#it is perhaps what's best for fenris to finally move on & they get that

[scapedgrace]

        when hawke first sees danarius in the hanged man they’re like “you just made your last and worst mistake, coming here” with this absolutely bemused little smile because they honestly didn’t think he could possibly be this stupid. 

#if it were up to them they'd keep him alive for a little while #maybe long enough to wipe his memories see how he likes it #but this isn't hawke's revenge to take so they leave it for fenris #even if a quick kill is unusually merciful in their opinion #it is perhaps what's best for fenris to finally move on & they get that #headcanon. ( tale of the champion ) #hc: main.

[saphirered]

Can you write a fic with Fenrys? Maybe Aelin Organizes a winter ball?

A winter's ball of real lovers playing pretend lovers. We love a good cliché in this household. Happy reading! 😘

Summoned before the queen of Terrasen Fenrys wonders which one of his indiscretions she’ll be roasting his ass for now. Will it be the latest tavern brawl in town? Or perhaps the broken heart of yet another courtier having lost his attention? Or maybe it’s his secret stash of chocolate he’s been keeping from her she’s finally discovered. He surely hopes it’s not the latter. He’s not willing to share, let alone part with that one. Then again, his finding place is marvellous. She’ll never find it in the hidden compartment beneath the loose stone in your bedroom. Though you did make him put it in a separate box. He didn’t get anything on your paperwork did he? Oh shit… He might have just exposed- The door to the council chamber opens and he finds it abandoned save for the queen and yourself, talking. As far as he can gleam it’s still about running this nation but then attention turns to him and you’re not dismissed. Aelin looks between him and you, a somewhat mischievous grin hidden beneath her schooled features; one Rowan has told him more than once to be weary off. All his instincts tell him to turn around and leave the room now before he gets caught in whatever the young queen is plotting. 

“Fenrys, thank you for answering summons without much delay.” He has been known to take a detour when he is dreading a potential conversation. He got to his thoughts too late to justify his wandering this time. You manage to school your own features to be the epitome of disinterest. 

“Excuse me, I have some trade agreements to read over.” You make a move to excuse yourself as Aelin seems to have other plans. Fenrys winks at you as you circle around the table and find yourself closer to him. A single intake of breath is enough for him to catch onto that ever present lavender sage scent that just so happens to be enough to cover any underlying remains of another’s previous close proximity to those with fae senses. You’d taken to wearing it, and told him to stay clear of it, lest he ruin your carefully constructed plan. 

“Not yet. This is about you too.” You halt in your step, make eye contact with Fenrys sure Aelin cannot see. You express worry in the way your jaw tenses and your cheek hollows as you bite the inside. Fenrys does not drop that smug arrogance he’s known to be prone too but you see through it; whatever happens happens, that’s what he silently tells you. Your features return to that slight annoyance at his proximity when you fall in line beside him. 

“I’m hosting a ball this weekend.” The queen starts. 

“The list of notable attendees I’ve already handed to Rowan earlier today. I’ve also added a separate list with suggested pairings for the opening dance to best benefit respective families, or causes of import and assist in the diplomatic department.” You claim ever proper. It’s an act that had been grinding on Fenrys for the longest of times until he saw through it. That was the face of a politician, not of the person who got drunk in the stables at the last soiree after getting annoyed with one of the noble’s sons miserably failing to impress you, not of the one who he shares secret glances with when no one is looking, not the one who he enjoys this secret game with where you pretend to hate each other because every since your first meeting you’ve clashed, only in those tender moments to realise you’re not so different after all. He knows this act, for now is a necessary one. It’s one to protect your career and he will do anything to make you happy. 

“I’ll make sure to tell him to cross off whoever you’ve paired yourself with.” Your confusion shows clearly as the queen continues. “I need you to keep an eye on Fenrys, or rather his previous suitors. I’ve had to deal with too many inquiries on why he’s not been responding to their letters as well as the angry families who now seek to defend their honour.” He grins sheepishly and fiddles with his thumbs as you roll your eyes. 

“Excuse my manners but you think I can fight off the teary damsels as they throw themselves at his feet? Or deal with upset parents or siblings? I’m sure Lorcan will do a far better job at that.” You snort. This is preposterous. Or so you would like to let yourself believe. You’re not excited about the notion of dealing with Fenrys’ exes. You’d hate to cause a scene. 

“Well since Fenrys here hasn’t been caught sneaking around with someone else, many of them have gotten their hopes up. Having him seen with someone respectable as an escort might just keep some at bay.” She explains thoughtfully. She’s amused by this and is barely making an attempt to hide it. Everyone knew Fenrys’ previous engagements would come back to haunt him some day. The question had always been when and how. The possible answer is here now. 

“And you think us playing lovely couple will fix that?” Fenrys dares throw an arm over your shoulder and pull you into his side but you gracefully move out of the way with some colourful words and leave him pouting in feigned disappointment. 

“If it’s any consolation, it was my plan to tell you all previous cautions are to be ignored and you’d have my blessing to sleep with half of the kingdom for all I care, Fenrys. But Rowan suggested this the wiser option.” You bite your tongue at the thought, a faint spark of jealousy. Who would have thought you’d be the one feeling jealous when you know you hold this male in your arms at night when the castle goes to sleep. 

“Fine.” You grumble. “But you listen to me, what I say, when I say it.” You point a finger in warning. So close to him, yet so far away. Normally he’d wrap his arms around you, kiss the tip of your finger, then your hand. Perhaps he’d even let his lips trail up your arm, shoulder and neck until his lips would find yours but not now. He’ll show som self restraint this time. You’ve taught him that. Oh gods, you might just have made him docile. He’ll never hear the end of it. 

“Well then, that’s all sorted.” 

“Hold on, I don’t get a say in this?” Fenrys perks up. Not that he’s actually complaining. In your previous plans he’d maybe have had one or two dances with you. Now he gets to spend the whole evening with you where you don’t have to pretend to hate each other for the sake of a public image? This is perfect but he doesn’t want to play too eager in front of Aelin, and neither do you. 

“No.” Both you and Aelin speak in unison and so his hand rise in defence and he gives in. The matter is settled. You’re dismissed and you leave the council chamber as quick as you can. Fenrys leaves too, following being you a few minutes after having some exchange of words with the queen and a witty goodbye before he finds you. You’ve taken to your usual path, the one you know exactly who will be where and when and the right places to have a moment of privacy without being seen and having your secret exposed. By the time he arrives you’re pacing back and forth, waiting for him. 

“You don’t think she knows somehow, do you?” You bite your finger as you go back and forth back and forth. Fenrys comes up to you, removes your hand from your face and kisses your knuckles. 

“Not even Rowan knows what goes in on that head of hers. I don’t think this is a secret she’d keep.” He retorts but that doesn’t exactly ease your concerns. The thing is, Fenrys shares those concerns, especially after his super secret interaction with the young queen after you had disappeared from the room. He doesn’t know what to think but telling you this now will do neither of you good. He’ll speak his thoughts when you’re both able to bear them. Besides, it’s not some dangerous secret. 

“I really do have trade agreements to read over.” You groan when he runs his fingers through your hair, and kisses your forehead. 

“I can help.” And nothing that should have been done was accomplished that day. 

————

The eve of the ball comes around. It’s every bit as wonderful as expected. Where the icicles hang from balconies and roofs, from windowsills and overhangs, inside they take form of crystals, reflecting the light just right. Flowers of white, purple and blue decorate the palace, inner courtyard as well as the gardens. A light snowfall cascades down from the skies in the early stages of painting any surface in a blanket of white. Carriages arrive and the guests file into the inner courtyard to await their formal announcement to the start of the ball. Performers around the neatly gardened paths, and under gazebos bring smiles to people’s faces, bring wonder, take on the next impossible challenge or run simple games of chance for the guests as they mingle. As ambassador he’s supposed to know any notable guests and of course he recognises them. He makes pleasant conversation, never without a wink or flirty smile, the way he is known to do. It’s exactly these charms that made him suitable for this position, or so his friends claimed. You even told him they’re not wrong. You’d yet to make an appearance and he has no doubt you’ll be magnificent but he misses you already. He sees some of the people looking at him and those are gazes he’d much rather avoid so he plays oblivious to them as long as he can. 

You’re running a tad bit late. Fashionable one might say. Such is the price of beauty one could suppose. You’re dressed to the nines according to the theme of the night but care for your outfit is the furthest from your mind when you spot him across the courtyard, as you look over the balcony. In an instant you recognised him. Golden hair braided back loosely, some decorative silver beads spread throughout. It’s a distinct colour you could recognise even in the dark. He wears a jacket of pale grey and silver embroidery that reminds you of the dendritic crystals that stick to him as the snow falls. By some miracle he might have caught a glimpse of you, or perhaps he simply felt your presence because his head turns when he sees you from below. His words fall silent as he stares up at you, lips slightly parted, those dark eyes falling over your form. Fenrys excuses himself from his conversation and moves through the crowd stopping only to exchange quick formal greetings to those he cannot walk by. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d dare say you were temptation crawled from the coldest pits of the underworld.” He offers you his hand like a true gentleman and helps you down the final steps. 

“Says you, snowflake.” You retort letting your fingers brush along the embroidery on his arm when you loop it through his. 

“No need to pretend we dislike each other tonight.” He whispers in your ear, lips so close you can feel his breath. It sends shivers down your spine which lucky for you could be excused as the effects of the winter cold. You know that’s a lie. Fenrys knows too and he will not wipe that pretend innocence from his face. 

“What’s romance without a little teasing now and then? Besides, you started it.” You begin to wander, under the cover of the balcony, as you watch the snow fall beyond that threshold. 

“And here I thought I’d get an evening of bliss.” He mutters under his breath as some guests pass by. You turn to face him, stopping him in his path. One of your hands you place over his heart, the other comes to hold his chin. 

“If you lovesick bliss is what you want…” You lean in, place your lips against his. The kiss is sweet and slow but most of all it’s unrestricted. Fenrys, not one to let this opportunity slide, he will relish in the public display of affection. You’ve only ever had the luxury to share these kind of advances behind closed doors but now, the sky is the limit. But then you pull away, and look at him, eyes shining bright; with love, he notes. He supposes he might look the same. He supposes you might have felt how his heart skipped a beat when he saw that expression. You tuck a loose strand fallen from the braid, behind his ear before you find your place at his side again and you lead him towards the entrance. 

Given both your positions at the queen’s court you do not wait in line and instead have your names announced as you simply walk to the entrance. There’s already plenty of people inside who turn to welcome you. You receive some bows of the head in acknowledgement, and kind greetings as you pass arm in arm. Fenrys will admit it without question; your names being called together in this way, it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, makes him want to make it a habit, or at the very least an undeniable truth. He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this. No more hiding. But that is not just his decision to make, nor is it one to be made in the heat of the moment when given your own response to this, might just have you see things differently when off the high and exhilaration of going public with your relationship. 

What Fenrys also notices is the glares you receive from some guests, particularly the ones he has had history with. Some of those individuals might even make him wary to approach but you simply smile through it and while others might not notice there is a sense of smugness. He knows exactly what’s running through your head and it makes him feel proud to call himself yours; no matter who, no matter what, he’s with you and not them. Fenrys will always choose you and you know it. You believe him, and you’re confident. He hangs onto your arm as much as you pretend to hang onto his because you are not some damsel looking for attention or a night of fun, you’re not looking to familiarise yourself with his friends and work your way up. You’re here for him. You can lean on each other when you need to but at the end of the day you are who you are regardless of each other. You are not defined by your relationship. Instead through the love you share, the compassion and support you allow yourselves to grow as people and become better for it, through the experiences you share, through the moments you need to not be alone, or when you simply need someone to listen or hold you and tell you all is well. You are each other’s confidant, guardian. You are each other’s equal, perfectly matched, perfectly balanced. 

“I hope you practiced your steps.” You hum lively as you find your way to the dance floor where the opening couples are to formally open the ball. 

“I did, but you might still want to take the lead.” He retorts half joking. Of course he knows how to dance. He’s not some mannerless dimwit… most of the times. He just wants you to lead the dance. No one has to know. The two of you will. You huff a laugh in reply. 

“Down boy.” You you offer him a wink and soon you find yourselves among the couples, the music begins to signal the first dance is about to start. You get into your places. Force of habit you take a quick glance around from the corners of your eyes before you make a move, but when you’ve decided either no one pays attention or you just have lost the will to care, you kiss him. You pour that love and all those feelings he makes you feel into that kiss. Fenrys responds fast coming to cup your cheeks knowing you don’t have long now, and knowing you most certainly have an audience. He too couldn’t care less right now. And then the music changes, and picks up. You’re forced to break your kiss in favour for each other’s graceful embrace. 

Not that far from the supposed happy couple dance the queen and her consort. Aelin saw that exchange, not just that she heard about the one in the inner courtyard. Leave it to her shapeshifting friend to catch onto things she shouldn’t and spill the beans. Aelin thought her friend gone insane but now after this display right here in the open, she might just begin to change her mind on Lysandra’s findings. 

“Rowan?” The warrior quickly casts his eyes over in the direction she nudges him. “Fenrys isn’t that good of an actor, is he?” Her eyes narrow suspiciously when she watches his hand drop just a little lower than the small of your back, and how you’re standing far closer than you usually would have. She half expected you to make some kind of comment towards the male but you don’t. You just smile at him like he’s the sun. 

“Not in a million years.” Rowan answers with a snort.

#fenrys x reader #throne of glass x reader #fenrys moonbeam #throne of glass fenrys #throne of glass fic #tog x reader #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass #sjm fanfic

[much-obliged-timothy]

Whumpcember #25

Dragon Age - #25 - “Shouldn’t you be happy”

*

The knock on the door sent a spike of fear through Anders, despite it being the code of three rapid knocks, a pause, and two slower ones. Hawke checked out of the little peephole regardless before opening it and letting Fenris in.

Fenris handed him a bag. “Here. Necessities.”

“Thanks, Fenris. We’ll move in the next day or two,” Hawke said.

Anders hunched down a little, drawing the blanket over his shoulders around himself tighter. The little fire they’d built did nothing to burn away the cold that had settled in him.

Fenris handed Hawke a map. “All the patrols I’ve noticed. Varric marked a route in the Deep Roads that might be your best chance to get away without being caught.”

“I owe you,” Hawke said gratefully, taking the map to examine it.

“You owe me nothing.” Fenris sent a pointed look at Anders.

Hawke was too busy studying the map to catch it. “Here, let me go get you some coins to pay you back for all this.”

He left the room. Anders kept his gaze fixed firmly on the fire.

“You look miserable,” Fenris said. Anders didn’t respond, which only seemed to make him angrier. “Shouldn’t you be happy? The Chantry is destroyed. People are dead. The mages are running free.”

“You think this is what I wanted?” Anders snapped, finally jerking his head up because he was so sick of that condescension Fenris leveled at him every time he came here. “I wanted freedom for mages. I tried for years to do that peacefully. I never wanted all this death. I never wanted to make Hawke a wanted man.”

“Well he is a wanted man, all because he sided with you,” Fenris snarled. “I’ve yet to decide if that was his biggest mistake, or if getting involved with you in the first place was it.”

Anders recoiled before stiffening. “If he left with you today, I would not stop him. I never wanted this for him. I never dreamed he would stay by my side after what I did. But he is a mage; he understands the desperation that drove me to do what I did.”

Fenris strode over and struck Anders, his fist crunching into Anders’ cheek. “You have ruined his life. All of our lives. You deserved to be locked up.”

Hawke came out counting coins in his palm. He looked up and stumbled to a stop.

“Fenris,” he started furiously.

Anders held up a hand. “Don’t. Pay him and let him leave.”

“Keep the coins. Perhaps you’ll come to your senses and use them to secure yourself a route away from this monster,” Fenris said, storming to the door. “You know how to reach me if you need me, Hawke.”

He slammed the door as he left. Hawke immediately moved to Anders’ side, trying to inspect his injured cheek.

Anders pushed his hands away. “I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t be,” Hawke said.

Anders did not deserve the gentleness in his tone. He stood and left the room, Hawke watching helplessly as he went.

Anders needed to be away. He could not stand to look at Hawke and know that he had ruined him. His actions had not only made himself a wanted man and an enemy to so many. He was hated, hunted, and he had dragged the man he loved down into this fall from grace with him.

Fenris was right; he was a monster. A savior did not doom everyone around him. 

Anders wished, not for the first time, that Hawke had killed him.

#whumpcember2022 #whumpcember2022 day2 #dragon age #Hawke #anders #fenris #Garrett Hawke #jtdoeswhumpcember

[high-dragon-bait]

13,14,&21 for the nsfw asks?

Since Avis (my Hawke) is my most outwardly sexual protag I'm going to answer all of these for her unless otherwise specified. So let's go

Okay so 13 and 14 are separate questions but for simplicities sake I'm just going to combine them into one question

13/14: Do they like giving/receiving oral?

Yes. The answer is a very strong yes. She does. If anything she likes giving a little more that receiving. She likes receiving plenty but she very much enjoys being the source of pleasure for someone else more than she enjoys receiving it herself. Is that me projecting a little sliver of my flavor of aceness onto my very not-ace character? Perhaps. But I can do what I want

The best part of this is I headcanon Fenris is very similar in this regard, he also more enjoys giving than receiving pleasure so once they finally get into the groove their sex very quickly turns into almost a game of who can get the other off first. A consequence of this is it tends to take. Some time. And they are not quiet

In the true canon, where my best friend and I combined our worldstates and our Hawkes are twins. Eventually their Hawke, Avery, Avis' twin brother, starts staying the night with Varric at the Hanged Man after Fenris moves into the estate. He just shows up like "Bro please let me crash here I haven't slept in a week they are insufferable"

21. Have they ever had a threesome? If not, would they?

Another yes, she has.

Avis and Fenris are hot, Isabela is hot, Avis and Isabela have hooked up in the past, Isabela and Fenris hook up in canon if neither are romanced. Put all these factors together and... it happened once. At least once. Probably more than once. Hey everyone is down, it was fun, it was a very nice night(s), and left them with some very good stories to tell over drinks.

