#i have a lot of little fenris pieces i want to do lately but so little time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rowanaelinn · 3 years

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Strange Love

A one shot I’ve been working on for a few days to thank you for 100 followers!! I’m so happy to see people enjoying my fics, i truly love it.

warning: nsfw

“What can I get you?” The barkeep asked Aelin with his most charming smile. He was young and a brunette, exactly Aelin’s type, and according to his name tag he was named Chaol. If only she was less tired or if she was in Doranelle for her own fun she might have tried to flirt with him. “We’ll take two Sex On The Beach, please,” Fenrys, Aelin’s best friend, and coworker, ordered for them both. As funny as it was, whenever they saw each other they drank the same thing. They had met at a work conference five years ago, both of them were sitting at the bar, not in the mood to keep up with their boss, and both of them were drinking the same thing. it had become their ritual, that little thing that made their friendship special.

The waiter nodded and started preparing the drinks. When Aelin looked at her friend he had an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his face. “What is it?” She asked.

“That guy is basically Sam with straight hair, you can’t keep seeing men that look exactly the same.”

“That’s not true!” It was true. “Besides, I wasn’t going to try anything.”

The look he gave her proved he didn’t believe her. When Chaol brought their drinks and winked at Aelin, she couldn’t help but laugh with Fenrys. “Okay, I may have a type,” Aelin admitted and Fenrys shook his head as he drank. “But there is nothing wrong with that!”

“Of course there’s nothing wrong with it, Ace. But having a type and dating the same guys in different fonts every time are two very different things. You need to spice things up!” He shook her shoulders and they both laughed. “You work your ass off all the time. For Mala’s sake, you haven’t got laid in two years.”

She took the little piece of pineapple hanging on the rim of her glass and threw it into Fenrys' head, right between the eyes. “I should never have told you this.”

Of course, the bastard just laughed, he never took things seriously, exactly like Aelin, as long as it wasn’t about her. “We are on another continent for four days, why don’t you go for it and have some fun.”

“I am at a club with you, I’m having lots of fun.”

“Unless you want to sleep with me again, I can’t give you the fun I’m talking about right now.” This time she took Fenrys’s piece of pineapple and this time he received it on the nose.

“Sleeping with you was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.” Fenrys put both hands on his heart, pretending to be hurt by Aelin’s words. She shook her head as she laughed and looked around her. The club was quite crowded for a Thursday night, Fenrys and Aelin both had been lucky to find seats at the bar. “So you want me to take advantage of Elide and Lorcan’s wedding to have sex, that’s what you mean?”

“You'll meet a lot of people at their rehearsal dinner tomorrow or at the ceremony on Saturday. Many of them will be Lorcan’s friends that you will see only for two days.”

“I’m Elide’s bridesmaid, Fen. I won’t have time to flirt.”

“Elide told me Lorcan’s best man was hot!” he tried as he finished his first drink and ordered another one for both of them.

“He is Lorcan’s friend, I don’t trust anyone who pulls out with Lorcan’s bullshit,” She said and finished the end of her glass so that Chaol could take it back and put another one in front of her. “Besides Elide.”

“Amen,” Fenrys said as they clinked their drinks. Lorcan wasn’t Aelin and Fenrys’s biggest fan, and the feeling was mutual. Elide might see another side of this man when it’s just the both of them because Aelin didn’t know why else she would marry him. But Aelin never saw her sister happier than when she was with Lorcan, so Aelin was happy for her.

“Well since you don’t want to get laid tomorrow and Saturday, why not tonight? If you discreetly turn around you’ll see one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen staring at your back.”

Aelin was skeptical. Fenrys and her had similar tastes in women but not in men. She took her drink in hand and turned around slowly as if she was just looking around the club.

Her breath caught when she found a man with silver hair looking at her. He was sitting a few seats away from Aelin, and his eyes were fixed on her. She had dressed up well, she might not have gotten a lot of action lately because of her job but she still loved to be looked at. She was beautiful and she knew it, so she had no reasons to hide.

She had borrowed one of Lysandra’s dresses today, this one was gold. The dress was tight and exposed enough of her chest and back that she caught several glances at her tonight. The stranger was one of them. He had no shame in lowering his gaze to her breast and biting his lip. When his gaze descended again on Aelin's body, she arched her back slightly, crossing her legs to make her dress rise a little more.

As he drank in the sight of her, she marveled at the way his white shirt exposed his muscles. She even caught a tattoo on one of his arms, and with the way his head is turned toward her she could swear the tattoo went up to his neck. It was Aelin’s turn to bite her lip, she always found men with tattoos hot.

When Aelin looked back at his face he had a satisfied smirk, happy to catch her staring. She wouldn’t feel ashamed, not when it seemed he had to readjust his position in his seat after looking at her. She drank her cocktail down in one and delicately wiped her lips with her thumb, drawing the stranger's attention to them. Gods, it was almost too simple. Aelin loved the hunt, she loved to make things last. If she didn't have to fight for something it meant it wasn't worth it.

But the man wasn’t at her side yet, he was just sitting and seemed content to look at her. Most men would already be talking with her now or would be using their tongue in another way. But if Aelin learned something in twenty-seven years of life, it was that men didn’t like to wait. But maybe this silver-haired stranger did, maybe he was like her.

“You’re going to help me,” Aelin said as she took Fenrys' hand, he hurriedly finished his drink before getting down from his chair, following Aelin onto the dance floor. She slightly accentuated the sway of her hips, sure to have the stranger's attention on her.

“You’re the devil,” Fenrys chuckled as his hands slid on her hips and turned her around, pressing her back into his front. They started dancing slowly, both of their hips moving together. As her head fell back on Fenrys’s shoulder and one of his hands trailed up to her stomach, she opened her eyes to find the stranger staring at them.

If Aelin knew anything else about men is that they felt entitled to what doesn’t belong to them. So if she wanted to make him jealous to get what she wanted in the end, she would rather use Fenrys than a random man who could get violent for rejecting him in the end.

“With all the work I put into this I sure hope you'll ask me to join,” Fenrys said loud enough for her to hear as his lips grazed where the shoulder met her neck.

“Go find your own fun,” Aelin wasn’t shy in the bedroom but never had she done a threesome and she certainly wouldn’t have her first with a stranger.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed as she slid a hand on Fenrys’s blonde curls, arching against him. He tightened his grip around his glass of whiskey. Aelin's eyes were fixed on his fingers. She could imagine what they would feel like on her cheeks, breasts, stomach, tights or even inside her. Her inside twitched at that thought.

From the look on his face, he knew what had just been on her mind. Was this supposed to impress me? He seemed to ask as he arched his brow. He leaned in his seat and made a sign to Aelin to keep going. She couldn’t help but smirk and decide she liked this man.

Not one to back down from a challenge, Aelin winked at the man and turned around. She slid her hand around Fenrys neck and he automatically knew what she was doing. He laughed as he lowered his head to kiss her.

The kiss was heated, exactly the way it needed to be. One of his hands gripped her ass, bringing her closer to him while the other found her breast. She moaned, imagining the stranger's hands instead of Fenrys’s. Aelin opened her eyes to find him right in front of her, still sitting, staring at them. He was breathing heavily, eyes fixed on her. It felt so scandalous to kiss someone just for the show, just to provoke someone else.

She closed her eyes as Fenrys broke the kiss to start nipping at her neck. She threw her head back, still thinking about someone else's lips. Fenrys was good at it, but he wasn’t the one she needed now.

“Can I cut in?” A deep voice interrupted them as a warm hand slid on Aelin’s waist. She turned around to see deep green eyes staring at her. Her heart started beating faster at the mischief in these eyes, Aelin had no idea what she had just got into. Fenrys took his hands off her and kissed her cheek, murmuring to her to stay safe, to call him if she needed and he left them alone. Or as alone as they could be in a crowded club.

Having him so close to her made her feel many things but she did her best to keep a normal face. She gasped when he used his hand around her waist to turn her around, pressing her back to his front. Well, that wasn't exactly what she imagined herself doing once she spoke to him. “Don’t be shy, baby. You seemed to like dancing like a whore five minutes ago, didn’t you?”

She could feel herself getting wet at his crude words, this man was going to kill her before the end of the night and she wasn’t complaining. “Maybe I just don’t want to dance with you,” she taunted as her hips started moving with his. As she arched her back to feel more of him, she felt the evidence of his desire. Gods, he had gotten hard watching her. That might be the hottest thing Aelin ever lived.

“Is that why your eyes were on me when your tongue was down his throat?” One of his hands slid up, close enough to her breast for him to stroke the underside with his thumb. Her head fell back on his shoulder and she turned her head to find his eyes on her. She could see all his features now, and she’d been stupid to think every man she had been attracted to had been her type. Her type was him, nothing else.

She couldn’t answer, too overwhelmed. Looking at him as he touched her was too intense, she ground her ass harder on his erection, wanting to make him as desperate as she was. His hand slipped around her waist, holding her as close as he could, as the other one cupped her cheek, keeping her eyes on him. His thumb traced the curve of her lips, she opened her mouth and she stuck out her tongue to lick the tip of his finger in the most provocative way possible while keeping her eyes innocent.

He growled and inserted his thumb in her mouth, she closed her full, luscious, lips around it and turned her tongue around the tip. He leaned to her ear and whispered, tickling her with his hot breath, "You want me to fuck you, baby?"

She nodded eagerly, no longer caring that she looked desperate when his hand slid down to her thigh, just below her dress. He stroked her skin, if he moved his hand up a little he could touch her panties. “Are you wet?” He asked, making her clench around nothing. She didn’t have time to nod before his finger stroked her lace-covered slit. She moaned loudly around his thumb, suddenly grateful for the music. He slipped one finger under her panties and groaned at what he found. She closed her eyes as he caressed her folds, not touching either her entrance or clit. This man was a tease and Aelin loved it. “You’re so fucking wet, is it all for me?” he asked and let out a low laugh when she didn’t answer. “Does it turn you on to be touched in front of everyone?”

As if only remembering where they were, Aelin’s eyes shot open and she turned her head, trying to see if anyone was looking at them. Aelin’s mouth was left empty without the man’s thumb. He used his free hand to push her head back on his shoulder, forcing her to look at him. He had a satisfied smirk on his lips and didn't look worried about the hundreds of people around them.

“Nobody’s noticing you, baby. But you’re gonna have to stay quiet for me because I’m going to make you come right now and I don’t want anyone else to look at you.”

She wanted to protest, she really wanted to. But all she did was bite her lip when the stranger's thumb flicked her clit and another of his fingers plunged into her entrance. He didn’t wait before thrusting into her at the right rhythm to get her off. He added another finger and Aelin couldn’t help but let out another moan.

She closed her eyes, focusing on the pleasure but it apparently wasn’t in the man’s plan. “Look at me when I make you come, baby.” Too gone to care, Aelin opened her eyes and clenched around his finger when she met his eyes. He had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen and having them on her as she started rolling her hips against his hand was almost too much. “You’re so tight, I can’t wait to feel your cunt around my cock,” He whispered in her ear as he added a third finger. He circled her clit one last time and she fell over the edge, hiding her head in his neck as she bit her lip to the blood not to scream of pleasure. He didn’t stop thrusting into her, prolonging her climax. When her walls stopped spasming around his finger he stopped, pulling out his fingers.

Her legs were shaking and if he didn’t use his arm to hold her she would have fallen on the floor. “You did so well,” he praised her, kissing the top of her head. She just let a man whose name she didn’t know finger her in public and made her come faster than anyone ever did. She could almost laugh at the situation if she wasn’t still so needy.

“Join me in the bathroom?” He asked and she didn’t answer, only took his hand and started walking. The moment he closed and locked the door, she was thrown on the wall and his lips crashed onto hers. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, sliding her hands through his soft silver hair.

"What's your name?" She asked as he kissed her jaw and then her neck.

He looked back at her face, she was grateful he was holding her legs because she felt them weaken, pinned under his stare. “What’s yours, baby?” She wanted to say she asked first, but she knew enough about him to know he was in control.

“Celeana,” the lie rolled off her tongue easily. No matter how good this man was, he was still a stranger and Aelin was a woman. The less he knew about her, the better. “Yours?”

“You won’t need to call me anything else than ‘sir’.” He said with a proud smirk as he got her back on her feet and turned her around to face the mirror. He pushed her so her hands rested on the sink, the only thing holding her when he started kissing her neck.

“If I’m too rough you say red, understand?” He asked, looking at her in the mirror. She just nodded, leaning her back into his front. He pulled her dress up around her waist and spanked her. She bent over the sink, only held on her legs by the man's hold on her hip. The pain spread throughout her body, setting all her nerves on fire. “Use your damn words, Celeana.”

“Yes.” Not the answer he wanted because he spanked her twice, once on each ass cheek, harder than the first time. She couldn’t hold back her moans.

“Want to say something?” He asked, his tone mocking. She shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like being treated that way. She had had public sex and been degraded for the first time in her life tonight, and the gods knew how much she loved all of it.

“I understand, sir.” She breathed.

“So you can be a good girl, that’s surprising.” He said as he stroked her ass. “You’d deserve to be spanked to the blood for kissing another man in front of me.” She moaned at his words. she arched her back, silently begging for more. He let out a soft chuckle and instead of giving her what she wanted, he took his hand off her ass. She cried out, mourning the loss of his hand.

He wrapped her long golden hair around his wrist, pulling at it. He made her look at him in the mirror as he slid the strap of her dress, exposing her bare breast. Aelin hated wearing a bra, and stopping wearing one did wonders for them.

The man took one in his hand, playing with her nipple as he used his other hand to pull harder at her hair. “Beg for it,” He commanded but Aelin didn’t. Unhappy with her behavior, he slapped her breast, hard. He took her nipple between his fingers and twisted, making her cry out in pain. “If you don’t beg me, you brat, your pretty pussy is the next thing I will spank and I won’t stop until you come.”

“Gods, please,” she moaned, a tear falling from her eye. “Please, sir. Fuck me, I need you in me, sir.” She didn’t care how pathetic she sounded, she would die if she didn’t have this man in her.

“Celeana?” He asked as he made her panties slide down her legs.

“Sir?”

“You’re not allowed to come until I tell you to, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” He bent her over the sink and unbuckled his belt. Aelin wanted to see his cock, he had felt so big against her ass.

His tip teased her entrance and then her clit. She didn’t care if someone heard her moan as he slowly entered her. He was big, bigger than any of the men she ever had. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning as her walls spasmed around him. It hurt to have him inside of her, but she welcomed and enjoyed the pain, and he knew it.

That’s why he didn’t wait for her to adjust and started thrusting into her, hard. Her eyes shut, focusing entirely on the feeling of him filling her.

She was shaking so much she didn’t know how her legs kept holding her. He pulled out and entered her again, hard, his balls slapping her clit. “Your cunt feels so fucking good,” He moaned, going faster, harder. His hand slammed on her ass, tearing another cry out of her. She was close.

He made her rise, hanging the angle of his cock, keeping her from falling with a hand around her throat. Delicately, he tightened his grip, and Aelin’s eyes rolled. His other hand found her clit.

“Sir,” she moaned, trying to hold her orgasm back.

“What is it, baby?” He was breathless. “Use your words, Celeana.”

“Please, can I come?” She prayed to every gods in the world he would let her come, but when she opened her eyes and found him smirking she knew her prayers were useless.

He only said “No,” and thrust faster in her, chasing his own orgasm.

Aelin wished she had a name to moan as she tried to focus on everything but the feeling of this man in her pussy and his finger on her clit. She cried, both in pain and pleasure as he kept going, hitting that spot deep inside of her nobody ever hit before

“Let go,” he grunted. “Come for me, Celeana.” His grip around her neck tightened even more and she lost control. She screamed, loudly, as she fell over that cliff of pleasure. Barely noticing she squirted. He kept thrusting into her and came a second later, spilling himself inside of her. Both leaned on the sink, trying to take their breath.

He pulled out of her and made her sit on the sink. Her back rested against the mirror, too tired to do anything by herself. He got dressed and took some paper to clean her up, she whimpered, too sensitive to be touched. He softly apologized, kissing her shoulder as he helped her get her dress back in place.

“Think you would want to do this again?” He asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. There was only curiosity and desire in his eyes, not demands.

“Sorry,” She gave him a small smile. “I’m not from here and anyway, I don’t really do more than one nightstand.” Gods forbid anyone ever gets attached. He only nodded and gave her a small smile full of understanding.

“Will I ever get your name?” She teased him, earning a soft laugh from him.

“I think I‘d like to keep some mystery.”

------------

“We’re late,” Fenrys stated as they both entered the elevator.

“We’re fashionably late,” Aelin corrected him and he snorted. Both of them were past the point of fashionably late. Elide would be mad at her, she knew it, but Lorcan would be too and she kind of liked the sound of that.

“She’s going to kill you,” Aedion warned as he met them in the hall. Aelin quickly took him and Lysandra in her arms and started walking to the reception room.

“She won’t be physically violent, she won’t take the risk to ruin her bridesmaid look.”

“It’s Elide we’re talking about, it’s not physical violence I would worry about if I was you.” Lysandra chuckled, of course, she would find it funny. Aelin rolled her eyes but laughed along with her friend. Soon they were in the room, they were careful not to make noises, not wanting to drag attention to them.

She looked at her watch and sighed, one hour late wasn’t that bad, was it? At least, Fenrys would suffer from Elide’s rage if it came to that. Aelin took a glass of champagne and walked to Elide and Lorcan. Lorcan was talking to someone but she couldn’t see who because this bastard was just too tall. “Ellie,” Aelin started, taking the small woman in her arms. Maybe affection will make her less angry?

“You bitch!” Elide whisper-shouted, pushing Aelin away from her. Well, her plan definitely didn’t work.

“Elide, you look ravishing,” Fenrys winked and Aelin had to use all her focus not to laugh at Elide’s angry face. She was almost shaking as if it was taking everything in her not to yell at Aelin and Fenrys. If she laughed right now she was kicked out of the wedding, she knew it. Elide seemed to relax a little as Lorcan’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Galathynius, Moonbeam.” He nodded. “So your plane didn’t crash.” She said with a point of humor but Aelin didn’t care and flipped him off. Fenrys just softly laughed and put an arm around Aelin’s shoulder, a normal way for him to show his affection.

“You two didn’t meet Lorcan’s best man.” Elide said as the man who talked with Lorcan turned around. Aelin’s heart stopped. No, no, no, no. “Rowan, this is Aelin, my sister. Aelin, this is Rowan, Lorcan’s best friend.”

This had to be some kind of sick joke, there was no way the man who fucked her last night was Lorcan’s best man. The universe really hated her. His eyes widened when he saw her and even more when Elide said Aelin’s name. Her real name.

Fenrys burst out laughing loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

—————

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eyeofthedrgn · 3 years

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A Heavy Battle Symphony - Chapter 4

New chapter! This chapter is slightly fluffy, still angsty, but much less than previous chapters.

Catch up here: Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: 1685

Chapter 4 - Forgotten

A little piece of paper with a picture drawn

Floats on down the street 'til the wind is gone

And the memory now is like the picture was then

When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again

It was Monday, and he was healed enough that Maeve let him go to school. After a normal morning routine, Lorcan made sure he wore a hoodie that would do a decent job covering his neck. Hood up, hands in his hoodie pocket, head down, he headed to school.

He missed a lot of schoolwork. It was going to be a late night. Luckily, most of the teachers gave him until the end of the week to turn it in.

When P.E. came around, he went straight to the gym rather than the locker room. He found his teacher and handed him his doctor's note. Mr. Brullo sent Lorcan to the library to study. Lorcan was happy about that. He was able to catch up on some of his homework.

Lorcan's handwriting, luckily, wasn't hindered by his cast. Perrington at least broke his right arm, his non-dominant arm. That he was thankful for, if he could be thankful for anything that happened to him.

He was getting a headache from his pre-calc homework. Lorcan rubbed his face with his hand and sighed.

"Lorcan?"

Lorcan grunted and slowly turned to see Elide, who looked relieved to see him. That was interesting. "Oh, uh, hi."

"Aren't you supposed to be in gym?" Lorcan lifted his casted arm. Elide's eyes widened and her lips parted. "Oh." She swallowed. Fuck, here comes the pity. "How-" she closed her mouth. "How'd that happen? We thought you were sick." Why were they concerned?

He told the same story Maeve told the doctor. Something about getting in a fight and falling down stairs, and "you should see the other guy". She didn't seem to believe him, neither did the doctor.

"Can I sit with you?" Lorcan shrugged. She sat down and then proceeded to talk to him about what he missed in creative writing. He didn't realize her voice was so soothing.

"Has anyone signed your cast yet?" She was eyeing the black cast. "I have a silver Sharpie!" She pulled it out of her bag and held it up with a smile.

Lorcan huffed a small laugh. Not being able to say no to that smile, knowing he was going to get in trouble, well, what could really do to him anyway? So, Lorcan carefully pushed up his hoodie sleeve. She smiled brightly at him. He propped his head up on his hand, eyes closed and listened to her hum as she put ink to the black cast.

++++

It was hard to keep from asking Lorcan questions. Elide saw the handprint bruise on his neck, the exhaustion lining his body, and of course, the full arm cast. She thought about how his injuries were formed. Obviously, someone put their hands on him, but who?

She didn't know who he lived with besides his aunt. It was doubtful that a woman had done this sort of damage, but one never knows for sure.

As she put pen to plaster, she kept looking up at his face between strokes of ink. He had drifted off to sleep. His face was slack, a slight snore every time he breathed out. Lorcan looked so innocent like that and dare she say, gorgeous.

Having finished her artwork, she just watched him until the bell rang. She gently brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, delicately tucking it behind his ear. He didn't stir.

Elide wished there was something she could do to get him away from his more than shitty situation. Calling the police was probably out of the question, but that was really the only thing she could think of.

The bell rang.

---

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he felt his textbook being pulled from under his elbow. "Oh, shit. Sorry," Lorcan furrowed his brow as he started cleaning up his stuff.

"You looked tired, I didn't want to wake you, but it is lunch time." Elide smiled, "and you have to look at your cast!" She seemed so excited about it.

Expecting some nonsense, he was pleasantly surprised to find a nice line drawing from his elbow to his wrist. It was a row of detailed trees with her name under it. Lorcan looked at it with awe. He looked back at Elide, "You did that?" Obviously, she did that. Don't be stupid, Lorcan, he thought to himself.

She giggled. He thought her laugh was adorable. "Obviously." Lorcan's cheeks flushed while he finished packing up before they walked together to lunch in a comfortable silence.

---

He followed Elide through the lunch line, the lunch lady gave him an extra serving. He was probably looking a little gaunt these days having barely eaten for the past week. Lorcan started towards the empty table in the corner.

Apparently, Elide wasn't having any of that as she pulled him to the group table before he could go be alone. Everyone seemed excited to see him. His name was shouted amongst several other greetings. Lorcan felt a tug in his chest as he looked around at the friendly faces. Why were they always trying to be nice to him? And then his eyes fell on the silver haired boy, he instantly forgot what he was thinking. He stared at the green eyed beauty a fraction longer than he should have as he sat down.

Elide introduced everyone. Aelin, Lysandra, Manon, Dorian, Chaol, Fenrys, Connall, Rowan - the silver haired boy - and then Vaughn, who was the last one to join the table.

He was sitting between Elide and Fenrys. Lorcan kept his head down while he ate, feeling very out of place. Everyone was chatting around him, over him, leaning around him. It was a lot. He wished he was alone at the table in the corner.

Rowan spoke up, "Can I sign your cast?" Lorcan jerked his head up. The sleeve of Lorcan's hoodie was still pushed up, he had forgotten to pull it back down which was unusual, but under the current circumstances, it made sense.

Lorcan's heart sped and he suddenly felt warmth spread up his neck. It drove him crazy how much his body reacted of its own accord around Rowan. He wished it would stop.

There was no reason to deny him when the punishment was coming now anyway since Elide's Sharpie touched the cast in the library, so he just shrugged and moved his arm towards the center of the table, towards Rowan.

"Elide, can I borrow your Sharpie?" She handed it over with a nod and went back to animatedly talking to the other girls about something.

Lorcan was careful not to press into the edge of the table, as he adjusted his arm. "I don't think mine will be as pretty as Elide's. Sorry in advance." Lorcan just shrugged a shoulder. He watched Rowan do his little doodle.

Then Rowan grabbed Lorcan's hand to carefully twist his arm to get to a different part of the cast easier causing electricity to shoot through his skin. His breath hitched. The soft fingers lingering on his skin, he never wanted the other boy's hand to move. Lorcan's eyes darted to Rowan's face to see if he noticed anything weird. All he saw was intense concentration, the way his tongue stuck out just a tad and his brows stitched together. Suddenly he was too warm, chest tight, heart pounding. Hellas below.

