#mini sequel

[moonlightheretic]

The Inquisitor and Rook (A little chat)

“Solas and I were…its complicated.” Moon’Hwa stared off, her eyes piercing a hole through the wall behind Elle, and her expression subdued into a distant and haunted look. But Sahma’el understood what wasn’t spoken. She had seen enough escorts in the brothels fall for people they could never have, and they too carried the same features of hopelessness.

Sahma’el sent a scathing glare to Varric, “You cast me in the middle of this to settle their domestic dispute?!”

“Listen Elle—” Varric reasoned.

“I have a grand idea, why don’t I drag you to his lair, present you to him with my knife pointed at your dainty little throat?” Sahma’el pushed her sheathed dagger under Moon’Hwa’s chin, “This will get’ him to think twice about tearing the veil down.”

The former Inquisitor’s mouth raised into a smirk, a spark returning to her violet eyes as they swung up to meet Elle’s,

“You would be dead on sight.”

[aneiria-writes]

Ten years after their first road trip in Romania, Harry and Draco cruise down Route 66 in a classic red Mustang, roof down and sun blazing.

Harry looks over to Draco, riding shotgun, sunglasses framing his face. He looks like a Muggle film star, and from the way Harry sees him sweep a careful hand over his hair and check out his reflection in the side mirror, Harry knows he’s pretending to be someone, someone famous.

Draco catches his grin and gives him a mock scowl.

‘Be quiet, Potter,’ he chides softly, and leans forward to turn the radio up.

Written for @drarrymicrofic March 2nd song prompt: Shotgun by George Ezra

[bixgirl1]

100,000 Galleons mini-epilogue

Okay, so recently I received an amazing comment from @felixfvlicis and I’m basically shit at responding to comments like this so I just blurted out onto my keyboard the first thing that came to mind, which turned out to be a teeny follow-up to the story.

Please, people, stop being so nice to me.  Idk wtf to do about it.  lol.

“Is this all right for tonight?” Harry asked, turning slightly when he saw Draco’s eyes on him in the mirror.

Draco strolled up behind him, lifting his hands to bat Harry’s fumbling fingers away from trying to knot his own tie.  His breath was hot in Harry’s ear, and Harry shivered as Draco nimbly looped the thin swath of fabric into a perfect bow.  Harry leaned back against him; he could feel Draco’s cock, soft in his trousers still, pressed against the curve of his own arse, and he wiggled a bit.  

Draco huffed a quiet chuckle in his ear.  "This is all right for a few hours.  When we get home, it all comes off again.“ he replied at length.   He paused.  His gaze was dark and smoky in the mirror as Harry met his eyes.  "Well.  Maybe before, even.”

Lengthening with increasing firmness, Draco’s cock pressed into Harry’s backside, and Harry arched into the sensation, his breath coming lighter and faster.

“It’s a ball,” he warned, voice more ragged than he intended.  "Muggle, remember.  Try not to break your leg or something.“

Draco’s smirk became a glare, but Harry could tell his heart wasn’t in it.  "I don’t always–”

“The movie theater,” Harry reminded him with a snicker.  "The amusement park.  The regular park.  The–“

"Fine.”  Draco flapped a dismissive hand before curling it around Harry’s waist and pulling him flush against his body again.  "Then I guess the only place I’m safe with you is in bed.  Why bother going out at all?“

"We have to,” Harry got out, a bit choked as Draco deftly unzipped his trousers and slid a smooth hand inside.  "I promised.“

"You didn’t promise to be on time,” Draco murmured.  

Harry turned his head to the side and let Draco’s mouth catch his in a kiss. “You’re right.  I didn’t,” he panted as Draco’s hand began to move faster over his cock.

“So we could be a bit late?” Draco checked, in a voice like silk.

“A-a half hour.  Forty five minutes,” Harry gasped.   “Maybe.”

“Doesn’t seem that long,” Draco said reprovingly, as Harry’s trousers slid down to puddle around his knees.  Draco added the other hand and did that thing Harry liked.  

“Two hours at the most,” Harry capitulated to the sound of Draco’s smug laughter, and–happily, dazedly–let himself be dragged back to bed.