#my dragon age #hawke #fenhawke #fenris

[julemmaes]

Not Enough

Rowaelin Month, Day Three

A/N: guess what? French is still not a priority:) This is a continuation of yesterday's prompt actually, but there's no need to read it to understand the story, I just think it'd hurt more if you did tho. So it's up to you, enjoy!

Word Count: 2,646

Aelin had been awake long before her fiancé's alarm went off.

She had been awake when the sun had begun to shine through the blinds and she had been awake when he had rolled over in bed, holding her one last time before getting up to go to the bathroom.

She had vividly felt the kiss he had left on her forehead and the whispered words of each morning.

Go back to sleep, love.

The sound of water falling in the shower and the soft humming of Rowan preparing for yet another day in the Senators. The song of the birds beginning to fly out of their flat wasn't giving her the fairy-tale awakening it did every morning. And the Ottawa traffic that increased with the ticking of the clock was no longer giving her the sense of life it had given her over the past few months.

And then a hint of hope as Rowan walked into their room and began to change, slipping on his shoes and giving her another kiss, this time on the lips.

The sound of his duffle bag being lifted off the ground, the sticks banging into each other.

The jacket being put on.

She heard the front door open and closed her eyes, a smile so slight that few would be able to see it for what was perhaps finally happening.

Aelin began to hope as she had never before in her life.

That Rowan hadn't just forgotten to take off the ring he wore on his finger, but had deliberately decided to leave the house with the silver band on his hand. To show it to the world.

She heard the soft click of the door shutting and brought her hands to her face, trying to hide the clear happiness etched on her features, trying to hold back the shriek of victory.

She pulled herself up in her seat, her head snapping to his bedside table to make sure it wasn't just a dream. That Rowan had actually gone outside, shouting to the world that he was getting married. When she didn't see anything shiny on the countertop, she fell forward onto the bed, a dazzling smile now beyond her control on her lips.

They had talked about it for a long time, arguing for days, weeks, each time deciding to leave things as they were.

Rowan Whitethorn, professional athlete, rookie for his dream team, was climbing the ranks of every chart that existed. New recruit with most goals scored in the last ten years. Player with the fastest shot ever. Most handsome man of the year.

Aelin was proud. She was so proud.

But she wasn't happy.

It had been more than two years since they got together. Two of the best years of Aelin's life, in spite of everything.

They'd spent the last year of college breaking up and getting back together, constantly, amidst the rumors from others and the insults from every person who insinuated that she was only dating him for his title, for what he would become in a few months. They'd broken up for good the summer Rowan had been called up to play for one of the top teams in the country, after she'd been pushed to the ground by an overly agitated fan outside a club during one of their friends' birthdays.

Rowan had lost his temper, lashed out, and the team had threatened to cut him off before he even got in. Aelin would have never allowed such a thing and had left him, saying there was no hope for them anyway. Either way, he would travel for six months non-stop and she would stay home, alone.

He had looked at her, his eyes wet with tears that Aelin had never seen him cry, and thanked her, for putting up with everything he had subjected her to.

When it was confirmed that Rowan had made it onto the Ottawa Senators, Aelin, who hadn't spoken to him in months, had texted him, congratulating him on achieving his dream.

He hadn't texted her back, and Aelin had known that whatever hope they had had was dead.

Surely she wouldn't have imagined Rowan turning up at her house, asking her to go with him, the day before the move. Desperate, opening his heart to her, his every thought, his every worry. But showing how far he would be willing to go if it meant spending even one more night with her.

And that was how Aelin found herself in their home, in their new city. Promised to the only man she would ever love, to the only man who would know her so well that he understood what was going on in her head even before she did.

And until now she had been a secret.

They had kept their relationship a secret.

Only their closest friends, their families had known of their comeback.

And they'd been so painfully good at keeping a low profile, despite Rowan being all over the headlines of every sports magazine. So good, in fact, that Aelin felt as if she didn't exist.

Every interview in which Rowan said he had no one, that he was single. Every picture of him and one of their friends in the magazines hinting at a possible relationship. Whether it was Lysandra, Nehemia, Manon - she didn't care, she knew he'd come home to her. But every little thing was just another splinter added to the spike that was piercing her heart.

But today, she thought, smiling, today Rowan had gone out with the ring.

The promise he had made to her, that he would be hers one day.

The promise he'd been afraid to show to anyone, and that he'd slipped off every day to keep the reporters from talking.

She was still floating on clouds, her breath short, ready to burst into tears with happiness the second her brain too had really understood what was going on. It was at that moment that she heard it.

The front door opening.

Rowan walking quickly towards their room. The heavy footsteps in the hallway.

He opened the door, giving her a half smile.

Aelin felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

He greeted her with a quick kiss. Something he had once been allowed to do even in public. Something that had given her the strongest emotions he was now afraid to do.

She stopped seeing. Hearing. Feeling.

She got out of bed with slow, almost robotic movements, heading for the bathroom. She clung to the sink, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes that had once been cheerful, happy, looked back at her empty, dull.

And Aelin knew, even without looking, that on the bedside table lay his ring.

***

Rowan had never been so tired in his life.

Today's training had exhausted him so much that he'd almost called Aelin to come and pick him up, worried that if he got behind the wheel in this condition he'd have an accident.

Then he remembered that he couldn't.

That Aelin couldn't come and get him, because to let her leave the house, to let others know of her links to him would put her in danger.

So he'd gotten into his car and driven with the radio volume too loud, to keep him awake, and pinched himself every time he changed songs, to stay alert on the road.

He walked up the stairs to his house with hurried steps, wanting to reach Aelin as soon as possible. Telling her that he had missed her and the crap Lorcan had said during practice. Warning her that Fenrys would be coming to town in the next few days and they would have to arrange a dinner at their house.

He liked being able to talk about their friends, it gave him a sense of normalcy. Something that playing hockey didn't give him.

He would never say he was unhappy with his sporting career. He couldn't even if he wanted to. Hockey had been his final destination since the first time his father had put skates on his feet and pushed him on the ice.

And now, after winning the championship, with record-breaking results, his first year as a professional, he couldn't complain too much.

But staying away from Aelin during games. The hotel rooms, the flights, the girls throwing themselves at him at every party thinking he wasn't taken... it had been taxing. And he couldn't help but imagine that it would only get harder over the years.

The only thing that would keep him sane was the idea of coming home to her.

He opened the door, calling her name and expecting the smell of whatever she had decided to cook that night to fill his nose, but it didn't. Aelin didn't answer, all the lights were off, and he lent an ear to the hallway, hoping to hear the shower going - maybe he'd even be able to join her if he moved fast enough - but the house was shrouded in stark silence.

He closed his eyes with a sigh.

He hated coming home when she was out.

Whether she was at the gym or shopping, it was like a torture that only he had to endure.

He carried his duffel bag into the bedroom, leaving everything by the wardrobe, slipping off his shoes slowly and letting himself fall onto the mattress.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to get some of the sleep out of his body, and turned to the bedside table, ready to wear the ring she had gotten him. A promise he'd be able to keep once things were settled with his agent.

He snatched the ring from the bedside table and found himself taking a second look at it.

His breath caught in his throat.

Aelin's ring sat there, next to a slip of paper.

And Rowan knew. Even without having read what she had written, what it meant.

He snapped out of bed, opening her wardrobe violently, the dressers, finding them completely empty. He cursed aloud, running to the bathroom, opening every goddamn drawer, every shelf, finding them bare of all her possessions.

The living room, her reading nook, empty of everything that had belonged to her.

He grew short of breath and the more air he tried to gulp down, the more panic assailed him, closing his lungs.

He ran back into their bedroom, grabbing the letter and running his eyes over the words, looking for a clue, a name that would give her away and make him know where she was.

Lysandra.

He grabbed the phone from his jacket, fingers too fast on the screen as he searched for his friend's number.

She picked it up after three rings.

"Rowan! Hey, what's up?" she replied cheerfully.

He did not even waste any time in answering, "Where's Aelin?" he asked in short breath.

"Aelin?" asked Lysandra, then in a more concerned tone. "Why don't you know where she is? Something happened?"

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends until he felt pain, "She left a letter, saying she was leaving and you'd know-"

"Rowan, she didn't call me. She didn't leave me any message," she stopped him.

A choked sound escaped his control. "Fuck."

"Wait." she said suddenly. "Yeah, here, I got a message from her a couple of hours ago. She-"

She froze suddenly and Rowan knew immediately what was about to happen.

"Please." he begged her.

Lysandra remained silent.

"Rowan, I can't tell you-"

"Please, Lys. Please." his voice broke.

He heard his friend take a deep breath, "Let me talk to her. And I'll let you know," and then a pause, "but if she asks me not to tell you anything, Rowan, I won't betray her trust like that."

He knew that. And he was glad that Aelin had friends she could still trust blindly.

"In the meantime, try to rest. I'll let you know if she's okay."

The call ended, Rowan didn't even say goodbye. He stood in front of the bed, a bed he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep in tonight without her. He picked up the letter with trembling hands and headed for the kitchen.

He set it down on the table, sitting up and rubbing his hands over his eyes.

He needed something to drink if he was going to go through with this.

He poured himself half a glass of whiskey and began to read.

Hi Rowan

when you’ll read this, I’ll be on a plane over the ocean already. I don’t know where I’m going yet and I’m not gonna tell you, cause I don’t want you knowing and leaving everything behind to follow me.

Cause I know you would, baby, I know you’d let it all go for me in a second if I asked you to. But I’m not letting you. What kind of person would that make me if I did?

You worked your entire life for this. You woke up at unholy hours of the day just to train for half of your life. You had your body slammed into those plastic barriers for fun for years, cause you love the feeling you get after a good game. I know you always complain about the bruises and the pain, but we all know you like that cause it makes you feel like you did enough. You ate shit food that tastes like cardboard so you could have that amazing body and play for your dream team. Skate on the ice whenever you want.

And you did it, Rowan. You made you dream come true.

And I’m not gonna be the one person to take it from you.

I won’t ask you to give up on something this big, not for me.

I’m just a person.

Someone you love, that used to love you.

But I can’t do this anymore, because I’m losing myself. And losing this part of me will make me hate you. And I don’t want that to happen.

I don’t want to be your secret anymore. And I don’t want to have to protect myself when I go out if I’m not. I want to be able to walk next to you, holding your hand without risking being shoved aside or hurt. I don’t want you to be worried all the time, whenever I’m not with you. I don’t want people talking about us.

And I’m weak, Rowan. I’m not like you, and I’m so tired. I can’t put on a mask, an armor, and pretend like the words don’t hurt, cause they do. They slice through my heart and they taint my love for you.

This isn’t the life I wanted for us, but it’s the one fate gave us, so maybe we’re not meant to be. I hoped with everything I am that we were, that I deserved you – that one day people would stop caring about others’ lives and mind their own fucking business.

It broke us back in college and I’m not willing to have them do that again on their terms, so I’m doing it on mine.

I wish I could be your “till death do us apart”, but I can’t.

I hope you find someone who will love you as much as you deserve and I’m sorry I couldn’t be that person.

I’m sorry my love was not enough.

Please, for my own sanity, don’t ask Lysandra where I am.

I’m not coming back,

Aelin

Rowan sat there, tears streaming down his face, as he read and reread the paper in his hands, finding hard to breathe as his world collapsed on him.

And the only thing he wished, was for him to be able to hold her one last time.

tog tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just dm me or send me an ask)

@maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-books @hellasblessed @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @letstakethedawn @terrible-and-proud @post-it-notes33 @booksstorm @nalgenewhore @queen-of-demons-and-hell @lanyjoy-13 @vasudharaghavan @cupcakey00 @bri-loves-sunflowers @queen-of-glass @thewayshedreamed @the-regal-warrior @fangirlprincess09 @januarystears @rowaelinismyotp @starbornsinger @bookstantrash @thegreyj @feysand-loml

#rowaelin month #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin month day three #tog #throne of glass #rowaelin fic

[writtenonreceipts]

I got a prompt for you ^^ if you ever wanna get into it

Person A is athlete at a press conference and Person A makes comment to his buddy about Person B and Person A forgot his mic was on

For Feysand/Rowaelin~

Love your writing 💕

I loved writing this! Thanks so much for sending it in and for reading!

...

Has potential for more parts.  Feel free to send me prompts if you wanna or if you’d just like to see more of this, let me know.

And I know more about basketball than any other sport, so for the sake of reality/my sanity basketball is the sport of choice here.

Warnings: none

...

For the Love of the Game

And the final game of the regular season comes to a close!  In a clutch shot Rowan Whitethorn hit that three-pointer and brought the score 109-107.  No overtime for the Wendlyn Wyverns.  Whitethorn has been having a hell of a season--surprising since the slump he was in last year.  But he actually managed to be listed as MVP and leading in most assists for the regular season.

Aelin listened to the announcer, Duke Perrington, as he gave the wrap up of the game.  Duke was a sleaze as his name could only attest to.  And he would be leading the press-conference tonight after the post-game wrap ups.  Hell.  She didn’t want to deal with him.

She straightened her skirt and checked, again, that there were no runs in her pantyhose.  Dorian Havilliard Sr. had made certain she knew what the dress code was.  Pants were out of the question (she was a woman after all).  Shoes with a heel less than two inches were laughable.  And she always, always, had to have her make-up done.

Aelin had no problem with dressing up.  None at all.  The more glitz and glam the better.  But doing it for Havilliard? The man, who owned the sports magazine she wrote for, hardly appreciated her.

She muttered a string of oaths under her breath.  

After the slow start of the first quarter, it was good to see the usual energy of the Wyverns come out.  And of course, getting to see Lorcan Salvaterre fouling out of the game made everyone’s night.  Who won the pool this time?

As Aelin slipped from the bathroom, she made sure her reporter’s badge was unobscured.  She couldn’t count the times security had tried to escort her away from press conferences just because they couldn't be bothered to look for it.  Maybe if she clipped it right over her breasts.

She was usually the only female reporter in the conferences.  Mostly because Cairn Valg, owner of the Wendlyn Wyverns was a misogynistic pig-headed man.  And then Havilliard never bothered to listen to Aelin when she asked that he put her name on the list of reporters.

“Aelin,” Nox Banner, one of her fellow reporters and a good friend, walked beside her down the hall of the stadium towards the conference rooms. “Havilliard actually let you cover tonight’s game?”

She punched his shoulder when he howled with laughter. “Screw you.”

“I’m just saying,” Nox said, grinning madly, but Aelin cut him off with another punch.

“I am just as qualified as you to be there,” she said.

Nox threw his hands up in defense. “I know.  You’ll cover the game better than any of us too.”

“Damn straight,” Aelin agreed.  She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. “Dorian helped me get on the list.”

“Of course he did,” Nox said, making sure to waggle his brows.

“He’s a friend,” Aelin said.  Nox managed to dodge the next punch. 

Nox cackled in laughter as they were led into the conference room.  Aelin rolled her eyes, grateful to have at least one person on her side.  Being a female reporter in a male dominated environment had always been hard.  But she’d grown up with the sport.  It had been her life in the foster system, through college.  Almost to the WNBA.  

The conference room was packed with reporters, cameras, and a line of the players up on an elevated stage.  Just as she always felt with conferences and interviews, Aelin felt a rush of adrenaline.  It wasn’t as intense as when she would be on the court playing--but close enough.  The closest she ever got nowadays.

Ignoring the glances from her male counterparts, Aelin pushed her way through the reporters, Nox at her side.  She wasn’t quite at the front of the crowd as she would like to be, but close enough.  

Aelin watched as two delegates from each team--the Wyverns and the Sea Dragons--came onto the stage.  Rowan Whitethorn and Lorcan Salvaterre for the former and Sartaq Khagan and Sam Cortland for the latter.  Aelin never understood how such attractive people could get drafted for both teams.

Rowan Whitethorn in particular had always caught Aelin’s attention.  He’d been signed from the European league after dominating some private university division.  The Wyverns laid their claim on him five years ago and it seemed he’d found his home in Wendlyn.  It was his story, his history as a player that had always intrigued Aelin.

His striking silver-blonde hair and piercing green eyes also helped.

“Live in five...four...three…” a technician counted down giving a signal to Duke Perrington who stood in front of the main camera.

“Here we are at the post-game break down,” Perrington said, his slicked back and signature smirk of a smile ready for viewers. “Wendlyn barely cinched this win, as has been the norm for them through the entire regular season making everyone question, how are they going to do in the finals?”

Aelin wanted to roll her eyes. Perrington had washed out as an athlete in college and barely had the credentials to be a lead reporter for a major sports station.  He only had an in with Havilliard because the two could be sleazes together.  And money.  And they had similar values.  Demoralizing and inhuman ones, but similar nonetheless.

As the questions began for each team, Aelin got more and more frustrated that she’d never been able to pose a question.  Every time she’d raised her hand to ask a question, she’d been ignored.  Every time she tried to push her way through to that front of the line of reporters someone would nudge her back.  Even with Nox at her side, Aelin was at every disadvantage.

“I think,” Rowan Whitethorn said, his accent rolling off his tongue, “it took far more teamwork than anyone really notices to get us here.”

Teamwork.  The five best players for Wendlyn hated each other.  Rowan, Lorcan, Connal, Fenrys, and Vaughan.  Gavriel had finished out his last season five years ago and was now working as assistant coach but she was sure he hated the others as much as they hated him.

It was a nice sentiment really.  And even though Whitethorn was leading in assists, it was clear there was a rift in the team.  As was made evident by the Wyverns barely scraping their way into the finals.

Perrington made the mistake of pausing too long and Aelin sent a well-aimed kick at the instep of the man in front of her.  She had seconds to push her question.  It led to a larger theme that she was interested in as a sports writer, but one no one--no man-- took seriously.

“And what would you define teamwork as, Mr. Whitethorn,” she asked loud enough that any microphone would be able to pick up.  Aelin felt eyes and cameras turn to her, giving her a thrill of excitement.  Almost as good as being out on the court. “It’s become fairly evident that there is a divide among the Wyverns and how you all play together.  It would seem that teamwork only exists on the court, not off it.”

Silence.

It seemed that everyone had forgotten a woman could be a reporter, let alone exist in general.

