everyone appreciates about you."
"How entirely opposite," Dorian says.
"Mmh," Galen says, a soft noise of affirmation.
He still doesn't want to leave. But the room is brightly sunlit now and the time he can spare runs short. So he leans in to kiss Dorian and then gets up to shave and dress and get ready for the day.
Chapters: 26/?
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Characters: Male Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Dorian Pavus
Additional Tags: Mage Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Backstory, Emotional Baggage, Mages (Dragon Age), Templars (Dragon Age), Original Character(s), Sided with Mages, Light Angst, Letters, Diary/Journal, POV Third Person Limited, POV Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Loyalist mage point of view, Romance, Inquisitor & Cassandra friendship, Ostwick Circle (Dragon Age), Canon divergence regarding Ostwick, Happy Ending, Adding that happy ending tag because yes of course they're still together after Trespasser, Pavelyan - Freeform, Sex, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Requited Love
Summary:
Galen Trevelyan thinks of Ostwick, where his friends are still safely sequestered, keeping well away from the war. He wishes, and not for the first time, that more circles had been like Ostwick, and fewer like Kirkwall.
Mage Trevelyan's story, revealed through letters, documents, and narrative.
#dorian x inquisitor#pavelyan#dragon age inquisition fanfic#cw: canon typical homophobia#mage trevelyan#m!trevelyan/dorian#galen trevelyan
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Blighted Empire: 8.5
Bound by Light
Something was different.
Something was out of place.
Identifying the source of this unease was a sluggish, difficult task. Evallan attempted an intake of his surroundings, listing each detail in his mind.
Immediately he knew whatever his location, he was safe. Wrapped in blissful warmth and comfort, the world muffled by layers of blanket and a pair of strong arms. His sleeping companion was no mystery- Dorian had allowed him into his bed, no? Even if that memory eluded, the hint of fire and sweat was significant on its own.
Yet there was certainly something amiss.
We did not fall asleep like this.
He would not allow it...
Nor just that- beyond Dorian's smokey aroma the room smelled quite different from what it had. One grows accustomed to the damp within the tower, a dingy cloud lingering in every hall. It was a scent you only remember in its absence- and it was absent now- as absent as his clothes. Evallan appeared to be wearing nothing and Dorian was equally under-dressed, bare skin pressed to bare skin.
Startled, he lay stiffly and burned, trying to fathom his predicament. Eventually he realised the room was lit far brighter than Dorian's- where a window had been bricked. The ceiling here was spacious and a soothing breeze whistled through an out-of-sight opening, all fabrics and carpets dyed warm, luxurious shades.
It is me.
I am the thing out of place.
Though it wasn't terribly surprising. Cut off from the Fade, theoretically Evallan should no longer dream. Except in order to survive, he'd connected to something else- some place. With nowhere else in reach, his dreams brought him here.
Understandable. Evallan could even describe himself as grateful- almost.
Still- this timing was highly inappropriate.
Dorian's breathing was languid, tickling the side of his neck. Biting his tongue not to make a sound, Evallan scooted ever-so-carefully from the bed, determined to roll away and onto his feet without waking the man.
Luckily there was a robe hanging from the headboard. He slipped into the thin fabric, satisfied it at least covered more delicate areas. Not that it mattered- the true owner of this vessel was obviously comfortable to be seen by Dorian in such a way. It was just that Evallan found himself feeling rather intrusive.
Aimless, he padded around, blinking at paintings in the dim light, or frowning at books with titles he'd never heard of. After some time he settled at the writing desk and perused notes, finding most to be personal logs. Written by something akin to his own hand- his actualhand was clumsier in any language, than the careful Dalish script he poured over now.
The writing style was at least familiar; direct, to the point, sparing no time for frivolous detail but listing everything of importance in practical fashion. Yet he could make no sense of the information, lacking proper context for the endless descriptions, names, doodled maps...
Evallan debated searching out Amrallan's letters once more but never came to a decision.
“Mmn...Amatus...? Come back to bed...”
He froze, anxiety rendering him mute. Dorian's hand grasped at sheets, displeased by their emptiness. Since Evallan was unable to think of a response, the grumbling continued;
“Alright...either come back to bed or close the bloody balcony.”
At first he was lost- then recalled that gentle breeze. Indeed nearby was a balcony door, left ajar to reveal snowy mountains. Even in this life, his other self must find these quarters stuffy, needing a draft to counteract. Not having the same issue, Dorian required his partner to heat their shared bed.