[moonlightheretic]

His True Name

“I learned so much, I saw so much; of him, of us, of them. I could see in seven different directions all at once, seven prisms reflecting seven prisons, and every whisper that dared trespass into the fade funneled into my ears. Secrets, his secrets, his desires, his regrets. I ate until my belly ached, but I could never satisfy the craving.”

Sahma’el could no longer conceal the grimace planted between her lips. This woman needed help, but it wasn’t the type she could offer, but she did understand satiation and perhaps she could suggest a small token of relief. “Have you tried a vintage cabernet? Certainly drowns my sorrows, well enough.”

Moon’Hwa laughed, a hollow chime, that hurt more than it salved, and the woman coughed violently, folded into her knees and hugged herself.

“You really believe you were trapped in the belly of that thing, don’t you?” She regretted it, instantly. It sounded insincere, so many years spent hardening herself had done the trick, and sympathy wasn’t easily found or given.  

“I was the beast.” Her quaking fingers brushed over her teeth, “Arcades of fangs, severing their bones, crunching heads rolling under my tongue, their cries tasted so sweet...like honey.” Her gaze was pulled, strung taut like fishing line to some far-off place. “I was the beast, and nothing could stop me…it…I was witness to all their deaths, their final words tumbling down my throat.”

The young elven woman found herself struggling to draw words. She nearly believed her, or rather she didn’t want to consider whatever reality this nightmare existed in.

“Right, well I think I have heard enough.” Sahma’el backed slowly towards the door, “I’ll finalize the details with Varric.”

“and there is one last thing you should—”

Sahma’el twisted on her heel, “What?” She growled, anticipating another campfire ghost story.

“You should know his name. His true name.”

She scoffed, “I do know his name, and he seems to have three. Fen’Harel, The Dread Wolf, and Solas.” She counted off her fingers and then wrung her hands as if she were shaking off something foul and wet, “You would think this lunatic was an actor.”

“Pride.”

Sahma’el paled, “But that’s a demon. I thought he was a man.”

A soft smile chiseled dimples into the corners of her cheeks, but there was no joy to be found.

“So did I.”

[moonlightheretic]

One last moment

Armored fingers folded over into loose fists; Solas set his weight into the gold flecked mural and leaned in. “I must leave you, Vhenan.”

He pressed his head against the cooling surface, “I am sorry.” His eyes squeezing shut and his mouth twisted into a grimace as regret stained his tongue in the aftermath of those words.

“Rest assured, I will find her and I--” The breath shivered in his throat, “—will right these wrongs.”

Reluctantly, Solas withdrew. His hand relaxing into an open palm as it swept down gently caressing the fresco before him.

“One day you will understand.”

With his shoulders slumped he turned from the wall, his gaze trespassing over a fluid barrier encompassing a Dawnstone casket. From his cloak, he produced a small bundle cushioned in cloth of gold and stepped into the barrier.

The portrait of a woman painted behind him shimmered in metallic hues, the twinkling eyes chaperoned by false light and diaphanous powder. Six violet amethysts crushed into submission and subjected into the landscape of a grieving man’s regret. Sapphire pinched into the intricate lines of her vallaslin, Mother of pearl pressed into porcelain-snow skin, and obsidian stroked into ribbons of midnight-colored locks. Gold-leaf adorned her neck in ringlets, lavishing even more opulence upon the figure.

His shadow lengthened with each step and those carefully constructed eyes followed his form as he approached the casket in the center of the room.

The Dread Wolf bent humbly at the lip of the crystal casket, his fingers teasing the string of the bundle free, the fabric hissing like serpents against his metal hands. The luminous material swooned over his fingers and lying in the center was the Jawbone amulet.

He plucked it from the deflated fabric, and it dangled over the edge, frothing whisps unfurling from the opening just below. With a single whisper, he ushered the surface to divide and recede.

Solas held the cord with his other hand and placed the amulet on the still chest of someone lost, delicately curling the cord around her neck. His voice, an entanglement of sorrow, now victim to the sight below him, willed his lips to move, “I will return her to you,” and a single tear plummeted into a familiar face.

“Farewell.”

[moonlightheretic]

Mini Sequel to The Heretic WIP

Spoilers for The Heretic below

..............................................................................................................................

Armored fingers folded over into loose fists; Solas set his weight into the gold flecked mural and leaned in. “I must leave you, Vhenan.”