Rowan Whitethorn’s pine green eyes bore into her.  Even at a distance, Aelin could feel the intensity of his gaze, the scrutiny he was putting her through.  And she loved it.  Far too often men, and women, dismissed her as nothing more than a blonde bimbo.  Even though she’d risen high and mighty among the ranks in her college classes.  She’d become valedictorian even while playing basketball herself.  She’d been one of the best on and off the court.

Until Arobyn Hammel.

Now all she was known for was that she made good coffee runs in the office.

“Teamwork is trust.” Whitethorn didn’t have an opportunity to say anything else before Perrington swung the attention back around to how both teams would approach the finals and having to play each other again.

Whitethorn’s gaze continued to flick back to Aelin through the final questions.  Aelin alternated between glaring at him and Perrington.

Perhaps her question wasn’t the most interesting to them.  It was a bit more of a touchy feely sort and less about statistics and the male-esque propriety of victory.  But it was something worth considering.  Especially when the Wyverns hadn’t been playing their best in years.  Despite their successes, they were still being held back.

And Aelin wanted to know why.

She wasn’t able to sink her nails into the questions however.  Perrington called a final question and cameras flashed as the conference wound down.

Aelin seethed to herself as she faded back into nothing.  No one, not even Nox tried to say anything to her.  She knew she shouldn’t be surprised.  She shouldn’t even be as disappointed as she was.  This was everything she should have been expecting.

“Who let the skirt in?” Salvaterre muttered to Whitethorn as soon as someone called a loud “clear!” to indicate the conference was over.

Aelin was more than ready to let it go.  The microphone was muffled as the giant of a man moved, the fabric of his sweatsuit rubbing against the sensitive item.  She knew she should just forget the comment and get on with the article.  She had enough information to get something down.  Even if she did utterly fail at getting treated like a real reporter.  Again.

Until Whitethorn opened his mouth.

“At least it gave us something to look at.”

The prick hadn’t turned off his microphone, hadn’t put a hand over it, hadn’t even bothered to check if it was still on.  His words echoed over the din of voices.

Aelin didn’t think as she spun on her heel, head cocked to one side.  She could hear Nox cure under his breath as she stepped up to the stage where the players were still standing.

I was gratifying to see Cortland and Kahgan shuffle off to one side, expertly avoiding her.

“So I was right, was I?” Aelin asked before she could stop herself. “You are as big an ass off the court as on.  Is it alright if I quote you on that?”

“Aelin,” Nox hissed behind her.  Ah, so now he wanted to talk to her.  She ignored him.

Whitethorn stared down at Aelin, his ridiculously handsome face passive and unreadable.  If not for those green eyes that pinned her where she stood.

“As long as you call it a great ass, fireheart,” he said, his accent growing thick as he leaned over the press table to grin at her. “I don’t find I care.”

Aelin wondered if she would get fired for slapping a multi-million basketball player in the face.  No.  Punching. Punching would be far more satisfactory.

“Buzzard,” she hissed, instead.

“Princess,” he replied, that insufferably sexy smile never leaving his face.

A hand grabbed Aelin’s arm and she had to stop herself from swinging a right hook at Nox. 

“Havilliard is gonna kill you,” Nox said, he gestured around them and Aelin realized the scene she was making.

The cameramen had their cameras not quite in a position to start recording, but it was pretty damn close.  All the other reporters had their own recording devices not so secretly hidden in the flaps of their suit jackets or just out right ready to catch anything that might happen.

Aelin took a breath and shook Nox off.  She then put on her most charming smile--the one that had gotten Archer Flynn to give up VIP season passes to the Lakers last year.  And again this year.  The poor beautiful fool.

“Mr. Whitethorn, Mr. Salvaterre,” she purred, looking at each man in turn before leaving the conference hall with the loud, efficient snap of her heels echoing behind her.

...

thanks for reading guys!

tags:

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed, these are for TOG fics:

tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @lysandra-ghost-leopard @harrymoncheri @firestarsandseneschals @rapunzel1523 @booksofthemoon @fangirlprincess09 @highladysith @tillyrubes10@bri-loves-sunflowers @rowaelinismyotp

#rowaelin #aelin and rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin au #Anon #answered #asks #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #for the love of the game

[lokigayforhela]

Heya. May I request an Hela x female reader where Hela falls in love with the reader whom is Loki's friend and decides to kidnapp the reader and reader being scared and angry at her at first, only getting along with Fenrir but reader falling in love with her as well after a while and Hela asking the reader to marry her?

WC: 2695

TW: this can kinda come off as Stockholm Syndrome-y I think? So tread lightly if that upsets you.

A/N: This is… a long one. Settle in with a snack. I wrote it in two sittings, so hopefully it flows. Enjoy!

You woke groggy and confused, unable to remember when youhad fallen asleep or why you were so cold and uncomfortable, and it took yousitting up to realize just how much of a predicament you were in.

You had shackles around your wrists, and while you weren’trestrained in any other way on the bed you had been laid on, it was still arather unsettling way to wake up.Trying desperately not to panic, you tried to take note of your surroundings,trying to figure out where you might be or who might have you, and you had justswung your legs over the edge of the bed to try to stand up when you heard acool, collected voice speak from somewhere in the shadows on the other side ofthe room, and you could just make out the figure of someone sitting in a chair.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re still too groggy.”

Your brow furrowed, and you squinted, trying to get aglimpse of who was speaking. “…who are you? What have you done with me?” Apause, as a bit more of your memory came back to you. “Where’s Loki?”

The voice laughed, and a few moments later, the figure stoodand crossed into the light, and you were more than a little surprised to seethat it was a woman who was holding you captive. Even if she did look extremelyintimidating. “I am Hela. And you’re-”

“Wait, Hela like Thor and Loki’s sister Hela?”

Hela hesitated, clearly a bit miffed that you hadinterrupted her, but eventually, she cleared her throat. “…yes. The very same.And I’ve brought you to somewhere they’ll never find you. You don’t need toworry about them anymore.”

Well, that didn’t sound threatening at all.

“…Why have you brought me here?”

“I intend to court you.”

Of all the thingsyou could have expected her to say, this wasn’t even on the list, and all youcould do was stare blankly at her in shock.

“I’ve been watching you for some time, and I think that wewould make a good match.”

Finally, you snapped out of it, and bit out a forced huff ofa laugh. “…so you kidnapped me, put me in shackles, and just think thateverything’s going to be peachy-keen? What, did you watch Beauty and the Beast one too many times as a kid?”

“….I don’t know what that is, but I only put the shackles onyou so you wouldn’t hurt yourself if you woke up.”

You scowled, still entirely unsure what to think about thisentire scenario. “…Loki will find me. As soon as they realized that you tookme, they’ll come with the rest of the Avengers, and whatever… this is will fall through.”

Hela looked at you, like she was trying to understand whyyou didn’t quite seem as onboard with the idea as she was, and after a longmoment of silence, she spoke again. “…you’ll come to like it here, in time.You’ll see. In the meantime, I’ll have your supper brought in soon. You must bestarving after sleeping all day.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say to that, too besideyourself in pure anger and confusion at Hela’s sheer audacity, and you onlyscowled, curling back up in the bed and glaring out of the small window by yourbed.

“…Fenris, keep watch over her. Good girl.” You heardmovement on the other side of the room, followed shortly afterward by the soundof a door closing and, having assumed Hela was leaving, you turned your headback in her direction, only to be greeted with the largest dog you had everseen towering over you, looking at you curiously.

“…..you must be Fenris.”

Fenris chuffed out a quiet little snort, and bowed her headslightly, and you watched in silence, still so unsure of what to think of yoursituation.

“…I don’t suppose you’ll help me get out of here?”

Fenris snorted, and in response laid her entire head on yourlap, effectively keeping you sitting right where you were, and you groaned inpure frustration. “….great. Just what I needed. A giant dog to keep me trappedin here, on top of some strange woman who thinks the best way to court someoneis to kidnap them.”

You heaved a sigh and looked back out the window.

“What fucking luck.”

——————–

You weren’t sure how long Hela had kept you wherever it wasthat she was keeping you.

The most you had gotten out of her was that you were on someplanet that wasn’t Midgard or Asgard,which had been destroyed, as Loki had told you before. You didn’t evenrecognize the planets you could see from the window, so you didn’t hold muchhope for being anywhere near Earth, but to your surprise, you were finding itless and less possible to care about it as much as you once had.

Hela somehow managed to spend both more and less time withyou than you thought she would, when she’d mentioned she was interested incourting you. She spent the mornings in the room with you, trying to get you totalk about yourself, but afternoons you had to yourself after Hela haddelivered your lunch, and the only company you had until dinner was yourselfand Fenris, who never left your side longer than it took for her to go outsidewhen she needed to.

In fact, Fenris, you reasoned, was the most, if only,bearable thing about being held captive for the foreseeable future until you,presumably, fell in love with Hela or were found by Loki and the rest of theAvengers. For all her towering height and scary, very large and sharp teeth,she was a sweetheart, and the more she hung around with you, the more fond youbecame of her. You would sneak her scraps from your meals, and scratch herbelly when she sprawled out on the floor.

Once, Hela had walked in and found you both asleep on thefloor, Fenris curled up in a ball, and you nestled against her side, and thesight had endeared her so much that she sat on the floor and watched you untilyou woke up, something that you couldn’t quite decide whether or not was endearingor a little unsettling.

Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

Hela herself was a puzzle that you couldn’t solve, for allyour trying.

She had kidnapped you, taken you from Loki and your otherfriends, and your home, but she was treating you the nicest anyone had evertreated you. Aside from keeping you shackled twenty-four/seven and refusing tolet you out of the room without supervision, and even that was only so youcould use the bathroom when you needed.

If you took away the fact that she’d literally committed acrime, and a creepy one at that, Hela just seemed like a girl in love, who didn’tquite know how to properly show it. Which was flattering, you supposed, andwould, in any other setting, be almost endearing.

Maybe she just didn’t know any better.

Thor and Loki hadn’t told you much about Hela, but that wasonly because they didn’t know thatmuch about her, but from what you’d understood, Hela had had a rougherchildhood than you could imagine, and had been locked up simply for being whatshe was trained to be. You couldn’t imagine what that would do to a person’spsyche.

Perhaps you had reacted too harshly.

One morning, you finally decided to at least try to talk to Hela. Maybe you couldhelp her understand that what she was doing was wrong and that there were muchbetter ways to go about courting someone.

So when you heard the keys Hela carried jingling, you satup, facing the door so that you were the first thing Hela saw when she came in.

“…you’re awake.” Hela seemed genuinely shocked to see youlooking at her, and when you smiled a little, she only seemed all the moresurprised. “…I brought you something different today. I know you must begetting tired of eating the same stuff every single day, and… there was amarket in the city nearby, so… I brought you some pastries.”

Hela’s nerves had seemingly gotten the better of her as shehanded you your plate, you figured you must have really thrown her for a loopby being so amenable today. You thanked her quietly, and when she moved to sitdown in her chair by the door, you caught her wrist without really thinkingabout it, and the both of you froze for a second, neither of you daring tomove.

“…sit down with me. We’ll share.”

Hela hesitated for a moment, even after you’d loosened yourgrip on her, and after a long moment she sat down on the very edge of the bed,and still at a distance from you. You picked out a pastry for yourself and heldthe plate out for her, but she shook her head.

“…I don’t need to eat. Not really.”

Your brow furrowed a bit as you looked at her. “…that’s notan Asgardian thing. Thor and Loki eat.”

Hela huffed out a tense laugh. “Thor and Loki weren’tbanished to Hel for centuries.”

You didn’t say anything to that; what were you supposed to say to something like that?But when it became clear Hela was still expecting you to say something, youcleared your throat a bit.

“…you could still eat, if you wanted to. I mean, I won’tmake you. But… you could. I don’t mind.”

Hela smiled, more of a grimace than anything else, but yousmiled a little in response, as well, and for a moment, you sat in silence,chewing on your breakfast in silence.

“…You can take the shackles off, you know. I’m not gonna goanywhere.” You laughed a bit. “I can’t. You don’t even let me out of the room.”

“…your door hasn’t been locked since you got here.”

That confused youto no end, and as you looked at her, absolutely bewildered, Hela actuallycracked a bit of a smile.

“I just jingle the keys so you think the door’s locked. You’ve always had free reign of the house.Did you really not even try the door?”

You were a little too embarrassed to admit that you hadn’t, so you just took another bite ofyour breakfast, hoping your flushed cheeks didn’t give you away.

“…you can look around today, if you want. I don’t mind. AndI’ll take the shackles off, too.”

“….I’d like that.” You looked back over at Hela, findingthat she was already looking at you with an expression far softer than youthought someone like her capable of making, it only made you blush all the moreas you smiled weakly.

Hela returned the smile much moregenuinely, and when she reached over to take one of the pastries from yourplate, you couldn’t help but to wonder if this might be a turning point in therelationship between you.

——————–

Days faded into weeks faded into months, and the longer youspent with Hela, the more you found yourself enjoying Hela’s company.

You would read together in the humble little library she hadmade for herself in the corner of the living room, you would play fetch withFenris together, and sometimes Hela would even let you go down with her to thevillage to go the market and run errands.

It was nice.

Much nicer than you had ever expected things to turn out.

Sometimes you felt a little guilty that you had just… stopped wondering if or when Loki andthe others would come, but then you would think about how much you were actually kind of enjoying being withHela and Fenris, and eventually you stopped wondering about it at altogether.

It was late one evening that you found yourself standingnext to Hela in the kitchen, drying dishes with a clean rag as Hela handed themto you, and you were overwhelmed with the pure domesticity of it all, and youstopped, tilting your head as you got lost in your thoughts.

“…Y/N…? Is everything alright?” Hela’s quiet voice broughtyou out of your silent revelry, and you turned to look at her, smiling a bit.

“…just thinking.” You shrugged a bit as you set down aplate.

“About?”

“…this, I guess. Us. Being here, together.”

You weren’t looking at Hela, but you heard her take a long,slow breath, anticipating what you were about to say next.

“…I’ve never connected with anyone like this before.” You glancedover at Hela then, and you saw that she had relaxed, but only just. “…it’snice.”

Hela nodded slowly, and finally turned her head to look atyou, expression unreadable. “…It is?”

“…it is.”

You weren’t entirely sure when the two of you had moved soclose, or which of you was the one to make the first move, but one moment youwere looking at Hela, and the next you were kissingher, and it was nice and warm and right, and by the time Hela pulled back, you were smiling softly.

“….I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Hela started to apologize,but you shook your head.

“Don’t. It’s okay. Really.”

“…it is?”

You could only laugh softly as you nodded, smiling a littlemore. “In fact, I… I’d really like to do that again, if… if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.” Hela answered alittle too quickly, like she could hardly contain her eagerness, and it was soadorable and unlike her that you laughed, even as you leaned forward to kissher again, dishes completely forgotten on the counter.

——————–

“Y/N?”

You looked up from where you were sitting curled next toHela, book in hand and Fenris’ nose on your lap as you scratched herabsentmindedly. “Yes, darling?”

“…I’ve been thinking.”

Despite knowing that nothing was wrong, you couldn’t helpbut to feel your heart sink in preparation for hearing something that you mightnot want to, but you tried to smile and nod, hoping Hela didn’t catch the quiet“…oh no…” you muttered under your breath.

“…You’ve been here for quite some time now.”

It was true; you wagered it must have been close to a yearby now that you and Hela had been living in your secluded little cottage on theoutskirts of the village, and life there together with her just felt perfect, in a way that you’d neverexperienced before, and you nodded along as Hela continued to speak.

“And I like to think that we’re, that this… I mean, I canonly speak for myself, but… I’m just going to say it. It… It works.”

You laughed a bit, feeling relief when you realized Hela wasjust nervous and unsure how to say what she was saying. “It works. It does.”

Hela nodded again, looking at you for a long moment. “…marryme?”

You were so at a loss for words that you could do nothingbut stare blankly at her, trying to wrap your brain around what she’d said.

“I don’t… have any rings, like they do on Midgard, and we don’thave anyone to perform the magic rites that they did on Asgard, but… We canjust say that we’re married. And we’llknow. And that’s enough for me, if… if that’s enough for you.”

You laughed a bit, nodding as you reached for Hela’s hand,holding it tightly in your own. “Yeah. I think that would be enough for me.”

Hela smiled, and immediately leaned forward to kiss you, andit was easy to tell just how head over heels she was for you, and it even more amazingto know that you loved her exactly the same. Perhaps it wasn’t how you had everimagined falling in love would be like, but it was love and it was imperfect.

You’d never known you could be so happy.

#Hela x reader #Hela Odinsdottir x reader #Hela #Hela Odinsdottir #Marvel #purplewings12 #ask #answered #oneshot #drabble #feat Loki #but not Really #this got so Long im so Sorry #fluff #Tiny bit of angst

[fairfaxleasee]

"Since when do you have a vendetta against vases?" + any DA2 cast

For @dadrunkwriting

Despite the best efforts of my cat who didn't think I needed to actually finish this.

Pairings: Alistair/Amelia, Fenris/Cass Hawke

Rated: T (horror references)

(The DA2 cast is involved so it counts, right?)

"Since when do you have a vendetta against vases, my friend?" Zevran Arainai turned the current fundamental threat to Ferelden's existence in his hands as though it were actually a vase.

"That's not a vase!" Alistair wasn't allowed to carry his shield in the palace (something about it being 'unkingly') so he was hiding behind the sturdiest-looking piece of furniture in the room. "Now can you assassinate it or not?"

"I am not sure what to tell you, but I am fairly certain this is a vase. However, if you are so insistent on paying my rather exorbitant fees, I could be persuaded to assassinate it for you." Zevran tossed the thing up in the air and caught it a few times.

"Be careful! Just because there may not be poison on it doesn't mean there's not poison in it!"

"Come, Alistair. I believe the stresses of your life are starting to get to you. What could you possibly have to fear from a vase."

"For the last time it's not a vase! I don't know what it is but nothing that woman's involved in is what it seems to be!"

"Ah, so a woman is involved, is she? Does your piccola gazzia know?"

"Amelia? Of course Amelia knows. She doesn't believe me about it not being a vase either but she didn't meet Cassia Hawke!"