Stepping towards the balcony, Evallan swung it closed and flipped the latch. He returned to the desk then and sat tensely, brooding at his knees.
After a short bout of silence, Dorian sighed with dramatic misery.
“...It'll be one of those nights, will it? I see how it is.”
Not really comprehending, Evallan observed from behind his hair. Dorian unfurled from the bed and instantly he looked away, cheeks flushed and lips thin.
“Bloody cold!” Thank the Gods for small mercies- Dorian also acquired a robe, saving Evallan from the shame of fighting with his own gaze.
To an extent, at least.
“So...what is it keeping us awake tonight, hrm? Orlais, the Chantry? Or maybe someone's just not doing their job?”
What to even say? Should he announce himself? Should he simply act as though nothing was wrong? While he thought and Dorian spoke the man also meandered for him, stretching and yawning, perfectly relaxed.
“Or, you're not...did you have a nightmare...?”
Thinking of his existence as a nightmare almost made Evallan laugh. He held himself.
Dorian's shadow fell over him, the other mage bending to his level with a sigh.
“Evallan...don't ignore me, now.”
Lips brushed against his and he seized, fingers clutching to arm-rests.
“...O-oh.” Dorian jerked back, laughing. “I-I'm so sorry. I didn't notice you at first.”
Aware his face was several shades of red, Evallan lifted it for Dorian to see.
“...At...first?” He hiccuped, forced composure. “How can you see any difference?”
The Tevinter snorted, leaning upon the table.
“Well, no offence to you at all, of course, but my Evallan doesn't tend to look around himself like a scared rabbit-” Choking, he hastened to add. “Not because of your ears- or anything! Your- your eyes. You stare around like a cornered mouse, or something. That's all I meant. Your ears are perfectly normal.”
Perplexed but not taking it as an insult, he nodded, considering-
“...That is not how you have described it to me before.”
“Oh?” He seemed amused by that, chortling. “And how did 'I' describe it before?”
“You said I scowl with only my eyes.”
This inspired peals of hilarity from the man- a calming sound. It gladdened Evallan to hear the same laughter he knew so intimately.
“Well- yes,” Dorian breathed out, wiping his eyes. “It is that- but behind the scowling- it's obvious you're quite terrified.”
Evallan's spine firmed, corner of his mouth tugging downwards.
“I am not afraid.” He stated in defence.
“Oh, forgive me,” Dorian rolled his eyes, teasing. “Distraught then, or stressed. Are those more appropriate descriptors for your terribly masculine ego?”
He bit the inside of his cheek to avoid sniling, muttering only-
“Yes.”
Which caused Dorian to roll his eyes again, though Evallan noted how affectionately he was regarded between these jabs.
This must be difficult for him...
A strange thought- not because of its content. Thus far it was the only internal dialogue he discerned as 'shared' between him and the quiet presence whose life he'd invaded. He was doubly compelled to express the sentiment, mumbling-
“I...am sorry. This must be very strange for you.”
“Ah, well...” Dorian shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “It's probably awful to say aloud...but I think I would be more upset if you had no idea who I am. Luckily, even when you're speaking intongues or drawing diagrams on the walls...you always seem to know me, so...”
“I still...cannot imagine that being so much of a comfort.”
“Well...” He paused with a sense of apprehension. “He is...still in there, isn't he? He just won't remember what we talked about. Or at least...that's how he explained it.”
“I hear his thoughts sometimes,” Evallan was quick to confirm, wanting to reassure. “I do not believe he 'goes' anywhere as such, no...”
“Good- that's. That's good.” Though he tried to seem unswayed the relief was obvious in his posture, relaxing with a huff.
“It really is you in an awkward situation here,” Dorian began again, snickering “I imagine waking up naked in another man's bed without alcohol to blame, was- wait, do you drink? I suppose you might.”
Evallan shook his head.
“No, I thought not. Well, my point stands then.”
Pondering it over, Evallan shook his head a second time.
“It is fine, really. We fell asleep in a similar arrangement, only, I, ah...both of us were clothed.”
“Oh.” Dorian snorted into his hand, stifling amusement- then abruptly straightened. “Wait a second! Does that mean you took my advice?”
He blinked, not comprehending.
“Your advice...?”
