#charms from jewellery you never wear are good to easily make into earrings or braided into preexisting hair

[meowizard]

everytime someone says doll customising is (outrageously) expensive an angel loses its wings

[patricianandclerk]

Dread Wolf’s Teeth

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1.

The first time Solas saw him, it was plain he was Dalish. His clothes were a deep, forest green, verdantly coloured leathers over dyed linen cloth, and it complemented the Anchor now buried in his palm. This was Solas’ fault, that much was certain, that a young elf should be scarred in such a way…

There were other elements to his clothes, of course.

As Solas undid his jerkin to access his chest, that he might better ensure he had a steady heartbeat, he saw the charms on his person – the young man had Mythal’s vallaslin inked over his forehead and the curves of his cheeks, and he wore one of her charms around his neck, but there were others, too, on chains at his collarbone: June, Sylaise, Falon’din.

He wore wooden beads marked with icons of Ghilan’nain coiled about one wrist, some marked with halla, and on the central piece, made of halla horn, he saw the mark of a woman’s face.

On the other wrist, he wore a few tributes to Andruil. He looked like a hunter, that much was certain, with his light clothes, his muscle, and those icons only confirmed it – worn on his arrow hand, where they were most needed.

The buttons on his jerkin wore Mythal’s symbol, as did the fastenings on his boots, the buckle on his belt. He aligned himself with Mythal, then. Was that a good sign? It was impossible to be sure what it was about Mythal that drew his devotion – what twisted vision did the Dalish hold of her, that they should hold her in such high regard?

He groaned softly, still buried in painful unconsciousness, and Solas saw the glint at his braid, reached for it.

This was a secret thing, worn at the nape of the neck, underneath his hair, and it wasn’t made of silver, like most of the periapts he wore were, but of bone.

Solas’ mouth was dry as he touched the carving dug into the bone, saw the wolf’s eye carved neatly on it – and it was a wolf’s eye, because he saw the way the corner led down toward a lengthened snout, and it matched the other designs he had seen of Fen’Harel in Dalish art and sculpture. Teeth marked the other side of the charm, and Solas thrilled despite himself.

It was wrong of him.

He did his best to set the guilt aside.

It was weeks later, at Haven, that Lavellan told a fascinated Blackwall, “There are a lot of phrases about him. May the Dread Wolf take you – that’s a curse. Dread Wolf’s teeth, an exclamation. May the Dread Wolf never hear your steps – that’s a blessing. May the Dread Wolf ever be at your heels – that’s a curse, too, but May you run like the Dread Wolf is at your heels, that’s a blessing. I always liked that one.”

He said it with a secret smile, and Solas thought of the charm at the nape of his neck, the wolf’s teeth kissing his skin.

2.

Lavellan had refused the armour Cassandra and Cullen had tried to get him to wear. It was elven armour, but it was the armour of city elves, made for elven soldiers, and Lavellan had spared no scorn in refusing it, criticising its every element: how tight it would be at the waist, the hip, the shoulder, how it would restrict his movement, how difficult it would make it to run or to climb.

He had sat down in the smithy himself to discuss Dalish designs – he was confident in what he wanted of the clothes he wore, the armour he wanted, and it was at a stark contrast with how he responded to other demands on his person, merely silent when someone asked some Chantry favour of him.

“Must you— Must the Herald wear those?” Solas had heard Giselle ask of Ambassador Montilyet, who had turned her gaze on Lavellan. Was it his armour that the Chantry Mother referred to? Or was it the charms laden around his neck, upon his wrists?

“Master Lavellan’s wardrobe is his own decision,” Montilyet said stoutly.

“But— His poor feet,” Giselle said, and Solas looked to the Dalish wraps he wore, even in the snow. His feet didn’t freeze or shiver, like a human’s might have.

“You don’t worry for Solas’ feet,” Montilyet pointed out, and Giselle looked to Solas.

Solas smiled at her, and found himself amused where Giselle turned her gaze away from him.

3.

In the hotel room in Val Royeaux, Solas waited with the Iron Bull for Lavellan, Varric, Vivienne, and Pavus to return from the party they’d been moving to… From what Solas had heard, take to pieces.