"There!" Rowan smiled at his silly nonsensical line doodle signed with his name. "All done." That smile did weird things to his stomach and the absence of those warm fingers made all the heat he had just been feeling disappear. A shiver ran down his spine.

Rowan capped the Sharpie and went to hand it back to Elide when Fenrys grabbed it.

"Can I?"

"Yeah." He was screwed anyway.

By the end of lunch, his cast was covered in names and doodles by his... Friends? They couldn't be friends, could they?

As he walked to his next class, he started panicking. His chest tightening for a whole other reason than being in close proximity to a certain boy. A tightness that was only reminiscent of growing anxiety. He shouldn't have let anyone sign it. What was he thinking?

Fuck.

++++

"Lorcan," Rowan breathed as he saw the dark haired boy basically being dragged by Elide to their table. Everyone perked up at that and welcomed him back.

Rowan saw his pained expression. Then, he saw the cast and the light purples, greens, and yellows on his neck that Lorcan was obviously trying to hide with the hood of his hoodie. It looked like a handprint. A fucking handprint. His gut roiled at the thought.

But then Lorcan looked at him, and oh boy, those eyes were going to be the end of him. They were an amazing onyx, almost like pools of night. His cheeks heated and he hoped no one noticed.

He finally got the courage to ask to sign his cast. And when Lorcan leaned over to get his arm closer to Rowan, he noted the stiffness and slight discomfort that flitted over his face. There was so much damage to Lorcan's body that they couldn't see. It made him unbearably sad thinking about it.

For the rest of lunch, while everyone signed Lorcan's cast, Rowan just sat there silently, observing the beautiful dark haired boy. He'd catch his eye every now and then give him a small smile, which was never returned. His eyes just quickly flitted away. Lorcan, he learned was very hard to read.

Rowan wished they could hang out, just the two of them. He wanted to get to know him and help him. And know what those lips felt like, tasted like. How it would feel to thread his fingers through his long dark hair that was usually in a messy bun. Or just to hold his hand. Fuck, he had it bad.

____

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire

#rowcan fanfic #rowcan #rowan x lorcan #rowan whitethorn #lorcan salvaterre #heavy battle symphony #crackship

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years

Text

life is just a classroom

A 6k addition to this verse with Teacher!Cas and Teacher!Dean

Jody has never seen her staff with their heads so far up their own asses. They get one reasonably attractive new hire, and everyone is acting more like gossiping, horny teenagers than sane, I-am-responsible-for-multiple-children, teachers. Luckily, Jody’s the principal and expert in wrangling children and adults of all maturity levels.

But this, as Bobby used to say, is too early for this shit.

It’s 7:00 am, and if Jody has to hear one more word about Castiel Novak and his brooding stare and baby blue eyes, she’s going to dump her coffee all over Daphne Allen’s head. It’s not like the Teachers Lounge hasn’t seen more than its fair share of spilled coffee. The brown-ish grey-ish carpet is more for utility than aesthetics, and is probably older than Jody herself.

“I’ve been trying to find out more about him, but he’s so reserved,” Daphne is saying. She sighs. “I’ve always been a sucker for the strong, silent types.”

Jody rolls her eyes and adds more sugar to her coffee.

“I think he mentioned he was actually a student here,” Kelly says, leaning in conspiratorially, “the same year as Dean.”

“No way,” Daphne breathes.

Jody dumps in more sugar.

“Has Dean mentioned anything about him? Is he single?”

For Christ’s sake. It’s the second day of school - Jody is very confident her teachers have better things to do than cross boundaries with new colleagues.

Daphne frowns. “No, he hasn’t. But Castiel definitely doesn’t wear a ring.”

Kelly rolls her eyes. “Would I even be talking about him if I thought he was married?”

Jody clears her throat, saying loudly, “Well, I’d better get back to work. Morning announcements will start soon.”

Both Kelly and Daphne jump guiltily.

Pleased, Jody strides out of the Teachers Lounge, nearly running into Donna. “Here,” she says, pressing the coffee into her hands. “I put too much sugar in it anyway.”

“Oh, hey, thanks Jody-o!” Donna beams.

Jody jerks her head towards Daphne and Kelly, heads ducked together and clearly already back to it. “Watch out for ‘em. They’ll get you sucked in gossiping about the new hire.”

“That Castiel?” Donna asks, her eyes lighting up. “He’s such an angel.”

“Not you too,” Jody grumbles as she stalks out. She has a school to run.

* * *

“Bonne journée, tout le monde.” Castiel waves his students out. “Etudiez bien pour le quiz la semaine prochaine! Si vous avez besoin d’aide, n'hésitez pas à venir me voir.”

Daphne lets the juniors stream past her, steels herself, and knocks on the door.

“Oui?” he asks without looking up.

Daphne swallows nervously. “Castiel?”

Castiel straightens, and holy hell, those eyes are so blue. “Hello,” he says, “I’m sorry, I thought you were a student.”

“No worries at all,” Daphne says with tittering laugh. “I was just wondering if you wanted to get a drink?”

“A drink?” Castiel echoes.

“To celebrate the end of the first week?” Daphne adds. “Kelly, Aaron, and I have a little tradition.”

“I see,” Castiel says, sounding taken aback. He fiddles with the strap of his bag before slinging it over his shoulder.

As the seconds drag on without a response, Daphne frowns. Is he going to refuse? Daphne had told Kelly this was a stupid plan -

“Can I bring Dean?” he asks.

Daphne blinks. “Dean? Yes, of course,” she says, mentally recalibrating her assessment of Edlund High's newest Latin/French teacher. He and Dean must be closer than she had assumed from their interactions in the Language Office. Maybe Castiel is less the stoically reserved type and more the shy, socially awkward wallflower. Her heart melts, so she adds, “the more the merrier.”

“Wonderful,” Castiel says, smiling. “What time?”

“We were thinking of leaving in like an hour,” Daphne says, “but you can also meet us there - Fizzle’s Folly? It’s on Water Street.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows at the name.

Daphne giggles. “Garth’s wife - have you met Garth? He teaches Chem - owns it. There’s a whole story there, but I can tell you later, if you like.”

Castiel smiles. “I’d like that, thank you.” He hefts his shoulder bag higher. “I grew up here, but it’s been a number of years since I spent a long time in this school district. I don’t remember a Fizzle’s Folly.”

“It used to be called Fenris,” Daphne says as they walk out.

Castiel’s brow furrows. “Wasn’t that a biker bar?”

“Yup, that’s the one,” Daphne says, nodding to Krissy Chambers and her friend Josephine as they pass by. “It underwent a little bit of a makeover when Garth and Bess took over.”

“So no bikers?”

“Not unless you count Garth,” Daphne says, grinning, as she pushes open the door to the Language Office. “He owns a motorcycle, if you can believe - oh, hey, Dean.”

Dean glances up from his desk at Daphne’s acknowledgement. “Hey,” he says slowly, his eyes flicking from Castiel to Daphne and back again. “What’s up?”

“Daphne invited me out for drinks,” Castiel says as Dean’s eyebrows rise, “Would you like to come?”

Dean’s mouth purses. “Wouldn’t want to be an imposition.”

“I already asked,” Castiel says as Daphne nods once.

And maybe in a week, once Daphne and Castiel know each other better, they can get drinks alone together. Or Kelly can get drinks alone with him. Daphne won’t fight Kelly for him, and Kelly won’t fight her. He’s not a piece of meat, as Kelly is all too fond of reminding if they go too far after too many margaritas.

After a beat, Dean says in a funny voice, “Okay then.”

Daphne walks around the both of them to get to her desk. “Aaron’s going to be there, if that matters,” she says without looking up.

“Aaron?” Castiel asks curiously.

“History teacher,” Dean says at the same time that Daphne provides, “Dean’s ex.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose as Castiel turns to him.

“Not an ex,” Dean grumbles. “We had a thing. Briefly. Years ago. It was before-” he coughs, “anyway.”

“I see,” Castiel deadpans.

Daphne frowns, meeting Castiel’s gaze over Dean’s head. “We are a LGBTQ friendly school,” she says sharply. “Dean runs the Gay-Straight-Alliance. If you have any… issues with that, I’d recommend talking to Jody before we leave.”

Dean looks oddly touched. “Thanks, Daph.”

Castiel just shakes his head. “I’m not homophobic. Dean can attest to that.”

“He had a boyfriend in high school,” Dean says with a grin.

Daphne’s face heats up embarrassingly quickly. “Ah - good for you.”

It’s not the end of the world. He could be bi, like Dean.

* * *

Aaron’s glad Dean and Castiel are here, if just to steer the conversation away from all the boy talk. He always has a good time with Kelly and Daphne, but, damn, they can really fixate. Lately, all they’ve been focusing on is Castiel, which, Aaron can kind of get behind - even though, obviously, Dean is more his type.

Thankfully they’ve cooled it with Castiel actually in the room with them.

Poor dude looks in over his head by the time they’re all sipping their second round of drinks. That’s probably why, when Aaron offers to get refills and snacks, Castiel jumps up to assist, quick on his heels.

Daphne and Kelly’s eyes follow Castiel’s ass to the bar. Sometimes they really are shameless.

“You doing okay?” Aaron asks after he’s flagged down the bartender.

“Oh yes,” Castiel says, bobbing his head in a nod. “It’s just… I don’t get out often.”

“I know they can be a bit much,” Aaron says, jerking his head back at their table. “If you want them to cool it with the questions, just say so.”

“I don’t mind.”

Aaron makes a face but doesn’t comment further. It’s Castiel’s funeral if he wants to keep playing into Kelly and Daphne’s hands like silly putty. Aaron warned the guy. He did his job to uphold bros before hos - even if Castiel is barely a bro and Aaron co-ran Kelly's campaign for City Council and let her cry into his shoulder when she lost, and he went to church with Daphne for a couple weeks because she knew her abusive ex-boyfriend was going to be there.

Mom practically had a heart attack when she heard about the Church thing through the grapevine, which stunned Aaron to no end because, of all his siblings, he was the only one who actually followed up on his threat to get kicked out of Hebrew school. Organized religion has never been his thing, anyway. Two Sundays with Kelly sandwiching Daphne in the pews wasn’t going to change that.

Moreover, it’s not like Aaron's never leaned on the girls for help. Daphne called her second-cousin, the cardiologist, to give a third-opinion on Dad's diagnosis. Kelly let Aaron sleep on her couch for a month because she lived across the street from the hospital. They listened to him whine about his unrequited thing for Dean Winchester when everything else in his life was going to hell. Speaking of-

“So you know Dean pretty well?” Aaron asks casually.

Castiel freezes.

“You keep staring at him,” Aaron says.

“I -”

“Relax,” Aaron says as he leans back against the bar. “Been there.”

Castiel purses his lips. “Daphne did mention you were… involved.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Aaron says, since Daphne could’ve been a lot more damning in her assessment. “We slept together a couple of times. I was feeling it - he wasn’t - and that was the end of that.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, looking relieved. He glances at Aaron out of the corner of his eye. “And do you still… like him?”

Aaron snorts. “I mean, we’re not in middle school. It’s a little more complicated.”

Castiel’s brows draw together in a forbidding frown.

“I was just gonna say,” Aaron supplies quickly, “do I still think he’s hot? Yes, I have eyes. Do I want to marry him and push my mother over the edge by marrying a guy and a goy? Not anymore.”

Castiel settles back down, and Aaron makes a mental note not to piss him off anytime soon. “A word of advice?” he says as he turns back around to grab their drinks, “Don’t insult his car - or Led Zeppelin - or his brother.”

Surprised, Castiel takes a moment before laughing. “Or pie.”

“No quicker way to get your name on Dean Winchester’s shit list,” Aaron agrees. He surveys Castiel again. “So you know him pretty well already?”

Castiel shrugs. “We went to high school together.”

“Kelly mentioned,” Aaron says. “What was he like?”

“Dean?”

“No, Gary Busey,” Aaron says, rolling his eyes, “of course Dean.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Very similar to how he is now,” he says, which doesn’t tell Aaron much. “Charming. Caring. Intelligent in the strangest of ways.” Castiel pauses. “Handsome.”

“Yeah, that does sound like him,” Aaron agrees. He’s been on the receiving end of Dean’s charm offensive once or twice. It’s always left his head spinning.

Interrupting his train of thought, “Hey!” Dean calls shamelessly across the bar. “What are you two alte kakers up to?”

Aaron waves him off, unable to hide his smile at Dean’s casual Yiddish. He only picked up two or three words from Aaron, back when Aaron dove head-first into his ill-advised thing with Dean so he didn’t have to think about all the other shit going on in his life. “Here, grab the sides will you?” Aaron asks Castiel. “I think we’ve left Dean alone with them for long enough.”

Castiel dutifully picks up the mozzarella sticks and fries as Aaron double-checks his tray of glasses won’t topple over.

“Watch who you’re calling old men,” Aaron tells Dean as he sets the drinks down at their table.

“You were just gabbing up there,” Dean protests, reaching for his beer, “leaving these two lovely ladies with only little old me for company.”

Castiel snorts as Daphne rolls her eyes above the rim of her drink.

“Then you should’ve gone with yentas ,” Aaron says as he sits down.

“Like Barbra Streisand?” Dean eyes them both up and down. “Can’t say I see the resemblance.”

Aaron runs a hand down his face. “How do you know Barbra Streisand and not what yenta means?”

“Sammy made me watch it,” Dean says into his beer.

Aaron laughs. “Sure.”

“Hey, Castiel,” Daphne interrupts, “Dean was telling us the funniest story about you from way back-”

Castiel shoots Aaron a desperate look, but Aaron just grabs a mozzarella stick and settles in. Let the girls have their fun.

* * *

“So, Castiel, are you seeing anyone?” Kelly asks after finishing her third whiskey sour. Nine months of sobriety/pregnancy had shot her tolerance to nothing. And, sure, Jack is almost four now, but Kelly still has a hard time knowing when to call it quits.

Whatever. She doesn’t regret the question. It’s been plaguing her and Daphne - and by extension Aaron because he had to listen to them - for a whole goddamn week.

Daphne’s eyes go wide.

Off to the side, Aaron slaps his hand to his forehead.

Dean turns to Castiel, his gaze piercing.

Castiel goes bright red. It’s a good color on him. Brings out the blue in his eyes. “I - well, that is to say - I am not - it’s complicated?” he fumbles.

Dean snorts as he picks up his beer to take a long pull.

Kelly frowns. “It’s complicated?” she repeats, disappointed. “How?”

“I am not comfortable discussing my personal life with colleagues,” Castiel says stiltedly.

Dean thumps him on the back. “Good move,” he says, “these three are the worst gossips in the school.”

“Hey!” Kelly protests automatically although Dean is, unfortunately, right. But it’s not her fault everyone else on staff at Edlund High doesn’t know how to have a good time.

Daphne knocks back her cosmo murderously.

Aaron shrugs.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Dean adds, “definitely has its uses. Just something for the newbie to know, right, Cas?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, sounding like he doesn’t know what exactly he’s agreeing to.

What a cutie. Kelly grins as she leans in over the table. “You want to know which students are the worst?”

Dean frowns. “Come on, there’s no need to dunk on minors.”

“Who’s dunking?” Kelly asks innocently. “I was going to warn him about Max Banes.”

“Oh, yeah, you should know about him, Cas,” Dean says with a laugh. “Kid’s a horndog. Gives my libido a run for my money.”

Castiel blinks. “Does he… pursue teachers?”

Daphne pats his hand. “Not yet. These three think it’s only a matter of time.”

“Oh,” Cas says, “That was very frowned upon at Carver Preparatory.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It’s frowned on here too, asshole. If he makes any… advances, just let Jody know. She and Donna - the guidance counselor - can handle it.”

“If I was going to put my psych degree to good use,” Daphne adds, “I would read into his lack of father figure. Their mom’s great, but Max doesn’t have a lot of male role models in his life.”

Kelly scowls.

Dean huffs into his beer. “Single parents have it rough, though.”

“Of course they do,” Daphne says with a significant look at Kelly. “Nobody’s saying they don’t.”

“I was raised by a single dad,” Dean protests, “and he raised me and my brother right.” He holds up a hand, and Castiel snaps his mouth shut before Kelly had even noticed it opening in the first place. “Don’t you start. I know you have thoughts about Dad, but that’s a conversation for another day.”

Kelly eyes them both curiously, but before she can ask, Aaron interrupts, “Did you guys hear about Krissy and Aidan? I think they are finally going to-”

“No way!” Daphne says, shaking her head. “She’s clueless. And he’s inept. The worst combination.”

“I believe in them,” Kelly announces. “What’d you hear, Aaron?”

As Aaron launches into the latest installment of their favorite will-they won’t-they senior couple, Kelly can finally appreciate the lazy smile Castiel wears as he settles in to listen. Maybe Aaron was right, and she and Daphne came on a little strong.

Whatever. No regrets. She wouldn’t trade that valuable intel from Castiel for anything.

* * *

That was Kelly’s last night out for a solid month. Every other weekend, her usual babysitter called in sick or said she was busy. And usually Kelly would be happy to spend more time with her son, but come on. A month with no breaks?

Christ, she’s such a bad mom.

Times like this don’t help.

“Jack?” Kelly calls, spinning around in the department store. Panic races through her veins. “Jack!”

She had turned her back for one minute to grab a set of towels from the highest shelf, and by the time she turned around, Jack was gone. She scans the surrounding racks of linens, her eyes peeled for any sign of Jack’s Spider-Man shirt. Heart beating erratically, she pushes her shopping cart back towards the bedding aisle - Jack had been enamored with a set of hideous, bright orange sheets, and Kelly had only gotten him away by bribing him with a piece of nougat.

“Jack!” she shouts again, going a bit red in the face as people turn to stare.

“Kelly?”

Shit. How could she miss Dean Winchester standing right in front of her?

“Dean!” Kelly greets, pasting on a fake smile as she cranes her neck around to scan the aisles behind him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“It was recently brought to my attention I needed a bathmat,” Dean grumbles, “and a shower curtain that doesn’t have the Scooby Gang on it.”

Kelly laughs, a tad hysterically. “Probably. I - well, nice running into you. I need to go - my son’s wandered off, and I need to find him because I am not a terrible mother.”

But instead of standing to the side, Dean adopts a pained expression. “He’s four, right?”

Kelly blinks. “Yes.”

Dean jerks his head for Kelly to follow. “I think I know where he is,” Dean says griml

Bemused, Kelly pushes her cart after Dean, back to the display beds. Her eyes zero in on the orange eye-sore, currently occupied by a jumping toddler. A dark-haired man perches on one edge with his back to them, apparently trying to communicate with Kelly’s wayward son.

She all but sprints forward, nearly bumping her shopping cart into several bed frames. “Jack!” she says loudly, and Jack stops at once.

“Mama!” he calls back delightedly.

“What are you doing?”

“Jumping.”

Kelly resists the urge to facepalm. “What did I tell you about wandering off? Or talking to stran-” She backtracks, finally focusing on the man. “Oh, hi, Castiel.”

“Hello, Kelly,” Castiel says, his deep voice sending a frisson down her spine like it always does.

“You know Mama?” Jack asks, looking from Kelly to Castiel and back again.

“We work together,” Castiel explains.

“This is Castiel,” Kelly introduces, and Jack wastes no time in chirping out, “Nice to meet you Castiel!’

Castiel sticks out his hand like he’s greeting the President instead of Kelly’s four-year-old son. “You as well, Jack.”

“What’re you doing here?” Kelly asks as Jack gives Castiel’s hand a theatrical shake.

Castiel’s brow furrows. “Purchasing home goods?” He gets to his feet. “I was searching for a suitable bathmat when I found Jack.”

“A bathmat,” Kelly echoes, whirling in place to see a red-faced Dean a few paces away, apparently enthralled by a set of outrageously mundane pillows.

“Yes?” Castiel confirms, following her gaze and blushing furiously. “Ah, hello, Dean. I - I didn’t see you there?”

Dean throws his hands in the air, giving up on all pretenses. “You’re impossible,” he says to Castiel.

“You’re buying a bathmat together?” Kelly asks, confused.

“Dean doesn’t have one,” Castiel says promptly.

“I didn’t need one until-” Dean closes his mouth with a snap.

Kelly stares at the pair of them. “Do you two live together?” she demands.

Castiel opens his mouth, but no words come out.

Kelly turns to Dean, who is rapidly scanning for the exits.

“Are you the ‘it’s complicated’?” she asks curiously, only looking away as Jack pats her knee determinedly, his face hopeful.

“Up?” he asks.

Kelly sighs and hefts him into her arms. “You’re getting too big for this.”

“Am not,” Jack mumbles into her shoulder.

Kelly presses a kiss to his forehead and turns back to Castiel and Dean, who look more like two students caught passing notes than fully grown men. “Well?”

Dean shares a loaded glance with Castiel, and Kelly has no idea how she missed the whole couple thing. Eventually, he says, “After two f-” he glances at Jack, “-friggin’ years, he finally got sick of cold feet in my bathroom.”

“Two years,” Kelly gapes.

Castiel sighs. “Three.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t start sleeping over at-”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts in a growl.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. He coughs. “Anyway,” he says, “Yes, we’re dating. No, it’s not really that complicated. Cas just doesn’t like to talk about it at work.”

“Hm,” Kelly says neutrally.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around,” Castiel says as Dean snorts derisively.

“Hey,” Kelly says, defensive, “I can do that.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “You can?”

“Sure, if you ask, Jesus,” Kelly says, rolling her eyes. “I’m not a monster.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says gratefully.

Kelly grins. “But if I can’t spread it around, Daphne’s still going to go after him like he’s a prize heifer at a state fair.”

Castiel squints at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “She was pursuing me?”

Dean guffaws. “Don’t ever change, man.” He claps him on the back while turning back to Kelly. “We can handle Daphne. Don’t worry.”

“Whatever, boys,” Kelly says as she pushes her cart back towards the linens, “it’s your funeral.” She hefts Jack higher in her arms. “Say goodbye to Dean and Castiel, Jack.” As Jack waves goodbye, she calls, “See you Monday!”

Sure, she’s a little disappointed Castiel is clearly off the dating market. But, bonus, she has blackmail material on not one, but two Edlund faculty members, and possibly a pinch-hitter babysitter waiting to happen. Not bad for a shopping trip with a four-year-old in tow.

* * *

Donna’s surprise party at Fizzle’s Folly is well underway by the time Aaron extricates himself from a lively discussion with his Head of Department and Rowena MacLeod, Edlund's chemistry teacher. Aaron will never, ever miss an opportunity to talk to a drunk Eleanor Visyak, and Rowena turned out to be surprisingly knowledgeable about 17th century English politics.

Still, he’s taken all the history talk he can stand, especially after teaching it for four hours to a bunch of high schoolers with varying degrees of interest.

He finds Daphne in one of the far booths, tucked away with Castiel and Dean, surprise, surprise. After snagging another beer at the bar, he slides in next to Daphne. “What’s up?” he asks the three of them.

“Hey,” Dean greets with a toast of his glass.

“Hello, Aaron.”

“Budge up, you’re taking like three quarters of the seat,” Daphne complains.

“Daph was just telling us about her plans to do a joint project between GSA and the Amnesty International club,” Dean says. “Cas says he’ll come to GSA next week.”

“Yeah?” Aaron asks as Castiel nods in confirmation. “That’s great! I’d go check it out, but the Debate club meets at the same time.”

Castiel frowns. “Maybe I should run a club? Daphne has Amnesty International, Dean runs GSA, and you have Debate.”

“You can always ask Jody about forming a new one in January,” Aaron says. “Honestly, the hardest part’ll be finding a time to meet. Don’t go for afterschool Thursdays, or Benny will kick your ass.”

“Why?”

“He has his cooking club,” Dean says with a grin. “And, like, half the student body goes. I sometimes go and help out too, if he needs extra hands.”

“You’ll go if he’s making pie,” Aaron corrects.

“It’s for the kids!” Dean protests over Castiel’s chuckles. “Benny’s got a lot of skills, but he has a lot to learn when it comes to pie. The kids need to know how to make a good pie.”

“If only to feed you later,” Aaron mutters.

“You’ll also want to avoid Tuesdays afterschool,” Daphne tells Castiel. “Jo’s self-defense club meets then, and it’s also got a large following.”

“Yeah, all the girls who wanna be like Jo sign up, and all the boys who want to see Jo all sweaty show up with semis,” Dean says with a shudder of revulsion.

Aaron kicks him under the table. “That’s sexist. How are you forgetting all the lesbians?”

“Ah, yes, can’t forget the lesbians,” Dean agrees sagely.

“Does this school have Model UN?” Castiel asks. “I was looking to set up a chapter at Carver before I switched positions.”

“No, we don’t,” Daphne says eagerly. “That’s an excellent idea.”

Dean drains the dregs of his beer. “I’m gonna get another, Cas? Daph? A-Game?”

