#I could honestly write an essay about that stubble and the things it makes me feel

[biropen]

About to start panic revising because I’ve just realised that it’s basically Thursday and my exams are in like three days

[sandinthemachine]

Do you have a celeb or someone that comes to mind when u think of konigs face? personally I imagine him to look a bit like Adam driver, especially in the trailer for the new movie 65 as it came out around the time I joined the COD fandom and he kinda looks like a few konig fanarts I’ve seen. I’m very curious on what you think

This is gonna turn into an essay so I'm just gonna slap a read more so people can skip by it

tldr: I...don't?

Yeah I definitely see where he could be like Adam Driver, also I wonder if 65 will be any good, I hope so.

This is actually a really funny question. I don't really have any celebrities I think of for him. I think part of the reason I go for masked characters is that I don't actually have to imagine a face for them, even with characters like mando where I know what he looks like under there I don't actually imagine Pedro's face when I write for him. I don't really imagine a full face at all.

And with Ghost and König, it's not...necessarily that I imagine just...an amorphous blob where their face is, I just don't always picture details if that makes sense? I picture specific facial expressions far more (regardless of how I picture his face, this grin is burned into my brain). Now that I've written for both of them a lot I do have a slightly clearer picture of what they look like to me, and I'm sure there are celebs out there that match that but I couldn't find any with quick google searches.

If I had to describe how I generally picture König (neck up specifically, body would have to be a whole other post), it would probably be something like this, but I'm not strongly attached to any one interpretation, I see quite a few different ones I like:

I imagine a large Adam's apple (I just think he has a very nice neck) and an angular jawline, and above that,

definitely a pronounced nose with a little bump on it, maybe a little crooked from breaking it one too many times.

I don't think his hair would be too long so it doesn't get in the way of things, but I like to think it's longer on the top, long enough to tangle your fingers in and a little wavy.

When he takes the hood and balaclava off it sticks up and is all messy and fun to play with. I bet he's secretly proud of his hair and puts a lot of time into it when he's at home so it gets really soft, but he'll pout if you mess it up before he goes out.

I think he shaves daily and his stubble grows fast. He might grow it out a few days if you asked him, but then wouldn't like the sensation of it (esp. under a mask) and would shave it off. He also might have a couple bald patches on his jaw that he's sensitive about

If I had to pick a hair color it would probably be a really dark dirty blonde, maybe some lighter streaks if you get him out in the sun (please slather him in sunscreen first he for sure burns easily). Not super attached to any hair color with him tho

Honestly that's kind of as far as I picture his face, he's got nice eyes tho as we can all see

I really just think he has a very expressive face where all his emotion is painted on it clear as day

He has a big lopsided grin and that's the one appearance-related thing I do feel strongly about

[multi-lefaiye]

Blorbo Blursday!

So. Alekto and Narkissos have Top Tier names. 10/10 i love them, i could vocal stim them, i could steal their names even /lh

In honor of that, have any spare content about them to talk about?

Happy Blorbo Blursday!!! :>

Thank you,,,,,,, Alekto and Narkissos are some of my favorites in the cast and I know I'm not subtle about that. I am glad you like them!!!! Especially their names <3

And YES I do have some spare content about them to talk about!! Namely, I can talk a little about some of my original plans, now that I've changed both of these characters a LOT from their OG concepts. Namely... Narkissos used to be a HUGE sack of shit. She still kind of is, but she's gotten better.

I won't go into all of the original ideas for Narkissos b/c honestly a lot of them make me 😬, but just know. Original Narkissos is not a character I would ever be interested in giving any form of redemption because I personally feel like she went too far. New Narkissos gets a redemption arc but also didn't do as Much bad in the first place as the Original Narkissos, so it's not as necessary.

I don't want to spoil All of my plans for this story, but I will share a couple of things under the cut that are from the original plans for Alekto and Narkissos and the relationship between them! Some memes, some concept art, and an excerpt or two from a Narkissos Essay I started writing and ended up abandoning <3

Okay so here's a sketch I did in like...... the Very Early Days Of CUDAAS when I'd just decided that Alekto would be a protagonist. Iwas listening to Backstabber by Kesha and it made me think of these two, so I whipped this up as fast as I could <3

Essentially the concept is that this would be the moment Alekto finds out Narkissos was the one who essentially ruined their life and caused them to go through an incredibly painful and traumatic experience, all because she was jealous </3

I'm not gonna go into too much detail 'cause I am still keeping some elements from the original storyline, but uhhh Alekto has a different reaction in the new version <3 And also I've since realized that the actual villains of this story are the gods (especially the Mountain King) so even though Narkissos Fucks Up Big Time, his motivations are different and ultimately it's a lot less about personal vengeance against Alekto.

Also this isn't what Narkissos looks like lmao, this was before I properly designed her <3

And here's a meme I made with tupperbot, based on a running joke I used to have with some friends about Hekate tormenting Narkissos via telepathy (since that is one of the only ways Hekate can communicate):

Was this planned to be an actual scene? Maybe.

Essentially Narkissos's original motivations centered a LOT around him being jealous of Alekto and Hekate and ultimately I decided I just... didn't like that. As fun as it was to joke about it, it didn't make Narkissos a very compelling character to me. I like him much better now as a complicated character struggling with the pressure and duty placed on him who eventually learns that he has worth as a person outside of what he can do for others and how good of a soldier he is for the gods <3

Anyway ok last thing I'll share is an excerpt from the Narkissos Essay I ended up abandoning, which was less of an essay and more a summary of early plans for the first book from Narkissos's POV. This is the scene I like to call "Narkissos gets her ass beat by Alekto and then goes 😳 about it"

I just realized this was very Narkissos centric whoops-

To make up for that, I will also share the first picrew I made of Alekto when I was first conceptualizing them <3 The skin tone is too light, but I still like this vibe for them otherwise. Might bring back,,, Alekto with a little stubble,,,, that's a Look

(Picrew Link: [here])

And actual last thing I will share. Misc. notes I made about what I think Alekto and Narkissos's voices sound like (I have notes for all the characters' voices, but since this is about these two <3 yeah):

[anothers-trash-my-treasure]

Bittersweet ~ Chapter Eight

If I was naming chapters, this one would be titled “Near or Far” and that’s all I’m gonna say. 