Sighing at Evallan as if he were the slowest man in any universe, Dorian conveyed;
“I told you to find me, remember!? To hold onto me?”
“O-oh-” Recalling, his face overheated. “I...Yes, I did follow that advice- but I...I forgot where I heard it, I think.”
“Typical!” He scoffed, full of exaggeration. “I don't get credit for anything.”
“You can have that credit now, if it means so much to you.” Evallan joked automatically.
“Careful, now,” Dorian chuckled, flashing a grin. “You don't know what sort of 'credit' I might ask for.”
He must have looked strange- for certain Evallan knew his mouth had fallen open slightly. Seeing this Dorian became apologetic, spluttering and waving his hands.
“Maker, my stupid mouth! It's easy to forget um...different stages of familiarity, and all that?”
“I-I understand.” He choked on a nervous laugh. “It is fine, really.”
“Well...” Dorian gestured around himself. “This is still your room, as far as I'm concerned, and it's a tad late for a tour of the castle. How about we go back to bed, and you can have a little rest before you're whisked off to whatever blighted world, hrm?”
“I would not mind that.” Evallan muttered, then tugged at his robe. “But...can we put on clothes?”
Dorian cackled at that, nodding.
“That would feel more appropriate, no?” He strode to a dresser, waving Evallan to follow. Once he'd done so, Dorian patted the top with a smirk.
“This is where you keep your clothes. It's actually the third time I've shown you.”
“The third?” Evallan perked a brow. “I do not remember the other times.”
“Yes, well...I say it was 'you' in a very...general sense.” His voice tilted between sadness and humour, though the sincerity of his smile never faltered. Encouraged but still skittish, Evallan dragged open one of the drawers and simply stared. In his reality he owned maybe three sets of robes, nearly identical. Looking at the plentiful folds of rich fabric, he couldn't imagine how this other self managed to dress himself in the morning.
“Need some help?” Dorian offered, leaning into his side.
“I only wanted some underclothes.” He ground out, massaging his forehead. “There is so much here...it is giving me a headache.”
Not an exaggeration- rooting around in these belongings provoked a throb in the centre of his skull, close to unbearable.
“I don't think it's that- you're looking somewhat green.”
A hand steadied him and Evallan braced against the attached arm with a grunt.
“I think...I am...” Incapable of completing a sentence, apparently. All at once his strength dissipated and he slouched into Dorian, who was steadfast in catching him.
“There he goes-” He heard the Tevinter mumble into his hair, holding close. “Don't worry, I'm here.”
His voice was the last thing Evallan heard, his careful touch the last thing he felt.
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#dragon age#dai#dragon age inquisition#inquisition#dragon age fanfic#dorian pavus#m!lavellan#lavellan#pavellan#apocalypse au#fanfiction#dragon age fanfiction#fanfic#writers on tumblr#dorian pavus x lavellan#i missed updating blighted i can go back to work now#my writing
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I get to blame @dharmaavocado for this. See, the tags here:
god look at his little smug face see this is why time travel aus fascinate me because just imagine cody adn rex going from dgnified jedi master obi-wan who is a hot mess but like a stately hot mess to this shit with his babyface and his sass come on COME ON I need it sw: galaxy far far away
....Yeah, so I couldn’t help myself. Under a cut because it ended up longer than intended, and only accomplished with the cheerleading of the ever amazing @dogmatix and @deadcatwithaflamethrower. <333
Gen time travel (I know, I was shocked too) under the cut, mostly just the setup for shenanigans, plunnie is TOTALLY up for adoption. ^_^
*****
Cody had once thought that Rex making friends with Kenobi was one of the most frustrating things to have ever happened to him, and he was responsible for most of an army in a galactic wide war. Somehow, all the weird shit in the whole damn war seemed to happen to either the 212th, the 501st, or both.
Cody knew this for a fact: most significant incident reports passed by his desk at least once – the joys of rank, and effectively outranking even most Jedi. That was due to a certain ridiculous Jedi taking on leading more of the damned war than he actually could, but that was why he had Cody around.
Sometimes he wondered how the Order had even survived before they had clones around. Probably not well.
He shook the mental bitching off, because as entertaining a distraction as it could be, it was probably time to get worried about their actual situation. He and Rex had gotten separated from everyone else - Rex chasing after Skywalker, Cody having paused to grab someone’s lightsaber and robe that he’d dropped, again, and in the process he’d fallen far enough behind he’d just gotten swept up in Rex’s...thing.