The smug grin finally slid off Zevran's face and he set the not-vase thing down. "Cassia Hawke? The Ice Queen of Kirkwall? The most wanted woman in Thedas and infamous poisoner - and I am saying this as an Antivan."

"Yes! That Cassia Hawke!"

"And the vase..."

"Her 'gift.'"

"Did I say my fee would be 'exorbitant'? I am afraid I must revise it to 'ludicrous.' The Ice Queen is hardly a standard hazard, after all..."

"...You know, Zevran, I can't help but feel you're exploiting me."

"I am not the one with a gift from the Ice Queen in my house I would rather have gone. Now, before we discuss just how ludicrous my fee will be, tell me: on a scale of 'she wanted to stab you with a blunt object' to 'she wanted to lower you feet-first into a vat of acid' how angry was she with you when she gave you this?"

"Uhh..." Alistair tried to remember. He was fairly sure they had moved beyond 'stabbing' but he wasn't sure just how close to acid he'd gotten.

"Very well, did she give this to you before or after you told her to smile?"

"I did not tell her to smile!"

"So perhaps only a slightly ludicrous fee then."

"...I may have sort of implied she should be nice."

"Incredibly ludicrous it is."

"I... FINE! Now will you get rid of it."

Zevran sighed dramatically and gripped the thing by the lip. He pulled some sort of black bag out of his armor (Alistair didn't want to think about what the bag was intended to be used for) and placed it inside. Then he tied it shut and walked over to the door out of the room.

He motioned for Alistair to come over to the door. Alistair shook his head. He may be an idiot, but he wasn't that big an idiot.

"All you have to do is close the door! It will be quicker if you do it than I."

With how nervous he sounded, Alistair doubted it was really as simple as the assassin was making it out to be, but he did want the door shut as quickly as possible. He reluctantly got out from behind the chair and crept over to the door.

"On my signal!" Zevran started spinning the bag, then on the signal tossed it into the hallway as Alistair slammed the door.

They heard a muffled crash, then nothing.

"So... what now?" Alistair wasn't quite sure what to expect. He'd never watched an assassination before (well, unless you counted the time Zevran had failed to assassinate him).

Zevran had an ear to the door. "Well, I do not hear anything, and I do not smell anything, so now I think you pay me for solving your vase problem."

"Oh no!" Alistair wasn't getting fooled. "I've already smashed the thing to pieces. It keeps coming back! I'm not paying you until I'm sure it's gone!"

"...you did not think this was perhaps information that would have been useful before now?"

"You're the assassin! Why didn't you ask before now?"

"...very well. We shall just go and bury it then."

"Done that before too..." Alistair muttered mostly to himself as he and Zevran left the room to collect the bag.

He could hear the shattered pieces in the bag clank as they took it outside to the royal garden to bury it.

"There, my friend? Are you satisfied?"

"Not yet! We're going to check and make sure it's not back."

"How can it be back when it is dead and buried?"

"I don't know, if I knew that I'd have been able to kill it myself!"

"...you are lucky I am not charging you extra for this." Zevran shook his head but did follow Alistair back inside.

Where the vase-looking thing was sitting where it had been before Zevran had smashed it looking just like new.

"See?" Alistair threw his arms out just to make sure Zevran would.

"I... do not understand. I put it in the bag, we smashed it in the bag, we buried the pieces. How is it back?"

"I don't know, but I'm not paying you until it's not back anymore! I thought I left the blighted thing in Kirkwall in pieces, but that didn't stop it following me back here!"

"Have you considered it may be easier to beg the Ice Queen's forgiveness and throw yourself at her mercy? I believe at the very least she would kill you faster."

"I... look, how am I supposed to do that when no one knows where she is? Also I don't want to be killed faster, I want to not be killed at all, and if you want to be paid, you'd better get rid of that vase."

"I... very well. As an independent assassin competing with far more famous guilds, I suppose I must protect my reputation for dependability." Zevran grabbed the thing and stuck it into another black bag. "Let us see if drowning will fare any better than breaking."

They checked the bag just to make sure the thing hadn't escaped somehow before they threw it into Denerim harbor.

"There? Now may I please get paid?"

"No! I told you not until I'm sure it's gone."

"Again, you are lucky I am not charging you for two assassinations..."

"If you'd done it right the first time, we wouldn't have needed this second time!"

They kept bickering about who was getting the better end of the deal back to the palace. When they arrived, they ran into Amelia carrying the same vase they'd broken and just dumped in the harbor.

"Amelia! Don't touch that! It's dangerous!" Alistair snatched the thing away from his very surprised wife.

"...Alistair, it's a vase. They're not exactly known hazards."

"It's not a vase, you know where it's from and it won't die!"

"It won't..." Amelia started looking surprised and started glaring at Alistair in a way that reminded him of her father. "Alistair Theirin! Have you been breaking these on purpose? You're just lucky that I counted wrong when my father brought these extras with him after you visited Kirkwall and there are still some left to replace them. It's odd, I could have sworn that last one you just broke was the last one, but when I went back downstairs to look after you broke it I found more."

Alistair leaned away from his wife and back to Zevran. "...they're reproducing now!"

"Yes, and I have decided that in that case they are entirely your problem."

"I... you don't want to get paid?" Alistair looked at the assassin in disbelief.

"Not if it means having to investigate how the Ice Queen has managed to make vases suddenly appear in your palace when she is annoyed at you. No, my friend, you are entirely on your own in this."

"I... but..."

"Perhaps next time you will not tell the woman to smile?"

"I didn't tell her to smile, I told her to be nice!"

"Eh, either way."

Alistair wasn't prepared to let Zevran off the hook quite that easily, "What about not breaking a contract?"

"The Crows do not break a contract. I, however, am not a Crow. I am a man who enjoys the pleasures of living. And speaking of those, I am going to find Avalonne before she becomes as mad at me as your wife currently is with you."

"I'm not mad at him, Zevran!" Amelia looked mad enough to Alistair, "I'm annoyed he's been breaking these things on purpose!"

Zevran had already started wandering off down the hallway. Alistair was obviously not getting rid of whatever the thing was that way, but maybe if he could explain to Amelia just how dangerous Cassia Hawke was, he'd get her to figure out a way to be rid of the souvenir. "Now, Love, I can explain."

Judging by his wife's reaction, he'd overused that line.

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

"You know, Cass," Fenris shook his head slightly. "This was not what I had in mind when I suggested you needed a hobby.

Cass reached up for his hands to help her out of the cistern she'd used to get into Denerim without being seen. She grinned at her husband, "What? Pottery's not a hobby?"

He shook his head again but she could see him smiling, "Pottery is a hobby. Using the pottery you've made to torture someone who annoyed you isn't."

"I mean, it sounds kinda 'hobbyish' to me. How are you defining 'hobby' that it doesn't meet the definition?"

"Well, 'semantics games' are a safer hobby, but I'm serious Cass - sneaking into Denerim just for that was... it was..." He looked away from her.

She knew it was a stupid risk, but if she had been seen, letting the Ferelden authorities chase their tails to find her in an assassination plot against their King in Denerim should mean no one would be looking for her to slip through the Frostbacks into Orlais.

"I didn't go just for that." She untied the coin purse from her belt and threw it to him.

"...Cass did you steal this from the palace?"

"I don't steal Fenris. I sold my daggers. Wade didn't care who I was or where I came from, he just wanted to study Sandal's runes. He literally opened his safe for me and told me to take whatever I wanted as long as I promised to leave him the daggers."

"Cass!"

"We need the money, Fenris."

"You need to have some protection!"

"I sold my daggers Fenris. I still have the knives, poisons, and acids." She walked over and clasped the front of his armor. "And I have you."

He brushed some hair away from her face. "Always, Cassia."

#dragon age #da drunk writing circle #fenris #fenhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris x hawke #alistair theirin #king alistair #zevran arainai

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Sneaking Around | Epilogue

Aelin was going to be in so much trouble.

She was supposed to be in the room where the prep for her wedding was taking place. Despite this, she had somehow ended up in the groom’s room with the skirt of her wedding dress pulled up around her waist. And the groom himself with his pants pulled down, fucking her mercilessly. Yep, her friends were going to kill her.

“Oh, Rowan, don’t stop. Oh gods. Fucking hell.”

Rowan chuckled as he pounded into her against the wall. “I think we’re supposed to be quiet. Wouldn’t want anyone to know the groom saw the bride before the wedding.”

Aelin moaned. “Oh fuck, Ro, I’m so close. Release blasted through her. She had to bury her face in Rowan’s shoulder to muffle her moans.

He barely suppressed a groan as he came, spilling himself into her. Two years of dating and still neither could get enough.

Rowan pulled out of Aelin and disposed of the condom. He buttoned his pants as Aelin dropped her dress.

“Where are my panties?” Aelin asked. “Shit, do you see them, Ro?”

They looked around the room, to no avail. Rowan chuckled. “Looks like you’ll have to go without.”

Aelin scowled. “I am not getting married without underwear. Damn, I’m so late. They’re supposed to be doing my hair and makeup by now.”

“Just go. No one will know you’re not wearing underwear, and it will save me the trouble of taking them off later.” He was smirking.

Aelin punched him in the arm, hard. To his credit, he didn’t wince. “I fucking hate you.”

“So you tell me every day.” Rowan grinned.

Aelin frowned. “Ugh.” Then she ran out of the room, heels clicking on the tile, praying her friends wouldn’t notice the suspicious amount of time she’d been gone.

“Aelin, where have you been?” Lysandra hissed when she entered the bridal chamber. “I thought you were going to the bathroom.” So much for not noticing.

Ansel frowned. “Oh, honey, are you getting cold feet?”

“No, no,” Aelin said. “I just got lost.” She gestured vaguely.

Lys and Ansel were helping her get ready (or they had been anyway) and Fenrys was lounging in a chair, observing. He had claimed this room smelled nicer, leaving Rowan alone. Aelin just hadn’t been able to resist.

“How do you get lost in this place? The bathrooms are right across the hall.” Lys was frowning now too.

“Exactly,” Aelin declared. “And I didn’t know that, and ended up circling the whole building before I found it. Tragic, really.”

Fenrys snorted and Aelin shot him a glare. “Something to say, Moonbeam?”

He just grinned and looked her up and down, taking in her ruffled dress and flushed cheeks. “Not at all, darlin’.” Aelin scowled.

Lysandra sighed. “You couldn’t keep your clothes on for the rest of the day? Pathetic.”

Aelin glared hatefully at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just do my hair, please.”

Ansel snorted this time. “What are we, your maids?”

“I said please.”

Lysandra interjected. “Alright, we can shame her later. It’s time to get a move on.”

-

Aelin was properly beautified by the time she needed to walk down the aisle. Barely, though.

Aedion was charged with walking with her, their parents being dead and unable to give her away.

They were having a very small wedding. Other than Aedion, neither of the two had any living family and they didn’t want a bunch of people they barely knew witnessing this moment (or upping the cost of the buffet table). Aelin also didn’t want to slowly march down the aisle behind three of her friends like a parade, she claimed. She also hadn’t wanted to chose between her friends which would be bridesmaids. Therefore, she had none. Aelin had a knack for breaking traditions. And so Lys, Ansel, Fenrys, Manon, Elide, Gavriel, Connall, and Vaughan were all seated now. Lorcan was standing next to Rowan at the altar as best man.

Aelin strutted down the aisle, Aedion at her heels hissing to slow down. Finally, he gave up and seated himself, Aelin tossing a wink his way.

“Work that runway, girl,” Manon catcalled. Aelin smirked at her when she reached the altar next to Rowan, who was chuckling. Lorcan just snorted.

The priest started droning on about how they would be there for each other forever, but Aelin tuned him out and stared into Rowan’s eyes. They had decided against writing vows because they both knew what they meant to each other and told the other often enough. Also, Aelin didn’t want to try to put all the emotions she felt around him into words, all the love and happiness.

Rowan smirked at Aelin, probably recalling the fact that she was unclothed beneath her dress. She grinned back at him.

Someone cleared their throat. The priest. Aelin turned her head and let out a “Hm?”

“I said, Miss Galathynius, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”

Aelin said, “Oh, sorry, yeah. I mean, I do.” Snickers arose from their small audience. Yep, she was never going to live that down. She glanced back at Rowan, whose smirk had widened. Aelin scowled at him.

The priest repeated his words to Rowan, who said, “I do.” Damned bastard. He had been zoned out and staring at her too; why couldn’t the priest have asked him first?

The priest then declared they may kiss. Aelin immediately stepped forward, grabbed Rowan by the lapels, and pulled him in for a searing kiss. His hands found her waist, drawing out a couple of wolf-whistles from their friends. Aelin let go with one hand to flip them off without breaking the kiss.

After a minute, Aelin pulled back, grinning. Rowan smiled warmly at her. And just like that, they were married.

-

Rowan led Aelin to their apartment. It used to be his, but Aelin had moved in a while ago, drawing out a fuss from Ansel. As a peace offering, Aelin had coerced Fenrys to move in with Ansel. Perhaps not the best way to make a relationship more serious, but whatever.

They had the night together before leaving for their honeymoon the next morning. They were going to Switzerland for their honeymoon. They both agreed it was a beautiful place to stay. Fenrys had been especially supportive of the decision, claiming they could bring him some cheese. Aelin would have to check if that was legal.

Now, though, the newlyweds made it to the door. Aelin walked in after Rowan, kicking it closed behind her. “What should we do now, husband?” Aelin asked sweetly.

Rowan grinned back at her. He roughly pushed her against the door, pinning her hands beside her. “We should probably just go to sleep, wife. It’s been a long day, after all.”

Aelin smirked. “Good idea.” Neither of them moved. “Do you know what it’s like walking around in a breathable dress and no panties? I felt every draft.”

Rowan burst into laughter. “I’m so terribly sorry.” He pressed his lips to her neck, sucking gently. Rowan’s knee came up, parting her legs, then pressing into her center.

Aelin moaned, her head tipping back against the door. Rowan adjusted his knee and the mesh-like fabric under her dress caught on certain areas. “Oh,” Aelin moaned. “Oh fuck.” She was writhing now, squirming under his touch.

Rowan growled. “You’re mine.”

Aelin let out a gutteral groan. “And you’re mine.”

He slid his hands down to Aelin’s thighs and wrapped her legs around his waist. Rowan carried her to their bedroom, Aelin pressing her center against him all the while, desperate for the pressure.

Rowan set Aelin down gently, despite the ravenous gleam in his eyes, and stepped back to admire her.

Aelin lifted a hand to her dress, about to pull it off, when Rowan surged forward and grabbed her hand. “No. I’m going to fuck you in that dress. In that beautiful wedding dress.”

Aelin moaned. “Please. Please hurry. I need you.”

Rowan unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, Aelin watching intently.

His hard length sprung out and Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes away as Rowan stepped forward and grabbed her hips.

“I love you so much, Aelin. You don’t even know how much.”

She smirked. “I like to think I have some idea.” Aelin grabbed him and pulled him down on top of her. Rowan quickly balanced himself and didn’t waste another second before entering her.

They both let out twin groans. Aelin bucked her hips, trying to pull him in deeper, muttering something about needing more.

Rowan snarled and pulled out almost all the way before slamming into her. Aelin moaned loudly. “Oh. Oh, Rowan, harder.”

He didn’t hold back after that. Rowan pounded into her relentlessly, leaving Aelin unable to take a single breath.

Afterward, lying in a tangle of limbs, Aelin couldn’t help but think how lucky she was. For the earth-shattering sex, yes, but also for the love. The happiness. The days spent together filled with intimacy and romance, joy and laughter. Aelin was very lucky indeed.

#rowaelin #tog #sneaking around #epilogue #my writing

[tsuraiwrites]

Welcome to DADWC! How about “You’ve always felt like home.” For a pairing of your choice?

@juliafied thank you for the prompt! for @dadrunkwriting. I decided to go one direction with Fenris/Hawke and they did something completely different

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Fic: Turning Homeward

The stars are bright tonight, even obscured by the light of their low, smokeless fire, but Fenris is having trouble paying attention to them. His brands ache with a vengeance, overused in their long battle against Templars, Meredith, and eventually her blasted animated statues. Their camp is small, hidden away in a shred of the Wounded Coast they hope no one will think to look for them. Despite this, they’ve both laid down on their bedrolls for the night while still wearing their full armor, wary of an ambush. 

Fenris lies sleepless, his mind far too bogged down with whirling thoughts that will not let him settle, despite his battle-high petering out into exhaustion long hours ago. He turns his head, pillowed on his pack, to the side to view his companion.  

Hawke is not sleeping either, his breathing far too uneven with his eyes closed, his staff still tucked at his side within arm’s reach. 

“This is not where I foresaw us, if you had asked me last week I never would have posited we would spend tonight fleeing Kirkwall. After killing the Knight-Commander, no less,” Fenris speaks into the quiet of the night. His tone comes out flatter than he means it to, and that has Hawke opening his eyes at last, rolling to the side so he can meet Fenris’ gaze with his brows pinched together. Fenris has the impulse to smooth the furrow away, but he still wears his gauntlets and they are completely unsuitable for gentle touch.

“Do you regret fighting by my side, then?” Hawke asks, and Fenris can hear how he works to keep his tone level, but it still cracks with exhaustion and pent up emotion. 

“I do not,” he is quick to reassure, not sure what to feel as Hawke’s face crumples in relief. “I am only sorry you have left all that you worked for behind. Your friends, your home… the mages we fought to free.”

That makes Hawke chuckle, his whole body slumping closer to Fenris’ side. It’s not one of the bitter, half-hearted laughs Fenris only now realizes he’s been hearing for the past few months. This is a true laugh, free from all the responsibilities being Champion of Kirkwall weighed him down with. 

“Kirkwall, home? No, it was never that for any of us, except maybe Mother,” his smile fades only a little at the mention of her, but he nonetheless continues. “The mansion was nice – I had a lot of good memories there, but home is the people I love. You’ve always felt like home to me,” Hawke says nonchalantly. Fenris feels his heart squeeze in his chest, and the man continues as if he hasn’t said anything of consequence, not noticing Fenris’ frozen countenance. “As for the mages, we did what we could for them, but I wasn’t going to make you stay with them for any longer than it took to escape.” 

