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laufeysdottirThe sacred timeline is no more, the Time keepers and the TVA little more than rubble and for the first time she can remember Sylvie is free. There's no one after her, no more need to hide in worlds of death, no more need to push everyone and everything away. She can have connections, have a home, and Loki had been the first to offer that to her and perhaps it was foolish but. It had been so nice, to have someone to rely on, to trust, someone who cared for her she had been loathe to say no.
It had taken time to get back to what they were calling New Asgard, on that tiny little planet called Earth. The land is foreign to her, and the people long unfamiliar. People she may have recognised, Odin and Frigga perhaps (Not mother or father, not now) are long gone and her face is unfamiliar to the Asgardians that remain. Only one is familiar, his face much older than what her foggy memories recall but his voice as loud and booming as ever.
It makes her uncomfortable to be around Thor, the man unfamiliar. Her memories of the boy he once was are so faded they barely exist, but what little remains serves as a reminder of all she's lost. All that the TVA stole from her when they took her, all her chances and potential and future. Thor was a thing she had to forget to survive, Sylvie aware enough that she could never go home, and now faced with him she doesn't know what to do. It's old habits to run, to hide, but she does it all the same because what else can she do. It's not a forever solution she knows, but for now... She'll stick to wandering around at 4am, finding comfort in the silence that the predawn brings.
It had taken time to get back to what they were calling New Asgard, on that tiny little planet called Earth. The land is foreign to her, and the people long unfamiliar. People she may have recognised, Odin and Frigga perhaps (Not mother or father, not now) are long gone and her face is unfamiliar to the Asgardians that remain. Only one is familiar, his face much older than what her foggy memories recall but his voice as loud and booming as ever.
It makes her uncomfortable to be around Thor, the man unfamiliar. Her memories of the boy he once was are so faded they barely exist, but what little remains serves as a reminder of all she's lost. All that the TVA stole from her when they took her, all her chances and potential and future. Thor was a thing she had to forget to survive, Sylvie aware enough that she could never go home, and now faced with him she doesn't know what to do. It's old habits to run, to hide, but she does it all the same because what else can she do. It's not a forever solution she knows, but for now... She'll stick to wandering around at 4am, finding comfort in the silence that the predawn brings.
jos10It's stuffy on the court today, in a way that it never has or ever should be. One of the ventilation shafts for air must be broken Neil thinks for a moment before focusing on catching Dan's pass. Sprinting up the court he can feel the sweat trickling down his inner thigh as he dodges Matt, counting steps in his head before throwing the ball back to Kevin. Annoying- and hopefully something that will be fixed by Friday's game. The heat will only zap more energy from them, a depletion they can't afford. That he can't afford, not when he still feels like shit despite all of Riko's inflicted injuries being healed up for longer than the past few weeks. Food poisoning maybe, he thinks as he feels a low cramp in his gut again.
He should follow it up, the air, the heat that makes it hard to think, with Wymark he thinks before his thoughts go back to the game. The squeak and thud on sneakers on the court is calming, soothing an itch he feels under his skin and later. Later, he'll talk to Wymark later, his racket lifting to catch Kevin's returned pass, the way Nicky flinches away from him barely breaking through the cloud of focus he has. Two steps, three and he throws at the goal, eyes focused on Andrew and his gut clenches again, a shudder running through his arm. The throw goes wide because of this and Neil scowls under the mask of his helmet, a soft growl escaping without his realisation. Fuck. He shouldn't have missed, not like that. Those few weeks of being banned from the court have caused more damage than he thought.
He should follow it up, the air, the heat that makes it hard to think, with Wymark he thinks before his thoughts go back to the game. The squeak and thud on sneakers on the court is calming, soothing an itch he feels under his skin and later. Later, he'll talk to Wymark later, his racket lifting to catch Kevin's returned pass, the way Nicky flinches away from him barely breaking through the cloud of focus he has. Two steps, three and he throws at the goal, eyes focused on Andrew and his gut clenches again, a shudder running through his arm. The throw goes wide because of this and Neil scowls under the mask of his helmet, a soft growl escaping without his realisation. Fuck. He shouldn't have missed, not like that. Those few weeks of being banned from the court have caused more damage than he thought.
lilacsandberries
It's yet another shitty tavern, in yet another backwater town. With ale that tastes closer to piss than anything else and bread stale enough to crack teeth, some bard mangling a song in the corner. The state it of it all rankles at her, a fall from grace that she may have accepted but has never been happy with. She used to have wines from Toussaint, delicacies from Temeria on her plates, in rooms filled with sweet incense rather than the smell of sweat and piss. It was a cage of course, but she cannot deny that it had it's benefits, or that another would have been happy to stay inside it's comforts.