He hadn’t even grabbed Kenobi’s shit due to the Jedi not being able to get them: the ability to rub someone’s nose in the moronic behavior was all the reason he’d ever need.
But then the Seps had sent in some kind of bombing run, forcing him and Rex to take cover in what he’d thought was a cave, but a few feet in it was more obvious that it’d been carved and reinforced by sentients once upon a time. Probably good, given they’d had to retreat further in as the bombs got closer.
Helmet lights picked up nothing moving beyond dust and spiders, nothing strange pinged on their HUDs, and the only weirdness was that both of them had fuzzy interference on visuals for the same 2 seconds. They came out the other end of the tunnel awhile later, long enough for sounds of fighting to have died off, leaving nothing but that peaceful, too quiet air that made hackles rise because shit had to be going down soon.
That quiet was broken by two figures hurtling out of the trees and blurring past them at Force-enhanced speeds, dark cloaks billowing out behind them. Cody swore, wasted a moment to share a look with Rex, then they took off after stupid fucking Jedi.
After all, if the Jedi were running like that, there was either something very nasty with lots of teeth and/or explosions right behind, or something very fun with lots of fighting ahead. Always best to follow Jedi going hell bent for leather.
They didn’t even make it a few meters before the shorter figure skidded to a halt, whirled, and ignited a lightsaber. The taller one kept going, as the Jedi in an unfamiliar battle stance called out with a very familiar voice, “Friend or foe?”
Oh what the FUCK. Cody stared, trying to squelch down a kneejerk flare of anger at a ridiculous babyfaced Jedi. Last time he’d seen the General clean-shaven like that had been after the Hardeen fiasco, and he was still very pissed about that.
Thankfully Rex was in front of him, less personally furious about Hardeen-related bullshit, and holding up his hands. “Friends,” he called out, though he sounded more than a little off. Cody didn’t realize why until the General eased up, lightsaber less pointed in their direction and better illuminating his face.
Oh FUCK. ‘Baby-faced’ was right. This wasn’t the General. He was young, somewhere in the twenty range maybe, though Cody had never been good at sorting out ages for natural borns. There was a scrawniness to him that was bizarre, a softness that he’d honestly never even imagined for all that he knew the General hadn’t sprung forth, fully aged and already being....Kenobi. He’d been a padawan at some point, and judging by the long braid hanging over his shoulder —
....Oh no. Cody moved on autopilot, punching Rex in the shoulder. “I am never auhorizing your stupid gods-awful bullshit reading material ever again,” he hissed across a private channel. He allowed himself a moment to wallow in resentment of a fucked up galaxy, ridiculous Jedi bullshit, and the unfairness of the worst holonovels in the entire GAR getting dumped on his head.
Then he pulled himself together. “We’re with the Order,” he called out, shifting to show both the robe he carried and the lightsaber at his hip.
The shiny that was Kenobi straightened up further, but damned if he didn’t look miffed. “I thought they couldn’t spare any backup.”
“We’re not backup,” Rex said before Cody could stop him. “We have no idea why we’re here.”
“Less socializing, more running!” a woman’s voice called out from where the other Jedi was, though it didn’t sound right to have been that person. Kenobi leveled a glare in that direction, huffing a sigh.
“Easy for you to say, you’re getting carried the entire way,” Kenobi muttered, then gestured. “Come on!”
This, at least, was familiar. Charging headlong through entirely the wrong kind of forest for the planet they had been on, chasing after their damnfool Jedi, following their lead to just miss trees and other obstacles.
By the time they ducked into the crumbling, roofless walls of what had once been a small house, Rex was showing signs of Skywalker’s more aggressive fighting style that involved less running around all the damn place. Cody had spread the word that most 501st should be getting in more practice with endurance running, but he was willing to admit that everyone needed to sleep sometime.
Didn’t stop Rex from giving him a knowing glare from where he was leaning against a wall, catching his breath.
The taller Jedi finally held still long enough for Cody to get a good look. Older human, long brown hair starting to go gray, typical Jedi Master beard, entirely too tall, and carrying some woman. She was around Kenobi’s...new age, blonde hair in a braid —
Oh no. Cody’s brain tried to short out again, because he recognized Duchess Satine Kryze when she was glaring him in the face. The big Jedi let her down, and she just ramped up the hostile look at them. “You’re dressed like Mandalorians - what kind of Jedi would do that?” she asked, suspicion practically radiating off of her.