He heard them laughing as they ascended the stairs, even the so-called Iron Lady, and Solas looked at their finery as they entered into the room, saw Vivienne artfully bow her head so that her hat did not catch on the doorframe, as the Iron Bull had when he’d entered, wearing a gossamer gown of a striking venom green; Pavus wore black robes that bared half of his chest, making the silver buckles and jewellery glitter in the light, and Solas saw the kohl at his eyes, a little of the paint on his lips.

Varric, of course, wore red finery, gold at his ear, around his neck, complementing the colour of his hair, but—

When Solas saw Lavellan, his mouth fell open.

He had painted over his vallaslin with makeup, leaving his handsome face bare and unmarred, and that in itself was beautiful, breathtaking, but the rest… A golden cap curled around one of his ears, the chain dangling a little before it clipped to the lobe, a mirror to the jewellery Dorian wore in his own ear; his suit was made of silken gold with threads of green making silhouettes of leaves and vines amidst the shining cloth, and Pavus was leading him by the land, the two of them laughing as young men should laugh together.

He looked every bit a noble elf, the likes of which Solas had not seen in—

He closed his mouth.

“Solas!” Lavellan said, his eyes alight, his white teeth showing, “Aneth ara – lasa ghilan, vallas—”

“Elvish, Elvish, please!” Pavus cried out, and Lavellan laughed, so easily – he was usually so solemn, but he laughed brightly, now. His cheeks were pink.

“How much drink did you pour into the little elf?” the Iron Bull asked, arching his eyebrows, and Lavellan sat down on a chair, reaching up and touching his face.

“Falas,” Lavellan said, emphasising the word as he looked at Pavus, who stared at him blankly.

“He wants a washcloth,” Solas supplied, and Pavus reached for the jug of water on the side, wetting the cloth. Solas caught his wrist, and Pavus stared at him. Don’t, Solas didn’t let himself say. Let me enjoy him, barefaced, free, for a little longer.

“Tell us of your evening’s adventures,” Solas said. “The Bull and I are on tenterhooks, I am sure.”

Pavus dropped the cloth, delighted.

“Well,” he said, but Solas looked at Lavellan, who was smiling, leaning back in his chair, looking so much as he ought, as elves ought…

Solas wondered what it might be like to kiss his mouth, to feel Lavellan yield under Solas’ lips. Was he wearing the Dread Wolf’s teeth at his neck, even now?

4.

This was Solas’ favourite of Lavellan’s outfits, thus far.

He had stripped every thread from the other man’s body, had drawn the charms from his wrists and his neck. Lavellan’s body was bare of any marks of ownership except the vallaslin on his face, and except—

He reached, tangling a hand in Lavellan’s hair, and Lavellan let out a sharp gasp, grabbing at his forearm, as Solas undid the braid that held the charm in his hair, pulling it free. He looked at it, on its leather ring, examined it.

“What will you strip me of next?” Lavellan asked, without rancour, his thighs spread apart, Solas kneeling between them. “My skin?”

Sola stared at the vallaslin on his face, his lips parted, and then he met Lavellan’s eye. “Perhaps,” he murmured, and Lavellan laughed, breathlessly, tipping back his chin, baring his neck – all the better for Solas’ teeth to bite there.

“Why do you wear Fen’Harel’s mark?” Solas asked, and Lavellan looked at the charm.

“I found it, a long time ago,” Lavellan said lowly. “I liked it. I wore it around my neck, but when the keeper saw it, she was furious. So… I wore it in my hair, instead.”

“An act of rebellion,” Solas said softly, falling forward, the charm still held between his fingers as he framed Lavellan’s body with his own, his mouth almost touching Lavellan’s, their noses brushing together. “Vhenan…”

“Kiss me,” Lavellan said, reaching to touch his cheek, and Sola disobeyed: he bit down hard at the juncture of the other man’s neck, and Lavellan’s moan split the air above their head.

+1

He had been wrong, before.

This was his favourite.

Lavellan was still half-asleep as he padded across the room, glancing at some of the documents on his desk, his legs slightly stiff in their movements, and Solas watched the way his own shirt hung loose on Lavellan’s body, the sleeves a little bit tight at his arms but the main part of the shirt hung loose.

He smelled like Solas, now. Solas could see the marks of his teeth on his neck, his thighs, the insides of his calves, his wrists, but there he was, had chosen to wrap himself up even more in Solas, to pull on Solas’ shirt and move about in it as though it didn’t mae Solas want to drag him back down into bed and never let him leave.