Aaron rolls his eyes at the nickname. “I’m good,” he says, holding up his three-quarters full glass.

“Another cosmo, please?” Daphne asks.

“Sure.” Dean salutes.

“I’ll go with you,” Castiel says as Daphne’s face falls. “I need to stretch my legs.”

They leave, heads already bent together to hear each other over the dull roar of the party. “They seem close,” Aaron says, jerking his head.

Daphne sighs. “Yeah, they do,” she says morosely. She twirls her empty glass between her fingers. “Kelly’s given up on him. I think you might be right - he definitely has a thing for Dean.”

Aaron sips his beer. “I don’t blame him.”

“Of course you don’t,” Daphne says with a small grin, lightly kicking him under the table.

Before Aaron can think of anything else to say, Kelly appears over Daphne’s shoulder, her face flushed as it always gets when she drinks too much red wine. She slides into the side of the booth vacated by Dean and Castiel. “Some party, right? Did you see Garth doing shots?”

“No,” Daphne says, nose wrinkling. “And I don’t want to. I’ll stay here, out of the splash zone, thanks.”

Kelly giggles. “Why d’you think I’m over here instead of egging him on like Jo and Charlie.”

By the time Aaron finishes off the rest of his beer, Daphne’s still one cosmo short, and it’s been at least twenty minutes since he saw Dean and Castiel.

“Hey, I’ll go check up on that drink you’re waiting for,” Aaron says, getting to his feet.

“You sure?” Daphne asks, blinking hazily up at him. And okay, it’s probably good she had a breather between rounds.

“Yeah,” Aaron says, jerking his head towards the bar. “I need to piss anyway.”

“Gross,” Daphne says, nose wrinkling.

Kelly giggles, “If you think a little pee is gross, you don’t want to hear what Jack got up to with-”

Daphne actually places both hands over her ears and goes, “Na, na, na.”

Aaron leaves the pair of them laughing, with Kelly trying to pry Daphne’s hands away and Daphne getting louder with each tug.

He makes his way through the thinning crowd, waving to Eleanor when he spots her getting ready to leave and nodding to Charlie as she adjusts the empty shot glasses in front of her, Jo, and an impossibly red-faced Garth.

Aaron slides between the thinning crowd to duck out into the hallway leading to the bathrooms. As he gets closer to the men’s room, he slows. There are sounds coming from behind the door. Not like the pained bathroom sounds like Great Aunt Rachel gets after too much dairy. Porn sounds.

Aaron, torn between finding out who’s getting down and dirty at Donna’s surprise party, and getting Kelly and Daphne so they can witness the big reveal with him, is still rooted to the spot as the door bursts open and Castiel and Dean stumble out.

Cas’s hair is a bird’s nest of bedhead that would probably drop Daphne’s panties in a heartbeat. Dean’s cheeks are flushed, and Aaron definitely recognizes his immediate post-orgasm face.

“Fuck,” Dean swears as he finds his footing. He stares at Aaron, and Aaron stares right back.

“Aaron,” Castiel says breathlessly, temporarily drawing his attention. “You’re… here.”

“I had to pee,” Aaron says lamely.

“Oh, well, it’s all yours then,” Dean says, blushing to the roots of his hair as he gestures to the now available men’s room.

“Fuck no.” Aaron automatically recoils. There’s no way he’s touching any surface in that bathroom until it’s been scrubbed and bleached. He has some goddamn standards. He’d rather pee in the alley out back.

They linger awkwardly until Aaron speaks. He eyes the pair of them, his gaze ping-ponging back and forth. “So… you two are finally together?”

“Finally?” Dean echoes.

“Uh yeah,” Aaron says, confused. “Castiel clearly has a huge thing for you. Not to spill the beans or anything.”

A beat.

Dean cracks up.

Aaron, almost offended on Castiel’s behalf, opens his mouth as he catches sight of Castiel’s face, lips pressed tight together like he’s trying not to laugh. “You knew?”

Castiel slowly shakes his head as Dean leans on him for support, gasping for air. “Oh my god, Cas, that’s fucking embarrassing. D’you have a crush on me?”

“Shut up, Dean,” Castiel grumbles, shoving him off. To Aaron he says, “We’ve been dating for three years. He’s known about my feelings for a while now.”

“Oh,” Aaron says, drawing the syllable out as Dean composes himself.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, wiping at his eyes, “I thought I was going to give it all away, but turns out you’re just as obvious as you were in high school.”

Castiel sighs. “We were trying to not spread our relationship around.”

“Cas wanted to get settled in before people started saying he was my trophy husband,” Dean says with a wink.

Horror seizes Aaron. “You’re not married, are you?” he blurts. He glances down at their hands - no rings - and he would never forgive himself for missing something that obvious.

“No,” Castiel shakes his head, “we are only dating for now.”

“Not yet.”

Castiel turns to Dean in surprise, and Aaron really doesn’t need to be here for that conversation. “Oh-kay,” he says, sidling around them, “I still gotta,” he jerks his head towards the men’s room.

“Right!” Dean says, grinning. “We should get back to the party. Say hi to Donna.”

Aaron makes his exit, sighing in relief as the door closes behind him. He should be fine if he doesn’t touch anything. Or look at any shiny surfaces too closely. Once upon a time, he lived with a dozen Alpha Epsilon Pi brothers. He can do this.

* * *

Daphne has had it up to here with her juniors. Yes, Homecoming is this weekend. No, their essays aren’t due until next week, but that doesn’t excuse their behavior this Friday afternoon. Nobody wants to be in class at a quarter to three. High school juniors don’t. Daphne sure as hell doesn’t. They can’t cut her a little slack?

When the bell finally rings, Daphne sighs in relief. She dismisses her class with a terse, “Aufiderzein.”

She gathers her files together, grumbling to herself about stupid staff meetings on Friday. It’s like Jody wants them to surreptitiously play games on their phones and text each other when she’s looking the other way or yelling at Rowena for blowing up the Chemistry Lab again.

At least Benny always brings snacks from Thursday’s Cooking Club.

Daphne glances at her watch. Jody gives them a half-hour to get their affairs in order, but Daphne doesn’t mind staking out her seat in the Teachers Lounge early. She can save spots for Kelly and Aaron and stake out the precious few non-wobbly chairs.

She stops by the Language Office, pleasantly surprised to find it empty. No Dean, Kelly, or Castiel in sight. Daphne quickly gathers her freshmen pop quizzes to grade this weekend and her copy of Die Verwandlung.

She rounds the final corner before the Teachers Lounge and stops dead. Because Aaron and Kelly are hovering outside the door and spying through the slim glass pane. Without her.

“What’s going on?” Daphne asks curiously.

“Ah!” Kelly whirls around, clutching her heart.

“Daphne!” Aaron says loudly. “What’re you doing here?”

“Saving us a seat for the meeting?” Daphne says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Like I do every month?”

Aaron and Kelly share a loaded look. Aaron is the first one to speak, “I think we’re good this time.”

“Why?” Daphne asks, stepping closer. She frowns as Kelly and Aaron automatically stand shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking her view of the narrow window.

“Students are in there,” Aaron blurts.

“Puking,” Kelly adds.

Daphne doesn’t believe them for a second. “And you’re just standing there watching it happen?”

“Schadenfreude?” Aaron tries. “It’s the mean ones. You know. The kids we don't like.”

Daphne rolls her eyes, pushing them aside and standing on her tiptoes to see.

“We tried,” Aaron grumbles to her right.

“They can’t fault us for that,” Kelly says to her left.

At first, it looks like the Teachers Lounge is empty. Most seats are unoccupied, and nobody’s loitering by the coffee machine. One of the tables is strewn with three mostly-empty mini pie tins. Cherry, by the color. Movement catches her eye, and, woah how did she miss that?

“No way,” she breathes, glancing at Aaron and Kelly for confirmation.

Aaron scuffing his shoes against the floor, nods sheepishly.

“They made me promise not to tell,” Kelly says ruefully, lips pursing.

“Dean and Castiel?” Daphne gasps, squinting to better see Edlund High’s newest hire and favorite English teacher (no offense, Kelly) getting at it on the lumpy couch in the back that no one sat on because of this very reason.

She rounds on them. “You knew?” she hisses.

Kelly huffs an impatient sigh, blowing a few brown strands of hair out of her face. “I ran into them shopping together a few weeks ago.”

Aaron grimaces. “I nearly walked in on them having sex in the bathroom at Donna’s surprise party last weekend.”

Daphne blinks at the pair of them, hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kelly opens her mouth but no words come out.

“This is the first guy since Mark you showed an interest in,” Aaron rushes to say.

“We didn’t want to ruin it,” Kelly says.

Daphne’s eyes narrow. “And you didn’t think the fact that he’s clearly taken would ruin it?”

“I don’t know,” Kelly says, throwing her hands in the hair. “Sue us, we liked seeing you happy for however long it lasted!”

Daphne softens.

“We thought,” Aaron says, glancing at Kelly for support, “You were getting over Castiel, anyway.”

A small, petty part of Daphne is tempted to deny it as punishment for keeping this from her. But mostly she’s relieved. “Yeah, mostly,” she mutters.

“So… we good?” Aaron tries.

Kelly loops her arm around her in a one-armed hug. “Of course we are.”

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Of course,” she echoes as Aaron pats her on the back, a wide grin spreading over his face. And, yeah, this is why she has the two best friends on Earth.

“What are you three up to?”

The smile slides off Kelly’s face. “Jody!” she says, spinning around to meet their Principal, holding a paper cup of coffee, and trailed by what looks like half the Edlund High teachers.

Oh shit.

Aaron not-so-accidentally knocks his elbow, loudly, into the door as he turns to face Jody et al. “We didn’t see you there,” he says conversationally.

“Hm,” Jody hums as she reaches past them for the doorknob. “Meeting’s going to start in ten.”

“Can we make it fifteen?” Aaron asks desperately, shuffling to the side so he better blocks the way in.

Jody shakes her head, throwing him a bemused look. “I’m pretty sure everyone wants this started with and over as soon as possible.”

“If you need to urinate, Bass, do it now,” Rowena sniffs.

“I don’t-” Aaron starts, breaking off as Jody finally opens the door.

She stops dead in her tracks.

“Jody!” Dean’s voice carries through the doorway, uncharacteristically high. “’S it time for the meeting already?”

Jo elbows her way to the front. “Goddammit,” she says, sounding completely unsurprised as she stands next to Jody. “Really, guys?”

The rest of the staff curiously filter in.

Behind Daphne, Benny surreptitiously slides Charlie a few bills, muttering, “I told them this was stupid.”

Charlie laughs. “But you still thought they’d last until Homecoming.”

“What can I say,” Benny says, shrugging, “I’m an optimist. And I was so close.”

Daphne meets Charlie’s eyes, asking in a low voice, “Did everyone know?”

Charlie see-saws her hand back and forth as they take their seats. “About half,” she says, glancing behind them to where Dean and Castiel are attempting to make themselves presentable. “Turns out, they’re really bad at keeping the whole ‘Destiel’ thing under wraps. It’s adorable they thought they could try.”

Daphne looks too, and there’s no mistaking what Dean and Castiel were doing. Their lips are swollen from kissing, and, weirdly, Castiel’s tie faces the right way. Daphne snorts. Probably because he didn’t tie it himself, for once.

Jody clears her throat. “Alright, settle down, guys,” she says with a sharp glare in Dean and Castiel’s direction. “As you all know, Homecoming is next weekend-”

* * *

Jody pinches the bridge of her nose. “Okay, that’s all that was on my agenda for today’s meeting-” she waits for the cheers to die down “but, Dean and Castiel, can you stay for a sec?”

Castiel visibly swallows.

Dean scowls.

Jody waits for the rest of the staff to leave.

Nobody moves a muscle.

“Jesus Christ,” Jody swears under her breath. She’s managing children. Horrible, gossipy children. “Okay, I guess everyone could use a refresher.” She clears her throat. “PDA is strictly discouraged among faculty. It’s in the goddamn handbook, people.”

“Really, Jody?” Dean complains.

“I’m not saying you can’t be in a relationship,” Jody says with a sharp look. “Just don’t… advertise it.”

“You got something against two dudes making out?” Dean demands, half-getting up from his seat.

“Of course not, you ass,” Jody says in a long-suffering voice, “I do have something against teenagers making out in every hallway and empty classroom, which they will if they see their two favorite teachers doing it.” She shakes her head. “If you want to hold hands or take an ad out in the school paper, be my guest.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” Castiel says hesitantly, wasting no time in reaching for Dean’s hand.

“Plus,” Jody says loftily, “I’ve been dating Donna for six months, and you don’t see me dragging her into supply closets, do you?” And into the stunned silence, Jody stands up to leave.

There are various cries of, “Donna?”

Donna throws her hands in the air as Kelly, Daphne, and Aaron converge on her like piranhas tasting blood in the water. “Jeez Louise,” Donna grumbles, “a little warning wouldn’t kill ya, would it Jody-o?”

“Probaby,” Jody says, giving them all a jaunty salute. “Enjoy your weekends, everyone!”

#destiel fanfic #destiel #fanfic #teacher dean #teacher castiel #human au #teachers au #jody mills #outsider pov #the story of us verse #rae writes fic #profoundnet #secret relationship #but like the worst kept secret #so does it even really count #kelly kline #aaron bass #daphne allen

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nalgenewhore · 4 years

Text

Slipping Through My Fingers - Three

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter

warnings: none

an: let the games begin bitches

Lorcan was desperate.

The five-year old sitting on the floor of his room refused to get dressed and Lorcan’s nerves were getting frayed. He looked more like Lorcan than his mother, but his features softer than his father’s, his eyes brighter - a pale doe-brown. The freckles over his button nose were Essar’s, no doubt about it.

“No, Dad.” Despite his words and negation, Lorcan was forever grateful that they spoke his mother tongue at home, as well as Essar’s. That their son was able to speak their languages, for their cultures and people to be kept alive for one more generation. They tended to mix and match with the two tongues, one from the northernmost part of Doranelle, and the other from deep within the Bogdano jungle.

He sighed and ran a hand down his face, rubbing his eyes before he too sat on the floor. “Prince, please. Please just put on your pants.”

“No, Dad. Don’t wanna go to school,” Kohana* said, his arms crossed tightly, glowering menacingly. He was already wearing his long-sleeved t-shirt, sweater and puffy jacket. The child insisted on wearing all his layers, even though it was hardly fall and he would definitely become way to warm by the end of the day.

“I know, kiddo,” Lorcan said, wishing that Essar was here to convince him. She’d always managed to soothe their son and sometimes - most of the time if he were honest - Lorcan felt like a failure. He’d asked every god, multiple times, why him. “I know you don’t.”

His tone was defeated and Kohana looked up at him, his brows lowered. “If you know, why telling me to go?”

That was a very good point. An excellent one. Lorcan resorted to his last point: bribery. “Alright, if you go to school, tonight when we get home, we’ll get ice cream and watch your favourite movie. Deal?”

His son looked between the pants and him, narrowing his chestnut eyes, just like his mom. Finally, Kohana nodded. “Ok, Dad.”

Ten minutes later, Kohana was concentrating on his laces, his tongue sticking out as he tied his shoes up. He was successful and clapped his little hands, “Look! Tied my shoes!”

Lorcan smiled, his heart cracking just a bit, “Good job, baby.” Kohana stood up on the front hall bench and lifted his arms. Lorcan scooped him up and tossed him up, catching him before setting the little one down on his feet, smiling at his son’s pealing laughter. “We ready?”

Kohana grabbed Lorcan’s pinky and ring finger after Lorcan helped him put on his mini rainbow Kanken backpack. “Yep! Go time!”

As Lorcan opened the door, Kohana froze, “Oh no! I forgot to say bye bye to Tigger!” He raced back into their house, seeking out Essar’s old ragdoll cat. Lorcan had a love-hate relationship with Tigger, but even he smiled when he heard the kid’s little voice saying good-bye. He looked in the mirror beside Essar’s picture, noting the length of his hair had just finally begun to brush against his shoulders after he had cut it, out of respect and honour for the passing of his wife.

It made his throat close up, this feeling that he was moving on and forgetting her - when he’d once promised to never forget her. Lorcan had meant it that dark day in that sterile hospital room and he meant it now. His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the pattering feet of their son as he came racing back and crashed into Lorcan’s legs. “Ready to go.”

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Kohana chattered the entire way to his school, looking out the window as he kicked his feet, sitting on his booster seat. Lorcan grinned and conversed with him, only slightly worried about the amount that he talked.

Kohana was a fairly quiet child, reserved and freakily observant like his dad, and preferred to silently ride in the truck wherever they went. Soon enough, they pulled up in front of the school and Kohana fell silent, nervously glancing out at the other kids and parents.

“You need a minute, Ko?”

Kohana slowly shook his head, “No, I ready. Go time, Dad.”

Lorcan stifled his chuckle and unbuckled his seatbelt, turning off the engine and making his way to Kohana’s door. He opened it and Kohana unclipped his seat belt and stood on his booster seat, waiting for Lorcan to pick him up. Lorcan did, propping him on his hip as he got his backpack and shut the door, clicking his keys to lock the truck as he strode through the parking lot, unaware of the stares and attention he drew to himself as he walked to the school.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide checked the time again, reassuring herself that nobody was late, considering the bell didn’t ring for another fifteen minutes. She breathed out slowly, checking over her class list and making sure that each little desk (who knew kindergarten desks could be so cute) had a velcroed name label on it. She figured she would let the kids choose their seats and go from there once she knew the different dynamics.

She checked over the reading area, making sure the toadstool-patterned pouffes were placed correctly and relative to the bookshelves and toy area. What she had wanted was a whimsical, faerie-woods like reading area and Elide was happy with what she had done. She'd even managed to find a tree-throne inspired wooden chair made by a local artist.

The art corner was all ready, it had been the first area she set up, and Elide walked into the cubby area, which was separate from the rest of the classroom.

Unlike the desks, the cubbies were designated to each student and she made sure that the velcroed labels stuck on well. Elide did not need wild little ones pulling things off at random. She popped into the little bathroom they had, thanking her gods and goddesses for being one of the few kindergarten classes with their own toilet. There was a sign with diagrams on correct hand washing and a step stool up to the sink, soap and paper towels in easy access.

She looked at herself in the mirror, running an eye over her outfit: a pair of raw-edge, blue mom jeans and a slouchy lavender sweater, paired with a pair of delicate silver hoops, her hair twisted into a low-bun and held together with a silver hairpin, a gift from her ex-girlfriend. She wore her everyday, white sneakers, her makeup simple with just mascara and a light dusting of blush.

Perfect for meeting parents and kiddos. Comfortable and still somewhat professional for the first day of school. Aelin had asked her to model some things for her newest collection and had dumped a bunch of custom made pieces into her arms. A congrats-on-your-new-job present, she’d said, so needless to say, Elide was well-equipped and excited for her new outfits.

Someone knocked on the door and called out, “Hello?”

Elide squeaked and hurried into her class, “Hey, I’m— Lorcan?” Oh gods, what was he doing here? Elide subtly checked the available exits, in case something went sideways. “What are you doing here?”

Just then, she noticed how shocked he looked and the children’s backpack that dangled from his hand, not to mention the nearly identical child who held onto his other hand in a death grip. “Um, I- kid- school-” he stuttered out, his jaw still dropped as the child tugged on his hand.

“Dad?” The dark-haired child looked up at Lorcan in confusion, his brow wrinkling. Elide genuinely thought that every kid was cute, but by the gods, this one took the cake. She had the sudden urge to kiss his round cheek and clamped down on the desire.

He was a father. And she was his kid’s teacher. And she should not be thinking about how he held her up and fucked her against a wall three nights ago or how the way his lips parted as she got on her knees for—

“Oh my gods, sorry,” Elide said, snapping out of her shock. “Hi!” The kid looked nervous and hugged Lorcan’s legs, hiding his face in his father’s navy painter pants.

“Ko,” Lorcan said, crouching down in front of his son. Elide scanned the class roster, landing on the name Kohana **Tangaroa-Salvaterre. Lorcan began to speak in a language she discerned as ***Ozuye from hearing it during her gap year, but she didn’t comprehend a word, her mind reeling.

Even if this wasn’t the situation, she still wouldn’t have been able to understand a word on account of not speaking a language other than the common tongue and Blackbeak.

“Ok, Dad,” Kohana whispered. He walked over to her, his light eyes wide as he clasped his hands together in front of him, “Hello. My name is Kohana. I am five.”

Elide huffed a laugh and crouched down in front of him, “Hi, Kohana. My name’s supposed to be Miss Lochan, but you can call me Elide.” He smiled and nodded, running back to Lorcan to grab his backpack and grab a quick hug before saying bye with a tight hug and an accepted top-of-the-head kiss. He quickly ran back to Elide’s side.

Lorcan laughed quietly and nodded an only semi-awkward goodbye before ducking out of the classroom. “Alright, Kohana, why don’t we see your cubby?”

“Ok,” he said, following her closely as she led the way to the coat room.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Hellas save him, this was a mess. How had he managed to sleep with the one person that would be his son’s teacher for ten whole months?

Lorcan stopped at a red light and hit his head against the steering wheel, swearing low. If Essar could see him now, she’d be crying in laughter. That got him to smile, even if it was forced and unnatural.

He drove in utter silence to the mechanic shop he worked at, alongside Fenrys and Malakai, trying to think about anything other than the sounds she had made when he was inside her. He was not successful in the slightest.

It had him in a foul mood when he parked and got out of his truck, stalking into the back room. Fenrys was sitting at the table and drinking a cup of coffee when he walked in. “Woah, who pissed in your coffee this morning?”

Lorcan sighed and braced his hands against his locker, hanging his head. “I fucked Ko’s teacher.”

“Wait, just now?”

He snarled and spun to glare at Fenrys, “Yeah, in the five-minute period I was dropping my kindergartener off at school, I took her in the cubby and fucked her real good.” He walked over to the blonde and slapped him upside the head, “Fuck is wrong with you? She’s the girl from the bar.”

“Well. You two are fucked.”

That was exactly the problem.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

*Kohana is a Lakota name that means swift

**Tangaroa is the Māori god of the sea! In this story (and all things i write) both Essar and Lorcan are indigenous - Essar is Māori and Lorcan is Lakota because you can never have too much colour 😌✨

***Ozuye is the fictional tribe of my own invention, it’s very largely based off the Lakota nation

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @westofmoon @empire-of-wildfire @rhysands-highlady @city-of-fae @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tangledraysofsunshine @ttakeitbacknoww @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @superspiritfestival @empress-ofbloodshed @queen-of-glass @sleeping-and-books @beccasophia95 @exersize-me-i-dare-u @thewayshedreamed @hizqueen4life @ifinallygavein @bat-wing-rhys @awkward-avocado-s

#slipping through my fingers #stmf chapter three #elorcan #elide x lorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #kohana #baby oc!#isa writes #nalgenewhore

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cicada-bones · 4 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 31: A Call for Aid

This one is a little bit different - but I really hope you all enjoy it! (I certainly did!)

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Gavriel’s sword hand shot out, the sleek metal shrieking through the air as he sliced and chopped, his feet carefully marking their set pattern over the packed earth. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of other soldiers practicing; grunts and shouts and sharp clangs echoing over the practice fields as they went through their daily routines. The faint morning sun lit the mists all around them, a golden haze.

Gavriel wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel, the familiar ache just beginning to start in his muscles. He sighed, then made to leave the practice fields, finished for the day.

He’d been coming here more often lately, and was staying for longer and longer stretches of time. Following his return from the post in the northern mountains, Gavriel had been different, slightly off. He knew that his queen and his fellow warriors were attributing that difference to grief, to the guilt at the loss of his men. To the three new markings that just barely peeked out the side of his leather jerkin when he raised his arms over his head. But that wasn’t the reason for the change.

No matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he worked, how tired he was, that face wouldn’t go away. The girl with the face of the woman. His lost love. Tamalina, the second princess of Wendlyn.

Gavriel’s feet pounded into the earth as he walked, dirt and rock scattering in his wake.

He turned the memory over and over in his mind – the image of the princess, bearing a tray of stew and bread. Rowan’s snarl of rage as she edged into the room, the shock and hurt that filled her scent. The overwhelming blankness behind her eyes. The golden head of hair that so matched his own.

The possibility grated on him, itching and scratching. A splinter in the back of his mind, that refused to be removed. His daughter.

The girl might be his daughter.

He’d spent the last weeks wrestling with this fact, trying to eliminate it, or at least subdue it. Trying to forget. But his efforts were in vain.

So instead he stormed through the castle, surly and distant. He knew he was beginning to irritate Fenrys, but he didn’t care. The young male could get in line.

Gavriel didn’t want to admit it to himself, but really he was just waiting. Waiting for Rowan to appear, the girl in tow. Waiting to see if his suspicions were correct. To see if it were possible that time had stretched and morphed his memory of the girl until she fit the picture of his love. To see if there was a chance he was wrong.