In the end, the problem was that ‘with the Order’ apparently didn’t translate as ‘affiliated with the Jedi’ instead of ‘Jedi.’ But they were a lot more likely to deal with weird shit like blasted time travel than the ordinary person, had more authority than two random clones-who-shouldn’t-exist-yet-if-this-did-involve-time-travel, and had reason to be carrying around a random lightsaber and Jedi robe.
He allowed a second to consider the headache about trying to explain that, and instead answered, “Corellian.” He’d heard plenty from the General about how that branch of the Order basically did what it damn well pleased, most often accompanied by Kenobi’s polite, genteel version of whining ‘why do they get away with all this shit while I get yelled at for it?’
All told, there wasn’t even a noticeable pause. However, at the exact same moment Rex chimed in with “Agricorps.” They shared a look — the Jedi probably couldn’t read the body language to suss out Cody’s glare, though Rex sure as hell could — and Cody cleared his throat. On the plus side, it did explain only the one lightsaber.
“We’re trying to blend in,” he tried. Habit had him removing the bucket, Rex following his lead. It was interesting to watch the reactions: no recognition, which was probably a good thing; mild curiosity on the older Jedi’s face; a funny, unidentifiable blink from Kenobi, and surprise for Kryze.
“You’re twins?” she asked, getting a twitch out of Rex.
“Same father,” Cody declared, staunchly not making eye contact with him.
“I didn’t think the Corellians sent many to the Agricorps,” Kenobi said, and it was starting to get under Cody’s skin that he couldn’t tell what was off about the General. Kid. Whatever. But something had turned odd about how he’d been looking at Rex, who just lifted his chin in challenge.
“Nothing wrong with the Corps, and nothing shameful about making sure everyone gets food and taken care of.” Great. Now Rex was sounding odd - not defensive, but...cautious. Like he genuinely cared about farming and the like. Cody had nothing against logistics and those who made sure the army kept marching, but the way Rex sounded it was —
Oh. Rex had to have intel he didn’t: given the chain of command, Cody tried to maintain a bit more distance from Kenobi. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the man, he just didn’t need to know his life story. If nothing else, he didn’t have time to be confidant and amatuer counseling along with everything else. Was one of the reasons the frustration from Rex making friends was worth it. Let him deal with that sort of thing, with the bonus that there was enough difference in rank that Rex could call him on his shit without it causing issues later.
Cody coasted through introductions (“No titles, please. Like I said, we’re trying to fit in.”), paying more attention to potential plans. They were indeed on Mandalore, there was still a civil war going on, and Jinn and Kenobi were trying to keep one of the last members of House Kryze alive - in spite of some of her own best efforts, given how she didn’t have a solid grasp of tact quite yet.
They either had to find some way back, or find some way to sabotage the war to keep it from ever happening in the first place — that would be harder, since they couldn’t just assassinate Dooku and consider it a done deal. There were politics involved, galaxy wide politics that weren’t in Cody or Rex’s skill sets, and he’d never made any kind of study about the history involved. Rex might know things; he read anything that held still long enough for him to download it onto a datapad, but it wasn’t like that was common reading material sitting around the barracks.
There was the uncomfortable thought that once Kryze was an established power — or figurehead — she might be a useful ally.
Meanwhile, they just had to stick to pretending to be Jedi — less the moving things with their minds Jedi, more the good at fighting and intuition type. It wasn’t like the Jedi would be able to do more than suspect things were hinky without a blood test, after all, so it was just a matter of avoiding that.
He knew Kenobi had spent a year running around Mandalore protecting the young Duchess, and given what they did know about history and combat, they could handle this. Whatever weird fuckery their Jedi had inadvertently dragged them into, they could handle this.
“So how long have you been on the run?” Rex asked, dragging Cody’s attention back to the mess at hand.
Kryze let out a melodramatic sigh and flopped back against the wall. “Two entire weeks.”
…no, no they were pretty well fucked.
~end
(Though you KNOW that at some point Obi-Wan loses his lightsaber, and Cody just sighs in resignation and passes him the one clipped to his belt, because that’s just how things go. Obi-Wan, however, Does Not Know What To Do With This.)