He looked comfortable in it.

“Vhenan,” Solas said, and Lavellan turned to look at him.

“Hm?”

“Come back to bed.”

“Come back to work,” Lavellan replied, and Solas slid forward, loping across the room and throwing his arms about Lavellan’s belly, burying his face in the nape of Lavellan’s neck, letting his teeth touch the skin there. He felt Lavellan shudder.

“It’s past two bells,” Solas murmured. “The world won’t end if you join me in the Fade.”

“It might,” Lavellan said.

Solas’ hand slid lower, and Lavellan hissed.

“Alright,” he said, turning in Solas’ arms and mouthing at the side of his jaw. “You’ve convinced me.” He went for the hem of Solas’ shirt, but Solas caught his wrists as he crowded him back toward the bed.

“No,” he said, ignoring Lavellan’s disbelieving, delighted look. “Wear it.”

He dipped to catch Lavellan under his mouth, an Lavellan gasped, throwing out his hands and fisting them in the sheets.

[meredith-lives]

Fanfiction - The Captive (Part 4/?)

Summary:  The Blue Paladin gets captured by Prince Lotor.   Hopefully he’ll be able to figure out how to escape, that is, once he works out who the hell he is.

Pairing:  Lance/Lotor

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

It didn’t take long before Demaris arrived.  Her yellow eyes were still downcast as she laid out his outfit on the bed.  He had to admit the clothing was quite beautiful.   Long silver harem trousers with a swirling blue pattern a little like leaves paired with long robes with the same pattern.  It had a silver chain belt with a circular clasp.  It was a bit like what he’d imagine seeing in something out of Arabian nights, well, except this was far more modest.  

 Along with it came silvery soft shoes, more like slippers really.  He wondered if this would be warm enough to stop the cold from leaching in.  And, finally there was the bling, a confusing array of jewellery.  Silver earrings in intricate circular knots and attached that attached to the lobes with clips in some way.  Rings, silver ones for every finger except thumbs, and a necklace with a dark blue round gem.

 ‘Umm, do I really need to wear all this?’

 ‘It is what Prince Lotor wishes.’

 He thought of what Lotor wore, he’d only seen him in space-age armour, or those silver pants when he slept.  He picked up the fabric, rubbing it between his fingers. It felt surprisingly warm and thank God for small mercies with that, he was sick of the cold. ‘It just seems…too fancy?’

 ‘You are the Prince’s companion, it’s what is expected.’  There was disapproval in her voice.

 ‘Look, am I making you upset?  Am I doing something wrong?’

 ‘Not at all.’  She said, somewhat dismissive, and obviously eager to end the subject.   ‘I’ll help you with the jewellery.’

 Blue sighed.  He didn’t think he’d get Demaris to talk anytime soon.  But he had to try at least one more time.  ‘Look, I know you’re not supposed to chat.  But I literally know next to nothing about…well anything here, so.  I promise I won’t blab, it’s not like there is anyone to blab to anyway.’  And wasn’t that the truth.  

 Demaris’s lip curled slightly, and she looked away for a moment before turning back to him, her face now blank, giving away nothing. So catlike and foreign it gave him chills.   ‘You must have had a charmed life to believe anyone would trust so easily.  And you, yourself, should be careful who you speak to, companion.  Not everyone will be happy that Prince Lotor took you as his companion.’

 ‘Well, it’s not like I had much choice.’

 ‘None of us do,’ Demaris said.  ‘Even-’  Demaris stopped herself, seeming to think better of what she was saying and then continued.  ‘You will not be hearing any gossip from me, companion.’

 What, now 'companion’ was a title?  Maybe there was something more to it than Lotor had led on.   Sure he wasn’t  a sex slave, he was a warm teddy bear slave, a blankie to the big bad purple elf prince.  He should be relieved and in a large part he was, but it was also a bit humiliating. Especially the way he was being decorated, apparently to be dragged out to be shown off in public.  Wasn’t he supposed to be this badass terrorist assassin pilot?    Well, obviously not so badass, on account of being caught, but still  -  this wasn’t usually how evil overlords dealt with their captured enemies, at least not in any story he’d read.  