Even if, deep down, he was sure that he wasn’t.

But it felt shameful to just wait – to not act. Even if there wasn’t anything he could do. He wasn’t even sure that the girl was his responsibility. But still, this waiting…it was going to drive him completely mad.

Gavriel reached his rooms, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud and striding over to sit at the desk that straddled the far wall. A window was set into the stone above it, providing a small view of the city. A gray frame surrounding its expanse of blue rooftops and white cobblestones. The great river flowed idly by, casting up great lots of mist that drifted over the many alleys, buildings and plazas. It was picturesque. Gavriel didn’t see any of it.

He didn’t mind his fate, not all that much. The rewards of his life still outweighed the trials. Nor did he hate Maeve, for all she put them through. She was his Queen, and she would always be. So despite everything, he was glad of his position – both for the responsibility and honor it provided, and for the purpose.

Gavriel was the linchpin, a connector between warriors who otherwise might have ripped each other to pieces. He kept the peace between them, and made sure that they didn’t fall apart. Lorcan was their leader, with Rowan as his second, and Gavriel stood mostly in the background, hidden in the shadows. But he knew he was essential.

But for the girl...he wouldn’t wish this life on her. He wouldn’t wish his life on anyone. And yet she was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Gavriel hoped that the princess would just fulfill her bargain and go – that she would be allowed to leave, unscathed and unburdened. But still, he worried. The power he had felt in her...it was greater than any he’d ever felt before. Only Queen Maeve could match it.

He couldn't imagine his queen just letting the girl go, not when she could be such a useful tool. Not when the princess might be powerful enough to beat her.

Maeve must have a plan, must have some leverage on the child. But for the life of him, Gavriel couldn’t figure out what it was. The only thing that seemed remotely possible was…Rowan.

Their Queen had chosen him for this task, chosen him specifically. And the feelings Gavriel had sensed in the male, the changes…they hinted at something more. An attachment of some kind. He couldn’t speculate about the princess, but still – something had shifted in the Prince while in Mistward. And Gavriel was sure that it marked change.

Perhaps the girl would join them, and perhaps she would instead be sent out to retake her throne. Maybe they would even help her. Maeve had long coveted the western continent, perhaps she now thought to conquer.

All their spies indicated that war was coming. Adarlan was poised to attack Wendlyn, seeking to stretch their empire eastwards. So no matter what, soon Maeve would send them into battle. The question was – which side would they be fighting for this time?

All Gavriel knew was that he would do all he could to keep that child safe. Whether she was his or not, he owed as much to her mother. To Tamalina.

But he had no idea what he could possibly do to help the princess. He was forced to obey his Queen, to bend to her every wish. All he could do for her was keep her secrets, and his silence. For as long as he could manage it.

Gavriel sighed, and turned to the papers on his desk. He knew there was a report from Vaughn that needed looking at, as well as a dispatch from the eastern border and one from the admiral commanding the fleet currently guarding their western flank.

While Lorcan was still traveling up from the south, and Rowan was stationed in Mistward, Gavriel was the highest ranked member of the blood-sworn in the capital. As a result, he had to deal with much of their mail. He had just begun to sift through the papers when an unmarked letter fell through the pile.

It was light, and hastily closed, the wax seal clumsy and misshapen. But still – Gavriel could just recognize the symbol embossed in the wax. It was a bird, its wings extended in flight, its beak curved and sharp. A hawk.

A frown twisted Gavriel’s face as he used a letter opener to slice open Rowan’s message, and unfolded the paper within.

Gavriel –

I can only hope that this will reach you in time.

Adarlan has sent a company of two hundred soldiers and three demons to attack Mistward, and capture or kill the demi-Fae housed here. There are barely thirty demi-Fae soldiers who have seen battle, and as you know, the fortress is not properly outfitted for war. We have called for assistance from Wendlyn, but I have no hope of victory.

Come to our aid.

I know that I have no right to ask this of you, that I have no right to expect this of you. But I have no choice. I must.

I beg you, please come to our aid.

I will fight and die alongside these men. If you choose not to come, remember me well. If you choose not to come, I will understand.

But if you choose not to come, you doom these men to death.

I beg you, come to my aid.

With you at my side, we have a chance at survival. With you at my side, perhaps these people can live. Have a future.

Please, come to my aid.

Our lives are in your hands.

– Rowan

The paper crumpled between Gavriel’s fingers. That face was still fixed in his vision, only now the eyes were empty, her face white as death. Aelin, dead or dying. Her fires waning.

Gavriel’s chest was a hollow space, empty and still. Thoughtlessly, he stood and walked from the room, his blood spiked with shock. Within seconds, he reached a courtyard and transformed. His lion’s paws thundered on the stone as he raced down the castle hallways and out into the city beyond.

He ran, without needing a moment to reconsider. Without a moment of doubt. Ran for

···

Fenrys was dreaming. He knew it, and yet he still longed for it to be real. Still longed for his dreams to leap from the ether of his mind and out into the world.

In the dream, he was running. His paws digging into the earthy loam, bits of grass catching in his claws, wiping them clean of the blood of the deer he’d just eaten for lunch. Its sweet meat lined his stomach and weighed him down in that comfortable, satisfying way that only a good meal could.

In the dream, the wind whipped through his fur, its fingers flowing over his coat and making it ripple like water. In the dream, the sun warmed his limbs and flashed in his eyes, a bright discomfort. In the dream, there was no catch over his heart, no chains or locks or ropes tying him to a dark queen. He was free.

But he wasn’t dreaming anymore.

Now, he was lying on Maeve’s bed. Hating himself. And everyone else under the sun. Drunk, but not sufficiently so. A glass of red wine rested in one of his hands.

Maeve had left a while ago now, but he couldn’t quite remember why. It didn’t really matter.

Fenrys didn’t know whether to be glad of the moment’s peace, or to hate it. It was so much easier to just hate everything. To hate this prison, and to hate the moments of freedom he was given. To hate his pitiful, despicable life, with every single ripped-up piece of him still left.

Maeve didn’t call him every night. In fact, she rarely called him more than once or twice a week. But it was enough. His body didn’t feel like his own anymore – it didn’t feel like it belonged to him. Probably because it didn’t. It belonged to her, just like everything else.

Fenrys shoved those useless thoughts down deep. He knew damn well what a waste of time it was to dwell.

Instead he took another swig of wine. Perhaps if he drank enough of it, he might just forget. Not only everything he’d been forced to do last night, but also the dream that he’d woken up to.

For it was the dream that was the real torture. Without thought of freedom, captivity would not be so great a burden to bear. So Maeve made sure that freedom was always nearby, just close enough to taste.

Like with that trip to Varese, where he had to watch as Rowan took for granted every single thing he held dear. His ability, his autonomy. His independence. And then Fenrys had to watch Rowan leave, with the knowledge that he would never be able to follow.

It was the freedom that tore at him, not the imprisonment. Cages were rather boring, after all. Even ones made of words and blood and darkness.

Even so, Fenrys didn’t think he regretted taking the blood-oath. He fought it with every breath in his body, and would do anything to be free of it – suffer any torture, break any bond. But were he given the option to go back and change his mind, he didn’t think that he would.

Fenrys had taken it to protect his little brother, and nothing more.

Well, maybe a little bit more.

All Fae males were drawn to power, and Maeve was the most powerful Fae living. They were all drawn to her, no matter her darkness. They had all wanted to serve her.

And maybe just a tiny, minuscule little piece of him had been jealous of his brother. Didn’t like being surpassed and overshadowed by him. It was a piece that Fenrys didn’t particularly like looking at, but he saw it nonetheless.

He thought Connall might see it too. They didn’t speak of it.

Fenrys didn’t even know if Connall was grateful for what he had done. For what he protected him from, night after night after night. Didn’t know if his brother even cared. They didn’t speak of that either.

They were still close though. As close as they had been growing up, running through the alleys and markets of Doranelle, play-fighting on the practice fields. They shared the same power, the ability to slip between the folds of the world. And they had learned it together, had figured out each of its valleys and ripples and tears by each other’s sides.

Each time they jumped, slipping through an invisible crack in the universe, they could feel the other pressing in on them, the whole of the world becoming the warmth of their embrace. And then they would fall out into reality – the open air feeling as empty and lonely as the space between stars.

It didn’t matter how far apart they were, didn’t matter where they were coming from or where they were going, that pressure was there. And it was a comfort, especially when they’d been young, and the power felt far more like a burden then a gift.

Once, when they’d been only eight or nine, Connall had forgotten how to get back. For hours, he’d been lost in the space between spaces, trapped by that crushing pressure. But eventually, Fenrys had managed to coax him back out again – by singing him one of the songs their mother sang while hanging the washing.

Oh the blue skies above, they mark the cloth stark white

Back and forth, back and forth

The moon pulls the sea, the green from the earth

As day folds into night, and the children run free

Back and forth, back and forth

Connall had returned, and their mother had scolded him for being so reckless. But it had just made them realize that no one else would ever understand. Realize that their powers were a part of one another, just as they were a part of one another. Inseparable.

And nothing, not even Maeve, could change that. Fenrys wouldn’t let her.

Right now, his brother was probably up in his rooms, reading. That shy bastard almost always had a book in his hands. When they were boys, it had been like pulling teeth to get him to go outside to train.

And he was such a goddamn know-it-all. It was infuriating. Mostly because Fenrys rarely knew what the fuck he was talking about. I mean, he loved the little guy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear about the fellowship circles and fertility cycles of freshwater selkies day in and day out, for weeks on end. Or at least until the idiot moved on, pursuing some other esoteric piece of knowledge.

Fenrys had actually been quite surprised that when Rowan wrote, asking for information about his weird little demon problem in Wendlyn, Connall hadn’t known anything about it. Fenrys was sure that the ignorance frustrated him. His brother had spent a whole week in the library after they received Rowan’s letter, searching for anything that could possibly solve the mystery. And he found absolutely nothing.

Fenrys had found it a bit difficult not to gloat as he watched his brother stalk about the castle, a scowl fixed to his brow. It was nice to see him stumped over something, for once.

Fenrys couldn’t help but wonder how Rowan was doing at Mistward, wonder what the princess of fire was like. He’d only seen her briefly, a quick look between the walls of an alleyway in Varese as Rowan led her through the city to collect the horses Fenrys had left for them.

It hadn’t been a good look. She’d been well hidden underneath a dark cloak, though Fenrys still caught the edges of dozens of blades beneath her heavy clothes. Her face had been obscured with dirt and grime and sweat, her hair matted together. And the smell, ungh. Overall, not the most remarkable showing.

What had really impressed itself on him had been the sheer weight of her power. A writhing mass of flames, all bunched up and twisted in on themselves, forced within her small frame. Her power was so massive that even untrained, it had actually overwhelmed the icy wind of the Fae male leading her. Rowan’s power was great, but next to hers…the maelstrom of power felt more like a light rain. A drizzle, if you would.

And Fenrys hadn’t been able to get the feeling out of his head. The touch of the princess’ flames. It burned through him, making him wonder just how wild she would be. But it wasn’t like Maeve would ever let him near the girl.

Fenrys sighed and turned over on the bed. No matter how much he might want to, getting drunk before nine in the morning probably wasn’t one of his best ideas. He should get up and face the day.

He groaned.

But still, he got to his feet and made his way out of Maeve’s private quarters, bare feet padding on the cold stone. His muscles were stiff, and not in a good way - he was looking forward to his morning training session. But first he had to return to his rooms to grab his gear and wash his face.

Fenrys didn’t pass anyone in the halls, for which he was grateful. Everyone in the castle knew of course, but still. Having to start his day with some page boy averting his eyes as he walked past, usually barefoot and in various states of dress, was far from great.

Fenrys pushed open the door to his rooms, and was already shrugging off yesterday’s clothes and reaching for clean ones when he noticed an unmarked letter resting on his worktable. The couriers usually went through the palace rooms each morning, dropping off the day’s mail, but it wasn’t often that Fenrys received anything. Particularly when a higher ranked member of Maeve’s blood-sworn was present.

He walked over to the desk and ripped open the envelope, absentmindedly pulling out the letter and beginning to read.

His eyes skittered over the black ink, and as he read, his fingers tightened their grip on the thin paper, his knuckles whitening. The bottom fell out of his stomach.

Mistward was under attack. Rowan was under attack.

He was calling for aid.

Fenrys felt strangely panicked. Not once, in all the years he had known him, had Rowan ever come close to writing something like this letter. The male was near-invincible – it had never even entered Fenrys’ head to be concerned about him.

But here he was, needing Fenrys’ help.

Would he answer?

Fenrys wanted to be the type of male who ran into danger, heedless of the consequences. Who came when he was called. Who always helped when asked.

But then a deeper, more personal fear joined the panic choking his throat. Maeve.

If he left without permission and without warning, she would not take it lightly. Unimaginable horrors would be waiting for him when he returned. Except, Fenrys could actually imagine them - they had been inflicted on him already, time and time again.

The question was – did he care? What more could she do to him that she had not done already, twice over?

The freedom teased at him, tantalizing, just out of his reach. Only this time it was fear that was holding him back. His own fear. And all he wanted, all he had ever wanted, was to be fearless. To be free.

And the princess...she was at Mistward. She was in as much danger as Rowan. Perhaps if he went, he could see her again. Could save her.

Fenrys wanted to do something good, for once. To do one good thing.

With an invisible twist, Fenrys slipped out of time and space and reappeared in his brother’s rooms.

But they were empty – Connall wasn’t there.

Fenrys made to leave, to check the library, or perhaps the training fields, when something caught his eye. A familiar-looking envelope lay open on the desk, the letter inside nowhere to be seen.

A wry grin curved Fenrys’ lips as he vanished once more.

···

There was a small clearing, hidden behind a spur of rock just outside the palace grounds. It was unremarkable in every way, other than the fact that it happened to lie right at the limit of the distance the twins could jump - and was invisible to the palace sentries.

In short, it was a perfect rendezvous point.

Fenrys appeared out of nowhere, a slip of gold against the sun-warmed rock. By contrast, his brother was a shadow lounging just out of sight, easy to miss in the dappled forest.

Connall’s voice was droll. “I was starting to think that you weren’t going to show.”

Fenrys let out a snort. “Touché. I half-expected you wouldn’t be here.”

He frowned. “Me too.”

Fenrys’ own brow furrowed, the question slipping out. “Why did you decide to come?”

Connall shuffled his feet, his face dark. “It felt like…a betrayal to stay. I owe him too much to abandon him like that.”

Fenrys nodded. Connall was quiet, but he was fiercely loyal to those that were close to him. And he had always looked up to the powerful male, ever since they were in training. He wasn’t about to just stand by while his mentor was fighting for his life.

Fenrys opened his mouth to say something when the sound of an approach rippled through the nearby trees. Fenrys immediately drew his weapons, fear icing over his muscles. If Maeve had already discovered them…if Connall had lied and this was a trap…

But the crunch of leaves and brush of undergrowth spoke of something different, not a person, something else. Something familiar…

Fenrys relaxed his stance as Gavriel shouldered his way past the pine boughs and into the clearing, his lion’s coat bright in the warm sunlight. The male’s eyes were focused and intense, his warm scent filled with a wrinkled tension and fierce determination.

Without a word, Fenrys transformed into his wolf, his muscles stretching and filling with anticipation. He felt that strange ripple behind him that indicated Connall had shifted as well.

Gavriel turned and began to run, his claws ripping into the dirt, his heavy bulk pounding the earth. Fenrys shot after him, flowing into the male’s right flank even as Connall moved to his left. Together, the three of them pierced through the undergrowth, the sun warming their backs as they shot into the west.

The breath in their lungs came sharp and cold, their stomachs empty of everything but the desperate, pleading hope that they would make it in time. That they wouldn’t be too late.

···

Lorcan lifted the tankard to his lips, wincing slightly as the sour beer coated his tongue. The tavern was busier than he would’ve liked – filled to the brim with laughing, hungry people out for an evening of drink and merriment.

He’d spent the whole day running, his first after leaving the rest of his crew with the fleet on the southwestern coastline. He should be back in Doranelle within the next few days, and he was looking forwards to his return. He didn't love being away from the capital for so long. Being away from his Queen.

Usually, Lorcan would’ve kept running through the night, only stopping to catch a few hours’ sleep in some hollow or cave. But after only a few hours of travel, he’d passed a familiar scent. A trail leading north.

Vaughn was also traveling back to Doranelle, and Lorcan had caught up with him by midafternoon. The male was in desperate need of a bed, a hot meal and a drink, so Lorcan had (somewhat unwillingly) capitulated to his plan to stay at an inn for the night.

Now Vaughn was over at the bar, chatting to some human female. She’d begun their conversation with clipped answers and dour looks, but now Vaughn had her giggling away, her cheeks touched with happy red dimples.

Lorcan frowned into his drink.

For a moment, he’d considered joining him over there, to see if he could also find someone who might warm his bed tonight. But in the end, he’d decided against it. Far too tired. And too lazy.

Just then, a maid wandered over to his booth, her arms sagging under the weight of a heavily burdened tray of drinks and food. But she carried them easily, her footsteps light and nimble through the lively crowd. Obviously familiar with this type of work. Lorcan was just beginning to reconsider his earlier assertion, to see if this lithe, muscled female might be amenable to him, when the woman pulled a crumpled letter from her apron and dropped it on the table in front of him, with the words, “This just came for ya, from the evening post up from the coast. Seems like its been a long way, searchin’ for you.” Then she turned, moving to carry her tray back to the kitchen.

Lorcan’s eyes followed her for a moment, then turned back to examine the letter. It was unmarked, which was strange. And the very fact that someone was going to such lengths to contact him, instead of waiting until he returned to Doranelle, was also strange.

Lorcan tentatively ripped open the envelope and pulled out the paper within. What he read there was astounding.

The words took a while to sink in, but when they did, Lorcan found that he was absolutely furious. That he was murderously enraged.

How dare he?

How dare Rowan ask this of him, ask this of all of them? How dare he presume to be above the word of their queen? Presume that Lorcan would betray her for him?

Mistward was under attack, and the lives of the demi-Fae there were in danger, but why in the gods' names did Rowan care? Why wasn’t he leaving them to their fate, and bringing the princess back to Doranelle?

That’s what Lorcan would’ve done. And that certainly was what their Queen would expect. What she would require.

So why, by Hellas’ scythe, was he staying? Why was he protecting them?

Lorcan couldn’t come up with a satisfactory answer. He supposed that it didn’t really matter. Rowan was staying. And he would give his life to protect those people. The demi-Fae. His people, Lorcan supposed. Even if he had spent the past four hundred years distancing himself from them.

Lorcan’s teeth clacked together, his jaw tightening. Rowan was staying, and he was asking Lorcan, and presumably the rest of the blood-sworn, to join him. Rowan knew the consequences for deserting, knew what they all would be facing for disobeying Maeve’s orders and coming to his aid. Rowan knew, and he was asking anyways.

Lorcan’s eyes narrowed. That didn’t sound like the Rowan he knew, like the Rowan he had fought and trained and worked beside these past two centuries.

That Rowan leapt at death with an indifference even Lorcan did not possess. That Rowan would’ve always made the hard choice, regardless of the consequences. This didn’t feel like that Rowan at all.

But still - this was Rowan he was talking about. The male he had relied upon for hundreds of years. The male who was probably - though Lorcan was loathe to admit it - the Fae he was closest to in all the world. Even closer to than Maeve.

And he'd laid out the facts, bare and unguarded. Mistward was weak and defenseless. They were facing a lethal army, and a battle that they would not win. All of those demi-Fae were going to die, Rowan alongside them.

Rowan was going to die. And Lorcan was fucking furious about it.

He slammed his fists into the table, pushing it out of his way, the beer spilling over onto the floor. Then Lorcan tore up the letter, got to his feet, and moved towards the bar to collect Vaughn.

···

They ran through the night, and the following day. Ran through bracken and field and marsh. And finally, through mist.

They ran until they met up with Gavriel, Connall, and Fenrys, and then they ran some more. There was no time for words, no reason for them. They had all come, and the dice would fall where they would. They would face the punishment they justly deserved without complaint.

They ran until they fell into darkness, until the forest around them went quiet. Ran until they reached the crest of a hill, and the fortress appeared below them, wrapped in darkness and chaos and power. Until they saw a lone female standing before the ward stones, the only thing keeping the castle from being overcome.

...

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...

Im so sorry for that cliffhanger! (but also not sorry at all lmao) Please let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist!

@aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @booknerdproblems @queen-of-glass @westofmoon @morganofthewildfire

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pikapeppa · 3 years

Text

Samson/Roman Hawke: Peace

A Friday offering for my beloved @schoute!

In which the brewing mage-Templar conflict starts to get to Samson and Roman. 😭 Featuring Act 3 angst, arguments, make-up sex. CW: BDSM sex that might feel like dubcon if you aren’t familiar with these two and their dynamic. Please pass go without reading if that’s not your thing. ❤

~9000 words; read on AO3 instead.

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

- ROMAN -

Roman stepped into the mansion and kicked the door shut, then exhaled and leaned back against the door. It was late and she was fucking tired, and she just wanted a second of peace.

“Bird? Is that you?”

Samson’s voice was calling from the kitchen. She opened her eyes, then propped her staff against the wall before trudging through the mansion.

Sure enough, Samson was in the kitchen. He was leaning against the kitchen island and eating some chicken and roasted potatoes while Monty sat at his feet looking up at him with a pitiful expression.

Roman grunted and went straight to the enchanted icebox. “You better not be feeding him people food. He’ll get fat.” She picked out a bottle of cider, and when she turned around, it was to find Samson looking vaguely guilty.

She wilted. “I told you not to feed him fucking people food.”

Samson scowled and popped another piece of potato in his mouth. “This mabari’s a real pain, you know,” he said as he chewed. “It’s like he doesn’t understand me.”

“You’re just a soft touch,” Roman said. “Of course he understands you. He’s a smart boy.” She crouched beside Monty and scratched his jowls. “You’re a smart boy, aren’t you?” she crooned. “Samson shouldn’t give you people food, no he shouldn’t.”

Monty wagged his tail, and Samson huffed. “You’re back late. Picking fights at the Hanged Man, were you?”

“Yeah, I was,” she said belligerently.

Samson shot her a long-suffering look, and she rose to her feet and frowned at him. “Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t my fault.” She pulled the cork out of the bottle and took a sip.

“It’s never your fault though, is it?” he asked, and he reached for the bottle of cider.

She shot him a dirty look but handed over the bottle. “It really wasn’t my fucking fault this time, okay? It was Fenris’s. Well, not Fenris’s,” she amended, “but it was related to Fenris.”

Samson lowered the bottle in surprise. “I thought he didn’t like getting involved in your fights.”

She rolled her eyes and snatched the bottle back from him. “I told you, it wasn’t my fight, it was his. His former master showed up.”

Samson’s eyes widened. “Former master? You mean a Vint magister was here in Kirkwall?”

“Yeah,” Roman said, and she took another sip of cider. That wasn’t the worst of it, though. Roman still couldn’t believe Fenris’s own sister had tried to sell him out to his former master. She didn’t mention Fenris’s sister to Samson, though. She and Fenris didn’t agree on much, but they both valued privacy. If Roman was in Fenris’s place, she wouldn’t want strangers knowing her business either.

Samson scratched his whiskered chin. “And here I thought the Templars were helping the city guard to crack down on who comes in and out o’ Kirkwall.”

“Templars,” Roman said scornfully. “They’re corrupt as fuck, even if precious Meredith doesn’t want to see it. Grease the right palms and practically anyone could get in here.” She took another sip of cider, then set the bottle down and picked a piece of chicken from Samson’s plate.

“Hey, get your own,” he said, but with no real heat.

She huffed and chewed the chicken and ignored Monty’s pleading eyes, and for a moment they were quiet as Samson selected another chicken thigh from the platter on the island and started cutting it up.

He broke the silence. “If there was a Vint magister here…” He shook his head. “Maker. If there was anyone I’d think the Templars would try to keep out, it’d be magisters.”

Roman scoffed and stole another sliver of chicken from his plate. “Yeah, because more mages are the worst thing that could happen to this shithole,” she said sarcastically.

Samson didn’t reply. He was frowning slightly, and Roman narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you agree.”

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his chin again. “I’ve been hearin’ things,” he said slowly. “Down in Lowtown, and in Darktown too. A lot of abomination attacks, sounds like.”

Roman aggressively bit the piece of chicken in her fingers. “Yeah?” she said in a hard voice. “Have you also heard how the Templars have started punishing the Circle mages even more harshly? Anders said that a full quarter of the Circle mages are Tranquil now.”

Samson flinched at this, and Roman felt a pang of guilt. She knew that the Tranquility process was a sore issue for him, given what had happened to Maddox after Meredith had thrown Samson out of the Templars.