#star wars#our writing#obi wan#inappropriate feels about clones#Cody#rex#qui gon#time travel#satine kryze#plunnie for adoption
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Text
Lullabies at Night
Fandom: Dragon Age
Relationships: M!Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Rating: General Audiences
Tags: Hurt/Comfort
Read on AO3
Skyhold was hardly ever quiet, even during the coldest hours of the night and, Maker, it was cold. Dorian woke up with the sound of wind escaping through the door and a chilly shiver running down on his spine. He looked for the blankets, patting the bed around him, but suddenly realized there was more missing. Sitting on the bed in a startle, he found himself alone in the Inquisitor's bed. Took a few seconds of drunken thought, but he quickly stepped out of the bed to change into proper clothing and leave the room, avoiding the looks of occasional guardsmen who were chatting in low voices. There were few torches lit at that time, so Dorian could easily sneak past them while looking around the castle—not that he needed to, but wished to avoid gossips later. Anything related to his relationship with the Inquisitor seemed to be specially tasteful for the tongues of nobles in Skyhold.
He searched everywhere and begun to really worry for his lover. Would he leave the castle all by himself? Or was he back to his bedroom? Where else could he be hiding? The mage looked around once more, standing in the middle of the central courtyard. His gaze fell on the main gate, which led to the longest bridge he'd ever seen in any old castles, and noticed that one of the escape doors was slightly open. Lifting one eyebrow, he followed that lead, taking the road on the bridge to reach the lonely tower that watched over for the rest of the castle, despite not being used by the Inquisition's forces at the moment. As he approached, he thought he heard a soft lullaby playing in distance and every new step confirmed there was indeed music playing on top of the tower. The door was open and the stone staircase was large enough for it not to be claustrophobic, so Dorian got up the tower fast and in silence. On the last level, where the stairs met the battlement's floor, he peaked through, wishing to have a look on what was happening.
His Elven lover was sitting on one of the large crenels between the even larger merlons, hugging his knees with his arms while his hands held an ocarina. He was playing the most lonely lullaby, soft and slow, echoing into the night. His golden curls were loose and seemed like dancing with the cold breeze, following the movements of the green cloak he had wrapped around his shoulders. Dorian had never noticed that cloak, but it looked old and overused, showing up a few tears here and there, but nothing that could not be fixed by skilled hands. The full moon was shining over his pale skin and hair, like his whole body was made of polished marble. It was a delightful sight.
The inquisitor did not seem to notice as the man stood a few centimeters behind him, enjoying the music. Dorian thought it felt like a song a mother would sing to her children after telling them that their father could not come back home and was watching them from the stars. His heart skipped a beat and he let the thought perish.
"I did not know you could play" he said finally in a tender voice. Elrian jumped harshly on a startle, almost letting his ocarina fall off the battlement, but the mage behind him was quick to hold it in the air, chuckling softly. "I am sorry, Amatus. I did not mean to scare you"
"Dorian!" he cried in some sort of relief "Don't creep behind me like this, I could have fallen down"
"A risk that could easily be avoided if you have stayed in bed with me" Dorian approached, leaning down to rest the weight of his body on his arms against the parapet where his lover was seated "What troubles you?" his voice was soft but still packed with concern.
The inquisitor bit his lip, looking away, "I just couldn't sleep. Had a dream and woke up"
"A nightmare? Do you wish to talk about it?"
"Not a nightmare. It was a good dream." he sighed, then continued in a low voice, trying to not sound too sad "I was back at my clan. It was summer and we were celebrating someone's birthday, dancing and feasting. My father was showing tricks to the little children, they loved his magic. And my mother was calling me and trying to put flowers on my hair." he smiled and his eyes glittered as tears came to life.
"I am sorry, Amatus" Dorian reached for the other's hand, but Elrian was quick to turn his palm up to show the glowing anchor underneath his skin.
"I hate this thing." he confessed, "And yet I'm grateful I can do some good to the world because of it. I just wish I could do more." he closed his hand on a tight fist "I wish I could have saved them"
Dorian slid his hand over the elf's wrist and made his way to hold his hand, opening his fist softly to tangle their fingers together, "Your family would be very proud of you, Elrian. Do not think otherwise. Their love did not fade away"
"I… know" he wrapped the cloak more around his body, as if trying to shrink his own size "I just miss them so much"
The Tevinter said nothing, for there was nothing else to be said. He passed his right arm around Elrian's body and held his left hand with his own, spooning him and resting his head on his lover's shoulder, kissing it softly. They stood there for a couple minutes before Dorian begun to shake a bit, still not used to the Ferelden cold.