He pressed his head against the cooling surface, “I am sorry.” His eyes squeezing shut and his mouth twisted into a grimace as regret stained his tongue in the aftermath of those words.

“Rest assured, I will find her and I--” The breath shivered in his throat, “—will right these wrongs.”

Reluctantly, Solas withdrew. His hand relaxing into an open palm as it swept down gently caressing the fresco before him.

“One day you will understand.”

With his shoulders slumped he turned from the wall, his gaze trespassing over a fluid barrier encompassing a Dawnstone casket. From his cloak, he produced a small bundle cushioned in cloth of gold and stepped into the barrier.

The portrait of a woman painted behind him shimmered in metallic hues, the twinkling eyes chaperoned by false light and diaphanous powder. Six violet amethysts crushed into submission and subjected into the landscape of a grieving man’s regret. Mother of pearl pressed into porcelain-snow skin, and obsidian stroked into ribbons of midnight-colored locks. Gold-leaf adorned her neck in ringlets, lavishing even more opulence upon the figure.

His shadow lengthened with each step and those carefully constructed eyes followed his form as he approached the casket in the center of the room.

The Dread Wolf bent humbly at the lip of the crystal casket, his fingers teasing the string of the bundle free, the fabric hissing like serpents against his metal hands. The luminous material swooned over his fingers and lying in the center was the Jawbone amulet.

He plucked it from the deflated fabric, and it dangled over the edge, frothing whisps unfurling from the opening just below. With a single whisper, he ushered the surface to divide and recede.

Solas held the cord with his other hand and placed the amulet on the still chest of someone lost, delicately curling the cord around her neck. His voice, an entanglement of sorrow, now victim to the sight below him, willed his lips to move, “I will return her to you,” and a single tear plummeted into a familiar face.

Just feeling those Solavellan feels tonight.

[moonlightheretic]

"He did not allow his gaze to linger in one spot for too long a duration. The shadows adopted forms born from his regret. Tenebrescent amalgamations that replayed her fate. A haunting he deserved but would not accept."

Venom of the Gods

Mini Sequel to The Heretic

[moonlightheretic]

Don't spill any blood

She winced when that serrated edge bit into her shoulder, blood trickled into the sculpted tile and her free hand clawed at the sword she couldn’t reach. But both the Templar and Lord of Fortune were caught off guard.

Engulfed in sinister scarlet, their frames wavered against the onslaught of spectral haste, currents of spirits burst from the tile under Elle. Undaunted by the Templar they slammed into, she felt the sword lift, and the pressure on her arm ease, the souls flooded the small cavern, uniting like a school of fish, and pummeling into the doorway. She exploited the newfound opportunity: she gritted her teeth and in one fluid motion-- cartwheeled backwards, her foot catching the Templar in the jaw-- as Elle splashed into the river of spirits pluming behind her.  He stumbled sideways, jostled off balance by her kick and the legions of spirits smacking into him. She caught his sword and rushed forward, a disembodied roar rattled the cavern, one she chose to ignore as she rammed that sword into the Templar’s own jugular, skewering him into the mosaic framing his back. “I told you,” She growled, “I didn’t need my magic to kill you.”

Blood spurted into her face, as she drove him back, only letting go when his body slumped against his blade. The hilt buoyant with the leftover force she exerted and with the crimson phantoms departed, darkness descended, all for her orphaned luminary, loyally clinging to a crevice in the ceiling. The hierogram of Ghilan’nain peered proudly over the bleeding Templar, ever watchful, with lust glinting in those emerald eyes, but Elle couldn’t shake the impression that the gem encrusted woman grinned just a little wider, her mouth stretched ever further, unveiling layer upon layer of operose ruby teeth.

The fade surged in like a Qunari invasion. Saturating every inch of her within its rich hues, and nourishing melody, it pulsed under skin, at the ready, at her command. Today she learned to appreciate it and to never take that feeling for granted. She shivered, adrenaline tumbling up her spine, but not for the reason she hoped.

She was not alone.

Elle turned to address the next situation, as an uproar of wrathful screams punched into the orphic silence. She remembered Lyall’s note perched on the artefact, “Don’t spill any blood.” Now she knew why.