Instead she's here, chasing tall tales and coins to fund cures. It's been another failure and that sits sour in her gut even more than the taste of the ale on her tongue. She'll need to be moving on soon, she's heard murmurs of a book keeper with scrolls that will have answers for her, all the way in Novigrad. Scrolls that however will cost money, and so she thinks, a few more days here will be wise. There's always need for a mage in backwater towns like this, even if the task of medicine woman or midwife is far beneath her skills. Even if the work does feel her with some warmth, some curl of importance when she sees the relief on a mother's face when her baby screams it's lungs out, or when a child finally wakes from a fever.
But there are more important things out there for her. Better things to put her attention and time into....
But for tonight. There is exhaustion in her bones and Yennefer frowns into the distance, nose wrinkling as she takes another pull of her ale. Perhaps tonight she'll stay still, just a little longer.
godanswered
These days nothing is ever truly anonymous, not on the internet at the least. People can hide behind screen names, pretend to be other people and sure some people slip through the cracks for a time, but most get caught. People have tells, quirks that you can pick up on if you just pay close enough attention, and Eli despite her bubbly almost ditzy at times personality actually does pay quite a lot of attention. She has to be aware of these things after all, for her own safety. Camgirling may be safer than traditional avenues of sex work sure, but there are still risks, and she's not an idiot.
So she had started paying attention when she realising a more local IP address kept coming into our streams. It could be nothing really, it could just be some nobody, someone she'll never meet. Or another student perhaps, but she can handle that she thinks. She doesn't have shame in how she gets her main source of income, not when it's what puts food on her plate and pays tuition for the classes she wants to take. She won't be bullied into embarrassment by another. But she will pay attention to that name, keeping track of when it comes up, raising a brow when she sees that name next to generous donations and curiosity makes her want to dig, to work out just who is this mysterious but close stranger.
It takes a few months, but she's nothing but diligent at what she does and now she thinks she has it. Though part of her wonders if that's just her own desires, her crush speaking as she sneaks into Professor Pavus' office. She's in a class, Eli knows she won't be caught, that the plan won't be ruined and that makes her even more giddy. Her fingers are tight on the large envelope she has, one precious photo inside, herself in very little, face smartly hidden just in case she's wrong. And on the back, a message; "Roses are red, violets are blue. You've seen me cum, can I see you too?" And underneath, a little heart, followed by a string of numbers, the words "text me" in a tiny scrawl next to it.
She hides the envelope carefully under a stack of papers, enough of the corner sticking out to make it hopefully easy to notice and just like that Eli slips out, a spring in her step and tingle in her cunt as she quickly walks away from the office. Oh today is going to be such a pain, almost agonising as she waits for a reply.
8lackscorpion
The bar isn't one of the nicest out there, the lighting flickering enough that it almost seems to hide where paint has peeled away, disguising what a dark spot on a pool table could be. The music is low, only loud enough to mask the most muffled of conversations and a large crack runs through the mirror behind the bar, some bottles covered in a coating of dust. It's not a nice place in the slightest but the drinks are cheap and harsh and that's enough for Aris at the moment. Besides he likes the vibe of places like these, likes the way no one even considers bothering him, a glance at his rough stubble and the tattoos that cover his muscular forearms enough of a warning.
But then again his face is enough of that. People know of Aris, know of his family and what they are capable of. Know that even if his father still lives Aris is next in line, with the temper Skorpios men are known for. So it leaves the stools at the bar around him empty, leaves him to enjoy his scotch in the quiet, deep in his own thoughts.
Or so it seems. It's easy to pretend your not paying attention but still keep an eye on everything. So far not much has interested him though, no one seeming to want to start a fight and in truth none of the women in here catch his eye, none of them holding a spark to keep his attention. But perhaps that'll change he thinks in a flit of a thought as steps are heard coming down the old creaky steps to the bar and Aris casts a glance to the side, a touch curious to see who's coming.
8lackwidow
It was almost as if the universe had always planned this. To give her, terrible horrible Charlotte, who screwed people up and over like it was a game, something of a happy ending. A perfect ending. With a man who held her attentions like no other, who had the patience she never did, who knew how to speak to her to win her over to his side. It was only ever supposed to be a silly dalliance in University but months had passed and Charlotte had found herself head over heels for the man who wooed her. Who did what no other had been able to do and she had even been happy to give him her hand, give up all others and be his alone. Life had been something like a story, the tale only going richer with Aranea's birth, and then Vriska's and she adores her daughters, such a perfect mix of them.
It was perfect. More than she ever found herself thinking she ever deserved she thinks to herself, deep down in thoughts she'll never voice.
So it couldn't last. It's obvious now, she knows. She should have seen it, should have listened to her mother (Love is for fools and d'Araignée ladies were never fools). But she didn't and now her husband is dead, her daughters fatherless and she is left alone and she can't she can't he was supposed to be here he was always supposed to be here, they were a team he was supposed-
Charlotte has always been flighty in truth. Always a little nervous by feelings, by her hearts whims. So it's easy to run in truth, so kiss her daughters on their brows as she tucks them in before she flees India and their little fairytale. She needs to be away and so she runs and lets her feet carry her without a thought.