"Shit, I'm sorry, Vhenan. Get in here" Elrian chuckled, opening the cloak and putting over Dorian's shoulders as well.
"Thank you for acknowledging my presence here" he provoked, joking, and hug the elf underneath their improvised blanket, still standing up on the battlement behind. "I've never seen you wear this one. Where did you get it?"
Elrian smiled, caressing the green fabric along the lines of golden embroidery that formed the pattern of vines. "I was wearing it at the Conclave. My mother gave it to me when I got my vallaslin and it was my only fancy piece back home. It survived that night's events pretty well, I think"
"It is beautiful." Dorian was also appreciating the details "I take the ocarina was also with you that day?"
"It was. It was my father's. Have I ever told you about them?"
"I don't think so." he tightened the embrace "but I would love to hear"
Elrian smiled tenderly. "My mother was a hunter. She taught me how to fight and survive in the woods if I ever needed to. And my father was the Halla Keeper, First to our clan. I was the Second and therefore had to learn both from him and from our Keeper. He told me how to take care of the Hallas and how they seemed to enjoy the sound of the ocarina, so if one of them got lost I could play and let it come back on its own. I enjoyed it just as much. Once all my friends made fun of me because I spent a whole afternoon playing and by night there were dozens of Hallas around me, sleeping" he laughed to himself "They told me I was so boring that not even the animals could stay awake"
"Oh, how dare them?" Dorian laughed.
"When I turned 16, I was convinced my vallaslin would be Ghilan'nain's, the mother of Hallas" he continued "But it was Mythal's, the great protector. At the time I was reluctant and not sure if I was worth it. From that day on, my free time was consumed by extensive lectures from both my father and the Keeper, since I was bound to assume the clan's guidance someday. I think I was failing, to be honest"
"Why do you think that?"
"I was too soft and insecure. Still am, I guess. My father sent me to the Conclave so I could put all my training to test and deal with it all by myself. And when I was made Inquisitor, he sent me a letter saying he always knew I had the soul of a Keeper and was sure I could assume the responsibility. My mother also wrote this letter and said they were very proud. She also told me to be respectful but not bow my head"
"Excellent advise. In my opinion, you are following it just right." Dorian placed a few more kisses on the Inquisitor's shoulder "Sounds like they were great people, I'd loved to have met them"
"My mother would have loved you. She loved all my friends and boyfriends, as long as they took good care of me"
"And do I?" he mumbled, caressing Elrian with his lips.
"More than you can imagine" the answer came in a low and loving voice, the type that usually accompanied blushing. Dorian didn't need to look at his face to know he had colour on his cheeks.
"What about your father? Would he also have approved us?"
"You're from Tevinter, Vhenan" he chuckled as it was an obvious counterpoint.
"Oh, right" he laughed.
"But eventually he would, yes" Elrian leaned down to steal a kiss from his lover's lips "You'd always be welcome"
"That's good to know, Amatus. I mean it" he whispered against his lips "Not only were you destined to make yourself great, but you were also raised as such" he moved away so their eyes could meet "Do not doubt yourself. Your roots are stronger than you think and I trust my life to your leadership and reason. You may think you're too soft, but a passionate heart is greater than the strongest army"
"Thank you, Vhenan" the elven mage whispered back, smiling, but letting a rogue tear run down his cheek.
"Now, now, don't do that. You know I'm awful with feelings" he wiped the tear out, taking the chance to also caress Elrian's face and hair "Say, why don't we go back to your room and you play to me that boring song that makes cattle sleep? We can put it to test"
Laughing, Elrian got down of the crenel "You're a jerk"
"So I'm told. Also spectacularly handsome"
Both of the men walked side by side, holding hands in the most soft manner, whispering jokes for one another. Elrian also took his cloak off to cover his lover's shoulders and shield him from the cold, which was accepted without ceremony. Back at the Inquisitor's room, Elrian discovered that stroking Dorian's hair was just as effective to put the man to sleep as that lullaby was for the Hallas.
#dorian pavus#Elrian Lavellan#dragon age#Dragon Age inquisition#dragon age fanfiction#dai#lavellan#male lavellan#mage lavellan#dorian/inquisitor#dorian/lavellan#hurt/comfort#my writing
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