She swallowed her bite of chicken, then pushed the bottle of cider across the counter toward him. He picked it up and took a sip, then set it down and jerked his chin in the direction of the main room. “You got some letters, by the way,” he said. “Both from the Gallows.”

Roman sighed loudly. Two letters from the Gallows always meant the same thing: both Orsino and Meredith were trying to get her help with some bullshit task. “YFuck that. They can wait until tomorrow.” She plucked a piece of potato from Samson’s plate and ate it while she brooded about Meredith, then picked up the bottle of cider. “The fucking gall of that bitch, trying to get me to help her,” she complained. “She’s just trying to find an excuse for her fucking puppets to drag me in.”

“Better not give her one, then,” Samson said.

She gave him a dirty look. “I know, Samson. I’m not a fucking idiot.” For the past month or so, she’d cut down on her use of blood magic, doing it only when she was working a spell at home or when she was outside of the city limits. It infuriated her to play into the Chantry’s bullshit sanctions against blood magic, and if she had it her way, she’d keep using blood magic in her perfectly safe way even within Kirkwall’s bounds.

But Roman didn’t just have herself to think about. She was famous here now — or infamous, depending on who you talked to — and her actions were under scrutiny, no matter how much she tried to keep to herself when she was out and about. Anything she did would reflect poorly on the people close to her… particularly on Carver.

Fucking Carver, she thought angrily. She couldn’t give the Chantry an excuse to make her brother a scapegoat for her choices.

She and Samson continued to eat silently from his plate. As the minutes stretched on with no further commentary from Samson, she started to watch him suspiciously. He was usually more talkative than this. Not that he was a huge talker or anything, but he usually had more to say than, well, nothing.

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”

He glanced at her. “Nothing. This chicken’s good.”

Roman grunted, and they fell silent again. When his plate was cleared, she frowned at him. “Seriously, what is your problem?”

He raised an eyebrow and reached for the cider. “What are you on about?”

She gave him an arch look. “If you’re trying to do some kind of ‘strong and silent’ bullshit, it’s not working.”

Samson lowered the cider bottle from his lips and shot her a chiding look. “You sure about that? It seems to be getting your knickers all twisted.”

She scoffed and grabbed the bottle of cider from him. “My knickers aren’t fucking twisted.”

“Too bad,” he said. “I was going to offer to untwist ‘em for you, but…”

She ignored his innuendo. “Are you pissed about what I said about the Tranquil?”

His sarcastic little smirk slipped away. “No.”

“I wasn’t being an asshole,” she said defensively. “I was — it’s just the fucking truth.”

“I know, Bird,” he said tiredly. He sidled past her and headed for the front door.

Roman put her cider down and followed him. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to get more of the dust,” he said, and he slid his feet into his worn-out shoes.

She raised her eyebrows. “Now?”

“When else is a man supposed to go meet his illegal lyrium dealer?” he said sardonically.

Roman pursed her lips but didn’t reply. Samson bent down to tie his shoes, and she leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms as she watched him. She knew he needed the lyrium; she’d seen what happened to him when he ran out of it, and she didn’t want to see him suffer like that again. But still, sometimes she wished…

She discarded the fleeting thought. There was no point wishing Samson didn’t need the lyrium. He’d told her long ago that he would die without it, and she had no reason to not believe him. It wasn’t like she knew any Templars who had ever quit taking lyrium.

She pushed away from the doorjamb and wandered over to him. “I’ll come with you.”

He looked up in surprise. “Eh? What for?”

To hit back if someone hits you, she thought, but she wasn’t going to fucking say so. She shrugged, and Samson smirked as he stood up.

“You going to be my knight in shining armour again?” he taunted.

She scowled. “No. Fuck you.”

He raised an eyebrow, and she scoffed and looked away. “You know what, whatever. Forget it.”

“All right, good,” he said affably. “Gettin’ into a brawl kind of defeats the purpose of going out in the middle of the night.” He chucked her chin playfully.

She smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

He suddenly gripped her chin. Before Roman could snap at him to let her go, he was kissing her: a quick firm kiss on the lips — so quick that she didn’t have time to bite him or push him away before he released her.

He opened the door. “Go eat some more. I’ll be back soon,” he said, and then he was gone.

She wrinkled her nose at the closed door. How dare he kiss her? He was such an asshole.

Beside her, Monty sat back on his haunches and tilted his head curiously. Roman looked down at him for a second, then sighed and crouched beside him. “Go with him, okay?” she murmured. “If he gets hit, you jump in and bite back for him. He’s a fucking idiot, he won’t defend himself.”

Monty stood and wagged his tail, and Roman opened the door for him. He bounded away into the darkness, and Roman went back to the kitchen with a sigh.

She picked up the half-empty bottle of cider and took another sip, then wandered over to her writing desk to check out her letters. She pushed away the ones from Orsino and Meredith without opening them, then paused when she saw a thicker envelope with Varric’s handwriting on it.

She frowned as she opened it. The envelope contained a bunch of worn journal pages that were variously dirty and bloodstained, topped with a short note from Varric.

Hawke,

Remember that old journal page we found wedged into a brick wall that one time — something by the “Band of Three”? I had a couple sharp eyes looking out for more pages, and this is what they found. I put them together in the order I think they’re supposed to go. Kind of hard to tell without dates, but this is the best I could do.

Come on down to the Hanged Man after you read them and let me know what you think. You’ll probably want a drink, anyway. I always knew shit in Kirkwall was weird, but this takes the cake.

- V.

That’s cryptic as fuck, Roman thought. She took the pages and her bottle of cider to the study and plopped down on the couch in front of the fireplace, then began to read.

- SAMSON -

Samson sidled into the shadows as he made his way through Hightown. There was a faint feeling of unease in his gut, like a hint of nausea, and it revolved around the mages in Kirkwall.

He’d been hearing stories down at the docks: stories about people cutting their wrists and getting possessed by demons and exploding into monsters who gobbled up their whole families. Samson was too jaded and skeptical to believe any old story he heard on the streets, but he’d been hearing tales for weeks now, versions of the same stories, and he’d been able to put together enough pieces to know that not all of the stories were made up.

Kirkwall had always had its share of horror stories involving mages, most of which Samson had heard in the course of his business of smuggling mages out of the city. This familiarity meant he was all the more aware that there were more stories than ever before, and they were getting more and more bizarre.

Mysterious deaths involving ice and lightning, flash fires with no evidence of kindling or fuel, people behaving strangely and talking in tongues, people going missing… He knew Roman didn’t want to hear it, and he didn’t even want to believe it himself, but the truth was this: there was a mage problem in Kirkwall.

Roman was right too, though. Samson had heard things from the Gallows, whispers from the merchants and the few visitors who came and went from that ghastly fucking place, and he knew that Roman was right: Meredith was handing out the Tranquility sentence these days like a Chantry sister handed out blessings on Satinalia, and Samson’s former brethren were feeding right into her tyrannical attempts to control the mages.

Samson sighed. He’d heard enough and lived through the nugshit for long enough that he could see all the moving parts in this Maker-forsaken place, almost like looking at the inside of a clock: the Templars were getting more controlling and punitive, and the mages were getting more desperate to protect themselves. The hysteria of it all was bleeding down from the Gallows to Kirkwall proper, making the city guard more fearful about magic and making the hidden apostates more fearful than ever of persecution. If something didn’t change, if things continued down this route, the city was going to explode like one of those qunari gaatlok barrels.

His troubled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy breathing behind him. He barely had time to be alarmed before a heavy muscular body rammed into his hip.

He stumbled, then caught his balance on a nearby wall and stared in surprise at Monty, who was standing beside him and wagging his tail so enthusiastically that his whole body was shaking.

Samson gathered himself and frowned at the mabari. “What are you doing here, eh?”

Monty sat and gazed at Samson attentively, and Samson wrinkled his nose. “Did she send you after me?”

Monty let out a little bark, and Samson jumped before scowling at him. “Quiet, dog,” he scolded in a whisper. “You’re going get people looking. If you’re going to follow me, you have to shut your trap.”

Monty panted but didn’t bark again, and Samson gazed at him a little resentfully. It looked like Monty really did understand him. Just not when Samson was saying ‘no’ to feeding chicken to the big furry fucker.

He sighed. “All right, come on then. But be quiet,” he said severely, and together they continued on their way to Lowtown in silence.

Samson watched the mabari from the corner of his eye as they walked. It was so strange having any kind of company when he went… well, anywhere really. Monty, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease as he trotted along at Samson’s side.

Within the space of a couple of minutes, Samson had adjusted to Monty’s presence. It helped that Monty was almost entirely silent. He was a big bloody dog, and Samson would have expected him to make some noise as he walked, but he was pleasantly surprised at how quiet Monty was.

He shot the mabari a sideways glance. “She really sent you along, eh?”

Monty looked up at him with his mouth agape in a wide doggy smile, and Samson huffed. “Let me guess. She told you to attack anyone who attacked me, right?”

Monty wagged his tail, and Samson pursed his lips. Bloody bird, always acting like he was some kind of coward for not picking fights like she did. He’d told her time and time again that it was smarter to run or hide than to fight back, especially for someone like him: someone powerless, someone that the city guard wouldn’t move to protect if something really went wrong. Besides, he did fight back sometimes when he was attacked — if fighting back was the smarter move. Roman was hotheaded and angry, always looking for the next person she could justifiably throw a fireball at, but Samson wasn’t like her. He wasn’t strong like her.

Leave it to the damned bloody bird to be the strong one, he thought tiredly. I’ll do things my own way. Samson might not be strong anymore, but at least he had his street smarts. He’d just keep sticking to the smarter course, whether it meant hiding or fighting back. He’d keep doing what he needed in order to survive.

He and Monty were about to step into the market when he spotted something strange: two men and a woman talking in low and urgent voices in a corner. He slowed down and placed his hand on Monty’s head, and Monty slowed down to a stop as well.

Together, they sidled a little closer to the furtive trio. Samson couldn’t move close enough to hear what they were saying, not without making himself and the mabari visible, but as they edged a little nearer, Samson had a jolt of recognition: he knew one of the men — or at least, he thought he did. The man’s blond hair was shorter than Samson remembered, and he had a beard where his face used to be bare, but Samson was fairly sure this blond bloke was a Templar.

On shore leave from the Gallows, looks like, Samson thought. Then, with another jolt, he realized that he recognized the woman too: she was a known mage sympathizer.

Strange, he thought. He watched the trio for a minute longer, trying to determine if he could conclusively identify the blond fellow as being a Templar, but he really wasn’t able to get any closer without being seen. When the three people made signs of looking like their meeting was coming to an end, Samson quickly ducked into a nearby alleyway with Monty to hide.

When the trio had dispersed, Samson patted Monty’s head. “Let’s go, dog.”

They quickly slunk through the market and into the lower-class suburb that led toward Lowtown, and Samson pondered what they’d witnessed. A Templar and a mage sympathizer having an amiable little late-night meeting? Meredith wouldn’t be too chuffed about that. Or maybe the mage sympathizer wasn’t as sympathetic as she seemed and was feeding information about apostates back to the Gallows, in which case old Orsino would be the unhappy one.

Samson and Monty made their way through Lowtown proper. As usual, Lowtown was more active — and more dangerous — at night than Hightown was, and Samson listened furtively as he made his way to the usual meeting spot for his lyrium-smuggling contact down by the market. The gossip was the same as he’d heard earlier today: mentions of a fish merchant closing down for the week after selling some clams that made people sick, talk of a few lingering qunari out on the Wounded Coast, reports of a young elf getting dragged off to jail by a guardsman after stealing a few apples for his family, the usual grim fare. But one piece of gossip in particular deepened his worries.

It was a corrupt city guardsman talking to some other human. “... those knife-ears still cleaning blood and guts off of that big tree in the alienage. You know, the one they tie all those poncy ribbons to.” He chuckled. “That’s what happens when apostates hide out in the alienage: all that knife-ear nugshit makes ‘em blow up. Too bad and serves ‘em right if you ask me.”

Samson frowned as he slunk past the guardsman and his friend. He knew about the incident in question because Roman had been directly involved. Meredith had forced her to track down three runaways from the Circle by making indirect threats toward Carver, and one of the runaways was a possessed mage — a mage who had, as indicated by the guardsman, become an abomination and ultimately exploded into a shower of blood when Roman was forced to kill him.

“Is that a mabari?”

“What’s a mabari doing with that homeless fellow?”

“That’s not… it’s not Hawke’s mabari, is it?”

Maker’s balls, Samson thought in exasperation. He knew he shouldn’t have let Monty come with him. The damned dog was drawing far too much attention, including curious looks from the corrupt guardsman.

He shot Monty a resentful look. Monty ducked his head and tucked his tail between his legs, and Samson immediately felt bad. It wasn’t Monty’s fault, after all; it was Roman’s. He’d have to have a word with her when he got back to the mansion.

He quickly met up with his contact and traded a few silver for lyrium powder, then selected a more convoluted but quieter route back to Hightown so they wouldn’t be stared at. As they silently made their way back to Roman’s house, Samson brooded over that abomination incident in the alienage.

He’d always known there were apostates hiding throughout the city, but he’d somehow not thought much about how much harder it had to be for the apostates who were elves. He’d helped to smuggle out dozens of apostates in his time, and he count on one hand the number of times they’d been elves, and the reason was obvious: they didn’t have the coin. Mages who didn’t have the coin to smuggle their way out of the city must be even more afraid, which made them more prone to possession — more prone than they already were if they hadn’t had any training at the Circle.

He rubbed his forehead. Maker’s balls, I’m tired, he thought, and he continued on his way to Roman’s house.

When they got back to the house, Samson let Monty in before following him inside and closing the door. “Oi, I’m back,” he called. He took off his shoes and padded through to the main room, and when he didn’t find Roman there, he peeked into the study.

Monty was already lying on his belly in front of the fireplace, and Roman was sitting on the couch and scowling at the fire. There was a sheaf of papers beside her and two empty cider bottles on the floor, and another half-finished bottle in her hand.

Samson wilted slightly. Roman had been drinking less since he’d started sleeping at her house. This was the first time in a while that she’d had more than one drink in the evening.

At least she’s not drinking rum or whiskey, he thought. “You can’t send the dog with me again,” he said as he entered the room. “Everyone was staring. A guardsman was giving me the eye over ‘im.”

She looked up at him. “Kirkwall is a fucking mage trap.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Eh?”

“Look at this.” She picked up the sheaf of papers and thrust it at him, and he took them gingerly.

The papers were journal entries by some group called the Band of Three who’d been investigating the history of Kirkwall during Tevinter occupation. The more Samson read, the more discomfort he felt twisting in his gut. Secret Vint plans, hundreds of slaves going missing, the city designed in the shape of magical glyphs, gutters in the sewer system meant to channel vast amounts of blood…

By the time he finished reading the pages, the hairs were standing up on the back of his neck. He held the papers out to her. “Where’d you get these from?” he rasped.

“I found one of them. Varric scrounged up the rest.” She stood up and plucked the papers from his hand. “You know what this means, right?”

He pulled a face. “Er—”

She cut him off. “The Veil is thin here,” she said. “That’s why so many mages in the Circle fail that fucking Harrowing ritual bullshit. That’s why some people turn into abominations for doing a single little spell with blood magic. It’s this fucking city. It’s…” She waved her arms in an angry expansive gesture. “The whole environment is against us, and the Templars just make it worse!”

Samson blinked at this. “Hang on.” He rubbed his face with both hands, then gazed wearily at her. “You’re telling me that Kirkwall is a… a bad place for mages, but the Templars are the problem?”

“They’re definitely not a fucking solution, that’s for sure,” she retorted. “Everyone knows that demons are attracted to fear.”

“And to anger,” Samson said pointedly.

“Exactly,” Roman said angrily, missing his point entirely. “And think about what’s pissing me off. It’s the Templars!” She waved the journal pages. “It’s already hard enough for us to live here, and they’re just making it harder.” She tossed the pages on the floor and drank from her half-finished bottle of cider, and Samson frowned.

“What is it you want, then?” he said slowly. “You want to just… get rid of the Templars or something?”

She lowered the bottle and gave him a frank look. “Sounds like a good fucking plan to me.”

He stared at her with growing disbelief, then laughed. “You’re not bloody serious.”

“Do I look like I’m fucking laughing?” she said. “It’s the Templars that are making the mages so desperate that they’re turning to… to summoning demons and other shit that they don’t understand.”

“And when they summon demons and do that shit, someone needs to be able to stop them,” Samson retorted.

Her face went slack with disbelief, then twisted back into anger. “You can’t be fucking serious about this. You’re defending them? They threw you out!”

“That bitch Meredith threw me out,” he corrected.

She threw her hands up in frustration. “So what, now you think the Templars are justified? Now you think it’s okay to keep the mages locked up in a fucking tower with no freedom?”

“No,” Samson said loudly. “That’s not what I’m bloody saying. I’m just….” He sighed and rubbed his face again, then looked at her once more. “Think about it, Bird. Say the Templars get dismantled. What happens to ‘em?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she said impatiently.

“What happens to Templars who have no use anymore?” he said, and he gestured sarcastically at himself.

The fury in her face loosened slightly, and Samson gave her a humourless smile. “You didn’t even think about it, did you? Well, you should. Think about Carver there. The Order falls apart, and he’ll end up like me, just a ruined—”

“You’re not fucking ruined!” she bellowed suddenly. “Stop saying that!”

Samson closed his mouth and stared hard at her. An ugly pause ensued, electric and tense like the brewing of a heavy summer storm. The longer he and Roman went without speaking, the more he felt the old memories rising to the front of his mind, like bloated corpses cut loose from the bottom of the sea: his disbelief at being kicked out of the Order and out of the only home he had, all for something so trivial. The betrayal and the loneliness. The shakes and the nausea when the withdrawal first set in. The delirium, the beatings, the confusion, the raging thirst and hunger during the moments when he was lucid, the horrific hallucinations when he wasn’t. The humiliation of having to find a black-market lyrium dealer, and the slow erosion of his soul as his muscles and his purpose and his confidence wasted away bit by bit.

For a first time in a long, long time, the old injustices were burning in his belly and burning through the shroud of his usual world-weary passivity, prompting him to take an aggressive step toward her. “I am ruined, Roman,” he said in a hard voice. “You didn’t know me when I was in the Order. If you did, you’d know I’m a bloody shadow of the man I used to be.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Samson, for fuck’s—”

He interrupted her. “Is this what you want for Carver?” he said harshly. “You want that big brute to end up like this, all wasted away and jonesing for the dust?”

She opened her mouth again, but Samson didn’t let her speak. “You going to write to Her Divine Holiness and tell ‘er to dismantle the Templars?” he said aggressively. “Tell her to let every one of ‘em end up on the streets like beggars?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you really think that’s what would happen to them, what does that say about the Chantry and your precious fucking Order?”

He exhaled hard and glared at her, furious at not being able to find a reply. Roman leaned away and planted her fists on her skinny hips. “Besides, it’s not like complaining to the precious fucking Divine would do anything,” she said. “You think she’d break up her personal army for the good of the mages? Not a fucking chance.”

“They’re not supposed to be her personal army,” Samson snapped.

“And the Circles aren’t supposed to be jails for mages, but look where we are,” Roman drawled.

All of a sudden, Samson had had enough. “Fine then, everything in the world is shit,” he shouted. “Are you happy now?”

She recoiled slightly, then sneered at him. “No, actually. I’m fucking pissed.”

“No different than all the fucking time, then,” he said acidly, and he strode away to the kitchen. He threw open the enchanted icebox and stared unseeingly at its contents. Truthfully, he hadn’t been planning to get anything out of here. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be around Roman right now.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get the hint; a second later, she was storming up to him. “What the fuck is your problem?” she yelled. “Why are you being such an asshole?”

He slammed the icebox shut. “Me?” he said incredulously. “I’m just tryin’ to survive, Bird. I’m just trying to make the best of this bullshit that we’re living through.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Roman demanded.

“You’re trying to pick a fucking fight,” he snapped. “I can see it in your face. You’ve never tried to keep your head down. You want a war with the Templars, don’t you?”

“I don’t want a fucking war, but that’s what’s coming,” she yelled. She shot him a scathing look. “And don’t act like you don’t know it’s coming. You’re one of the smartest people in this fucking city. You know exactly what’s coming.”

He raised his eyebrows, thrown off by her compliment in the midst of her vitriol. “So… so what, you think there’s a war coming and nothing can stop it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s what I think.” She took a slow step closer to him and belligerently lifted her chin. “There’s a war coming between the mages and the Templars. And if you won’t pick a side, you’re a fucking coward.”

Coward. The word shot straight through his chest like an icy spear. It wasn’t that she was wrong necessarily, because she wasn’t. Samson wasn’t brave or principled or any of that shit, so if he didn’t have any of those precious virtues, that must mean he was a coward. But to hear Roman saying it to his face…

His chest squeezed painfully, almost as though she was digging her nails through his rib cage to rend his heart. He swallowed hard and glared at her. “Fuck you,” he spat, and he pushed past her and headed back to the study.

He sat down heavily on the couch. Monty sat up and whined softly, but Samson ignored him; he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes.

A moment later, he heard Roman’s strident voice. “What in the Maker’s fucking ballsack are you doing?”

“Cooking a four-course Antivan meal,” he said flatly. “What’s it bloody look like?”

She barked out a nasty little laugh. “You’re fucking sleeping down here, then? Is that it?”

He opened his eyes and glared venomously at her. “Yeah, I am. I’m sleeping here tonight, and I’ll get out of your hair first thing in the morning so you don’t have to share your fucking fancy house with a coward.”

Her jaw clenched visibly, but she didn’t speak, and Samson’s heart twisted. She really did think he was a coward, then.

He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes once more. “Go away, Roman. Leave me alone.”

She scoffed. When she spoke again, her voice was moving away toward the stairs. “Fuck you too, then. See if I fucking care.”

He didn’t bother to reply. A few seconds later, he heard the slamming of her bedroom door.

He drew a deep breath and ignored the swelling feeling in his throat. Then something nudged his back.

He jolted in surprise, then sighed loudly; it was Monty snuffling around him.

He shifted his shoulders in annoyance. “Leave off, dog,” he said quietly. “Go upstairs.”

Monty whined and nudged him again, and Samson shrugged irritably. “I said leave off,” he snapped. “I don’t want your company.”

Monty whined again, but the nudging stopped. A moment later, he heard the distant sound of Monty’s scratching nails, followed by the opening and closing of Roman’s bedroom door.

Feeling even shittier now, Samson sighed and slowly stood up, then shuffled around the lower level of the house putting out the oil lamps and chandeliers. When the house was dark except for the lingering flames in the fireplaces, he lay back on the couch in the study and folded his arms behind his head.

He stared blankly up at the ceiling for a long time, exhausted but unable to sleep. His gut was a buzzing mess of agitation, and his chest felt like there was rock sitting in the center of his ribs. His mind kept running fruitlessly over all the negative thoughts in his head — and there were a lot of negative things to go over: abomination attacks, a quarter of the Circle’s mages being Tranquil, Meredith blackmailing Roman to do what she wanted, Roman wishing she could dissolve the Templars, Roman yelling about a war that no one could stop, Roman telling him he was a coward…

His heart twisted painfully, and he breathed slowly to quell it. She was such a bloody bitch: telling him he was smart one second then calling him a coward the next, and sending her mabari to follow him as though he was a fucking child who couldn’t look after himself. She was so fucking stubborn and hard-headed, always carrying on about how fucked up the Templars were and how fucked up this entire city was.

But she’s not wrong, he thought as he remembered those papers she’d shown him. That history of the Vints doing some kind of mysterious horrible magic right here in this city — this city that was built in the shape of a magical glyph, this city where the Veil was thin and demons were just a whisper away from the minds of its mages…

And Roman was even more vulnerable than most. Rage-filled Roman Hawke, with her fearlessness and her ferocity and her fucking blood magic… A pulse of fear pierced through his heartsick anger. Sure, she had good control over her own magic, but if those journal pages had the right of it, she was in danger no matter what. She was in danger just by virtue of living in this fucking place that she refused to leave.

What if she becomes an abomination? His gut clenched at the thought. He’d asked her once if she was afraid of becoming an abomination, and she’d told him that she was. What if she did become an abomination, though? What if she became the very thing she feared? What would happen then?

What would Samson do then?

An icy sort of fear was spreading through his chest. Don’t think about it, he thought. He couldn’t think about what he’d do if that happened — not that he could do anything, really, since he wasn’t a Templar anymore. The lyrium he bought off the black market was enough to keep the edge off of his cravings and his withdrawal, but it wasn’t nearly pure enough to channel into any kind of power. If Roman… If something happened to her, there was nothing Samson would be able to do to help her.

He rubbed his face wearily. He couldn’t believe he was even having to think about this. Truthfully, given the political situation and the ugly history of this city, Samson knew what he and Roman should both really be doing: fleeing this city before it had a chance to explode.