Ireland is as drizzly as ever when she arrives but Charlotte moves through the rain without a single thought for her hair and clothes. She's numb, inside and out as the taxi drives, the quaint beauty of the land meaningless and time slips away easily. Before she knows it the car has stopped, the driver clearing his throat with impatience and Charlotte starts at the sound.
It's dark now she realises as she exits the cab, driver left with a generous tip as he he is quickly forgotten as she steps towards the house. Lord she hopes what she's been told by mutual acquaintances is still true, lest she look the fool and Charlotte moves within a daze as she knocks, eyes not truly focused as she waits for him to answer it.
(no subject)
Mar. 25th, 2016 12:14 pmgodanswered
In truth these feelings have been present, slowly twisting tighter and tighter around her heart. He's always been there, her Adar, her Ada, always keeping her safe always doing his best to keep her happy. Her days have been spent with him, and she knows part of that was the circumstances of her birth, that she was so small, unfinished by Eru and after losing her mother, his wife, he likely couldn't have bared to lose her too.
Perhaps it would have been different if her mother had never been taken. If she had been fully formed, as she should have been. He wouldn't have wanted to keep her safe as strongly, she would have drifted more when she was younger. Years have passed, too many for even her to count and the time that she should have been wedded has long passed. He never pushed her to make that choice and so like a child she avoided it, happy to stay under his wing, under his protection.
No one could measure up to him when it comes down to it. No one is as wise, as kind as brave and protective as he is to her. No one would make her smile like he does, make her heart beat so wildly in her chest and at the same time those feelings make her stomach twist. They make her nauseous, because she shouldn't feel like this, not for him. Not for her Ada, who only wanted the best and slowly as the weeks pass Eli withdraws more and more from him, throwing herself into whatever tasks she can find. Convincing others to take her with them on patrols even though she finds herself terrified of the spiders. Spending hours in the library, pouring over history she learnt centuries ago. Anything to try and excuse her absence from his side and oh it aches, but admitting to her sins would only hurt more.
Night comes and these days she finds herself indulging in her cups to try and find some peace in all this quiet. Perhaps not the wisest of choices, but she is young still, for them, it can be excused. It makes the ache dull at least, and she spends a hour in a daze, sprawled out on her bed before her thoughts turn her into rising, into seeking out that which she should not. An easy task, her rooms have always been close to his, and no one pays attention to a face that so often moves through these corridors. She used to spend her nights here, as an elfling, resting with him and now she knows how to push the door open enough to slide past, the sheer gown she wears whispering on the floors as she steps, hair unbound and falling in waves to her hips as she peers into the dimmer room.
"Ada?"
toguide
Skyhold is a quiet, an expectation at this hour, when Liaran approaches it, a lone figure with little more than the pack on his back and the staff in his hand. He needs little more in truth, the Dalish are all used to a hard life and more would only make the trek harder, many miles from the Free Marchers to the Orlesian boarder, all on foot. Halla are sacred, too much to be risked and horses cost coin he doesn't have. Feet are free and they have carried him well enough for the majority of this journey, even if it has taken many months.
But many months had already passed before he had even set out. In truth Liaran had not fully agreed with Istimaethoriel's plan to send Isetriel to this meeting of the humans. She was still a touch too reckless, stubborn as an ox and her tongue could still be biting. It would be better to send him, he had argued, but Istimaethoriel had only shook her head, her own voice as stubborn as it was soft. No, it was a test, to see if Isetriel was truly ready. To see if she would remain with the clan, or if she would be better leaving, seeking her own fortune.
It had been one of the few times Liaran had raised his voice.
But in the end it had mattered little. Isetriel had gone, and he had stayed and Isetriel had been dragged into this mess of human making. Lifted aloft with the title of Herald to their goddess, as if that wasn't a noose. He recalls staring at each mark of her letter home, the words an attempt to reassure, trying to find what was hidden. He knew Isetriel, better than anyone else. Was one of the few she had opened up to, and he knew, even if her words didn't say it, she was scared. Terrified, probably and that was enough to make his decision. Istimaethoriel could accept it, or she could learn to understand it, but he wasn't staying here, waiting for more news. He would go, see how she was at the very least.
Now, standing at the gates to this ancient keep her wonders if he should have sent a letter. Maybe, he thinks as he gives his name to the guard, makes his request. "I'm here to see the Inquisitor," he says, the title strange on his tongue. Here to see Isetriel, but no that is her name, a name he isn't sure she's shared with these shems and he won't give it till he's sure. And they march him up the stairs to wait in this great hall as they fetch her, it's late, she'll probably be sleeping they say and he has a moment of regret but no. It's worth waking her and Liaran nods, taking a seat on the stairs before this ridiculous throne. It's fine. He'll wait.