 But this wasn’t a story. This was real. Well, either that or a really bizarre drug dream, but it was pointless to worry about that possibility.  This world he as in, it seemed as real as it could get.

 By the time Lotor returned, from wherever he had been, Blue was fully dressed.  Belt buckled, hair down and half up in a braid which kept his hair behind his ear. The silvery knotted earring looped around his earlobes and clipped in place so the silver knots hanged from his earlobes (he was sure he’d seen some character wear something like it in Star Trek), along with a pretty nice choker with a dark blue stone.  Blue didn’t think he was one for fashion, but it was kind of classy (well, in a Persian/harem way), and the face and hand cream that Demaris had given him worked a treat. He’d have to ask her for more so he could do this daily.  The cold wasn’t doing great for his pores.

 ‘You look satisfactory,’ Lotor nodded.

 ‘Only satisfactory?,’  he put his hand over his heart acting wounded. ‘I got all decked out for this date and you’re-”  Blue stopped, suddenly feeling heated as he realised he’d been flirting.  What the fuck self.  

 ‘I’m what?’  Lotor said, looking both annoyed and confused in equal measure.

 ‘Well, I would have thought I was a bit more than satisfactory,’ Blue said in the most casual way he could, relieved that the hair grabby jerk didn’t notice.  Let a guy give you nice clothes, sparkly gems and hand cream and apparently, he might just be that easy.  Actually was he even gay?   Jesus, he didn’t know, surely such knowledge would be instinctive.  You shouldn’t just forget your sexuality could you?  Did this mean he had to go through a sexual identity crisis on top of a ‘who the fuck am I’ crisis?  Then again, Lotor was extremely pretty, those cheekbones and long silky hair would make most female models cry in envy, so it was hard to tell. Lotor probably could turn straight men gay.  That is, if they could get past his height and muscled biceps and wide shoulders and yeah, maybe he was just a little gay.  Oh God help him.

 ‘Are all human as strange as you?’  Lotor asked.

 ‘Since the only humans I can remember are movie stars and star wars characters, I have no freaking idea.’  Blue put his hands up.

 ‘Movie stars war?’

 ‘Never mind,’ Blue shook his hand.   ‘It’s a long story.  Anyway, I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where we’re going, the Bridge right?’  Visions of the Enterprise floated behind his eyes.  

‘That is correct.  It is where I command the fleet.  It’s important that you be seen by the senior bridge staff.’

 ‘Sweet, think of all the intel I can gather, once I escape.  I’ll be the hero of the rebellion.  I’ll have all the hot babes after me.’   Yeah, it was official, his mouth had a mind of his own and he knew right form Lotor’s face he was definitely going to regret it.

 Lotor grabbed his right forearm, the pressure almost but not quite painful as he loomed over him.  ‘This is not the time for your outlandish jokes.  Listen carefully, Paladin, for your life will depend on it.  You will not speak to me outside these rooms unless I give you leave. You will not speak to anyone else under any circumstances.  Do you understand?’  His arm was squeezed and now it definitely hurt.

 ‘Okay, okay, I won’t talk to a soul.’  Calm down, Legolas.  

 His arm was let go and Blue rubbed it gingerly. Just when he was starting to see Lotor as maybe an ally, and not so bad, he was forcefully reminded of who Lotor was.   And reminded of how much of a jerk he was, no matter how good looking.   A jerk who had him a captive, a slave, a fucking doll to be dressed up and paraded around.

 ‘Good,’ Lotor said, oblivious to Blue’s resentment. ‘You’re part of my household now. I am the one who will answer if you insult another, and I am not in any humor to fight another over your foolishness.’

 Whatever! His right hand balled in a fist in angry helplessness.    Blue gave no fucks about Lotor’s problems, but he wasn’t keen to put himself on the mercy of anyone else in this strange confusing world he’d found himself in.   So he’d endure, play nice and he’d work out a way to get away somehow.  

 My first note:  Yes Lotor is a jerk.  But he’ll get better.  Maybe. I don’t know how much in-character he’ll be (heh, we’re all guessing right now), maybe he’ll be totally OOC, but I’m aiming to have this finished before the new series. 

Please tell me if I have any embarrassing typos. I write purely for fun, so I don’t spend much time editing.

Thanks for reading.