And that’s why she thinks you’re a coward, he told himself scathingly. But was it cowardly to survive, or was it just the smart thing to do? Who gave a fuck about being called a coward if it meant you got to live?

Then again, what was the point of living the way Samson had before Roman had wandered into his life?

He was suddenly reminded of something else she’d once said: that it wasn’t enough to just survive, to just eke out a living from one day to the next. That people needed something to live for. But Roman herself had admitted that she didn’t know what she was living for. Did Samson know what he was living for, either?

He sighed. Maybe he really was a coward. Maybe this bloody mage-Templar problem would force him to find something to live for. Maybe Roman was right, and what he really needed was to pick a side. Support the mages, or support the Templars? Support the monsters, or support the people who made those monsters what they were?

Support the freedom of mages, or support the freedom of the Templars who’d been leashed and brainwashed just as he had been?

Maker’s fucking balls, he thought morosely.

He lay in the dark on the couch for a long time sliding in and out of a restless sort of doze, unable to settle his mind enough to properly sleep. He was vaguely aware of the fire slowly dwindling down to mere embers until the whole study was wreathed in shadows. When a shadow broke away from the gloom to move toward him from the stairs, he thought it was a dream.

The shadow paused at the end of the couch. “Monty won’t shut the fuck up,” she said. “He keeps whimpering.”

Samson frowned at her through the gloom. “So?”

She folded her arms and said nothing for a moment, and Samson stared at her, half-convinced she was just a figment of his imagination.

“Come upstairs,” Roman muttered.

He raised his eyebrows. “Eh?”

“I said come upstairs,” she said a little more loudly. “I don’t think he’ll shut up until you come upstairs.”

He blinked blearily at her. In the feeble glow of the dying fire, he could just make out the glimmer of her silk robe and her customary pouty scowl.

He frowned at her, then closed his eyes. “I’m staying here, Bird.”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re telling me you like sleeping on the couch?”

“That’s right,” he lied. Truthfully, his lower back was hurting, but it was still better than sleeping on the ground in Lowtown. Most importantly, it was better than doing what Roman wanted.

For a second, there was silence. Then she poked his shoulder hard. “Come on, don’t be so fucking stubborn. I know your back must be hurting.”

He scowled. Bloody know-it-all, he thought. “It is not,” he muttered.

“Then why do you complain about it all the time?” she said archly.

He opened his eyes and glared at her. “Go back to bed, Roman. I’ve had enough of your nugshit.”

She stared stonily at him. Then, to his surprise, she started to climb onto the couch.

He hastily tried to shuffle away from her, but she doggedly settled herself over his hips. He grabbed her hips and started trying to lift her off. “Bird, quit it—”

She untied her robe and opened it, and Samson stopped breathing: she was naked under the robe. Naked, no panties, no bra, her dusky little nipples hard…

His cock pulsed, and his mouth was flooded with a rush of saliva. Infuriated by his own traitorous body and at Roman for making him this way, he gripped her bare hip and tried to push her away.

She pulled his hand away and placed it on her breast. “Come upstairs,” she said.

Her nipple was a perfect taut little bud. He roughly kneaded her breast, then twisted her nipple suddenly, wanting to hurt her and make her purr at the same time.

She gasped and arched into his hand, then fisted her hand in his hair and pulled his head back, and Samson burst out a groan: her mouth was suddenly on his neck, her teeth nipping at his skin and sending jolts of pain and pleasure from his throat down to his groin. She nipped the base of his throat then started to suck, and for a moment, Samson let himself enjoy it. He wasn’t giving in, mind — he was just… letting himself enjoy this for a second before pushing her away.

She sucked hard at his skin and started rubbing his cock through his breeches, and he groaned and lifted his hips. “You bitch…” he moaned.

“Come upstairs,” she whispered, and she bit the side of his neck.

He jolted at the pain, then gasped with pleasure as she squeezed his cock through his breeches. Then she was grabbing his hand again and pulling it between her legs, making him touch her wet curls–

She pressed his fingers into her folds, and a red-hot roar of lust tore through his body. She was sopping wet and spreading herself over his fingers, and he wanted her so badly that it pissed him off.

She groaned and undulated shamelessly over his hand, and Samson tried — rather feebly — to pull his hand away. “Not here,” he hissed.

She tightened her grip on his wrist and continued to rub herself against his fingers, and Samson stared at the meeting point of her pussy and his hand for a second before forcing his eyes back to her face. “I said not here,” he complained, and he tried to pull his hand away again. “Get off.”

She dug her nails into his wrist. “Make me,” she breathed.

Make me. Her provocative words, these words she said on purpose when she was trying to rile him into roughing her up... Something hot and angry and wild suddenly snapped inside of him.

He wrested his hand away from her and grabbed her by the throat, and her lips fell open in a gasp. She clawed at his wrist and tilted her hips down toward his groin, but Samson didn’t let her make contact; with his hand at her throat, he clumsily forced her off of his lap until they were both standing up.

He released her throat to grip her chin instead. “Get upstairs,” he bit off.

She curled her lip. “What happened to ‘I’m not going upstairs’?”

He lifted her chin higher. “If you’re going to rub yourself on me like a bloody cat in heat, I’m not letting you do it down here.”

She laughed mockingly. “Let me? Like you can tell me what to do.”

He tightened his grip on her chin — enough that it had to be hurting her — then squeezed her buttcheek in his other hand. “Get upstairs, Bird,” he snarled. “I’m sick of hearing it.”

“No,” she said belligerently. “I want to fuck down here.”

He spanked her suddenly, satisfied when she jolted and gasped. “Get upstairs,” he commanded.

“I said no,” she spat.

He dug his fingers harshly into her buttock until she gasped in pain. “Then I’ll just have to take you upstairs,” he hissed. Without warning, he bent down and hefted her over his shoulder in an undignified carry.

She squawked, then thumped his back as he made his way to the stairs. “Hey! Put me down—”

He spanked her upraised ass. “Shut it, Bird,” he ordered. He began carrying her up the stairs, and he was secretly pleased when he realized that carrying her was easier than it had been a couple months ago before he started sleeping in her house.

Must be those three square meals Orana makes, he thought idly. Then, just for the hell of it, he spanked Roman’s ass again.

She yelped, then thumped his back. “You’re such a fucking asshole,” she hissed.

He huffed, and without replying, he flipped up the hem of her robe and pressed the tips of his fingers into her pussy.

She jolted and gasped, and Samson smirked, satisfied at having found a way to shut her up. He continued to caress her slick folds as they ascended the stairs, and by the time he was stepping into Roman’s open bedroom, she was breathing hard over his shoulder.

Monty was resting his chin on his paws in front of the fireplace. When Samson and Roman came in, he sat up attentively.

“Go to the washroom,” Samson ordered, and he unceremoniously dumped Roman onto the bed. He still wasn’t used to having the mabari stand witness when he and Roman were doing the deed.

Monty dutifully trotted away, and Roman struggled to sit up and push her hair out of her face. “Don’t tell him what to do,” she snapped. “He’s—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Samson said coldly. He kicked the bedroom door shut, then started unlacing his breeches.

Roman leaned back on her elbows and sneered at him. “Look at you, the big strong boy throwing me around. You want to shut me up, hm? How’re you going to do that?”

His blood roared at her taunting tone. He pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches and stalked toward the bed, then crawled between her legs and wrapped his fingers around her throat.

He pushed her down so her back was flush to the bed, then started rubbing his cock between her legs. Her lips parted on a moan, and the sound of it made his blood thrill even more.

She thrust her hips toward him, and Samson squeezed her throat. “I’m going to fuck your mouth, and you’re going to like it,” he snarled. “You’re going to like it so much that you’re going to rub your pussy until you come with my knob in your throat.”

She mewled and jerked her hips, pressing her sleek heat against his cock. Overcome with the pleasure and the heat of her, he leaned in and kissed her hard.

She parted her lips and licked his tongue, then bit his lower lip, and he grunted as the sharpness of her teeth sent yet another tantalizing pulse of pleasure pounding to his cock. He shoved his tongue ruthlessly into her mouth for a moment before pulling away, then crawled over her body until he was straddling her.

He lifted her chin with one hand. “Open your fucking mouth,” he snapped.

“Fuck you,” she breathed, and she obediently opened her mouth.

Without any hesitation, he leaned forward and slid his cock between her lips. She suckled the head of his cock, and a jolt of ecstasy tore its way from his groin up to his throat in a helpless gasp.

He curled his hips toward her and grabbed her hand. “Touch yourself,” he rasped.

She pulled her hand out of his grip and reached between her legs, and he watched raptly as her eyelids fluttered with pleasure. Soon she was writhing beneath him, her lips a tight suction on his shaft, and Samson thrust into her mouth with greater zeal as his pleasure rose in time with her own.

A breathless minute later, she released his cock to cry out in climax, and Samson greedily watched the pleasure twisting her pretty face before taking hold of his cock. “I said to come with my knob in your throat,” he snarled, and he pushed his cock toward her lips.

She eagerly lifted her head to take him deep, and he grunted and thrust into her mouth as she moaned her pleasure around his cock. When the shuddering of her climax had stilled, he finally pulled his length from between her lips.

He crawled off of her and kneeled between her legs again, then ruthlessly looped her knees over his arms and planted his palms on either side of her hips. “I’m going to fuck your brains out,” he gasped, and he plunged himself inside of her.

She cried out, a hoarse and guttural cry of pleasure, and Samson slammed into her in a rough and mindless rhythm, riled almost beyond reason by her taunting and his anger and the beautiful lanky length of her naked body beneath him. Her fingers were digging into his forearms, her nails biting into her skin with little pricks of pain that only served to enhance his ecstasy, and as his pleasure continued to rise, he dipped his head down and took her nipple in his mouth.

He suckled hard, hard enough to bruise her flesh, and Roman arched beneath him as best she could despite the constraints of her legs over his arms. “F-fuck!” she cried. “Fuck, fuck, come on, fuck me hard…”

He slammed into her even harder, so hard that he would have sworn it would hurt her if not for the rapture that was twisting her face. She moaned and scraped his arms, and he gasped against her chest, and when his climax suddenly crashed over him, he bit her nipple.

She keened with pleasure and writhed beneath him. “Fuck yes,” she sobbed.

He didn’t reply, too busy gasping and thrusting jerkily into her as he came. Then, in a final fit of spite, he pulled out of her and thrust against her belly instead.

A few thick white spurts landed on her belly, and Roman twisted her hips. “You asshole,” she whined.

He didn’t reply, focused instead on catching his breath. When his heart had slowed to a less-than-frantic pulse, he sat back on his heels and smirked at her. “Serves you right,” he said.

She shot him a dirty look, and Samson smiled more widely at her, feeling oddly at peace. Roman looked so thoroughly spent, and her body bore the obvious marks of his work: his toothmarks on her breast, his semen on her belly, her own wetness smeared on the insides of her thighs and on the bed. For some reason, seeing her look this way made him feel more relaxed than he’d felt all day.

He pulled off his shirt and flopped down on the bed beside her. “I guess I’ll stay here and get some sleep,” he said.

She huffed and sat up. “Whatever. Do what you want, I don’t care.” She slid off of the bed and went to the washroom to clean up, and Monty trotted out of the washroom.

Samson hastily tucked his cock back into his breeches, then gave Monty a sheepish look. “Sorry about before,” he muttered. “She just… she drives me up the wall sometimes.”

Monty wagged his tail and gave him a big canine grin, and Samson smiled faintly at the mabari before shuffling under the blankets. When Roman emerged from the washroom a couple of minutes later, Samson was glad to note that she was wearing her usual slight frown instead of an angry one.

She took her robe off and hung it on her painted changing screen, then put out the bedside lamp and crawled under the blankets. She settled on her back beside him, and as they lay there side-by-side, not talking nor touching, Samson began to wonder if he should say something.

Roman spoke first. “You’re not a coward,” she said quietly.

His heart flipped. He didn’t reply, unsure what to say. After all, he wasn’t totally sure that he wasn’t one.

She spoke again, and her tone was a little harder this time. “I don’t think you’re a fucking coward, Samson.”

“Then why’d you call me one?” he said.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was... mad.”

“You’re always mad,” he pointed out.

“Would you–” She broke off, then exhaled sharply and sat up on her elbow to look down at him. “I didn’t mean it, okay? Sometimes shit just comes out of my mouth and I – I didn’t fucking mean it. You’re not a coward.”

“You still think I need to pick a side, though,” he said.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she laid down and rolled onto her side facing away from him. “I didn’t think it would be so fucking hard to know which one you’d pick,” she said.

He gazed morosely at her naked shoulder blade. She wasn’t wrong; he had no real reason to side with the Templars, after all. It wasn’t like he’d joined them because he believed in their cause. Really, he had every reason to hate them — or not the Templars per se, but the Chantry’s control over them. Whether Roman saw it or not, the Chantry controlled the Templars just as much as they controlled the mages. The leashes they used were just of a different kind.

Really, if it came down to a war between the Templars and the mages, there was no reason for Samson to side with the Templars. He just wished…

He sighed. Honestly, he sort of wished he could be a Templar without joining the Order again. If he could just get his hands on some real lyrium, the real good blue stuff so he could have his Templar powers back, then he’d be healthy and strong again. He could walk through this city with his head held high, and he could fight back when anyone tried to beat him down. And he could use his powers for a good purpose, too — to be the kind of Templar that Roman would tolerate: the kind of Templar who stepped in to stop the abominations and to talk the scared mages down from doing stupid things.

If he had his Templar powers back, he’d be able to do something if Roman became an abomination. Maybe he’d be able to stop her or calm her down so she didn’t need to die.

His gut writhed. Stop it, he thought sternly. There was no point thinking about this any further; it was all a pipe dream. There was no way he would get his hands on real lyrium again.

He gazed at Roman’s naked spine with an aching heart. Then he rolled toward her and pulled her back against his chest.

He hugged her around her waist, and she tsked. “You’re squeezing me.”

“Yeah,” he said huskily.

They laid together in silence for a moment, her spine flush to his chest and his knees tucked behind hers. Then Samson spoke quietly into the dark. “I know you don’t want a war, Bird.”

She scoffed. “Obviously.”

He didn’t reply. A minute later, she spoke again. “I don’t get in fights because I want to, you know.”

He frowned slightly. “Then why’re you always fighting all the time?”

“I’m not the one picking the fucking fights,” she snapped. “The whole world keeps picking fights with me.” Her voice cracked, and Samson felt her body tensing in his arms.

His throat started to ache. He swallowed and hugged her harder, and she wiggled her shoulders slightly. “You’re crushing me,” she complained.

Her voice was thick with tears. Samson closed his stinging eyes. “Shut up, Bird,” he whispered, and he kept hugging her.

She sniffled quietly, and Samson held her in silence until her body started to relax. When she spoke again, her voice was hard, as though to make up for her tears. “I just want a fucking moment of peace. Just a fucking second of calm. That’s what I really want.”

He breathed quietly in the ensuing silence. Her hair smelled like vanilla and almond and sweat, and her skin was soft against his chest. The room was dark and her sheets were warm, and the only sounds were his breathing and the soft rumble of Monty snoring on the carpet by the fireplace.

“It’s pretty calm right now,” Samson murmured.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she pulled his hand away from her midriff.

She twined her fingers with his, and a nearly-painful spear of tenderness pierced his chest. She was such a pain in the ass, fighting with him one second and making him angry-fuck her the next, then being just a little bit sweet like this and making him feel bad for fighting with her in the first place…

Bloody damn bird, he thought. She was fierce and angry and so fucking vulnerable, and Samson wished he could do something to save her from herself. If only he could be a Templar without actually joining the Order again. If only he could get access to some proper lyrium again…

His guts were knotted with longing. He closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair, and eventually he fell into an uneasy sleep.

#samson #raleigh samson #da2 samson #samson da2 #samson/hawke #samson x hawke #romanson #pikapeppa writes

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abraxos-is-toothless · 4 years

Text

Undercover- Throne of Glass AU (8)

Um, this one is a shortened update, not even 2k words. Thats because I took some off an moved it into 9:) Ren and Connall’s ship name is now Renall. I might write content on these two in other AUs as well?

A/N: If you read Surprises, the chap will come but I messed it up and I’ve had to redo things. And I’ve also had a few issues at home but I’m promise to get it to you as soon as I can<3

Undercover Masterlist.

Full Masterlist.

----------

Gavriel, Vaughan and Rowan were walking through Hyde Park, coffees in hand. It was early morning, grass still covered in dew and their breath could be seen on the air. A few days ago, Aelin had told them that Arobynn had a few men who stayed in the area a lot and she needed people to come down to see if they could spot anyone, taking all of their findings back to her. Rowan had offered himself up for the job, along with Vaughan and Gavriel. The two of them had agreed but Gavriel knew it was just to get them alone, could see it in the way his Boss was very adamant that the three of them could do it. So here they were, silently walking, seeing absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

Rowan nodded towards an empty bench, gesturing that they should sit about twenty minutes into their walk. Rowan and Vaughan sat, but he chose to remain standing, facing them so they were covering all angles. The former was fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup, sighing when the latter turned and raised a brow at him. “Come on Ro, spit it out. You know something.” Vaughan just stared, waiting, and he felt himself go still when Rowan finally opened his fucking mouth.

“She’s Rhoe’s daughter.” Oh, for the ever loving fuck. Oh gods.

“Tell me you’re joking.” He whispered it, knowing what the answer would be, but he was terrified anyway.

“I’m not joking, Gav.” Rowan was looking at him, worry etched all over his face, but he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. This was all so unbelievably fucked up. Vaughan’s only sign of being shocked was the way his eyes widened just a fraction. Despite that, he was probably running over everything in his head, trying to figure out how he missed something so important. “Rhoe Galathynius, the man who led this gang before her, had a daughter. There is no information on her anywhere, absolutely nothing. But she was around what, nine or ten when he was killed, so her parents must have set something up in case the worst happened, making it look like she never even existed.” He felt sick. If he hadn’t left, if he hadn’t listened to Eliana, then maybe he could have done something, could have kept Aelin from Arobynn. Could have kept her safe.

But Eliana, his beloved Eliana had made him go, to keep him safe and their son, their Aedion. She had known who Gavriel was, why he was with them all of those years ago. It was his task back then to take down Rhoe and the whole organization, but she had shown him that they weren’t bad, not really. They were the ones trying to keep the city safe. Gavriel hadn’t meant to fall in love with her, but she was just so good, so pure and so fucking beautiful. He had left before it all went to shit, telling his bosses he was compromised, though Eliana would have never hurt him. He had walked away from the love of his love, his son. And now he was finding out he’d walked away from his niece. Which she was really, although Eliana and Aelin’s mother were cousins, they were sisters in all the ways that mattered. The realisation knocked the breath out of his lungs, his knees going weak, almost dropping to the ground before Vaughan was by his side, holding him steady. “Fuck Gav, what the hell is wrong?”

“She’s my niece.”

Rowan was confused; his tell was the way he scrunched his nose a little. “You fell in love with Eliana on that assignment we know, and she fell pregnant, but that doesn’t make Aelin your niece Gav.”

“It does because I married her.”

The sudden silence between them was deafening. He’d never told either of them this. Suddenly Rowan was glaring at him, slowly standing so that they were level with one another, face to face.

“I’m sorry; I thought you just said that you married her. This by the way would make you related to them, which would mean in the end, you’d go down with them.”

No going back now, the damage was already done. “I married her, Rowan. I took her last name and she had the marriage certificate. I didn’t think at the time and then everything happened...I didn’t think I’d ever be back here.”

“Fuck! Why have you never mentioned this before?!”

“I’ll always protect her, I’ll always protect them. Lia knew who I was, what I was there for. I told her once, that I’d leave it all behind, but she made me go, so that maybe one day I’d get to know my son. That they’d find me when the dust settled.” But it didn’t end that way. Rhoe, Evalin and his beloved were all gone and his son lost. It took him years to find Aedion and when he did, he was a coward, never approaching the boy, the man now, that he’d kept tucked close to his heart. Vaughan was now swearing, in multiple languages and Rowan was just staring at him, pine green eyes burning holes into his skull.

“One of them is going to piece together who you are eventually, Gav. Aelin asked how I hadn’t noticed how similar she and Aedion were. We need to start moving faster but I don’t know how to do that. They’re just so...” Rowan trailed off but he didn’t need to explain more. Gavriel understood perfectly, having been through this already. It was hard getting so close and going so deep undercover because the lines always blur one way or another.

You just have to figure out which side you’ll be on when it disappears completely, before it’s too late.

oOoOo

Aelin sat on the sofa in the living room, her legs tucked underneath her as she watched Lorcan, Elide, Manon, and Dorian play twister. She laughed as Lorcan, giant brute that he was, collapsed and began grumbling about how stupid the game was. “Oh come on, Lorcan. No need to be a sore loser.” Fenrys goaded him from his spot on the chair, bag of peanuts in hand. Lorcan simply flipped him off and Fenrys chuckled, throwing a peanut at his forehead. Manon had an unfair advantage, Aelin thought, considering how fucking flexible the woman was. She was somehow weaved in between Elide and Dorian and didn’t look bothered by the way she bent. Chaol flicked the spinner again, calling out a ‘right hand, blue’ just as Rowan, Gavriel and Vaughan walked in. All three men looked amused by the sight before settling themselves around the room. Vaughan moved towards Lorcan, still looking like a kicked puppy and Gavriel towards Fenrys, who frowned when the older man began stealing his snacks. Rowan however, he moved to sit beside her, a strong thigh pressed against her feet.

Aelin ignored the urge to press against him more and asked, “See anything interesting out there?”

Rowan shook his head, watching as the three idiots on the floor collapsed into a pile of limbs when Dorian moved wrong. “Nothing. It seemed oddly quiet though, I don’t know how to explain it.”

“We’ll just have to keep an eye out then.” All he did was nod. He seemed quite sullen and part of her desperately wanted to ask if he was alright but thought better of it. She still didn’t know what she felt about him and wanted to keep it between the two of them for now.

“Where’s Aedion?”

“Lys wanted to go shopping, again, and she took Asterin too. I made Aedion go so that he could keep an eye out.” Lysandra thought it would help Asterin feel better to get out of the house, to go and do something for herself. Manon had wanted to go with them but decided to let them be, to not overcrowd her friend. There was a rustling of plastic as the Twister mat was flattened again and Connall, Ren, Fenrys and Chaol started playing. Aelin didn’t miss the way when Gavriel called out ‘left foot, yellow’, Ren slipped just a little and brushed against Con, making the other man’s face flush. They stared at each other for a minute, abruptly looking away when the next move was called. Aelin let a little knowing smirk slip, just in time for Ren to catch her eyes. He had the balls to look at her dumbly, as if he hadn't a clue what he’d just been doing. They all forgot how attentive she was to things and thought they were being sneaky when they weren’t. She would be happy if they made a go of things, once they both stopped being idiots about it. Ren and Connall suited each other.

Yrene walked in from the kitchen with a small tray of food, murmuring gently to Rowan, Gav and Vaughan. It was now noon after all and they boys had been gone all morning. Vaughan walked to where she placed it on the coffee table, giving his thanks as he reached for one of the sandwiches. Yrene only smiled back at him and was just pulling herself back up to normal height when she let out a shocked, “Oh gods fuck.” Aelin stood instantly and Chaol abandoned the game, rushing to his wife’s side.

“Love, are you alright?” She nodded, one hand on her back and the other on her swollen belly. Everyone had stopped what they were doing now, all on alert as they watched.

“Yeah, yes, just fine. Uh, no need to panic.” Very reassuring. Aelin moved to stand in front of her, placing a hand on top of Yrene’s. The woman leaned back a little to look at her, wide eyes blinking a couple of times.

“My waters just broke.”

Oh gods fuck, indeed.

------

Again, I’m sorry it’s short but this is how I wanted the chap to end soooo:) Give me a shout if you want to be added to the tags!!!

Tags: @bryaxisthefaceofnightmares @lila-baard @empress-sei @acourtofterrasenandvelaris @tswaney17 @queen-of-glass @thesirenwashere @awkward-avocado-s @b00kworm @http-itsrebecca @eatmysandwiches @poisonous00 @flowersinvegas @julemmaes @mu-si-ca-l @spyofthenightcourt @sis-it-dont-add-up @mad-madeline-ace @df3ndyr @jesstargaryenqueen @notyournymphetish @carbconnoisseur @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @superspiritfestival @alyx801 @silentquartz @tillyrubes10 @dayanna-hatter

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faux-fires · 3 years

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last line/wip wednesday

Tagged by mikkeneko and pinkfadespirit - thanks team! I’ve mostly been playing dragon age inquisition this week as prep for a story I’d like to write, so I’m afraid this piece is all I’ve got.

isabela was leaning her hip against the ship's railing when hawke emerged into the late sunshine, holding her spyglass against one eye. she was dressed for war, by which she'd put on her boots with the metal in the toes and wore both daggers on her back and a brace of throwing knives around her hip. without the spyglass, the templar ship was a silhouette against the orange sky; two-masted, distinctive cut to its sails. "hawke," said the captain when he came up beside her, thoughtfully. "anything you want to tell me about our time in amaranthine?"