He'll always wait.
skrullbucks
Crawling her way back to Earth takes time. So many days, the true count of them lost to Xavin's records, a blur of them that had turned into months, into years. There had been a trial, a punishment. Months, a year lost to biding her time till she could make an escape, and it's easy for a Skrull to fake their death. It makes her all the more glad that she had taken Karolina's place all that time ago, because at least now she can return. They can be together.
Travelling back though is harder. It slow and tedious and all she can focus on is the time that keeps slipping from her. The memories that fade, and the only reason Karolina's face stays with her is her powers. She steals what moments she can to wear her face, to stare at in reflective surfaces and she strains her mind to recall the sound of her voice. Of her laughter, of her breathing. These are details she loses, and slowly even Karolina's face begins to blur. Her nose was always this sharp wasn't it? Her eyes always this shade of blue and Xavin realises with horror she has forgotten her face. She is forgetting her, and in her despair she realises she can't even recall her own face. The form she made for Karolina. She shifts but things don't seem right, the face she so carefully shaped and molded for her beloved never exactly as it should be.
Finally though, she makes it to Earth. Then it's more time, to track her down, and she supposes she could just make a scene. The media of Earth always did love scenes, but no, she can't. Revealing herself is a risk she cannot take, cowardly as it is. She can't bear to be a prisoner again, to be taken away again and kept from Karolina any longer. Was her hair more platinum blonde or was it darker. The freckles on her waist, what shape did they make she can't remember, she can't and it tears at her, even as she finds a name, finds an address and a home and her.
It's starting to rain, the water cold and the skies grey as she stands in front of Karolina's and Xavin pulls her coat tighter around her, fingers firm. She will not shake, will not tremble and she will not wait any longer. She is a Prince, she was a Super Skrull, and she will not cower at a door and the fear of what may be behind it and she seizes onto that courage. Uses it to ball her fingers into a fist and she knocks, the sound brutally loud to her ears, but the silence cuts even sharper. Every second of it is a sharp pain, her chest feeling tight, her knuckles turning white and finally, finally, the door swings open and she can breathe again.
"Karolina."
(no subject)
Jan. 27th, 2016 07:00 pmladyoflions
When she was a little girl Rosie dreamed of being a princess. Of being a lady, wife of a handsome brave man, with a house under her command. Of dozen upon dozens of pretty dresses. Life had been a happy sort, with a mother and a father, a sister and brother (and another she only half remembered), nothing that had needed an accept. But still she had dreamed, and wished and wanted for a life like something in a story. Something grand, something fascinating.
But a lot had changed with the Blight. The blight had claimed mother, had claimed father, and it had even claimed her dreams of a grand life. There hadn't been a sign of magic before the blight, not even a spark or flicker but the ordeal had left her with nightmares and the nightmares left her screaming, flames springing from her fingertips and then had come another set of fears.
In a way Kirkwall has become her home. It's certainly where she lives, where she sleeps and eats and studies. But it is a sad kind of home, without the joy and sweetness she used to dream of. A life of drab grey clothes, even if she still embroiders them. Of keeping her head down and her mouth shut and praying the the Maker that she will slip past the eyes of the cruel Templars unnoticed. She wonders how much he is inclined to listen to her though, he who cursed her with power she never even wanted but the chant is drilled into her head, and she recites it all the same.
She takes comfort at least, in one thing. Samson is one of the few that is kind to them, who treats them as people, and not threats. And she never meant to have these feelings grow, she knows how dangerous they are but some small seed of romanticism still lives in Rosalie's heart, nurtured now by the way she slips deeper into the stacks of the library, feet soft on the floor as she keeps her eyes open for him and she can't help the relief, the joy that fills her, nor the way her cheeks flush and her lips turn into a smile as she moves closer to him and she only just manages to remind herself to be careful.
"Serah. It's a nice day, isn't it?"
(no subject)
Jan. 18th, 2016 11:46 pmladyoflions
Skyhold is a wonder to behold, always something new each day and it’s captivated Rosalie from the very first day they arrived. It’s like a keep out of a tale, soldiers bustling about, templers that call her Lady Rosalie and give her little bows and Rosie can’t deny that she’s flirted with some of them. It was all in good fun after all, just a bit of sweetness and she knows from the way they flush they’ve likely been given a stern talking to by her brother, who had likely been warned of her nature by their sister. Rude, really, when Bran was a million times worse than she could ever be.
But it’s nice to be here. Nice to see Cullen, though the man is much a stranger to her these days. Interacting with him is often awkward, Mia falling easily into her role of elder of the family even here, and Bran still back at South Reach with his son. Missing all the excitement he had bemoaned before making her promise to write to him, and write she has. Pages on pages of letters, from the places she’s seen and the food they’ve ate, to the stories she’s heard and the people she’s met.