Fenris, finally able to pull out of his shock, sits up and looks down at the mage laying beside him. 

“You are an idiot,” he says, and leans down to kiss Hawke. Hawke blinks in surprise but nonetheless tilts his chin up to meet him. Fenris keeps it chaste, for he has more to say. 

“I have never known a home, not beyond my early memories of Danarius’ mansion. But I feel most at peace when I am with you. Perhaps you are home for me as well.” 

He sees the confused smile turning soft with a blooming joy and, unable to resist, kisses him once more. Hawke melts into him, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of Fenris’ neck, never quite heavy enough to make Fenris feel like he’s being pinned in place. When they finally part for air, it’s only by inches. 

“Why am I an idiot?” Hawke murmurs, pressing another kiss to the corner of Fenris’ mouth before he can speak.

“Because you did not consult me about my own discomfort. Now get up.” He pulls out of Hawke’s embrace, sitting up on his bedroll but keeping his gaze locked on the human’s. “I am willing to put up with the company of foolish mages if it means you can protect your investment.” 

Hawke pauses, taken aback by the turn in conversation.

“My investment?” 

“You fought for their freedom and yours. Best to ensure they go on remaining free,” he insists, gruff in the face of Hawke’s widening eyes as his meaning sinks in.

They need to go back. 

“Fenris…”

If Hawke goes back to the mages before they can scatter too far from Kirkwall, there’s little doubt they will flock to him for protection and oversight – not only as the Champion but as an apostate confident with moving through a hostile, unfamiliar world. It will be one more weight on the man, but knowing Hawke left for him and not to flee new responsibility has changed his perspective. 

Fenris has learned much since his first staggering steps into freedom, enough to know Hawke will serve as a good guide. He cannot begrudge them his lover’s help if that’s what Hawke chooses to give. 

“Where you go I will follow, even if it is in the company of mages. More mages,” he adds before Hawke can so much as raise an eyebrow. He rises to his knees, holds out a hand to the man. It’s an offer and a choice in one. 

Hawke takes his hand.

#fic #dragon age #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris/m!hawke #juliafied-personal

[abruisedmuse]

“So, do you ride the Ferris Wheel alone often?” Elorcan

Elide stood on the step, shifting her weight on her good ankle. Readying to slide into the rickety carriage. She was stuck with asshole extraordinaire, Lorcan Salvaterre. Most of the people in their group at Terrasen summer festival were coupled up. Except for them and Fenrys. Fenrys seemed to have his eyes on a girl from a rival college. He didn't want to appear taken. Her brown eyes flicked to the tall, broad-shouldered guy next to her. Thick onyx hair falling to his shoulders, she watched in awe at the way the strands fell apart like curtains on a stage and then back again. She swept over the broody figure. His tank cut perfectly showing off his muscled form. Elide sighed, at least he was nice to look at.

Lorcan caught her looking, eyeing him from head to toe, she turned her head quickly, cheeks burning brightly, "What?" He snapped 

"Nothing." Matching his snipping tone.

"Good," he retorted.

Elide folded her arms tightly across her chest. Lorcan didn't miss the way it showed off breasts. He said nothing more. The carriage finally arrived and the two slid in. The poor guy working the ride dripping with sweat pushed the bar down. The carriage shook and groaned as it started to move. Her fingers tapped along the smoothness of the safety bar. Heights weren't her thing. at all. Each passing second, the churning in her stomach grew. And then she said the single dumbest thing, that made her want to give in to her fear and plummet out of this ride.

"So...do you ride the Ferris wheel alone often?" Lorcan shot her a pointed look. 

He snorted, "Is this your attempt at flirting or humor?"  she glared up at him, "either way it's pathetic.

"Like your attempts would be any better," she quipped, he didn’t miss the dare in her tone.

I'd like to see you try

Lorcan turned as best as he could in the tiny space. Wetting his lips while curling a stray strand of her dark hair. His onyx eyes simmering with something Elide couldn't quite place. She felt her cheeks burn under his gaze and at his touch.

"So…" he caressed her cheek like a lover. Spoke like one too, "Do you ride the Ferris wheel alone often?" His voice smooth like whiskey. 

Elide swore with each word her insides melted. Her belly pooling with lust. She hadn't even realized that somehow she scooted closer to Lorcan. He angled his head lowering to hers. There breaths mingling and his scent wafting around her, smelling of wild woods that reminded of her home. Of Perranth.

"That's how you do it," his tone still smooth. Causing her heart to thunder within her chest. She was sure by his smirk he could hear it.

There was a charged beat of silence before the Ferris wheel stopped. The bucket seats shaking in the process until it too stopped. Elide's nails gripped the black bar. She shut her eyes tight, whispering to herself to be calm, everything is okay with, get a gripe Elide. She didn't care about the stunning view overlooking Terrasen and the festival. Lorcan looked at her incredulously.

"You're afraid of heights?" He asked as a question, yet it was more an observation than anything.

Elide nodded. Keeping her eyes firmly closed. Lorcan let out a deep sigh, slipping his fingers in between her small ones. She didn't care and neither did he as Elide squeezed his hand. He returned the action.

"As hard as you need to," was all he said.

"Thank you."

Perhaps Lorcan Salvaterre wasn't so bad after all.

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

Taglist: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @clockworkgraystairs @justgiu12 @illyrian-bookworm @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @negativenesta @sjm-things @whataboutmyfries @thesirenwashere @vanessa172003 @thewickedkings @sleeping-and-books

Let me if you'd like to be added to my taglist.

#prompt #answered prompt #elorcan #ladywitchling #ferris wheel #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #tog

[julemmaes]

Cry

Lorcan Salvaterre and Elide Lochan modern au

A/N: Alrighty alrighty I’M SORRY. I’m not posting anything lately cause I’ve been busy (very fucking much) and I just want to let you all know that I’ll write every single day of MOF even when October is finished (even if that’s not the point of those challenged but still) 

I was on tiktok the other day and I saw this video of a couple in a long distance relationship where she surprised him and he CRIED. A LOT. It’s become one of my favourite things in the world to be honest. He really seemed exhausted coming in his room and he literally SNIFFED the air, cause he could SMELL her and I D I E D.

Anyway, this is basically the plot. Enjoy!

Word count: 1,948

Lorcan would rather shoot himself in the head than listen to Rowan talk about contemporary history for another hour.

He promised him that he would help him prepare one of the billions of exams he seemed to have every month because his girlfriend, Aelin, had abandoned him at the last minute, leaving him alone. Knowing the type, Lorcan would have bet the house that she had told him a lie not to have another long and boring talk about the Cold War.

As much as he loved his best friend, just the idea of what Rowan was studying made his eyelids close faster than any sleeping pill he had ever taken. And Lorcan had taken a lot of medication to help him sleep in his life.

Things had not gone very well lately. With Elide on the other side of the world and their schedules that fit perfectly so that they never got to see each other on skype, he hadn't seen his girlfriend for almost five days. Lorcan had never been an excessively soft guy, who felt the need to talk twenty-four hours a day just to tell others that his relationship was perfect, but the distance was playing tricks on him and the fact that he couldn't sleep well only added stress and nervousness.

There was also the small detail that his father - or rather, his sperm donor - had died a few weeks before and his mother, who had always been the only parental figure in his life, really wanted to give him the letter that the man had written to him only a few days before his death.

Lorcan had tried to read it, several times, even on a call with Elide, but every time he read the first lines, where the man expressed his sincerest apologies for never having been part of his life, attributing part of those faults to his mother too, he could never bring himself to finish it.

"...can you at least pretend to be listening?" Rowan asked exasperatedly, running his hand over his face.

Lorcan closed his eyes sighing, opening them a few moments later. Rowan was staring at him slightly pissed off. He could perfectly understand that talking to someone who didn't even seem to be in the same room as you could be irritating.

"Sorry Ro, I know I told you I'd stay until seven, but I can't do it." he got up, without looking Rowan in the face, but he saw him stiffening, "If I hear you say Gorbachev one more time, I might throw up."

"Are you okay?" he asked him in a lower tone of voice. Two girls sitting at the table next to them turned around, immediately bringing their attention back to their books when Lorcan gave them a hard look.

He tightened his jaw, putting his stuff in his backpack, "Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry about it."

"I wouldn't have started to worry if you'd just told me you were fine," Rowan pointed out, leaning against the table with his elbows and pushing towards him. Lorcan put on his jacket, puffing.

"Well, I'm actually fine," he said, finally looking him in the eye. He felt his breath hitch when he saw that Rowan seemed genuinely concerned about what was surely disturbing his friend and had to turn around so he wouldn't let him see how bad he really was.

"I know you don't do these..." he paused, frowning, "things. But if you need to talk to someone -"

Lorcan interrupted him by putting one hand forward, "Rowan, listen," he laughed dryly, "You're right, I don't do these things and you're starting to sound like Fenrys," his friend made a disgusted grimace, "Exactly, so cut the bullshit and don't ever try to be all mama hen on me again, okay?"

Rowan nodded bitterly, "It's just that Aelin told me that you and Elide," a hint of pain shot through his chest at the girl's name, "haven't talked for a few days and I just wanted to know if things were going well?" he asked hesitantly.

Lorcan pinched the bridge of his nose, "What exactly don't you understand about the sentence 'I'm fine'?"

"I'm just checking on a friend who won't stop bullshitting me," Rowan pointed out abruptly.

"I don't need you to check up on me."

Rowan's face softened so much that Lorcan knew that anything he would say in a few seconds would make him lose every ounce of patience.

"Is this about your father's letter?" he looked him in the face, reducing his lips to a thin line, then Lorcan turned around, without even saying goodbye, and walked out of the library.

It was not because of the letter.

It was the fact that his mother had felt the need to give it to him. It was the fact that the woman who knew him better than anyone else in the world, the woman who had seen him in the most vulnerable moments of his life and who had raised him alone, breaking her back day and night to make sure he had a future, had accepted the words written on that letter to be the truth.

Your mother prevented me from seeing you. Don't be angry at me, but at her. It wasn't me who decided to abandon you. Agnes told me that I could not see you until you were sixteen years old. It is not my fault that you did not have enough during your childhood.

A lot of bullshit if you asked Lorcan.

His father had left the second he found out that his mother had gotten pregnant and took every penny he could find in their house to buy another dose or bottle of alcohol.

Lorcan knew that his mother had read it because when she gave it to him, the envelope had been torn. And he knew that she hadn't done it with the intention of violating his privacy, but rather to protect him. He certainly wouldn't blame the mother if she still cared about her baby when it came to the man who got her pregnant and then ran away.

He did not realize that he had stopped in the middle of the university garden, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the ground until a drop hit his forehead. He looked up and the sky split in two.

All the students who were lying on the lawn stood up screaming, putting away their notes and books as quickly as possible. Some laughed as they ran for shelter from that sudden thunderstorm, but Lorcan resumed walking normally, reaching his dorm canopy in a few minutes.

Walking up the stairs as slowly as he had never done before, he found himself thinking about his mother yet again.

Perhaps he should have called her.

They had spent hours on the phone after she had given him the letter. Lorcan yelling at her because the man's words had certainly struck Agnes in the heart - so much so that she handed the letter to her son, without warning him that it was all crap - and she apologized to him for something she had thought right almost twenty years earlier.

Lorcan had reassured her that he had never missed a father figure. He had never had the need to go fishing with his "old man" or "play catch".

He ran his hand over his face for the millionth time, sighing and trying to keep his emotions at bay until he reached his room where he would decide what to do. Whether to take a sleeping pill and try to rest or go to the gym and punch something. Or someone, if he found one of the guys willing to get it.

He arrived in front of the door and saw that it was slightly open, the corridor light on. He swelled his chest holding his breath and praying to every god on the face of the earth that Connal or Vaughan were not home, he pushed the door, entering the small apartment.

He heard no noises of any kind and frowned. If one of his roommates had been in the house there would have been at least the sound of pots being thrown into the kitchen or the springs of their beds moving under the weight of both.

Relieved that he had not entered the house in one of their usual hot moments, he made to move and then sensed it.

He smelled the air, stopping in his footsteps.

Lemon and cinnamon.

He would have recognized that scent everywhere.

He turned around, closing the door and expecting to see her hidden back there.

When he couldn't find her, he sprang towards his room, opening that door and throwing his head back laughing when he saw Elide sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Don' t believe it." Lorcan whispered without looking at her.

He turned back into the living room, taking two steps towards the couch before turning around again and putting his hands in his hair.

Elide was smiling at him with her hands clutched between her legs. She got up, going towards him, slowly, "Believe it.”

"You're here," Lorcan told her, with a shocked expression on his face. He couldn't move, the emotion too great to be contained and in a second everything he had taken so long to shove down and not to process reappeared on the surface, hitting him with such force as to take his breath away. Elide smiled at him more widely with bright eyes and threw herself at him.

Lorcan wrapped her in his arms and held her so tightly that she laughed and then stuck his head in the space between her shoulder and neck and breathed deeply.

Without his consent, a sob slipped from his lips.

He felt Elide stiffen, "Lor..."

He knew that if he spoke, he would not be able to recognize his voice as broken it would be.

"You're crying." Elide tried to tear herself away to look him in the face, but Lorcan prevented her, holding her tighter and letting go of more sobs. He was leaning completely against her and when she moved again, to get the backpack off his shoulders, he let her do it, taking her back in his arms immediately afterwards.

One of her hands rubbed his back, "It's alright." she whispered to him, kissing his cheek. "Everything is all right."

"Why are you crying?" her voice was so small, so weak compared to what she normally had. He let go of a trembling breath, taking a step back, and rubbing the palms of his hands over his eyes to wipe away the tears.

Elide was holding her hands on his arms and stroking him to calm him down. He bent forward, extending one hand towards her neck and passed a thumb over her jaw. She half-closed her eyes, looking at his face. Lorcan looked back, with watery eyes.

He hugged her again with a surge, kissing her forehead and sighing with relief, "I missed you so fucking much."

Elide replied in a muffled voice, "So did I."

They lingered a few more minutes, Elide caressing every part of his body she could reach with her short arms, without worrying that he was completely soaked, and Lorcan relaxing under that familiar touch so strong that he could drive out every demon that had dug his way under his skin during those months without her. And even if things hadn't worked out just because Elide had come back for what would surely have been two days, at least he could talk to someone who knew would understand.

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#elorcan #elorcan fic #angst #fluff #lorcan #lorcan salvaterre #elide #elide lochan #college au #modern au #elorcan college au #fic #fan fic #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fan fic #julemmaes writing #my writing

[wavesofinkdrops]

Extempore, Ch. I

Read on AO3

Fenris/Dorian (Dragon Age), Rated: T (may get bumped up)

“Maybe Magister Pavus can take a holiday to clear his lungs at the summer home.”

Dorian flashed him a glare. “I don’t take holidays. I don’t get sick, I don’t leave, I don’t take random breaks when the Senate is in session.”

“You also don’t usually find yourself having been replaced into a different body, I presume?” Fenris asked, his voice unamused.

(Magister Pavus, bodyguard Fenris, and a bodyswap thrown on top. All of this promises hell.)

A/N: I do not have an explanation for this fic. It started off as an AU of an AU of an AU that a friend and I were joking about at 2 in the morning. So of course I ended up writing it. This is probably one of the most random fics I've ever written, and I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: No warnings as of now, some warnings MAY apply in the future for Fenris' or Dorian's traumas that may get covered (this may also bump up the rating). Other than that, none that I can think of!

Chapter I: Opening Act

The starting point:

Magister Dorian Pavus woke up much like any usual morning, albeit entirely on the wrong side of his bed. At the time, this was not such a pressing issue.

Fenris, the elf that the Inquisitor had managed to convince into becoming the Magister’s bodyguard, sank further into the bed that felt like pure silk clouds that morning. This was definitely not a problem.

This all, however, did become a problem when Dorian noticed the flare of pain every slight movement brought in him, as he stretched himself out against the rough cotton pillows and sheets. It became a pressing issue when Fenris sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and noticed the distinct lack of white lines against his skin and the lack of any sort of nightclothes on himself.

The progression:

What followed could briefly be summarised as mayhem. The realisation that somehow, through unknown forces, they had wound up in opposite bodies. Fenris now was trapped in the form of an Altus, a Magister at that, while Dorian inhabited an infamous walking lyrium experiment. It had led to a very interesting confrontation in the “Magister’s” chambers.

There was an incessant sensation that made Dorian feel like crawling out of his skin every passing second. The lyrium lines tugged and tingled at best, the feeling from the Fade strong particularly near Fenris—or rather, the body of a powerful mage, despite the fact that Fenris likely had no idea what to do with the magic at his fingertips. And he knew the familiar tug of the Fade, the way it was just within his reach—how he just wanted to reach out to it, and yet whenever he tried, it just brought a fresh stinging wave through the markings.

Fenris, on the other hand, felt oddly blank. There was no pain, there was nothing constantly on his mind and trying to take over his senses if he just let the chronic pain ever overwhelm him. There was just the presence of the Fade, devoid of its usual sting, and now merely… there. Peaceful, waiting for him. Wanting for him. He was curious to try reaching out in there, to see what it might do, but he was worried about what inexperienced magic use might cause. Both for him and Dorian, who already was laying seemingly in clear discomfort—Fenris doubted that adding to that a mage’s reach into the Fade would help the situation.

So their time that morning progressed with locking themselves up inside the room, Dorian trying to find a way to move past every thought and feeling swarming him like he was stuck in the middle of a wasp’s nest, while Fenris spent time trying to draw a plan and getting used to the moustache tickling his upper lip every second. It also was spent among various bickering arguments, one blaming the other for strange mage magic causing problems on purpose, the other blaming disturbances in the Fade from a breathing magical lyrium battery.

And the current situation?

Their disastrous morning had progressed into a sulking noon, the sun high in the sky. Dorian had taken some elfroot to temporarily ease the pain, since Fenris was not keen enough on trying any stabilising or soothing spells for the markings. They’d settled, Fenris in an armchair, casual robes draped over him, Dorian rubbing his temples in the chair behind the desk in their office.

“Well, we can’t appear like this,” Dorian finally snapped.