"nope," hawke said. "i didn't even electrocute anyone. no reason for templars to be on us three days out of port."

"that's what i thought," isabela said. "although seriously, you didn't electrocute anyone? what about the smuggler with the stupid mustache? i would have given him a little bit. just enough to burn the mustache off, really, it takes a special man to wear a mustache and he was not it."

"captain," fenris called out from behind the wheel, up on the forecastle, "the point."

"no respect," isabela complained, "i should have left you all on the docks."

I have no idea where I’m going with it. i’m like the horse in the hospital of fanfic writers. it could turn into anything! but probably just ocean-based puns, knowing me

Tagging: anyone who wants to do it (and please @) me if you do, but ESPECIALLY @ser-thirst-a-lot; @hollyand-writes; @verifiedhawke and @un-shit-yourself. Go forth and share fic and/or come up with some just for this meme, i won’t report you!

#writing meme #wip wednesday

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

In the Bleak Midwinter {18}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: Oooooooooh boy.

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

Rowan rode in the back of the car, right next to Cairn. He hated it, knowing full well he wanted to lash out and kill Cairn on the spot, but also knowing it would bring harm to Aelin.

For the entirety of the ride, Rowan didn’t say a word, no matter how bad he wanted to. Cairn kept looking at him, tauntingly.

“Where’s my wife?” Rowan asked, quietly.

Cairn spun Rowan’s pistol around his finger, having already stripped him of his weapons.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Rowan asked, in a deadly calm.

“She’s alive,” Cairn answered, simply.

“And unharmed?” Rowan asked, staring at his gun in Cairn’s massive, scarred hand.

Cairn met Rowan’s gaze. “She was when I left, but that was a few hours ago. A lot can happen in the span of a few hours.”

Rowan’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t push. He was caught somewhere between wanting to grab his gun back from Cairn and putting a bullet through his head and saying fuck the consequences or sitting still, complying to the demands he was given, and probably getting shot by the end of the night.

At least, if Rowan got shot, his family would be safe.

At least, that was the theory.

Rowan opened his mouth to make a retort, but Cairn cut him off. “Say one more thing, and I’ll kill you with your own fucking gun. How tragic would that be?”

Rowan’s lips snapped shut, but the look in his eyes was worth a thousand words.

He hated this, every moment of it. Although grateful Lucy was home with Lorcan, Maeve still had his wife, his unborn child, and every chance he had to kill one of Maeve’s men and he couldn’t, didn’t, it drove him mad.

They eventually pulled up to a home, quite a ways from Orynth’s border. They must not have cared that Rowan was seeing it now.

Considering he wouldn’t be leaving it alive to retell the tale.

Rowan didn’t put up a fight as Cairn opened the door, ordering him out. In fact, he was quite cordial as he followed Maeve’s first in command into the old manor. Rowan didn’t know what he had been expecting, considering the landscaping wasn’t in horrible condition, but to find every piece of furniture covered in white sheets as if the owner was on an extended-holiday was not it.

He tried not to look too intrigued, though, as he followed Cairn through the hallways, then through the door that led down to the kitchens.

It was freezing, and the entire place was covered in webs as if no one had bothered to dust down there in a while. Rowan tried to keep his eyes open, trying to look for any sign that Aelin had been through there, but he was only met with a stone floor, and stone walls. They walked past the kitchen, further down the hall, where no windows let in any sort of light.

Candelabras lined the walls, though, which only made Rowan nauseous as he was reminded of some sort of medieval dungeon.

When they came to the end of the hall, and Rowan’s heart was nearly ready to beat through his chest, they halted in front of a closed door.

Cairn knocked on it, twice, and they waited.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then it swung open, and Rowan followed Cairn inside.

Maeve was lounging behind a massive oak desk, completely unphased by the arrival of her nephew. Instead of surprise, she was smiling at him as he entered, her eyes lit with something that made Rowan’s nausea grow worse.

“Hello, nephew,” Maeve crooned. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

Rowan said nothing. His lips remained closed as he stared, waiting.

“I have to admit that I feel…” she paused, trying to decide on the perfect word. “Exhilarated. I’ve been trying for this victory for so long that I almost thought it was nothing more than a dream.”

“You haven’t won yet,” Rowan said, simply.

Maeve snorted. “I beg to differ. The second I got Aelin Galathynius into my company - spoiled little bitch, she is - I knew I had you wrapped around my finger.”

Rowan lifted his chin.

“You are mine now, nephew,” she crooned. “You will die.”

“Where is she?” Rowan breathed.

“Here,” Maeve answered, her voice light, which only pissed Rowan off more.

“I want to see her,” Rowan replied, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

“That’s not possible,” Maeve replied, without any hesitation.

“Surely if you’re going to kill me, you’re not so cruel that I can’t say goodbye,” Rowan responded.

“And how do you know that I’m not so cruel?” Maeve asked, humored.

Rowan’s jaw was rigid, and for a moment, he said nothing. He stared at his aunt, at the woman he had known his whole life, at the woman he’d used to live with, used to work for, and wondered how the fuck they got to where they were now.

He blamed it all on Arobynn Hammel.

In one fluid motion, Rowan reached down into his boot and pulled out a small, handmade bomb that Vaughan himself had constructed, He held it close to him, his fingers hovering near the pin that held it all together.

Everyone in the room froze, Maeve’s haughty smile finally fading away.

“I will cooperate, under one condition,” Rowan said, slowly. “Aelin goes home. Today. Now. Safely. You can take me, have me, kill me, but my wife goes free.”

Maeve’s eyes narrowed. “And if I say no? She’s in this building, you set that off, she dies, too.”

“So do you,” Rowan responded. “And all your men.”

“You’re bluffing,” Maeve spat.

Rowan’s grin was one to behold. “Would you like to test that theory?”

Maeve watched him, carefully. “Vaughan made that.”

“Yes.”

Her grin reappeared, and she shook her head, slowly. “You forget that I know you all. Very, very well.”

Rowan said nothing, unsure of where she was going, but not liking it, not one bit.

“I’ve seen many of Vaughan’s creations through the years,” Maeve went on, leaning back in her chair. “Both those that he has made to actually take lives, and those he’s made to use as a pawn.”

Rowan stayed perfectly still, perfectly calm. “Don’t test me, Maeve.”

“Don’t lie to me, nephew,” she spat.

The second Rowan moved, the butt of his own handgun hit him in the back of the head.

He remembered nothing after that for a long, long while.

~~~~~

“You let her take him?” Lysandra’s voice boomed through the manor.

“We had no choice,” Gavriel replied, his voice low. “What Rowan wants to do, he does, it doesn’t matter what we thought-.”

“He’s in Maeve’s hellhole!” Lysandra shouted. “She’s going to kill him!”

Aedion was standing just behind her, softly rubbing her lower back. She stepped away, not wanting comfort.

“We’re going to work out a plan,” Gavriel followed.

“A plan,” Lysandra repeated, mockingly. “Why does that not sound promising?”

“Way to put your faith in us,” Gavriel growled. “I understand you’re worried-.”

“Worried?” Lysandra interrupted, laughing humorlessly. They thought she’d say something else, thought she would blow up, thought she would tear them all to shreds, but she didn’t.

She just shook her head and turned her back to all of them, then walked away.

“She’s right.” Lorcan’s voice came quietly from the corner where Lucy was sound asleep on his shoulder. “We let him go, and we shouldn’t have.”

Gavriel said nothing. Instead, he took a cigarette out of his jacket pocket, put it between his lips, and lit the tip.

“We don’t even know where Maeve is holding them,” Fenrys said, leaning back in a chair in the dining room, his hat over his face.

No one bothered to correct him.

He was right.

“Would you like to know what I think?” Natalia asked.

All at once, they answered, “No.”

With a scowl, she hurried out, following Lysandra.

“I’ll go meet with Rhoe and the others,” Aedion announced. “See what we can find out. I’ll come back in a few hours to tell you what I know.”

Gavriel nodded, and Aedion was gone to tell Lysandra goodbye.

“And what do we do?” Lorcan asked, quietly. “While we wait?”

Lorcan, Fenrys, Gavriel, and Vaughan all looked at one another, realizing that it was the first time they had ever been without Rowan, since he had been their leader. Gavriel hated to admit that he felt like he felt when they had lost Rowan’s father. But, they wouldn’t vote on a new leader, not yet.

Rowan’s fight was not finished.

It wouldn’t be finished.

He was going to escape, going to live, going to beat this shit.

“We…” Gavriel began, then shook his head, taking another drag from his cigarette. After blowing out a long breath, and a puff of smoke, he continued. “Vaughan and I will go talk to our guys on the police force. Lor, you and Fen go back to the tracks and see if you can find any signs, or tracks, follow them. As soon as you have a decent lead, come back here. We’ll all meet up in a few hours and take it from there.”

There was a moment of silence, but then Fenrys asked, still beneath his hat, “And if we’re too late?”

The room fell silent.

It was a risk. Every moment they spent looking and finding nothing was a risk.

A risk they had no choice but to take.

Gavriel just shook his head. “We won’t be.”

It was a promise he couldn’t keep, but he would try to keep it if it was the last thing he did.

He wouldn’t say the words, wouldn’t bury Rowan, who was like a younger brother to him.

The words would not fall from his lips, not if Gavriel could help it. And yet, the words wouldn’t stop replaying through his mind as he stood from the dining room table, reloaded his gun, and left the manor with Vaughan.

In the bleak midwinter.

~~~~~

Aelin had been crying for hours.

At least, it felt like hours, but she had no way of knowing how much time had truly passed.

The moment the door to her prison opened and Rowan was tossed inside, bloody and unconscious, she had lost it.

For a while, she had tried to wake him up, to no avail. Then, once she made sure he was breathing, she just waited.

And the waiting was agonizing.

Leaning against the wall, in the dreadful silence, she watched Rowan’s chest rise and fall. Slowly, shakily.

His lip had been cut, his eye bruised, as if knocking him out hadn’t been good enough, the assholes under Maeve’s command had to leave their mark, too.

Feeling completely exhausted, she crawled over to Rowan and laid down beside him on the cold, hard floor. Rowan didn’t move as Aelin laid her head on his chest, and draped an arm across his waist.

A tear slid down her cheek, onto his jacket.

“Please wake up,” she whispered, pleaded, begged. “We need to get out of here, Ro. You, me, the baby….we need to get out of here.”

Nothing.

She grasped the fabric of his jacket, clinging to it with all that she had. At least Lucy was safe. At least, she hoped so. When Rowan woke up, Aelin would ask.

And Rowan would wake up.

Because, if he didn’t…

No.

The thought was too excruciating.

“Ro, Ro, please, wake up,” she whispered, although she was so tired that she could hardly keep her eyes open. “I love you, sweetheart, and I need you to wake up. We can get out of this, baby, but I can’t do it alone, okay?”

She could hear his heart beating beneath her ear, through the layers that covered his chest.

When she received no indication of Rowan waking up, a sob tore through Aelin’s body. She closed her eyes, taking in his scent, memorizing everything she could about her husband.

If this would be their last moment alive, she would take in everything she could, hoping it went with her to the afterlife. She hated it, though. Hated that this is what she would bring into the afterlife with her.

Memories of lying together on the floor, blood streaked across Rowan’s face, him unresponsive. Aelin must have fallen asleep, and it’s exactly what she dreamt about.

Rowan, unconscious, dying, and her soon after. Then, the three of them - Rowan, her, and their daughter - walking into the afterlife.

Their daughter looked just like her father.

Silver hair, green eyes, sun-kissed skin. She was beautiful. The most beautiful. Aelin couldn’t believe how much love she had for the little girl.

But then she woke up, her eyes shooting open.

A hand had moved to her lower back, and when she lifted herself up, she saw Rowan’s eyes watching her. He was exhausted, she could tell, in pain.

But he was awake.

“Rowan.” Her voice was part whisper, part sob, part disbelief. She cupped his face as she kissed him, carefully. “I was so afraid, so worried you were….”

Her words trailed off, unable to say any of what she was actually thinking.

“I’m okay,” Rowan said, his voice raspy, tired. He reached up with a shaky hand to brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“What-.”

“I’m going to make a deal.”

“No,” Aelin breathed. “No, unless it includes you and me walking out of these doors, together.”

Rowan eyed her for a moment, his gaze soft, before he said, “We both know that won’t happen. But, I’m going to get you out of here, Aelin. You, and the baby.”

Aelin shook her head, knowing what he was going to say next.

“I’m going to have to give myself to Maeve, Aelin, but you and the baby will be free.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@mariamuses @garnet-29 @writer-reader-traveller @rowaelin-cressworth @space-buns-arsinoe @negativenesta @empress-ofbloodshed @the-regal-warrior @starseternalnighttriumphant @westofmoon @sammyjojaaaa @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @carbconnoisseur @acer6437 @lorcansalvatearupmyheart @cool-ish-nerd @mynewdreamwasyou @mourning-razorlust @thespiritualrider @rowaelinforeverworld @didsomeonesayviolin @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks @queen-of-glass @the-dark-swan @http-itsrebecca @holdingon-21@babycardan @tswaney17 @mollycateoc @chemicha @bat-wing-rhys @exersize-me-i-dare-u @thespiritualrider @luna-the-little @morebooks-pls @shyvioletcat @hermajestyanna @a97girl @stardustsroses @queenofthemoon22 @alifletcher2012 @awkward-avocado-s @faerie-queen-fireheart @cwheart @lovemollywho @emilyrose111294 @nerdperson524 @sleeping-and-books @cursebreaker29 @flora-and-fae @feyrethedarklady @the-dark-swan @rowaelinforeverworld @sjmsstuff @januarystears @mis-lil-red @acourtofmoonlight @rowaelinforeverworld @courtofmaasdestruction @jjellybean @thewayshedreamed @wind-drinker @aelin-rowan-whitehorn @starseternalnighttriumphant @hurema @http-itsrebecca @lorcansalvatearupmyheart @cityofchelsea16 @januarystears @iliketoasterstrudels @lightitup-bryce @yikesitsmaddie @feyrethedarklady @i-love-all-books @keshavomit @sleeping-and-books @scarznstars @http-itsrebecca @cat5313 @moondancer-204 @booklover242 @belamoonbeam @they-call-me-cuatro @b00kworm @mu-si-ca-l @thegayerpotato @abraxos-is-toothless @keshavomit @musicdreamer003 @superspiritfestival @sailorsassley @mymultiversee @alxanxah @viviaannvu123 @mysweetvillain @theghostlyharrypooperfan @highqueenofelfhame @shyvioletcat @maastrash @the-third-me @rinad307

#tacmc itbmw #tog #period au #1920s au #pb au

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aricazorel · 3 years

Text

I wrote “Pieces” for Dragon Age 2 set mostly during Act 3 based in the premise that Fenris and Cora Hawke were finally ready to have a relationship. This was the first story I posted on AO3 and one I am still proud of today. “Pieces” focuses on their relationship and the relationships with Hawke’s friends as the events of the video unfold in the background.

Chapter 11: You'll Find the Way

With the tensions between the mages and templars ever increasing, Hawke is called upon by Grand Cleric Elthina to meet with the Nightingale. When the truth behind the visit is revealed, Hawke wonders if she will be able to defend her adopted city against the chaos the two groups will cause if open war is declared. A friend uses her own words to remind her that she is not alone and together, they will find a way.

Read chapter 11 here on AO3

Read it from the beginning here on AO3

~ ~ ~

Excerpt from chapter 11

The events from the day and night did nothing to make Hawke think Kirkwall would come out of any mage-templar conflict unscathed. The tensions ran too high and too few people were willing to take a stand. They believed the Templars would keep any and all mages in line. They believed the Divine would make sure only the mages threatening rebellion were routed. They thought their faith would protect them. Those in power either believed that they could suppress any and all threats or that their mere presence was enough to dissuade any rebellious act or extremist activity from either side. It wouldn’t be. She was sure of that.

She had literally no idea what to do except to keep a vigilant watch over the city. What else could she do? No one seemed to be willing to come to a compromise or even work toward a peaceful solution. As Champion of Kirkwall it fell to her, whether she wanted the responsibility or not…

She sighed and folded the mending she had finished. Fenris had gone to bed earlier after making sure she was alright or as alright as she could be. He knew the best thing for her at the moment was time to collect her thoughts. As she continued to gather the clothes and her sewing kit, she heard someone walking up the steps to the library.

“Isn’t it a little late for chantry brother’s to be sneaking into noble women’s home?” she asked, knowing by the sound it was Sebastian.

He chuckled. “I gave that up long ago, Hawke. But if I were inclined to do so now, you would definitely be on the list…But I have a key so…”

Hawke shook her head as she glanced up. The Starkhaven man stood as the top of the stairs with a small grin, his sense of humor surprising her. He rarely shared it with the group at large but she had come to enjoy it when he did share. “I think I should be flattered, but I am taken.”

“I know, and I am a brother in the Chantry so it is only a what could have been scenario,” the prince replied with a wistful expression. He fell silent as she watched him walk to the fire. After a long moment, he asked quietly, “What if you were viscount? Would you do anything?”

“You want me to be Viscount?” Hawke asked in surprise. The thought of holding that position had never once crossed her mind. Being Champion was enough of a challenge.

“Andraste said ‘the Maker is the king in the heavens, but the kings of Thedas who must recreate his worldly glory.’ I keep thinking about that,” Sebastian replied as he began pacing in front of the fire. Clearly the day’s events had affected him just as much as it had affected her. “Who better serves the Maker: a brother of the faith or a prince who can sway a whole city?”

Setting aside her pile of mended clothes, she rose to her feet. “Today has be a source of doubt, a test of our faith, making us question what part we should play the in events that are unfolding. Even through all that, I am certain of one thing. Every person does the Maker’s work in their own way.”

“Elthina is risking her life by not deserting her flock. Could I do the same?” he asked, his tone letting her know he needed to voice his thoughts to someone, and he had chosen her. “It’s been fifteen years since I lived in Starkhaven. The people there are only a memory to me. Kirkwall. The Chantry—that’s real. That’s where I belong.”

“You’re a man of faith, Sebastian,” Hawke noted with a smile, glad he seemed more certain of the path he wanted to take. “You’d have hated politics.”

“You’re probably right. Bootlicking nobles and bickering farmers—I’d have sent the whole lot to do penance,” he responded with a heartfelt laugh. He turned sincere as he met her gaze, “I do appreciate you hearing me out. You’ve been a good friend, Hawke. I will stay for you as much as for Her Grace.”

She nodded and hugged the man she had come to think of as a brother. He returned the gesture as she said, “You know you can confess anything to me. I’m not a chantry sister but I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know you won’t, Hawke,” he replied as she let her go. “I just needed to talk to someone…Elthina won’t listen. I cannot blame her for not leaving her people, but she could step in and say something to Meredith and Orsino. She won’t though…”

“I know,” Hawke said sadly. “She wants to be here for her people but at the same time…she won’t do anything more than that…She relying on us to stop anything that might happen.”

“It’s an incredible burden to bare. One I know you do not wish to,” Sebastian noted. “But you are not alone. Remember that when the time comes. We are here with you.”

She looked up are him. “You are staying with the Chantry, but you would still take up arms?”

“Someone once told me that we all serve the Maker in our own way,” he reminded her. “Whatever that way is, whatever storm is coming…I have faith that you’ll find the way out for all of us. You always do.”

#fic back friday #dragon age #fenris #cora hawke #pieces #read on ao3

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loquaciousquark · 3 years

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30, 34, 38 for the writer's asks?

30. Do you write down all your ideas?

Oooh, tough question! In general, I don’t write down something until I’m ready to write it out and commit to it. It’s why I don’t have a WIP folder or more than one active WIP at a time. I have to keep my brain focused on one task from start to finish - otherwise nothing gets done. Even now at work, when I’m working on a task list, I often have to stop myself and say out loud, “Stop multitasking. Focus on one thing. Get that done first.” because otherwise I just hop from thing to thing without ever finishing any of it.

So, the fact that I’ve written down the bodyguard AU outline means that it ought to happen some day, as soon as I finish filling in the holes in the world. The ice skating fic is the other file I do still have saved on my computer’s desktop as a tentatively still-open world, since I have part of a follow-up written from Carver’s perspective. It’s about 1500 words in, but I realized it’s not doing anything I want it to and doesn’t really have a point, so I haven’t gone back to it in a month or two. I might do something else about Danarius’s penitentiary woes, though, if inspiration strikes.

34. Have you felt emotional while writing a scene before? What scene was it?

I cried like a baby writing the end of Lacrimosa. I have a very vivid memory of sitting on my apartment bed in my tiny bedroom, the lights off, writing in the dark very late at night in total silence, and then I got to the part where Aveline is trying to comfort Hawke and I just burst into tears the same moment Hawke did, and then I cried through the rest of the writing.

That fic was astounding in a lot of ways, but it still remains one of the easiest writes of my life. Not emotionally, of course, but physically - I just sat down and wrote it from start to finish, no editing, and then I immediately posted it the same night I’d seen the prompt on the kink meme. (Yes, I did save the links to all my original anon fills on the k!meme, why do you ask?) Jade helped me pick out two pieces of music that fit it perfectly, which I added in later, but yeah. My most vivid memory of writing that fic is sitting there crying into the dark, trying to see what I was writing through my tears.

I also cried writing the memory of Malcolm’s death in Ascendi. I never got any comments that indicated readers did too, but that’s all right. Just lots of crying for me!

I will say the speech Hawke gives to the raiders yelling at them for their stupidity in attacking a pregnant, moody Champion apostate makes me laugh out loud every single time I read it.

38. What story of yours are you surprised that people liked as much as they did?

Oh, definitely Were We Not Called. I wrote that coming off of the difficulty of writing Worth Life, which has the protagonists separated for most of the fic & where Fenris thinks Hawke is dead for a good chunk of the story. I spent a very long time working on and refining Worth Life and it got a really decent response, which I thought was super generous of the fandom, but it had a lot a lot of emotional damage & grief & mourning that I think was kinda heavy for the world at the time, and once Hawke & Fenris reunited the interest faded away a little bit--which was totally fine & expected, honestly!

But while I was finishing up the edits for Worth Life, I saw a prompt about AU soulmates (I think in a list from @thegeminisage??). It sank its teeth into me hard, and I whipped out Were We Not Called in like two weekends or something after having spent six months on Worth Life. Jade edited it and got it back to me, I started putting it up, and the response blew me away.

@eponymous-rose and I have talked a lot before about why some things blow up in fandom and some don’t. The thing that seems to affect it the least is the amount of time and effort you spend working on a piece; instead, by far, sometimes you just get really, really lucky. Sometimes all the stars align just right, and you happened to write a trope that everyone wants to read at just that moment, and you happened to post it at just the right time of day for most people to see it, and maybe just the right person happens to reblog it at the exact moment for someone else to have the free time to click in and read it for themselves. It was just a perfect storm of some unbelievable chance, and the comments on that were so very kind (and numerous) for something I’d spent a lot less time working on, haha. Even now, it’s one of my most popular fics, and I haven’t got a clue why!

Funnily enough, even though it doesn’t have many kudos or comments, by far my most-hit fic is Crucible. This fandom, huh. 👀

Thank you for the questions! :D

#long post for ts #fic writing meme #shadoedseptmbr #quark replies

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juliafied · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, @nug-juggler (as @atruthandalie, my main blog). Funny because I saw the tag right as I was writing my wip. So, very on-topic.

Tagging @midnightprelude, @hawkeish, @athenril-of-kirkwall!

This is from Chapter 8 of The Lone Wolf’s Call (a dream sequence in the middle of the chapter):

He knew it was a dream. He knew it was a dream because when he opened his eyes, in Aron’s place at the table in the little Nevarra City apartment sat Felissa.

“The Veil is thin here,” she said, as if explaining her presence, though he’d gotten used to it now. “You’ve been harder to find, lately.”

This Felissa felt much more tangible than even the one that had led him to the forest clearing, before. Her hair was unruly and escaping her bun, just as he knew it always did, and she was wearing her Champion leathers, as she had when he had held her in their last embrace. She had that familiar look on her face, too, the one that she wore when trying to remember something she had read in a book.

He scrambled quickly out of the cot and jerked towards her, wanting desperately to take advantage of the lucidity of her apparition, but she shook her head sadly.

“You’ll wake up, love.”

Fenris agreed that he would prefer not to. He retracted his hand.

“Where are you?” she asked, her eyes following the movement. “It looks cozy. Have you taken a new lover, now that I’m gone?”