And if perhaps those pages include dense paragraphs on the Lady Inquisitor… well, it perfectly normal really. Lady Kaia Trevelyan was a woman to be respected, to be admired. Sure she was nothing like the lady Rosie had imagined, preferring breaches even in her downtime and hair cut into a short mess but there’s something about the woman that captivates her. Her accent, the way she walks with such confident authority. The muscles in her arms from years of fighting and her smile. Maker it makes something in her clench, makes her cheeks burn and her heart race and she never thought she could feel like this. Not for a woman, at least.
But she’s the Inquisitor. A Lady by blood, while Rosie knows they only call her one due to her brother’s rank. She’s just some simple village girl, playing at pretty dresses whenever she can beg Mia for enough silk to make such a thing. There’s callouses on her hands from sewing, from embroidery, and she will never be a lady. She doubts the Inquisitor would ever notice her either, not with any seriousness. She’s a worse flirt than Bran is, and Rosie is near certain that her true affections lie with Ambassador Montilyet. A woman who suits her much more, that’s for certain.
It makes it difficult really. She’s never felt this sort of ache, and she tries her best to hide it. Being grateful she’s old enough that no one protests her taking a cup of wine with dinner, though Mia raises a brow with the second. It’s not that formal a thing, just the Inquisitor and her Inner Circle, and the Rutherford sisters. It’s intimate and Rosie finds herself despairing, stomach twisting as she watches Kaia flirt with the Lady Ambassador once again and she can’t do this, she needs some fresh air, feeling sick as she rises and whispers her excuses to Mia before dashing off, pushing through the necessary doors to escape to the little courtyard of Skyhold and the air is crisp, fresh. She can breath here and her shoulders shake as she presses hands to her cheeks, blinding herself for a moment as she speaks allowed.
“You’re such a fool Rosalie…”
(no subject)
Jan. 2nd, 2016 02:41 pmgodanswered
But it was worth it. It was so very worth it and with her daughter in her arms Eliana can understand exactly why her mother went through this so many times, why her sister went through this for her own daughter. The babe is a delight, captivating all of Eliana's attention now that they're both cleaned up and as exhausted as she is Eliana can't look away. From the whisps of blonde on her head, to her little lashes fanned out against her cheeks as she dozes in her arms. Chubby cheeks and a perfect little mouth,. Tiny fingers that curl so tight around one of Eli's own and even her little feet are perfect and she can't look away. Not for a second even as she shifts forward and lets Thranduil drape a blanket around her shoulders and she's sure he understands, even if his firstborn is long grown.
"She's perfect..." she murmurs though, in acknowledgement of his presence and her cheeks ache from her smiling as she finally glances up for a brief second before her eyes are back on her newborn. "I don't think I've ever seen something as perfect, ever."
(no subject)
Dec. 15th, 2015 03:57 pmgodanswered
When she wakes up Eli can already feel the heat in her skin, the way it crawls through her, leaves her feeling strange and light headed. A fever, it must be, and she supposes that maybe Cassandra was right, maybe she should have worn her boots more when they were in Crestwood, just like she knows she's going to get a disappointed face for it. But. She can still do things, she's sure. There's paperwork to do, things to plan and she makes herself crawl out of bed, only to find herself swaying on her feet, gasping softly as the world spins and shit. There's no way she can work today she realises.
Josie is understanding at least, return Eli's note with her own stern command to leave everything to her advisors, that she's earned a rest and then some. And so Eli crawls back into bed, leaving the balcony windows open for fresh air. For cold air, to try and cool the fire in her skin, the ache in her and as she tosses and turns, naked under silk sheets realisation starts to creep in. She's no idiot, she's had the talks from her hahren, and from her sister but.... the time had come and past when most got their heats and nothing had ever come. Not until now and Eliana shudders against her sheets feeling the first signs of wetness, of want between her thighs.
It gets worse. The heat in her just builds and builds, and clothes, sheets they all become agonising on her skin. There's a stain of wetness on her bed, from where she tosses and turns and she shouldn't touch. She knows she shouldn't but it aches, it hurts, more than she's ever felt and maybe. Maybe if she can just make herself come it'll get easier. It'll get better and her hand slips between her slick thighs to touch herself, her folds slick and ready and the brush of her fingers over her swollen clit makes her need spike, makes a cry escape her and Eli shudders, her free hand clenching in the sheets as she starts to fuck herself with her fingers, feeling how eagerly her cunt clenches around them, body seeking, needing more.