Fenris looked up, wanting to make a snide comment at the most obvious remark he’d heard in a while. Instead, he held his tongue, knowing that perhaps arguing with an already-irritated Dorian was not a good idea.

“Maybe Magister Pavus can take a holiday to clear his lungs at the summer home.”

Dorian flashed him a glare. “I don’t take holidays. I don’t get sick, I don’t leave, I don’t take random breaks when the Senate is in session.”

“You also don’t usually find yourself having been replaced into a different body, I presume?” Fenris asked, his voice unamused.

At that, Dorian paused. “I suppose this may be some… extenuating circumstances. I suppose it’s better than showing up and being accused of blood magic by the entire Magisterium.”

Admittedly, he wasn’t the first fan of the idea of losing his unbroken reputation of attendance at the Magisterium, but there was very little that was up to them, if they didn’t want to get discovered. He knew he was far too arrogant to act the appropriate part usually played by Fenris, and he knew that in return, Fenris disliked the Magisters and entire higher government enough to be unwilling to attend any sessions.

Dorian leaned back, eyeing his desk with disinterest. That was, until he noted the sheets of paper neatly stacked in the middle of the desk.

The bill of reforms.

Maker, he’d forgotten about that.

“Fenris,” he turned to the elf with wide eyes. “Fenris, you have to attend the next session.”

Fenris looked up at him, clearly considering Dorian insane.

“You cannot mean that.”

Dorian lifted the first page of the bill. “This bill is being debated on the floor of the Magisterium in five days’ time. I’ve already proposed the bill, I’ve coddled and promised and sweet-talked support for it. I need this reform to pass. Slaves need this reform to pass, Fenris,” Dorian emphasised, as realisation spread vividly onto Fenris’ features. Well, really, they were Dorian’s own, very handsome features, but with a distinctly Fenris expression.

“Fasta vass, I can’t debate the bill.” Fenris stood crossing over to the sheets and eyes skimming through them. “I don’t even understand it.”

Dorian waved him off. “You know the basics of the bill! I consulted you enough when I wrote this that you know what it’s about and what it’s meant to do. We’re perfectly settled on that end. The end we need to work on is getting you to argue it to the Magisters. Many of them see only their own advantages, so it’s just a question of making it seem like this is to their benefit, too.”

“You’ve already got all of this figured out when I haven’t even agreed to do it—can’t we just trust this with Maevaris? Call the Inquisitor, surely she’s seen all kinds of strange magic, including switched bodies?” Fenris picked at something at the end of a sleeve of his robe, the only one he’d been willing to put on.

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you want this bill to be doomed? If it doesn’t pass, it will be either forgotten or purposely blocked by another regulation that they’ll pass in its stead to prevent anything similar coming to the floor again!”

Fenris chewed on the inside of his lip. “I don’t know how you think I’m ever going to speak with the Magisters, let alone convince them of anything. I don’t debate. I prefer to solve things with a sword, it’s much cleaner than the poison in those silver-tongued words.”

“You cannot start a duel in the middle of the Magisterium, Fenris, I have a reputation and policies to protect!”

Fenris eyed him, not as amused as Dorian had seemed to hope that comment would make him. “Your reputation goes above your policies?”

“Of course, the second is nothing without the first. How do you think I would gather support for the bills without my undeniable wit and charm?” He tried for an equally charming smile, but it fell somewhat flat at Fenris’ look.

At that, Fenris scoffed.

“Listen,” Dorian continued, “we don’t have a plethora of options. We have five days from today to figure out what to do.”

“And you want to teach me how to act like a Magister.”

Dorian’s grin turned ominous as his machinations began working. “Oh, I can make you the perfect actor in two days! All I need is a day to cover the bill, really, and then after that, it’s more about making sure you preserve my impeccable reputation!”

Fenris considered the idea for a while. Finally, he leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. “I’ll agree to that.”

“Fantast—”

“ If you agree to train with my sword and act the part of my bodyguard. You’re not the only one with a reputation, and I can assure you, I won’t have a prissy Magister start ruining it.”

“Just who are you calling prissy —”

“That tone is exactly an example of what I mean.”

“I’ll have you know everyone considers my bodyguard a ruthless killer and it wouldn’t do him any harm—”

“That’s my condition, you take it or leave it, Pavus.”

Dorian glared at him. He mulled over it, before sighing as dramatically as he could manage. “If I must!”

#fenris #dorian pavus #dragon age #dragon age ii #dragon age inquisition #fenrian #my writing #fanfic #bodyswap au #i have no explanatuin for this #other than being fenrian trash #extempore

[writtenonreceipts]

rowaelin the only single person in the friend group?

AN:Enjoy!

The Singles Club Isn’t Always Lonely

As Rowan entered the local bar, he shook rain from his coat and hair.  For the past two days it had seemed like constant cloud coverage lingered and that meant rain.  Not that Rowan particularly minded the rain.  It just grew tiresome.  He had yet to find a reason to fully rejoice in it.

He waved to Brullo, the bartender, and headed back to the usual table where he and his friends usually took over.  Indeed, Vaughan and Connall were seated drinks in hand and in deep conversation about something.  Gavriel and Fenrys were shooting darts—Gav wiping Fenrys’ ass with the score.  Though Fenrys was always more in it for the social aspect than the competitive nature.

“Well, look who finally showed up,” Connall called when he looked up to see Rowan crossing the bar towards them. 

Shooting his friend a vulgar gesture, Rowan took a seat in one of the stool and drew a freshly opened beer towards him.

“I should ask you all the same question,” Rowan grunted.  He took a swig of beer and sighed.  “Between wives and girlfriends, I thought you’d all bail on meeting up.”

“Hell, no!” Fenrys shot a wild dart and came to sling an arm over Rowan’s shoulder. “Tradition.  As Asterin so lovingly reminds me, I need to spend more time with you losers.  I think it’s just so she can go to the shooting range with Manon and Elide, but you know.”

“Nehemia says that I’m hovering,” Connall said.  “As if I can hover.  She’s seven months pregnant, I should be allowed to be concerned.”

“You’ve texted six times in the last half hour, man,” Vaughan said.  He pointed meaningfully to his friend's phone.

Connall scowled. “Concerned.”

“Hovering,” Rowan said.  He took another drin.

“You have to let her live her life still, Con,” Gavriel said.  He plucked the round of darts from the board and turned back to his friends. “When Endara was pregnant with Aedion she and Evalin would go on week long spa getaways.”

Connall looked absolutely horrified. “But—”

“No,” Gavriel insisted.  “Space and foot rubs.”

“That contradicts itself,” Connall muttered.

“Just saying,” Gavriel said.

Sometimes, Rowan found it hard to believe that Gavriel had a son their same age.  Sometimes, Rowan found it hard to believe that Gavriel was as old as he was.  Of course, he would never say it to the man’s face.  Because getting his ass kicked was not on his list of things to do.

“This is why Rolfe and I communicate,” Vaughan said.  He grabbed Connall’s phone before he could check it for a nonexistent text.

“You and boyfriend have a very strange definition of communication,” Fenrys said. “You also need to lock your front door.”

“You need to knock,” Vaughan said unapologetically.

Rowan rolled his eyes at his friend's antics. “Where’s Salvaterre?  Why am I on the chopping block.”

“Because he texted,” Vaughan said emphatically, “that he would be late.”

“Elide had an important meeting at work and he wanted to take her out for ice cream after,” Fenrys grumbled. “They’re almost as disgusting as Conn and Mia.”

“See,” Rowan finally spoke up, “this is why I am remaining single.”

The group groaned, throwing peanut husks at him while telling him to grow up.  Rowan simply laughed.  It was a conversation they’d all tried to have with him.  Get a girlfriend Rowan.  Go out on more dates Rowan.  You work too much Rowan.

He knew they were just giving him a hard time.  For the most part.  But he also couldn’t help but let the words dig into his skin.

They’d miraculously been through a lot together.  Despite the age differences between them all, something had drawn them together with a love of history, hand-to-hand combat, and drunken nights of poker.

“Hey, assholes!” Lorcan entered the bar and exchanged a few words with Brullo before coming to the table.

“‘Bout time, man,” Connall called.  He kicked a stool out for the other man.

“I was supporting my girlfriend,” Lorcan said, “shouldn’t you be with your wife?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Elide to marry you?” Connall shot back.

Lorcan launched into a coughing fit just as he took a drink of beer. “What?”

“It’s been two months and all we’ve heard from you is how great this girl is.  Coming from you that’s practically a wedding announcement,” Rowan added, grinning fiendishly when Lorcan’s face heated

“Yeah, you know, speaking of relationships, I haven’t seen you taking anyone out lately,” Lorcan groused.

Before Rowan could either shoot Lorcan the finger or snark back to him, Brullo arrived with another round of beer.

The rest of the night passed in easy conversation punctuated Fenrys’ claims that at the next poker night he would win every hand.  Granted he was on his third beer as he said this.

It was just like any other night.  And yet by the time midnight rolled around, he listened as his friends claimed necessity to return to domesticity.

Nehemia had cravings.  Elide, Manon, and Asterin were drunk and needed a ride.  Rolfe threatened to watch Bridgerton alone.  And Endara claimed Gavriel had left her kitchen a mess.  

Life as it should be was chaos.  And while Rowan knew he wouldn’t have it any other way, as he paid off the tab with Brullo—consequence of a lost bet—he found himself facing a night of pouring rain and a semi-drunk Connall to haul around.

#

When Aelin Galathynius swore a life of solitude, it was for a good reason.  She’d recently adopted a dog after all and Fleetfoot needed her undivided attention.  

Now, five years later, she regretted nothing.  Especially when Fleetfoot was such an excellent snuggling companion.

While her apartment was small, and admittedly shabby, it was home.  Had been since she’d moved out of last foster home five years ago.  Almost every single one of her friends had lived with her in that time.  From Manon deeming it for your own good so you don’t end up murdered in this hellish part of town, to Elide claiming that I have no idea how to live by myself, you have to help me.

The apartment had known many people.  Had known fights and tears.  Had known emotional breakdowns and dance parties.  

And yet, as Aelin came home from work on a glorious Friday evening, it felt empty.  Even with Fleetfoot eagerly dancing around her feet.  Even as she hooked on the leash and took a brisk walk around the block with Fleetfoot bounding along joyfully.  Even when she returned home and turned her music on while she made dinner.

Empty.

Only the pouring rain outside gave any indication of the outside world.

Aelin turned her music up louder.

Perhaps it would have been so bad if Elide were here with her.  Or Nehemia.  Any of her friends.  But it was date night and she knew just how much her friends had been missing their boys.  

Elide worked so much and she’d recently started dating Lorcan Salvaterre they barely saw each other.  Nehemia was having a baby with the love of her life.  And then even though she and Asterin weren’t the closest, Aelin did miss her drinking buddy.  And Yrene was so busy with her internship that all she had time for was her new marriage.

Aelin couldn’t have been happier for her friends, truly.  They were all living their best lives.  And so was Aelin.

She’d graduated with her degree in history, specializing in warfare and weaponry.  Now she was teaching part-time at a community college and part of a research team that was working an archeology dig out in Wendlyn.  Everything she’d wanted.  Everything she’d worked so hard to get.

Life was good.  Or so she kept telling herself.

“You really need to start locking your door!”

Aelin turned from the mess of spaghetti she was trying to make to find Elide, Asterin, and Manon entering her apartment.  She held a spatula out threateningly.

“You can't just barge into people’s apartments,” Aelin said.

“We can if the door’s unlocked,” Manon replied.  She wasted no time in kicking off her shoes and tossing her jacket onto Aelin’s couch. “Please tell me you have wine.”

“What’d Dorian do now?” Aelin asked as Manon easily went to the kitchen and found the bottle of wine.  Not the cheap stuff.

“Nothing,” Manon grumbled.

Asterin barked out a laugh.  “He brought up meeting his parents.”

“And moving in together,” Elide added.

Manon brandished the corkscrew threateningly. “Don’t make me use this.”

Chuckling, Aelin turned the burners of her stove off. “It’s Dorian.  You can tell him no to both things and he’ll get it.”

Manon grunted and began chugging her very full glass of wine.

“Lorcan mentioned moving in together,” Elide said. Wine spurted from Manon’s nose and Elide rolled his eyes. “Eventually.  He didn’t actually ask just one of those brief passing comments.”

“You know, I still don’t like him,” Aelin said.  She dished up a few bowls of pasta and started handing them out.

“Please the two of you are practically besties,” Elide said.  She gave Aelin a wink before settling in a chair at the small dining room table.

“Speaking of besties,” Asterin added, “Fenrys just sent me a text.  They are getting wasted at the bar.”

“Is Gav with them?” Elide asked through a mouthful of pasta.

“Yeah, thank the Goddess,” Asterin said.  “I don’t want to pick his drunk ass up.”

Manon made an approving sound and poured herself another glass of wine. “Because we are getting ourselves drunk.”

Aelin debated taking the wine away from Manon already, but shrugged.  She needed a distraction from everything else.  Before sitting down, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey she kept in case of emergencies and few glasses.  It was girl’s night, why not?

“You do know you’re going to have to talk to Dorian, eventually right?” Aelin asked, pouring out whiskey.

“Shush,” Manon said. “Talking is overrated.  We’ll just have sex and get over it.”

Aelin made a face. “I’d rather not think of you and one of my best friends in that way.”

“It’s sex!” Manon shouted. “C’mon, Aelin.  I know it can’t have been that long since you slept with someone.” 

Aelin rolled her eyes.  She most certainly should have taken the wine away.  Wine drunk Manon was a whole different animal than whiskey drunk Manon.

“Ohh,” Elide said, already pushing back her half-eaten bowl of pasta for the whiskey. “I might know of someone.  Actually, Lorcan knows him.”

“No!” Aelin shouted at the same time Asterin screeched, “yes!”

“He’s very attractive,” Elide said with a knowing nod.

“And works out, a ton,” Asterin added. “He and Fen are training for a marathon.”

Aelin didn’t know whether to be impressed or horrified.  She worked out and believed in a healthy lifestyle.  But she also believed in chocolate.  And cake.

Even as her friends slid side-glances her direction, Aelin ignored them.  They’d been hounding her to date more.  Ever since Sam had broken up with her when she wouldn’t move across the country with him and the mess with Chaol...Aelin hadn’t been in a serious relationship.  And she was fine.  Did she miss casual dates? Yes.  Someone she could talk to about everything and anything?  Yes.  Did she miss sex?  Absolutely.

On the last item she could rectify that easily.  Just swing by the nearest club, but Aelin had always craved connection more than casualties.  

She knocked back her shot of whiskey and nabbed the bottle from Manon who was well on her way to drunk.

Elide laughed at Aelin’s diversion from talking and got up to turn Aelin’s stereo up.

“You’ve gotta find a way to support Fleetfoot,” the petite brunette said, “being a single mom is hard.”

“Screw you!” Aelin growled.

“Pretty sure Lorcan’s already taking care of that,” Asterin said.

“No!” Manon and Aelin shouted together.

Cackling madly, Elide downed her whiskey and began dancing.  It didn’t take long before all four girls were drunk and dancing madly to the music.  And Aelin was able to forget everything else about the day and little comments her friends had made.

It wasn’t until after midnight that Lorcan and Fenrys showed up to take the other girl’s home.  Fenry, a bit tipsy himself.

“Baby!” Elide squealed when she threw open the door.

Had Aelin been a touch more wasted she would have missed the soft smile that flitted across Lorcan’s face as his girlfriend flung herself at him.  Aelin might not have understood where the hell that relationship had come from but she was slowly starting to accept it.

“Be safe,” Aelin demanded as she ushered her drunk friends out the door, Lorcan assuring her he had only drank one beer over an hour ago.

“Get a Tinder!” Asterin hollered as Aelin closed the door.

And just like that, she was left to an empty apartment.

#

When Rowan got into the business of researching ancient warfare and artifacts of war, he’d known it would give him hell in the future.  Not that he would regret it of course, but for the past five years he’d dealt with questioning papers, developing thesis, tossing out said thesis, and trying to appear that he knew what he was doing.

It was a miracle if he could accomplish that last item.

By the time he made it home from work, he was exhausted.  The text from Elide--how she’d gotten his number Rowan had no idea--declaring a night out didn’t help any.  But it had been a few weeks since he and his friend--all his friends had gotten together.

So he dragged his sorry hide into a shower and down to Brullo’s bar.

And just like always he was the last to arrive.

“Whitethorn!” Vaughan called out.

Rowan raised his hand in recognition before getting a drink from Brullo.

Already, his friends had their drinks and their girls--and in Vaughan’s case, boy.  Nothing about the night seemed far from normal.  Even if Rowan wasn’t as familiar with Asterin or Rolfe, being around this group of people always put him at ease.

“You look like hell, Rowan,” Nehemia said with a sympathetic smile.  She wore a simple gray dress that showed off her growing bump, her black hair twisted in thick braids.

Rowan offered a returning smile. “It was a hellish day.”

Connall thrust a beer into his hands. “Here’s to make it better.  Although my lovely wife has already graced you with her presence, so consider yourself lucky.”

Rolling his eyes, Rowan shoved his friend away. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Too much,” Loran supplied.  As usual he was seated in the corner of their table, nursing a beer.

“Where’s Elide?” Rowan asked. “Seeing as she’s the one who made me come.”

Lorcan gestured out to the dance floor.  The dance floor.  Since when did Brullo let anyone start dancing?  Not in the past five years that Rowan and his friends had come.  Unless one of them or another patron got too drunk.

But there was some song with a deep, thrumming beat reverberated through the bar.  Someone must have bribed Brullo to put it on.  Likely the fiends who were dancing like they had no care in the world.

Fenrys and Asterin were practically glued together and were less dancing and more making out.  Nearby Gavriel and Endara were mostly laughing while tripping over their feet to keep with the beat of the song.  What caught Rowan’s attention however was Elide.

Or rather her dance partner.

The woman was tall, lean, and had the frame of a fighter.  She moved so easily to the music that Rowan was focused on her more than the song.  Her blond hair hung well past her shoulders in golden waves matching her gold dress perfectly.  But perhaps what was so striking was the carefree smile she wore.  The way she laughed and leaned into Elide as the song changed to a sultrier chord.  But neither woman seemed to notice, or care.