A hint of mirth danced behind the sorrow in her eyes. He chuckled.

“Not unless you’d imply that I’ve taken three lovers. Simultaneously.”

She raised an eyebrow, and quirked one side of her mouth in a way that made him want to kiss her. “Spicy.”

He restrained himself and answered her question instead. “It’s a secret elven compound. In Nevarra City.”

And, since it seemed that this time she was in his dream to serve as the confidante he so missed, he continued. “Felissa, I’ve gotten myself in deep shit.”

“So I’ve heard. Mucking about with the Venatori’s business has been getting a lot of people in trouble recently. Just look at me.”

She gestured to her chest, from which Fenris suddenly realized a sharp, insect-like claw protruded. He flinched away in horror, but there was no blood, just the claw, at which Hawke gazed so nonchalantly.

He resisted the urge to reach towards her and forced himself to look at her again. And, even though it was a dream, his dream, the next words that slipped out of his mouth were, “Does it hurt?”

She laughed a hollow laugh. “Well, it doesn’t feel great, I’ll tell you that much.” She softened, and added more quietly, “But no, it doesn’t hurt.”

He so longed to hold her. To rip the awful claw from her chest, to fetch Anders, or Ladarawen, or any other thrice-damned mage who had been too useless to save her when it mattered. To have them heal her, and bring her to him…

“Hawke, I—”

She put up a hand to stop him. “I know. Me too.” As if choosing her words very carefully, she continued. “I don’t know how much I should say… I’ve never gotten this far before. If I get too… real… it always stops, and then I can’t find you for months.”

Fenris’ heart skipped a beat. He held his breath as he watched Felissa chew on her lip hesitantly, fidgeting with a buckle in her armour.

“Do you… do you mean to say—”

“Shh, love. Lest you end it too soon,” she stopped him once more.

He nodded. He realized his hands were shaking. He saw how she longed to take them in hers.

Instead, Felissa smiled weakly at him. “Tell me what has happened to you lately.”

He barked a laugh, and told her about his escape from Cumberland, capture, and subsequent rescue. Felissa nodded along as if she already knew this but listened all the same.

“You are safe now. I know it,” she declared fiercely.

She was so beautiful like this, skin bathed in firelight, eyes ablaze and determined. His chest felt like it would burst.

“I miss you, Felissa. With every essence of my being. I am yours, forever,” he professed, tears falling freely down his cheeks.

“I know, love. I know.”

They gazed at one another in this dream by firelight. Felissa gave a heavy sigh.

“No point delaying the inevitable,” she murmured, getting up. “I’m going to tell you something, and then you’ll wake up, or at the very least, the dream will end. So please, listen carefully.”

He shuddered but nodded sharply.

“The Venatori are looking for elven artifacts corrupted with red lyrium,” and no sooner had she finished her phrase, Fenris felt the air around him start to compress. Pieces of the walls around him started to rip open, disintegrating as though they were thin parchment that was burning. Felissa paid no attention to this and continued intently. “I don’t know why, but they’re important somehow. The one they’re hunting now—” This time she let out a groan as the claw in her chest reappeared. The wound bled freely now, with a dark ichor-like substance. Gritting her teeth, she continued as bricks began to fall from the ceiling. “—it’s somewhere in Tevinter.”

He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch. He could see the painful sheen of sweat on her brow.

“Wait,” she whispered, in agony. “You must—”

Now, a veritable gale of wind stole the words from her lips. She shielded them with her hands. “You need to—”

The room was truly melting away now, a harsh, terrifying darkness enclosing on them, the firelight long gone. Fenris could wait no longer: he wrapped his arms around her, hands burning longingly into her familiar embrace, and felt her breath hot on his ear as she whispered, “Find the other wolf.”

She slipped from his grasp and the darkness ate them both.

#wip wednesday #fenhawke #da2 #ao3 #dragon age #thanks for the tag #julia writes

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pazvizslaplasmathrower · 4 years

Text

His Champion - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Permission Granted

Masterlist

Series Summary: The Empire has fallen, however momentous this might be for the galaxy, it has little effect on you: one of the last living members of the Guardians of Breath. Separated from your teacher years ago, Imperial scientists have been on the hunt for you, desiring to take advantage of your Force abilities. Without any leadership your pursuers still continue their hunt for their own malicious intent, causing your to crash land on a small hidden island on the planet of Stewjon. Small foundlings of the clan, find you, quite unsure of this fallen stranger.

Chapter Summary: After an intense sparring session with Fenri, Paz insists you go clean up. After a small moment, you find yourself giddy and dazed with delight.

A/N: I’m so stoked for this series! I had a lot of fun writing this! Thank you to @askalphapazvizsla and @fenrivizla. Sorry this is so late. I have been really depressed lately. I should be updating more frequently.

Word Count: 1916

Never before in your life had you any memory of such gentleness. Even as a baby and a youth, your own master had not treated you with such sincerity. Of course he was kind enough but now in the arms of your husband, this was a whole other world. In the present moment, he had you in his sculpted arms, carrying you through the hideout until you reached the fresher closest to his own quarters. Once inside, he stooped lower, letting your boots gently grace the floor until you could stand on your own. When you slipped from his hold on your own accord, you could not help but miss the cautious pressure on your body.

“Do you need any further aid?” He asked softly, his head cocked to one side.

“N-No.” You mumbled, suddenly finding your boots quite interesting.

Paz righted himself, toying with a loose section of his armor. “Very well, though I will bring you a warm towel and something to change into.”

He left without another word, sparing a brief glance your way. You knew his eyes must have been warm to make you so heated. Hastily you peeled off your dirtied clothes, shucking off your boots in the process. Once in the shower, you turned on the water, savoring the delicious feeling of cooled water washing away the dirt and grime of melee. Using the practical soaps and oils provided, you felt the most clean you had ever been in a long while. Refreshed by the smooth sensations., you dreamily slipped out of the present, focused entirely on your own bliss you failed to hear the voice of your husband calling for you, instead he opened the door a crack and placed the towel without peeking inside. Only when you exited the shower did you notice, a small panic quickly rose and was quelled. Quickly, the shower's cleansing spell worse off as you grabbed the towel, wrapping it as much as you could around your body.

“Y/N, I have some clothes for you. Would you like me to hand you them through the door?”

“N-No!” You said, pushing a hand up against the door.

For a moment your husband was silent. “Well then what will you change into? Just the towel?”

Sweating furiously, you had the urge to elbow the man. “Tch, of course not!”

“Then you plan on changing back into your dirty clothes?”

Sighing you bit the inside of your cheek, moving to open the door just a bit, only imagining what sort of clothes this man was going to give you. Very suddenly a wonderfully strange but soft fabric was placed in your hand, quietly, you closed the door taking a better look at the attire. It wasn't anything extravagant yet not simple. Other than the basic small clothes, Paz Vizsla had gifted you with the softest black leggings you had ever felt, the sides embellished with dark patters, so only the wearer might notice the subtle beauty. It's companion was just as smooth, though a darker blue, perhaps a shade to match Paz's own, the cuffs of the shirt lined with threaded designs. However, much to your embarrassment, the collar was fashioned in such a way that it left the mark your husband gave you on full display. This apparel was not completely unlike what you wore a Guardian of the Breath. Sure what you were used to was a bit more flowing and humble, but what you held in your arms now was just a bit more form fitting and suited for something more exhaustive than meditation. Who knew one could look quite becoming while dressed for a possible bout.

It was peculiar how perfectly all the garments fit your body, not a piece too large or tight. After looking yourself over in the small mirror above the sink, you gingerly opened the door, Paz being only a few feet from where you had left him. Pursing your lips, you stepped out in front of him, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor while you could feel his heart stop for just a second. An uncomfortable half minute passed by before you absolutely had to say something.

“Thank you for this gift.” You smiled shyly. “It is very comfortable, and I like it...very, very much.”

“Oh!” Paz breathed, though it was more of a wheeze. “I'm glad. I made it myself! And there is plenty more where they came from, I've placed them in your quarters.”

“Wow, that is very generous of you!” Your head spun with the warmth coursing through your body.

“Hm, you seem lightheaded, are you feeling alright?”

Taking you completely off guard the Mandalorian slid off one of his leather gloves, placing the back of his hand against your forehead. At the contact, all thought deserted your mind, leaving your ears ringing, taking in just the feeling of his skin on yours.

“Kriff, it feels like you're burning up.” He mumbled, slipping his glove back on.

A dizzy grin spread across your face, and you could still feel the ghost of where his hand had once been. You had to actually resist the urge to go and grab his hand.

“N-No, I think I'm just feeling a bit...flustered.”

“Are you sure?” He asked tilting your chin up so you would meet his gaze. “Your eyes seem somewhat glazed over...”

Shaking off the effects of his touch, you stretched your body, though you still felt somewhat dazed.

“Really, I'm actually fine!”

Paz Vizsla shook his head. “I don't want to take any chances. Let's have something to eat and then you need to rest.”

The finality on his voice was so prominent it left no room for you to argue. Obediently, you followed as he led the way.

***___***___***

“Here, Percy prepared this himself.” From the doorway of the small mess room, you could see the young boy peeking; he immediately retreated once you spotted him. You looked fondly at the plate your husband had placed before you, the fare quite interesting. Different from what you could salvage while on the run and much different than the food your master fed you from their planet, Kashi. Foodstuffs from that planet were so light. Since the dynasty that dominated the planet were strictly isolationist, it left no room for foreign meals, leaving you with a steady sea-faring diet.

Now in front of you was a bowl nearly overflowing with a medley of vegetables and meat. Leaning over slightly, you took in its aroma, suddenly captivated by the delicious smell.

“May I ask what it is?” You asked sheepishly.

“Tiingilar.” Paz answered, sitting across from you on the floor.

You felt a bit out of place being the only one to eat at the present time, with the young boy peeking from the door and the Mandalorian watching you carefully from across the low table. Still, the twisting of your stomach was becoming too much to bear, and you had to admit your own hunger. Even though the utensil offered was far different than the ones you were accustomed to, you simply brought the bowl up to your mouth and took a cautious taste. At the moment the food entered your mouth you were bombarded with a heavenly host of shocking flavors, each layer as complex as the last.

“Whoa!”

“Y/N? Do you like it? Please tell me you like it!” Percy begged, coming over and kneeling at your side.

Instead of answering, you brought the bowl up for another taste, devouring the contents quite hastily. Finished, you placed the bowl down hard.

“What was the best kriffing thing I have had in forever!” You exclaimed, beaming at the boy.

“Really?!” He squeaked. “It wasn't too spicy?”

You shook your head, “Nope. It was perfect. Thank you very much.” Smiling, you ruffled the boy's fluffy hair. Ecstatic at your answer, Percy bounded off to tell his sisters of his victory. Once he had left you noticed Paz was once again staring right at you. Well, you guessed so as his visor was in your direction.

“He is very talented.” You remarked, feeling sweat start to bead on your forehead.

The man stood, towering over you like tsunami about to swallow a small ship. But, he offered you a hand, which was taken with gratitude. Surprisingly, Paz gently pulled you to him and scooped you up in his arms.

“Paz!” You yelped. “My legs work perfectly fine!”

He laughed shortly, walking calmly until you were back in your quarters, letting you down on your bed.

“Well, as much as I should thank you, I am perfectly capable of walking on my own!”

Your husband crossed his arms. “I know that, but you are my omega.”

“Well...yes...” The mark on your neck suddenly felt hot.

He sat on the edge of your bed, keeping a polite but close distance. “You have to understand, Y/N, this is in my nature. As an alpha. As your husband. I now live for you. For my clan.”

“I...I realize that.” You took in a deep breath in hopes it would settle your nerves. “I just...I've always lived either being relied upon, or alone.” Raising your eyes, you stared into his visor. “This is new for me. I-I feel scared.”

The words came out like a reverent confession with your husband perhaps offering absolution. Even to your Master, the one you had lived alongside the longest, you had never before mentioned any feeling of fear. If there ever had been a moment where you were filled with fright, it was suppressed with more pressing matters taking precedence. With you r master and their heat, his needs always came before your own once you were able to guard and guide on your own. This was foreign territory. Not only as a matter of culture, but your sudden presentation as an omega had truly taken the air right out of your lungs, leaving you breathless and desperate for respite.

“Of...Of me?” He inquired, a hint of sadness in his voice.

Quickly you shook your head. “No! No! Well at first you were quite intimidating but now, I couldn't be afraid of you.”

He sighed in relief, letting his head fall back for a moment.

“This is strange to me. Life has never favored me much, making each day more exhausting as the last. So now with all of this...I have no idea what to expect. I don't know now to be.”

You hugged yourself, trying to feel a semblance of calm and ease, but it did not come on your own.

“I...May I hold you?” Paz asked, turning down the light in your quarters.

Trying to loosen the tension in your body, you accepted. Slowly, the Mandalorian shed his plates of armor, leaving him just in his helmet and woven flight suit. Once done, he slid closer, pulling your body flush against his chest. His scent was overwhelming, overtaking your senses, though not in an alarming way. Instead, your heartbeat slowed, body relaxing against his, reveling in the sensation of his bare hands gently gliding over locks of your hair. Something started to dominate your desires, and you turned in until you laid your head on his chest, nuzzling him on your own accord. At that, Paz shifted his grip with no intention of letting go.

#sw #star wars #star wars imagine #Paz #paz x reader #paz vizsla #askalphapazvizla #paz vizsla x reader #paz vizla #the mandalorian #the mandolorian #the mandolarian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #the mandalorian fanficiton #the mandalorian fanfic

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shyvioletcat · 5 years

Note

At some point in the fireman au: “I always sleep best when you’re next to me.” 😉

Here we go ladies and gentlemen. This one is long and I hope it doesn’t disappoint. Have a mentioned this is a slow burn? Maybe I should have….

Masterlist

~~~~~

Aelin watched her class packed up for the day. They had been pretty good today, well as good as 20 mostly eight year olds could be. The room was buzzing with energy as they all waited the 2 minutes until the bell.

“Miss G, who’s our talker for Wednesday?” Harris asked from his desk near the front.

“I can’t tell you, it will ruin the surprise,” Aelin explained with a smile.

Truthfully she actually didn’t have anyone one lined up for the career week presentations. Each class would have someone from a different profession come in and present. Then the following week each class would set up their own presentation about the profession in the hall for the rest of the school to see. Two days out and Aelin still didn’t have a presenter.

She had planned to ask Yrene but Lysandra has snapped her up first. She’d used Chaol last year so that wasn’t an option and just about everyone else was busy that day. If it came down to it Aelin would just do it.

The bell rang and the kids were up and moving. She smiled and waved as they filed out then started to pack up her own desk.

“I am ready to strangle Chloe and Sarah,” Lysandra said as she appeared in the doorway. “You’d think they’d wait at least until they were 13 before they started oozing attitude.”

Aelin laughed. “Yeah. I don’t love teaching 11 year olds.”

“Well, someone has to,” Lysandra said as she sat on the edge of Aelin’s desk. “Who’d you get to present for job week?”

“No one yet. Seeming as you stole my presenter,” Aelin said as she slipped her laptop into her bag.

“Whatever. You were just too slow,” Lysandra replied.

“I practically gave you the idea.”

“How I remember the conversation going is “Yrene would be good” then I said “yeah” and then that was it. No dibs called,” Lysandra explained.

Aelin snorted. “That’s a weak argument and you know it.”

Lysandra just shrugged. Aelin flicked a pen lid at her.

“I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you ask your temporary roommate?” Lysandra said as she flicked the pen lid right back. Aelin caught it.

“I don’t know. It’s short notice and he’s been acting a bit weird since…” Aelin trailed off. She hadn’t meant to let that slip.

Lysandra just looked as if she ha been handed a piece of her favourite cake. “Weird since what? Did you kiss him? Make out? Did you have sex with him?”Lysandra’s voice was rising higher and higher with each question and just as she asked the last one a small group of students walked past the open door.

“Lys,” Aelin hissed as she swatted at Lysandra’s arm. “It no to all the above. But,” Aelin took in a deep breath and looked to the ceiling, “he is sleeping in my bed.”

“What?” The exclamation rang throughout the empty classroom. “You haven’t done A, B or C, but he’s sleeping in your bed?”

“He was going to lose his position at work. The couch was giving him a bad back and he refused to go home so I offered him the bed,” Aelin explained matter of factly.

“And where, pray tell, are you sleeping?”

Aelin shifted uncomfortably then mumbled almost inaudibly, “In the bed.”

Lysandra stood and jabbed Aelin’s shoulder. “You haven’t told me this before now! You’re practically married.” Then she laughed. “But like, married for 20 years married. Because you’re sleeping in the same bed but there’s no sex.”

“First of all, ouch,” Aelin said and she rubbed where Lysandra and poked her. “Second of all… yeah basically.”

Lysandra cackled.

“But like I said he’s been acting a bit weird since then so he probably won’t say yes.”

“Maybe it’s because he likes you. I’ve seen what you wear to bed. If I were him I’d like you a lot,” Lysandra said.

Aelin shook her head. “No he’s just feeling guilty and has a caveman era need to protect.”

“Yeah okay, whatever you say,” Lysandra said as they started walking to the door. “Just wait until I tell Aedion.”

“Don’t. I don’t need his input on this,” Aelin said as she locked her classroom door.

A dramatic sigh sounded from behind her. “Fine. You steal all my fun.”

~~~

Aelin sat up in bed reading by the light of the lamp on her bedside table. It was getting later than she usually stayed up but Rowan wasn’t here yet. She had a sneaking suspicion that he was waiting for her to be asleep before he came over, which he had in fact done last night. Hence the accusation of weirdness she’d explained to Lysandra.

She didn’t know what she had done, but she also could be reading way too much into it and nothing at all was wrong. It was after all just one night. Aelin started reading again when she heard the front door open and then the lock slide into place. Within a few moments Rowan appeared in her doorway, blanket and pillow in hand, with a look of surprise on his face.

“Oh, I didn’t expect you to be up,” he said.

“Hoping to sneak in while I was asleep?” Aelin asked as she shut her book.

Rowan shrugged, “I didn’t want to disturb your routine.”

“You’re not disturbing me at all. In fact I’d say I always sleep best when you’re next to me,” Aelin accentuated her words with a pat on the bed and a sultry little smile. Which turned into a wicked grin as Rowan flushed. Tormenting him was becoming one of her new favourite pass times.

Rowan then pointedly ignored her as he approached the bed. Aelin removed her spare pillow and he laid down on top of Aelin’s bedding before pulling his own comforter blanket over him.

Aelin then dropped the playful facade and steeled herself, readying for the disappointment.

“I actually have a favour to ask.”

She heard Rowan roll over to face her and Aelin looked at him, his hands tucked under his cheek.

“Does it involve me having to vacate the apartment for an evening?”

It was Aelin’s turn flush at what Rowan implied. When did she become a prude?

“No. Lucky for it doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice a night away from my bed. There’s this careers week at school -”

“School?” Rowan asked.

“I’m a primary school teacher,” Aelin explained.

“I didn’t know that,” Rowan said.

Aelin just powered on. “So careers week. We get people from all different professions come in and give a presentation to a class. I’ve left it kind of late and it’s on Wednesday. I was wondering if there was any chance that you could come in and give a presentation to my class about being firefighter.”

Rowan’s brows furrowed as he thought about it. Aelin assumed he was he was working out the best way to refuse.

“You know what, never mind. It too short notice and -”

“I can probably do it. Wednesday right? I’ll have to talk to my Chief but I’ll most likely be able to do it. I might just have to remain on call.”

Aelin blinked in surprise. “Really? Because that would be great.”

“Yeah it should be fine,” Rowan said as he rolled to lay on his back.

Aelin smiled a little, “Well thanks.”

Then she turned her lap off and settled herself into bed, her back to Rowan. “Maybe discourage the breaking down the door thing though,” Aelin added.

Rowan chuckled softly behind her. The sound was like a gentle caress over Aelin’s skin making her shiver. Aelin promptly shut any other thoughts about that sound and the way it made her feel. It was increasingly obvious Rowan wasn’t interested so there was no reason for her to entertain that idea for one second.

~~~~~

Rowan woke up to his phone buzzing and he quickly switched his alarm off, not wanting to wake up Aelin who was still asleep beside him.

As he got out of bed his eyes strayed to her. She was lying on her back, one arm draped above her head, her braided hair fuzzy and loose in places. When Aelin was asleep her face relaxed and she looked so peaceful and content. Definitely not like she was planning some way to provoke him, which seemed to be all the time.

Not wanting it to get weird by staring and a sleeping woman he barely knew Rowan decided to leave and head back to his apartment to get ready for work. On his way out he remembered their conversation about the presentation for her class. Stopping by the kitchen bench to he wrote Aelin a message on a sticky note. As he did Rowan smiled a bit at the memory of how she had covered every inch of his door in them. In hindsight it was a little funny, but at the time he had been fuming.

I’ve got to head to work but here’s my number. Text me yours and I’ll let you know how I go.

He added his number to the sticky note and left.

~~~~~

Rowan and his team were checking their gear when he asked his boss about helping Aelin out.

“Lorcan, can I have an hour or two out of the station tomorrow? I’ll remain on call and will be able to respond to any call outs, if that helps.”

“Why?” Lorcan asked checking the fittings on his helmet.

“It’s to help out,” Rowan went to say friend but he stumbled on the word. Were they friends? He wasn’t sure. “Someone who I owe a favour too.”

“Why?” Lorcan asked again.

“Why do I owe them a favour or why am I asking?”

“I’ll take both,” Lorcan said as he moved on to checking his fire fighting suit.

“She’s a neighbour and she works at the local primary school. They’re having a careers week type thing and she’s asked if I can talk to her class,” Rowan explained. Avoiding that looming question of exactly why he owed his neighbour a favour.

“Wait,” Fenrys piped in. “Is this the same neighbour whose door you busted down because you thought you smelled smoke?”

Rowan glared death at Fenrys, who was just gleefully smiling.

“You what?” Lorcan asked, a rare glimmer of amusement on his face.

“Fenrys. Did you have to?” Rowan said as he glared at his friend. Fenrys shrugged, still grinning. “It was after that big factory fire a few weeks ago. I came home, still high on the adrenaline, thought I smelled smoke… and broke her door.”

Lorcan laughed. So did his other coworkers.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” he said as he finished up on his gear check.

“Yeah do whatever,” Lorcan said as he finished up as well. “If we get a call you leave. That’s it.”

“Thanks.” Then Rowan turned to Fenrys. “How’s about we get some training in before Friday’s fitness test?”

Fenrys groaned knowing that Rowan was going to murder him

~~~~~

Aelin was at the coffee machine in the staffroom waiting for her cup to fill. She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt a piece of paper crumple beneath her fingers. Confused Aelin pulled it out of her pocket.

She left out a soft ‘Oh’ as she realised what it was. It was Rowan’s number. She’d stuffed it into her pocket this morning on the way out the door.

The coffee machine finished its job and Aelin picked up her cup and sat at a nearby table. She smoothed out the sticky note and entered Rowan’s number into her phone. Then she composed her message.

Hey. It’s your lovely neighbour. Will you me joining me at my workplace tomorrow?

Aelin read it over and cringed. She deleted it all and tried again.

Hi Rowan, it’s Aelin. Any word on tomorrow?

Much better. He was doing her a favour and I told was a professional setting, she’d have plenty time later for riling comments. Aelin pressed send.

“Hey Aelin.”

“Hi Elide,” Aelin said at the small dark haired beauty. “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty hectic,” Elide said as she sat. I was meant to have a session off but it seems my better time is better spent running errands.”

Elide worked as a teachers aide and she moved from class to class. But some teachers sometimes used her like a secretary.

“Just come into my and sit in the corner. I don’t care,” Aelin said. Then her phone buzzed.

All good for tomorrow. Don’t let the kids eat me alive. Please.

“What are you smiling at?” Elide asked.

“I just secured my presenter for tomorrow,” Aelin said. “I highly recommend you come to my class for it. You definitely won’t regret it.”

“Why?” Elide asked.

Aelin grinned, “You’ll have to wait and see.”

~~~~~

EDIT: Turns out I completely left out a chapter from my masterlist so I added to this chapter because it was really the easiest thing to do.

Tags: @tangledraysofsunshine @nalgenewhore @highqueenofelfhame @galyxsy @fucking-winchester-trash @literary-licorice @http-itsrebecca @highladyofthesith @aelinfire-bringer @soup-that-is-too-hawt @sleep-and-books @3am-reading @average-girl-at-best @but-she-was-aelin-galathynius @rowaelinforeverworld @alifletcher2012 @westofmoon @tswaney17 @mydarlingfireheart @rowansfirebringer @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen @vanilla28 @fireheart-of-your-dreams @enquires-state-building @im-not-rare-im-rarr @your-high-lady

#rowaelin #rowelin fanfiction #firefighter au #striking matches

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