вacĸ тo мy rooтѕ
Dec. 9th, 2015 02:45 pmmakerbreakit[ It's late-- Well past the sun setting on the horizon, and those in Haven are (presumably) asleep. Assumptions should show that this is the perfect time to infiltrate the gates, but being heedless of possible guards and night owls are what cause Ellana's footsteps to remain silent and slow. ]
[ Many days have passed since she's left her people back home. Ever since the loss of a fellow clan member, a certain someone whom she had grown up with, there was absolutely no negotiation in Ellana being the one to go after her. Through the devastation of the Conclave, the loss of their beloved Keeper, Eliana had managed to get caught in the crossfires somehow. It was only to be expected-- Liaran was her older brother after all. With Ellana having been the Keeper's Second, she had to stay behind with the others. In the midst of all the bloodshed, it hadn't taken long to discover that their leader had come to his demise... Yet Eliana was nowhere to be found. ]
[ Months had passed, and so had demanding letters that had gone unanswered. When the elders began talking of making funeral arrangements, Ellana had had enough. Without batting an eyelash, she left their village. Fast. ]
[ Eliana is all she has left. While the terms of their relationship bore no title and murky waters, Ellana never lost a shred of love for her. They had grown up together, nevermind the strong bond she held with her brother. It only makes sense that, in his absence, she be responsible for his beloved sister. Once Ellana passes through the gates of Haven, her footsteps become determined, hard, the staff at her back already glowing a mad and sharp blue. Tiny sparks of electricity crackle and echo through the halls until they make way to the War Council. She will start from the top and work her way down, prepared for disaster in the name of her best friend and her late leader. ]
[ Her foot kicks at the door, busting it open. Ellana reaches back for her staff with a burning intensity in her eyes. ]
Alright, my well of patience has run dry and I prefer to make this fast.
WHERE IS SHE?!
[ Many days have passed since she's left her people back home. Ever since the loss of a fellow clan member, a certain someone whom she had grown up with, there was absolutely no negotiation in Ellana being the one to go after her. Through the devastation of the Conclave, the loss of their beloved Keeper, Eliana had managed to get caught in the crossfires somehow. It was only to be expected-- Liaran was her older brother after all. With Ellana having been the Keeper's Second, she had to stay behind with the others. In the midst of all the bloodshed, it hadn't taken long to discover that their leader had come to his demise... Yet Eliana was nowhere to be found. ]
[ Months had passed, and so had demanding letters that had gone unanswered. When the elders began talking of making funeral arrangements, Ellana had had enough. Without batting an eyelash, she left their village. Fast. ]
[ Eliana is all she has left. While the terms of their relationship bore no title and murky waters, Ellana never lost a shred of love for her. They had grown up together, nevermind the strong bond she held with her brother. It only makes sense that, in his absence, she be responsible for his beloved sister. Once Ellana passes through the gates of Haven, her footsteps become determined, hard, the staff at her back already glowing a mad and sharp blue. Tiny sparks of electricity crackle and echo through the halls until they make way to the War Council. She will start from the top and work her way down, prepared for disaster in the name of her best friend and her late leader. ]
[ Her foot kicks at the door, busting it open. Ellana reaches back for her staff with a burning intensity in her eyes. ]
Alright, my well of patience has run dry and I prefer to make this fast.
WHERE IS SHE?!
(no subject)
Nov. 12th, 2015 02:11 pmgodanswered
Up in Skyhold even the summer days are cool, the keep too high to be anything but. But Eliana finds herself burning when she wakes, some strange heat that builds and builds inside her, one that she doesn't fully understand. She's never felt like this, like she's about to explode, the touch of cotton almost agonising on her skin and she wishes she could get away with stripping down to near nothing, but she can already hear Josephine's scolding. But she's already panting by the time she pulls on her leathers, fingers shaking as she does up her shirt forgoing any extra layer she can.
She knows the feeling, somewhat she guesses. It's similar to how she feels in sex, but worse. So much worse. Sounds are louder, colours sharper and the smells, gods the smells. Everything has a scent, everything so strong and at the brush of some shoulder she finds herself growling, teeth bared and she's not sure if it's come or sweat that makes her thighs feel slippery, clit practically throbbing and fenedhis she wants to go back to bed, to tangle her legs in her sheets and try and work this edge off but someone shoves papers in her hands, steers her towards the library and she's only half there as she nods and sets off, ready to find Dorian.
It only gets worse she finds when she reaches the rotunda. Solas is gone for a change, but the place still smells like him, a scent that sets her on edge, that makes her grit her teeth again. It smells like a threat, something she should crush and she wants to cover it with her own smell, an instinct that confuses her even as she forces shaky legs to climb the stairs. To Dorian, it's important it's something it's-
She's only half way up the spiral when the smell hits her, and her leathers will be ruined, a hardness she's never had before growing in her pants, straining against the fabric and Eliana hears herself growl again, papers crumpled in her fist before she drops them. Fuck the papers fuck all of it she can smell him, smell his need and it triggers something in her as Eliana rushes up the rest of the stairs, eyes bright and wide as she scans for him, every nerve in her body as she calls out, stepping slowly like a predator, like the hunter she is.
Like the alpha she is.
"Dorian," she can't help her hungry little sigh either. "Oh, Dorian, you smell so good."