Until the blonde looked up and the low lights emitting from the dance floor set a low fire to her eyes and dug into him, holding him in place.  And his breath caught.

Elide broke the spell that had settled over him.

“Rowan!” She yelled and waved frantically for him to join the dancing.

“No,” Rowan called back firmly.  The last time he had decided to go dancing with Elide he had ended up shirtless, hungover, and in a car halfway to Mexico.  

Elide pouted at him before crooking her finger to her boyfriend.  Lorcan was already up and out of his seat making his way toward her.  It was still strange to Rowan to see the brute of a man soften for anyone.

Shaking his head, Rowan returned to the bar to get another drink.

“Can I get something as well, Brullo?” The airy confidence of the woman, snagged Rowan’s attention and he turned to see the Elide’s former dance partner standing beside him.

From this angle, Rowan was better able to see that spark of gold and blue in her eyes, a splash of freckles on her nose.  She was beautiful.

“You must be Rowan,” she said with a single brow raised.

He nodded and accepted a beer from Brullo. “I am, but I don’t seem to know you.”

Her mouth pulled up on one side. “Aelin.  Elide and I grew up together.  Figured since I never see her anymore, I had to come see what this place is all about.”

“Elide dragged you out here, didn’t she?” Rowan asked.

“She is terrifying when she wants to be,” Aelin agreed.  She offered him a full grin in that instant and Rowan knew that if possible, he would try and make her smile like that again. “And she offered to pay my tab.”

“Meaning Lorcan will be paying your tab,” Rowan said.

“He does have his uses, other than being a brute.” Aelin laughed at that and took the drink Brullo offered her.  She turned her gaze on him, those eyes so full of light. “I suppose I should get used to him though.  Elide seems to like him.”

She wasn’t wrong Rowan realized.  “Anyone that can get Lorcan to actually get out and dance is a miracle worker.”

“Except, she didn’t get you out there dancing,” Aelin said.  She let out a soft laugh leaning closer to him.

And there it was, something different.  And perhaps Rowan wouldn’t identify it for a long time.  Wouldn’t really know what it was.  But there was something about Aelin that drew him in.  He’d known her for all of ten minutes, didn’t even know her last name, and here he was completely ensnared.

“I don’t dance,” Rowan said.

Aelin cackled. “Not yet anyway.”

She knocked back the rest of her drink and grabbed Rowan’s arm pulling him to the dancefloor.

Perhaps if they’d been paying closer attention, they would have noticed the high-five Asterin and Elide exchanged.  Or the passing of bills between Vaughan, Connall, and Gavriel.  There was a great deal they didn’t notice.

Not how the rain stopped pouring outside.  Not how the emptiness of the night was overcome by more than music and alcohol.  It was a silent shift.  A careful one.  One that would become more than alright with them.

#

as always thanks for reading!

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#aelin and rowan #rowaelin au #rowan whitethorn #aelin #aelin galathynius #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #rowaelin #sjm #fanfiction #aelin ashryver galathynius #anon #prompts #answered #tog #tog fic #the singles club isnt always lonely #tscial

[hawkeish]

Those prompts are so hard to choose from! But how about "We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other" for whoever you feel like writing?

I am SO sorry it's taken me an entire month to finish this (writer’s block is the worst am I right ladies!). But I love this prompt - although I took a few liberties - and it screamed Carver/Merrill, so here you go...

Rated T, CWs for implied character death, death mention

1.9k (I have no restraint)

Read on AO3 // Read my other Carver/Merrill fic (it’s referenced a couple of times)

Carver’s perfectly happy where he is.

Leaning against the rough stone wall with a drink in hand, that is. Watching Ri make a tit out of herself, as usual.

The Hanged Man’s packed, warm as a funeral pyre and smelling almost as ripe. Word obviously got round that it was the night before the big expedition: half of Lowtown must be squeezed in here. They’re all eager to toast with Kirkwall’s most eminent storyteller and his new, stabby, impulse-control-free muse, before they set off on their quest for riches and honour and whatever other noble shite lies abandoned beneath the surface.

At least, that’s how Varric’s telling it. Carver’s not sure exactly what’s noble about plundering some dead dwarves’ abandoned thaig. But if it makes his mother happy and his sister finally proud—and if it means his longbar blade can taste the innards of as many darkspawn as he could dream of, for Beth—he’s not going to argue.

Strange to think this is his last night on the surface for a while. And that he’s spending it here, of all places. Something in him flutters with worry at the thought as he tries to tune out the musicians from over in the corner, who’ve kindly decided to abuse some lutes and fiddles. Could this be his last ale? The last full moon he’ll ever see? The last chance he’ll get to be with all these irritating people in one room, together?

But worry’s for bairns and people who can’t hit hard enough to knock teeth out. So Carver buries his nerves with another swig of his drink, then settles back against the wall and does what he likes to do best: observes.

Like some silver-tongued dragon lazed upon a wordhord, Varric’s planted himself on the tallest stool at the bar, surrounded by the usual mob of ruddy cheeked patrons eating up his every word. Half of which will be lies, but that’s good for business; the Hawkes wouldn’t be in on this trip if Varric had a predilection for honesty, after all. Beside him, Isabela’s flashing a grin sharper than her knives and adding flowery embellishment any time Varric pauses for effect. Across from her, Aveline’s desperately trying to counter whatever salacious gossip the pirate’s spreading. Judging by the look on the warrior’s face, it doesn’t seem to be working.

Meanwhile, Ri’s by the fire with Anders, unsurprisingly. She’s tipsy, attempting to flirt by playing demon’s advocate; he’s taking her bait and gesticulating wildly, like usual. They’ve been spending a strange amount of time together recently. Debating—mage this, mage that, freedom, whatever. Carver wouldn’t normally care, only these arguments leave them both blushing and breathless and grinning like fools, and the whole thing’s slightly sickening. Of course Marian would be interested in the possessed apostate. Reckless infatuation is a Hawke family trait.

Whatever they’re banging on about now, it’s drowned out by the music, thank the Maker. If Fenris could hear, the mood wouldn’t be half as merry. But, Carver realises, as his eyes dart around the bustling room in search of that familiar flash of white hair, Fenris is occupied.

In the middle of the tavern, they’ve haphazardly shoved the tables and benches to the side, to make a little space. And in the centre of that dusty, empty floor, as the music gets much faster and much worse, Fenris is dancing.

With Merrill. Who’s got hold of the other elf by the wrists and is whirling him around in a mad circle, looking delighted—maybe more delighted than Carver thinks he’s ever seen her. Eyes wide as moons, smile wild and even wider. And Maker, she looks lovely, too. Cast in a hazy golden glow by the torch-flame, she moves so easily that all Carver can think of is sunlight…

Andraste’s flaming ass. Carver pulls his gaze away, forces himself to gulp some beer, tries to ignore the weird feeling wriggling around his ribcage. Don’t do this, he thinks. Since the moment by the vhenadahl, he told himself he wouldn’t think about Merrill this way. Merrill, his sister’s friend. Merrill, the blood mage. She’s not sunlight. She’s—

“Merrill!” Fenris squawks. The sound knocks Carver from his fluster; he’s not sure he’s ever heard Fenris squawk before. But the warrior looks almost panicked, and very much as though he wishes that he could melt into the floor. “Can you please let me—”

“Not like that!” She’s saying excitedly, pulling at Fenris’ arm, nudging him with her knee and the pointed tips of her toes as he tries, desperately, to wriggle out of her grip. As if egged on, the musicians suddenly strike up a different—but in no way better— jig. “Left foot first, remember, then you hop back a bit, then clap! Oh, you’re like a toddler! Or a little halla foal…”

Fenris makes a strangled noise of protest. “I am not! And I do not wish to hop, Merrill—”

Merrill laughs: the sound’s like chimes, floating over the new reel, and it makes Carver’s skin prickle and flush in that weird, horrible, lovely way. “You have the rhythm, Fenris! Just follow what I do!”

Fenris does have the rhythm. The exact moves, no—although whatever the exact moves are, Carver can’t work out: there’s a lot of spinning and and whirling and jumping and, on Fenris’ part, flailing in many directions. But at least Fenris is doing all the wrong actions at all the right times. There’s something almost hypnotic about it, almost graceful. Between the two elves, Carver doesn’t know where to look.

Knowing where he wants to look is a different matter. Even with Fenris as distraction, Carver’s gaze can’t help but drift past him, to Merrill. She has her eyes half-closed and her head tilted to the sky, a perfect smile on her face—

“Carver!”

And then her head’s whipped around, her eyes are open and locked right on him, and her smile’s so bright and so caught-off-guard that it’s making Carver feel slightly lightheaded. Because Fenris has finally managed to slip out of her hold, has called Carver’s name loud enough to wake the dead—or the very drunk—and is charging towards him like a man possessed.

“Oh no,” Fenris declares drily, as he bridges the gap and pulls Carver’s near full-to-the-brim mug of ale from the warrior’s hands in one, smooth movement. “Just as I thought! It looks like Carver needs another drink.”

He does? Carver blinks down at his empty hands, then up at the elf. “I do?”

Looking him dead in the eye, Fenris smiles wickedly and proceeds to tip most of Carver’s beer onto the straw-covered floor.

“How clumsy of me!” Fenris declares drily. “It appears I owe you some of…” He wrinkles his nose at the damp straw. “Whatever that was.” Then, he claps Carver on the shoulder, the grin returning. “Well, what a shame I can’t return to Merrill. Enjoy your dance!”

Fenris’ friendly shove is hard enough to almost throw a man to the floor: Carver stumbles forward, almost toppling over, knocking into sweaty bodies. A mess of people has started to pack the dance-floor, merry and boisterous; they jostle Carver as he steadies himself, red-cheeked and mumbling apologies. Embarrassment fizzes in his stomach—pressed so close to strangers, he’s suddenly even more aware of his height and...well, brawn. Where Fenris was graceful and lithe, Carver’s a lump, taking up too much space. Although he can dance, kind of. He used to dance for Bethy, didn’t he? To make her laugh when she was upset. Carver’s special jig, she called it.

He hasn’t danced in a long time. Even when he’s been rat-arsed, or when Ri’s needed cheering up. Since Beth died, really. He’s not done a lot of things since she died. Perhaps, he thinks, a part of him went with her. Perhaps, he thinks, if he meets his own end in the Deep Roads, it wouldn’t be so bad—

“Carver!” comes a voice, cutting past the singing and the music and the thud of dozens of feet moving as one. “Carver, are you all right?”

And then Carver realises that he’s stood stock-still in the middle of a whirling mass, thinking of a dead girl, staring at nothing.

No. Not staring at nothing. Staring, he realises, as his vision focuses, directly at Merrill. Who’s stopped dancing, a frown clouding her features: she weaves past revellers, slipping through a gap in the crowd in front of him, until there’s barely a whisper of space between them.

A knot of nerves coils in Carver’s gut. The air’s warm as sin, but there’s gooseflesh prickling across his arms, and a weird chill running down his spine. The last time they were this close was beneath the sprawling branches of the vhenadahl. And look how that went.

“Me?” he answers, not sure where to look again. She’s all red-cheeked and breathless from dancing, and her eyes are sparkling, and Maker, he needs to stop. “Fine. I’m fine! I’m just…”

“Stood completely still,” Merrill notes. “In the middle of a… what was it?” Dodging a rogue elbow, she edges closer to him; somehow, even the smallest of her movements flow in time with the music swelling around them. “A ceilidh? We have a different name for dances like this. I’m not sure one of the moves we have is standing still, though. But you do it well. Very pensive. You’d make a fine statue.”

Is she taking the piss? Is she flirting? Carver’s muscles tighten as he becomes even more horribly aware of her presence. Slowly, palms clammy, he nods. “A ceilidh, yeah.”

“And you’re meant to have a partner for this kind of thing, no?” Merrill asks. “At least, that’s what I thought, although Fenris seemed a bit less…enthusiastic.”

Partners. Two people, dancing. Could he ask...

No. She wouldn’t want to. Not with him. The kid brother. The layabout. Why would she agree? Probably just to be polite, right? She’s always polite. And kind, and warm, and clever—

“Partner? I—yeah,” Carver mumbles again, trying to compose himself. Maker, why does she make him feel so muddled? So much for being less of a wet blanket. “I think.”

“Well.” She gestures to the other revellers, who’ve now started actively dancing around them, shooting them glares vicious enough to wilt flowers. “We look slightly silly, don’t we? Did you maybe…want to dance? With me, I mean. Although of course I meant that. Creators, listen to me.”

Dance. Does Carver want to dance, with Merrill?

No, he tells himself. Not at all. Not in front of everyone. Not front of his sister, who’ll never fucking shut up about it for the rest of her days.

Yes, everything else in him hollers. For they must look a bit ridiculous. And it is his last night up here. And, most of all, because Merrill’s looking at him in a way that makes him feel dizzy. The music’s suddenly slowing, softening, and for some reason, everything feels right.

A heartbeat passes.

Carver nods.

Merril doesn’t say anything, just smiles—a bright and blinding smile, one that makes everything around them fade to grey. Then, gently, she reaches out to take his hands, turns them over, and rests her palms on top of his.

“Follow what I do,” she murmurs, drawing her gaze up from their hands to him.

As the music slips away, and he can feel Merrill’s soft fingertips balanced light as air on his upturned wrists, Carver is perfectly happy where he is.

#ish writes #carver x merrill #dragon age 2 #carver hawke #merrill #dragon age fic #pinkfadespirit #answered #this was so much fun #also a huge thank you to hollyand-writes for cheering from the sidelines!!! #and credit to Paul Simon for writing lyrics that scream 'use me in fic' #referenced character death cw #death mention cw #long post

[pikapeppa]

Lovers In A Dangerous Time: Epilogue

The final chapter of my Fenris the Inquisitor fic is up on AO3. 😭♥😭♥

~ 4460 words. Read on AO3 instead. 

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

Eighteen months later…

Fenris padded silently through the woods. 

The air was fresh and cool with rain, and it was something of a relief. The thunderstorm had been brewing all day yesterday, and the breaking of the late-night storm had finally chased off some of the ridiculous summer humidity. But the cool would dissipate soon under the strength of the brilliant Rivaini sun, so Fenris savoured the dampness of the grass and leaves under his bare feet as he made his way to the beach. 

Fifteen silent, peaceful minutes later, the soothing hush of water on sand met his ears. A short distance away to the east, there was a cozy-looking cabin tucked in the woods at the border of the beach. 

He didn’t bother to go to the cabin; she wouldn’t be there anyway, not on such a beautiful day. 

He continued to pick his way through the woods, and the plants underfoot transitioned into sand as the trees thinned out. When he finally stepped onto the beach, Fenris pushed back the hood of his cloak.

Hawke was sitting cross-legged on a picnic blanket close to the shore. Isabela was lounging on the blanket beside her, and Faren was sitting between them with a rattle in one chubby fist. 

He waved the rattle haphazardly and laughed, and Fenris smiled helplessly at the sound of his son’s mirth. Faren might only be ten months old, but Fenris was convinced that his laugh already sounded like his mother’s.

Hawke looked up and met his eye, and he returned her brilliant smile. He removed his cloak and made his way across the sand, which was already collecting heat from the morning sun, and as he neared the blanket, he recognized a voice: Dorian’s voice, which was emanating from the glowing sending crystal in Hawke’s hand. 

Dorian was singing a Tevene folk song, and Faren was moving his round little body in time to Dorian’s voice. Fenris smirked and sat on the blanket behind his son. 

“Avanna, little man,” he said, and he ran his palm over Faren’s raven-haired head. 

Faren squealed happily and waved his rattle, and Dorian spoke through the crystal. “Ah, Fenris. Back from town, I presume? I’ve decided to teach your child Tevene.” 

“I see,” Fenris said dryly. He carefully lifted the baby onto his lap. “Equipping him to join forces with you someday, I presume?”

“Precisely,” Dorian said. “He’ll be my protégé.”

“No,” Fenris said. 

Dorian blithely went on as though Fenris hadn’t spoken. “I’ll teach him all the best ways to debate with a roomful of magisters and how to sniff out poisons…”

Isabela yawned. “Sounds like you’d be training him to be a bard.”

“You’d be surprised how often a bard’s skills overlap with those of a magister,” Dorian said. “Or perhaps you wouldn’t. In any case, Faren will have an extremely well-rounded education by the time I’m finished singing lullabies to him.”

Fenris rolled his eyes, and Hawke giggled. “Lovely plans, Dorian, but we might need to get him walking and feeding himself before he can start spotting assassins.”

Dorian tsked. “Now you’re just underestimating his abilities. Call me again when I can start teaching him something interesting.”

Fenris huffed. “As though you won’t be calling us before the end of the week to complain about some Tevinter foible or another.”

“I’m sorry, Fenris, poor connection, I didn’t catch that,” Dorian announced. “Anyway, I must go now; my scintillating presence is required by my current protégés.” He adopted a high-pitched voice. “Bye-bye, Faren. I know you’ll miss my lovely voice until next time.”

Hawke tickled Faren’s tummy. “Come on, Faren, say bye-bye to Uncle Dorian.” 

Faren burbled a laugh and waved his hand, and Hawke chuckled. “He’s waving goodbye,” she told Dorian. “We’ll speak to you later!” She made a kissing noise into the crystal.

Dorian chuckled, and the sending crystal’s glowing light went dark. Hawke hung the sending crystal around her neck and smiled at Fenris. “How was Afsaana?”

“Loud and busy, as always,” he said. “They were out of pomegranates, if you can believe it, but I fetched the post.”

Isabela tsked. “No pomegranates? In Afsaana? You probably just didn’t ask them nicely.” 

Hawke smirked. “What sort of ‘asking’ are you suggesting? Showing off a little leg? A little flash of cleavage, maybe?”

Isabela grinned. “A little flash of my daggers, more like.”

Fenris scoffed, then leaned in to Faren’s ear. “Don’t listen to Isabela. She is a poor example to follow.” 

Faren cooed and patted his face, and Isabela snickered. “If you’re hoping to keep the little monster from following my example, you’d better find yourselves a different charter to Kirkwall tomorrow. Me and my crew won’t be watching our mouths just for your bloody baby.” 