(no subject)
Jul. 5th, 2015 03:00 pmladyoflions
There were certain things Rosalie has accepted when she and Bran had begun their affair. The first, that their love would always remain a secret was a hard but necessary truth. A bitter pill to swallow of course, but it was better than not having him. Unless they one day actually took up the silly idea of running away they would always have to just be brother and sister to those around them. And as tempting a the idea of just going, leaving for good was both of them knew how much it would hurt Mia. It was something they could never truly do, abandon her and tear the last of their family to shreds.
The second in many ways was tied to the first. Children would never be a thing for her, not while she remained with him. There would just be too many issues, from possible problems with the baby to the threat of anyone ever finding out who the father was. It would cause suspicion and rumours and perhaps it was selfish but she’d pick Bran over a child any day. It was an easy price to pay for her, someone who had never been the most maternal anyway.
But Bran. Oh Bran would be an amazing father, she was sure of it. If anything that was what made her ache the most, the fact that she had denied him the chance of that life. That was what was really selfish, to want him so badly that she couldn’t let go of him to let him try and have that life with another woman, who could give him more than secrecy. Could give him a life he deserved. It made her heart to consider, thoughts that would come any time they ran into children in the village, Bran always having a smile and a laugh as well as a few minutes of his time to share with them. He would be an excellent father, the very best and it was always enough to make her daydream of children with his shade of golden to their curls and the brightness of his smile.
But it didn’t mean she let herself be stupid. They took whatever precautions they could, from herbs to avoiding intimacy on certain days. From avoiding penetration and making sure he pulled out when they didn’t to spend on her stomach instead of inside her. They had been safe and yet…
There’s only so long Rosalie can lie to herself. She’s had her monthly time be delayed before, she tells herself. It’s just stress. And the nausea in her stomach? Just a sickness, she’s sure, or something she ate. Even if it occurs each day, even as those days stretch into weeks. Lying to herself is easier than considering the truth but one day she runs her hands over her stomach, feels a new firmness there. And she feels the swell, slight as it is and even if she wasn’t already nauseous she thinks she’d feel ill.
She doesn’t believe that Mia believe her when she claims she just feels ill today and begs the day off to rest. She know her sister has probably heard her being sick, seen how she recoils from some smells and tastes. Her sister is a woman too, must know what these signs lead to. But she doesn’t press today, thankfully, just sends her back to bed. Tells her Bran will bring her up something to eat soon, and Rosie does as she’s told.
Her bed always feels cold without him in it but today it’s like ice. Or perhaps that’s the ice in her veins she’s feeling as she curls up under the covers to wait for him. Dread is wrapping around her heart with icy fingers and without thinking her hand finds her belly, finds the curve that shouldn’t be there and she’s so stupid. But they had been so sure and she curls a little tighter, throat aching and without realising she starts to cry, sniffles soft.
(no subject)
Mar. 28th, 2015 09:54 pmgodanswered
Eliana remembers Skyhold in it's glory. Remembers when the keep wasn't half crumbled, where rich tapestries covering the walls and a flame in every sconce. Skyhold was once her home, and so she knows how to slip in and out of it's walls, where to press the stones to unlock little paths and where those paths will take her. It makes sneaking through, avoiding the strangers, the humans that now invade what was once her home, all the easier. Those who do catch sight of her don't notice her much, there are other elves here, most also lacking the marks the Dalish have. She's had centuries to make herself unnoticeable and if she sometimes turns people's gazes away from her with a small thought or two then it only means Fen'Harel will be proud of her.
She wonders what he thinks of all these shems in his halls, how often he has to temper irritation at the changes they make.
His magic can be so easily traced through the halls, and she tastes it in on the tip of her tongue, feels the way it curls around her body, brushes against her skin like a carress. Fen'Harel's magic calls to her, recognises her like she recognises it. It's a lovers touch, one she's spent months missing and wanting and she follows it to the rotunda where the call is strongest, feeling her smile form as she takes in the art that spans the wall, pieces half finished. How like him, to pour his creativity into something, to paint mysteries and secrets in with each brushstroke and she wonders if anyone else can read the meaning behind each piece like she can.
Slipping quiver and bow from her shoulders Eliana lets herself relax, pulling off her boots and dropping them to the floor, pulling off her thicker overcoat to leave her in her loose, sleeveless tunic and she drops it over the chair as she leans forward to study the papers. It's a mix of languages, common and old Elven, a touch of Tevene here or Antivan there from books he's left half open and it's all answers to what he's been doing. She knows he's had some hand in this whole mess, another attempt to try and fix what's broken and as much as she grieves for all he's lost annoyance sits in her chest. And loneliness. She hadn't expected him to be gone for so long , and had she not seen the Breach like everyone else with eyes had seen she wouldn't have known she had to come and find him.