Hawke laughed. “Don’t worry about that. I can’t catch myself swearing half the time. Faren’s first real word is probably going to be ‘fuck’.” 

Isabela barked out a laugh, and Faren giggled and reached for her with both hands. “Bababa!” he burbled.

Hawke grinned. “Look at him, going straight for your breasts. He’s a boy after my own heart.” 

“Fasta vass, Hawke,” Fenris said in exasperation, and Hawke and Isabela cackled. 

A loud and joyful bark carried over the gentle rush of the tide, followed by a second even louder bark, and they all turned to look: Toby and Landon were romping toward them with Cullen and Piper following in their wake. 

“Landon!” Cullen shouted, to little effect; the younger mabari was racing full-tilt across the sand toward them. 

Fenris shook his head ruefully and tucked Faren against his chest. “Piper, can you—”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got him!” she yelled, and she pelted after Landon and practically tackled him before he could reach their group. 

Faren squealed delightedly and waved his arms. Toby barked again as he neared them, then pranced around Fenris with his tail wagging madly, but Fenris frowned.

“If you want to play with Faren, what do you have to do?” he said sternly. 

Toby immediately settled into a sitting pose, though his tail continued to sweep happily across the sand, and Fenris nodded. “Good. All right, little man, let us see how you can stand.” He set Faren on the blanket beside Toby, and Faren immediately reached for the mabari. 

Isabela stretched out on her side again. “I still can’t believe he’s not scared of Toby. I've never seen a child so small who wasn’t scared of mabari.”

“Of course Faren isn’t scared,” Hawke said proudly. “He’s very brave, just like his father.” She winked at Fenris. 

He gave her a chiding smile, and they watched contentedly as Faren gripped a very obedient Toby’s fur and pulled himself upright. Once Faren was on his feet, he started babbling non-stop to Toby and patting his back as he tried to keep his balance.

Isabela smirked at Hawke. “This chatty thing he’s doing? That’s all you.”

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous! He’s definitely more like Fenris. He’s smart and brave and handsome.” 

Isabela shook her head. “He looks like Fenris,” she corrected. “He acts like you.”

“Faren looks like Hawke, too,” Fenris interjected. “He has her eyes.”

“Her eye colour, maybe,” Isabela said. “But he looks like you. The pouty lips, the nose…” 

“The black hair,” Hawke added. “I’m still convinced your hair was black before the lyrium tattoos.”

Fenris shrugged; he was sure she was right. “The point still stands: Faren is more like you,” he told her. “He is talkative, impulsive, getting his little fingers in everything…” 

“He’s also exceedingly charming and adorable, no?” Hawke said with a winsome smile.

He gazed fondly at her. “Especially that,” he said.

Isabela rolled her eyes. “The pair of you are sickening. Forget being seasick, I’ll be vomiting during the trip to Kirkwall because of you.”

Fenris and Hawke chuckled, and Faren gurgled happily. A moment later, Cullen and Piper joined them, Cullen with one hand firmly on a wriggling Landon’s collar. 

“I apologize for Landon’s behaviour,” he panted. “Next time we visit, he’ll be better behaved, I swear it.” He frowned at the mabari. “Won’t you, Landon?”

Landon wagged his tail and barked. Faren jolted in startlement at the sound, then plopped onto his bottom. His coppery eyes went wide, and Isabela sighed. “Oh, here we go,” she drawled.

Sure enough, Faren started wailing. Before he could really get going, Hawke swept him into her arms. “There there, all right, you’re all right,” she crooned. “Falling down is terrible, isn’t it? But you’re fine now, no need to cry!” She swayed from side to side and rubbed Faren’s back, and a few seconds later, Faren was smiling again and gripping Hawke’s shirt in his chubby fists. 

“Can I hold him?” Piper asked eagerly. “I need a little more turnip time before Cullen and I head out.” 

“Of course!” Hawke said. She handed Faren over to Piper, and Faren immediately tangled his fists in Piper’s wavy silver hair.

She winced. “Oof! Go easy, Faren. I’m not used to other men getting their hands in my hair like this.”

Hawke and Isabela cackled, and Cullen cleared his throat. “Piper, please,” he muttered. “Not in front of the baby.” 

Piper snorted. “Oh, he’s heard much worse around his raunchy parents and his raunchy auntie Isabela. Haven’t you, da’len?” 

Faren cooed and pulled Piper’s hair, and Piper smiled hopefully at Fenris and Hawke. “Can Cullen and I take him for a little walk? I spotted a creek just up the way with some tadpoles in it. I wanted to show him what baby frogs look like.”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “But keep a good hold on him. If he sees something he wants, he will lunge for it, so hold him well.”

“I will,” Piper promised. 

“And here, take this with you,” Fenris said. He picked up the satchel of baby supplies that Hawke had brought from their cabin and handed it to Cullen. “There is a bottle of water there; make sure he drinks some of it, it’s getting hot. And if he needs to be changed–”

“I can change diapers, Fenris,” Cullen said. “I have a nephew, if you’ll recall.”

“Right,” Fenris said. “Right.” He rubbed his nose, then turned to Hawke. “When was he last fed? Perhaps we should feed him, or send a snack–”

“I fed him about fifteen minutes ago, and he had a piece of banana ten minutes before that,” Hawke said. She stroked his arm. “It’s all right, Fenris. He can go for a little walk with Piper and Cullen.” 

“I’ll go too,” Isabela said. “I’ll handle Toby and Landon while Piper handles your little monster.”

Fenris raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Is that meant to comfort me?”

“It should,” Hawke said slyly. “Isabela’s very good at handling two men at once.”

Piper and Isabela burst out laughing, and Faren bobbed in Piper’s arms and squealed happily. 

Cullen tutted. “I quite agree, Faren. Let’s get you away from these lewd influences, all right?” He took Faren from Piper and began to walk away along the beach.

Piper beamed at Fenris. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of him!” She hurried after Cullen with the two mabari and Isabela close behind. 

Once they were out of earshot, Hawke started to laugh. Fenris shot her a rueful look and stretched his legs out. “What is so amusing?”

She sat beside him and leaned into his shoulder. “You. You’re so fussy about Faren, it’s adorable. I never really understood the ‘doting fathers are sexy’ thing, but now I do.” 

Fenris huffed. “You think it is sexy that I’m fussing over our son?”

“I do,” she said pertly. “I really, really do.” She tilted her chin up for a kiss.

He smirked at her, then leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss. Her lips parted slowly and softly, like the petals of a flower unfurling at dawn, and Fenris savoured the freshness of her tongue contrasted with the taste of salt on her lips from bathing in the sea.

A delicious, lazy moment later, he leaned away from her. “I have a proposition for you,” he murmured.

She smiled at him through half-lidded eyes. “Mm. You have my attention.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I will read the post to you.”

She laughed. “Ooh, that is sexy. You know just how to turn me on. Go on, read to me in that lovely voice of yours.”

He smiled and pulled out three letters from his pocket – all of them addressed to Leto, to preserve his and Hawke’s privacy when they went to town. 

He ripped open the first envelope. “All right,” he said. “This one is from Cassandra.”

Fenris,

I hope this letter finds you well. We had heard that there might be a hurricane on the coast of Rivain, so I hope you will plan your defenses accordingly for your cabin. Why are you yawning? Is the content of my letter boring to you? Ugh, perhaps it is boring. Nobody wants to read about the weather. 

Maybe you can tell them – yes, I know what to say. Please tell Hawke that the College of Magi are cooperating reasonably well with the Circle. Grand Enchanter Vivienne continues to be… hard-headed. Frankly, she is a pain to deal with, but a powerful force nonetheless. I suppose some would say the same of me, so I should not complain. In any case, Vivienne and Fiona are frequently butting heads, but it seems to be keeping both the Circle and the College on their toes. I am monitoring the situation, and I pray to the Maker that I will not have to step in, but only time will tell. 

Our scarlet friend is doing well and getting up to no trouble whatsoever. She said to give cookies and kisses to the wee widdle. Do not look at me like that, she insisted that I pass the message on that way. 

I appreciate your updates on Faren’s growth. I would dearly like to meet him someday. If ever you decide to visit Val Royeaux – oh, I’m being ridiculous, they would not want to visit Val Royeaux. I wouldn’t visit Val Royeaux if I didn’t live here. Perhaps I can find an excuse to visit Kirkwall during one of the months when Fenris and Hawke are staying with Varric. Make a note, will you? Find a reason for me to meet with Kirkwall’s Grand Cleric in two months’ time. Fenris and Hawke will still be in Kirkwall, and I can meet their child then. 

This is a terrible letter, isn’t it? You know what, it is not my fault that these letters are bad. Nobody taught me how to dictate. I like to think this is better than the last few. Why in the Maker’s name are you laughing? Just finish this up, will you?

Walk in Andraste’s Holy Light, Divine Victoria

Hawke hiccuped and wiped a happy tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh Cassandra,” she chortled. “Maker’s balls, I love her. She isn’t getting any better at dictating, is she?”

“She really isn’t,” Fenris said fondly. “All right, this next letter is from Rainier.”

Dear Fenris and Hawke,

I’m writing to you from Markham. Bit of a risky place to visit since I’m known here, but I suppose I’m older and broader than I used to be. I haven’t been hassled much since arriving, aside from a few dirty looks, which is fair enough.

The prison guards were suspicious when I first arrived. More so when I told them I just wanted to talk to the prisoners, no other plans, no other plots. But they let me talk to them eventually, and I like to think I gave a little bit of comfort and hope – like you and Hawke gave to me when I was at my worst. I like to think Cole would approve too, if the lad was still here. 

I was thinking that we could bring Faren to Markham when he’s older to see the Grand Tourney. I’d be happy to introduce him to the sport. I can teach him to ride as well, once he’s big enough. A pony to start – they’re easy to guide, not as high off the ground and a little less frightening. But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, since he’s not walking yet.

I will be back in Rivain in a few weeks – probably not long after you receive this letter, truth be told. I’ll keep your cabin in good shape for you while you’re in Kirkwall, as usual. If you need any repairs done, leave me a note on the kitchen table, and I’ll get to it before you come back.

Regards to you and the little tyke.

Thom

Hawke smiled and took the letter from Fenris’s hand. “He’s such a good uncle. And the best handyman!” She ran her thumbs fondly over the parchment. “I still can’t believe he built the cabin for us.”

“We are extremely fortunate,” Fenris agreed. He glanced across the beach at the cozy cabin in the woods where their family lived in for two thirds of the year – a cabin that Blackwall had designed and built with help from Bull and the Chargers. He’d built a second cabin for himself about a kilometer to the east: close enough that Hawke and Fenris saw him frequently when they were all in Rivain, but far enough that they had the privacy that Fenris had craved for so long. 

Fenris pulled out the third and last letter, then frowned when he recognized the handwriting. “This is from Varric,” he said.

Hawke raised her eyebrows. “From Varric? But he knows we’re setting sail tomorrow. Why would he write so soon before we’re supposed to get to Kirkwall?”

“I’m not sure,” Fenris said slowly. He couldn’t decide if the timing of this letter meant its contents would be time-sensitive, or if it meant they were completely inconsequential, given that Fenris and Hawke could have left Rivain entirely without receiving this letter.

He opened the envelope and read the contents out to Hawke.

Hawke, Fenris,

First of all, calm down. No need to worry. Just wanted to give you a heads-up in case you get this before you leave. One of my friends around the city mentioned a newcomer in Lowtown – in the alienage, specifically. A city elf from the sounds of it; no Dalish tattoos. She’s a real incognito type, really been keeping to the shadows, but word has that she’s got an Orlesian accent. 

I mentioned it to Nightingale, and she wondered if this is something you might be interested in looking into while you guys are here. Something tells me our Orlesian friend might be here specifically for you, but we’ll see.

No big deal if you don’t get this before you arrive. Looking forward to getting Faren’s help again with burning my mail. That kid will make a great assistant someday. You know I’m training him up to be the next Viscount, right? Knowing what mail to burn is the most important step. Just ask Bran.

See you soon. 

- V. 

P.S. You guys have a title for that book of yours yet? My publisher’s breathing down my neck about it. Saying she can’t market it if she doesn’t know what it’s called. She seems to be forgetting that any book co-written by the Inquisitor and the Champion of Kirkwall will sell out about five seconds after it hits the shelves.

Hawke looked up at Fenris with wide eyes. “A city elf with an Orlesian accent that Varric would bother writing to us about?”

“Briala,” Fenris said quietly. “I can’t think who else it would be.”

“Maker’s balls,” Hawke breathed. “You think…? I assumed she was on Solas’s side!”

“I assumed Solas had killed her,” Fenris said baldly. “I’m shocked to hear she is alive. If this incognito elf is really her.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You think he would have killed her?”

“He is willing to kill all of us,” Fenris said in a hard tone. “What difference does one more person make?”

She dropped his gaze, and Fenris instantly felt guilty for the harshness of his tone. Then she looked up with a bright smile. “Well, that’ll be something interesting to do while we’re in Kirkwall. Aside from bothering Aveline and Varric.”

He studied her bright smile with a pang. “I don’t bother Aveline and Varric. That’s your purview.”

She snickered and elbowed him. “As though you and Faren aren’t beside me the entire time I’m being a bother. An attractive, charming, helpful bother–”

“Shut up, Hawke,” he drawled, and he pinched her waist.

She squeaked and smacked his hand, and he pinched the other side of her waist until she burst out laughing. When she had settled down, she gently rubbed his unmarked chin. “About the book title, though – Varric has a point. Do you want to hear the titles I was thinking of this morning?”

“All right,” he said easily. Her titles were always terrible, but they were worth hearing anyway, for the laugh at least if nothing else. 

“Great,” she said brightly. “First I was thinking about an academic title. Something like this: ‘A Compendium of Elven and Dwarven Myths and Observations From Exploring Remote Corners of the World’.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You came up with that?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s so… reasonable.”

She laughed and smacked his chest. “Excuse me! Too bad if you like it, because I don’t. Too wordy. So I thought we could tag onto Varric’s novel about the Inquisition and call it ‘The Shit Behind The Shit: This Shit Is Even Weirder’.”

He stared at her. “That is a monstrous excuse for a title.”

She laughed harder. “All right, all right, you’re not wrong. Then I was thinking that, well…” She tapped her fingers on his knee for a moment before speaking again. “The book isn’t about us, but you and I are the ones who picked up all this strange information doing all these strange and risky things, and we interviewed all our friends for details and we wrote it up…”

“Go on,” he said slowly.

She smiled. “What about… ‘Lovers In A Dangerous Time’?”

He gave her an odd look. “But it’s as you said. The book isn’t about us.”

“I know,” she said. “But think what Varric said. People will buy it because we wrote it and we’re famous. I know you hate that,” she said as he pursed his lips, “but it’s true. And in this case, it’s a good thing. We reel people in with a titillating title–”

He scoffed, and she grinned and doggedly continued on. “... and we keep them by spilling all the stuff we know. Or the stuff we think we know, at least. Elf stuff, dwarf stuff, Tevinter stuff and Blight stuff… The more people who read it, the better, right? So we use the title to lure them in.”

He twisted his lips ruefully. She had a point. If knowledge was power, and Fenris’s goal was to disseminate that power…

He gave her a flat look. “With a title like that, people will expect sex in the book.”

“We can put sex in the book,” she said smoothly. She shuffled closer to him on the blanket and petted his chest. 

He tutted, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “No, Hawke. This is a serious non-fiction work.” 

She kissed his cheekbone, then slid onto his lap to straddle him. “Sex is serious non-fiction work,” she murmured, and she nibbled his earlobe.

A shiver of pleasure ran down his neck, but he harrumphed. “Is that meant to be seductive?”

She smiled sweetly. “Maybe. Did it work? Even a little?” 

“No,” he said. He smoothed one hand over her hip. 

“Hmm,” she said. “I suppose I should work harder, then.” She brushed her lips to his, and he gave in to the softness of her kiss.

A moment later, he leaned away from her with a sigh. “‘Lovers In A Dangerous Time,’” he mused. He gave her a skeptical look. “Based on the title alone, I wouldn’t read it.”

She tilted her head. “Do you think other people would?”

“Perhaps. Probably,” he admitted. 

She gave him a wheedling smile, and Fenris huffed in amusement. “I will consider it,” he said. “Let’s see what Varric thinks.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Hawke said happily. She kissed him once more, then slid off of his lap and tidied the letters, but Fenris noted that her face fell slightly when she glanced at the one from Varric.

A possible lead on Solas, he thought. It had been a long time since Leliana or anyone else had found any significant information about Solas’s movements, and if the mysterious Orlesian elf in Kirkwall really was Briala, this could be a major development. 

Or a major trap.

He pushed the concern aside for now. There was nothing they could do until they were in Kirkwall, and until then, there was no point spoiling such a beautiful day with worries. 

He stood up and held his hand out to Hawke. “Come. Let’s go join the others.” 

She took his hand and rose to her feet. “No need,” she said cheerfully. “They’re right there.” 

Fenris looked up. Cullen, Piper, and Isabela were strolling back along the shoreline with Landon and Toby prancing at their heels, and Faren was ensconced in Piper’s arms. 

Hawke ran off to meet them. Faren squealed happily when Hawke took him from Piper, and when Fenris joined them, the baby shrieked again and reached for him. 

“I am here, little man,” Fenris said. “There’s no need to shout.” He took Faren from Hawke and kissed his hair – soft black hair scented with a special sort of sweetness that Fenris had only ever smelled on his son’s precious head, along with the faintest hint of sandalwood. 

“He touched a tadpole,” Piper said brightly. Then she winced. “Almost squished it, actually. But I managed to save it.”

“Good,” Fenris said. He stroked Faren’s back and spoke softly to his son. “Even small lives are worthy of protection. Never forget that.”

Faren yawned, and Fenris kissed his head once more. “I believe someone’s in need of a nap,” he said. He shifted his son’s weight to one hip and took Hawke’s hand. 

She squeezed his fingers, and he gazed lovingly at her smiling coppery eyes. Then he turned toward their cozy cabin at the edge of the Rivaini beach.

“Come,” he said. “Let’s go home.”  

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