But she can only wait now, test the patience all her years have given her. At least the room is warm, Eliana wiggling her bare toes against the stone floor and she leans over the desk a little more to read something else, ignoring the chill that rises on her bare arms or the strands of blonde hair that drop over her shoulders, escaping her braid. She could do with a bath, to get the dirt from her skin, the chance to unweave the thick braid that holds her hair and return to smaller ones his clever fingers can make but there are more important things. She needs to see him first and this seems to be his domain. He'll come back to it, to here, to her, and for a moment her hand catches at the jawbone that hangs from it's thread around her throat and her thumb runs gently over it as if it's his own flesh.
He'll come back.
He always does.
godanswered
It's supposed to be an honour, they tell her. The sacrifice of one for another ten years of protection and safety. A relatively small price when it all came down to it, but when the price is your own life it doesn't feel like that. Eliana doesn't want to die, no girl just on the cusp of ten and seven wants to die, and she had so many plans. She was going to be a hunter, she was going to travel see all the world that she could. One day come back with stories to tell and trinkets to share. She was going to help her people.
She supposes in some way she still is, but the thought isn't as reassuring as she tries to make it. It doesn't stop it from aching when she says her goodbyes to her brother and sister, swallows her tears when her mother lets her own spill. This is a duty, an honour and she will be brave.
The Keeper is kind as she and her Second prepare her, from the warm bath, perfumed with oil intended just for this, to drying her hair with a gentle puff of warmth that makes her shiver. Her hands are aged, fingers curled and knuckles swollen but they are gently as they cup her face, her lips dry as she presses a kiss to Eliana's forehead, calling her daughter in their lost tongue, calling her brave and honourable as they dress her in sheer white silk that clings to damp skin and Eliana shivers again. Brave. She doesn't feel brave, just numb but she nods all the same as her Keeper slips silk over her eyes and takes her hands to leads her.
They walk for awhile, how long Eliana can't be sure. But the Keeper is kind and takes her time, helping her over roots when needed, telling her when to duck her head. When she stops the blindfold slips off her cheeks to show her the grove they stand in, the soft grass lit by the full moon, almost completely risen. More importantly is the alter, old white stone that crumbles at the edges and it's there her Keeper leads her. Eliana goes without fighting, sitting on the very edge of the alter the stone freezing on her almost bare legs, her body reacting to the night's chill. Her smile is sympathetic as she hands her a water pouch of something, to help she says. To keep her calm and placid Eliana knows, but she drinks anyway, drinks deeply and feels true numbness spread through her limbs as her Keeper coaxes her into lying back down.
She barely feels the knife bite into her palm, the night swallowing her cry of pain and all she feels is warmth warmth warmth dripping down her hand, slick through her fingers. She feels a tickle on her face as her Keeper uses her blood to paint the marks on her cheeks, her brow, across her lip and Eliana tastes the salt and iron of it, swallows with a shaking breath as her eyes drift closed. The world is quickly slipping away and the press of the Keeper's lips to the crown of her head as lost as the words of thanks she says over her.
There is nothing now, and in the darkness she waits, head spinning, for the end. And in the distance the wolves howl.
(no subject)
Oct. 27th, 2014 02:41 pmarosewiththorns
Rose knows her brother's schedule as well as her own, knows his routine like it's her own. It's not too hard to know which way he'll go when the bell rings to signal the end of a class, and she knows he's going to take his time to get to his study hall session. So Rose follows him, keeping back and outsight her own little excuse slip from her separate class tucked in her bag. She's a good student, solid A's and honour roll and all that nonsense. It makes it easier to get rules bent for her, to be believed when she mentions an upset stomach.
Dave slips into one of the bathrooms for the boys and Rose hangs back for a beat, watching to see if anyone else goes in or out, and checking to see if she'll be noticed before slipping in behind him. The stalls are checked nice and quick and are blessedly empty and it's easy to twist the lock for the main door closed and be assured of some privacy. The halls will be empty soon enough and Rose is quite pleased with herself as she moves to the sinks to wait, carefully checking her lipstick in the time.
She glances up when the stall door opens again, black lips in a smirk and Rose meets his gaze via the mirror's reflection. It's a cunning sort of smirk she wears, inches back from being predatory and it's an expression he should know well enough by now. It's one that promises trouble, and casually she twists to face him, pressed back to the counter.
Dave slips into one of the bathrooms for the boys and Rose hangs back for a beat, watching to see if anyone else goes in or out, and checking to see if she'll be noticed before slipping in behind him. The stalls are checked nice and quick and are blessedly empty and it's easy to twist the lock for the main door closed and be assured of some privacy. The halls will be empty soon enough and Rose is quite pleased with herself as she moves to the sinks to wait, carefully checking her lipstick in the time.
She glances up when the stall door opens again, black lips in a smirk and Rose meets his gaze via the mirror's reflection. It's a cunning sort of smirk she wears, inches back from being predatory and it's an expression he should know well enough by now. It's one that promises trouble, and casually she twists to face him, pressed back to the counter.
"Dave."