Last official chapter, an epilogue will be on its way and honestly, I might write a few side chapters sometime too because I just love this story so much. Enjoy!

Pairing: Merriell Shelton/Reader (femme)

Warning: swearing, some angst and long-distance troubles but mostly just fluff

Word count: 4000

Tag List: @ahkmenrami1205 @itsme690 @xoa-lex @ramibaby @r-ahh-mi @xmxisxforxmaybe @sherlollydramoine @txml @moon-stars-soul @ramimedley @sassystrawberryk 

*he’s so pretty i wanna cry*

~

Long-distance is hard.

God, it’s the fucking worst. 

In some ways, it was very much the same from normal. I wake up, eat breakfast, go to my classes. I spend all day on campus, reading and studying only to leave for my job. I’d waitress all night, grab something to eat at the end of a shift, go home, watch a few episodes of Friends (even though I’ve seen it a thousand times) and head off to bed before repeating it all over again. 

But then, on the other hand, it was so different.

Because I’d wake up to the standard Mornin’ Beautiful, have a good day. I’d spend all day looking at my phone and laughing at the constant stream of goofy snapchats, annoying everyone around me in the otherwise silent part of the library. I’d get a phone call at 10 o’clock sharp every night as I made way back to my apartment that would switch over to a facetime as soon as I was settled on the couch, Netflix on the TV and the love of my life’s face stretched across my computer screen, pixelated and laggy due to crappy wifi. 

And every minute spent communicating in any way possible was simultaneously wonderful and heartbreaking. The technology of the present day made it so easy to hear his voice and to see him. But it was the worst thing in the world when I couldn’t come home from a long day and cuddle up with him on the couch or wake up with his arms around me. Technology couldn’t replicate touch. And it fucking sucked.

Someday’s we were both too busy to even get more than a few texts out to each other throughout the week. He was so busy at work and University kept me on my toes at all times. I was constantly writing essays, studying content or writing notes for 40-page readings that half the time the professor didn’t even attempt to cover. 

We tried to be patient with each other. I knew he was working double shifts, they were short-staffed at the lumber yard and he was always talking about taking a week off to come visit me once he had enough saved up. He knew I was just as busy. But sometimes we just got agitated, so fed up with how hard it was to be away from each other that we had to lash if we wanted to keep our rule of total and utter honesty. 

But we always worked things out in the end. Even if presently things were a little tense. 

“Hey baby,” his voice rang through my headphones as I made my way to my next class.

“Hi Mer,” I replied, no doubt looking like an idiot as I smiled to no one.

“Whatcha doin?” He asked, his voice resembling that of a bored child. I knew he had the day off today, they were few and far between. Usually, they landed on a weekend, when we could spend the whole day on facetime, syncing up movies to watch together and enjoying what company we could get out of a computer screen.

“I am currently rushing to my Marketing class,” I say smiling politely at someone who holds the door for me, “which I am currently late for because I lost track of time in the library trying to finish an essay for my next class.”

He whistles lowly, “Busy girl.” he comments and I can hear a familiar tone in his voice. It’s lower than usual, huskier and warm around the edges. Any other time it’d send a rush of heat through me and I’d be finding the nearest private bathroom to indulge in a bit of phone sex but today I was simply too busy.

“Merriell-” I start to warn but he barrels through, completely ignoring me.

“So what'dya say? Wanna be a few more minutes late an’ be a little bad with me?” his tone is teasing, breathy and light.

“You know I can’t.” I huff at him, “The midterm for this class is next week, I really don’t have time to get you off right now.” I wince a little at the tone of my voice, but as I near my class I can’t find it in myself to feel guilty about being short with him.

“Babe,” he whines, “C’mon we haven’t done anything in like a week, I’m dyin’.”

“You’re not.” I deadpan, “Mer, I’m really sorry. I’ll try to make some time this weekend but midterms are coming up and-”

“I know, I know.” he sighs, “You gotta study.” 

It’s silent as I stand outside my classroom, not wanting to leave things with this kind of tension but knowing if I don’t head into lecture I will surely pay the consequences.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly, “I gotta go, I love you.”

“Near or far baby.” he replies and despite the tension I know he’s got a smile on his face 

~

The rest of the week carries out more or less the same way. He calls and I’m busy, we hang up and I’m left feeling guilty. But University is demanding and it won’t let me stray away long enough to talk to him for more than ten minutes at a time. I try to compromise, face timing him while I study at home, thinking that just having his presence, even if he sits there silently while I do my thing, will be enough to tie him over until midterms are over. But that doesn’t prove to work well either. 

“-Gene and I went out the other day and I swear to god, the poor kid got rejected by every girl in the bar. Not that I’m surprised, y’know Gene, he neva’ did have much game an-” 

“Mer,” I sigh exasperated, putting my pen down on the table with an audible thump, “Y’know I love to hear these stories but it’s really distracting and I need to run through this chapter again.” My eyes linger on the pixelated version of his face on my screen, it doesn’t do him any justice. The shitty camera quality of our laptops do nothing to catch the true colour of his eyes or the texture of his hair and Jesus christ I miss him. 

“So ya jus’ want me to sit here silently?” he asks, a twinge of annoyance to his voice.

“I mean it’s what you’d be doing if you were here,” I point out, “Look, I just thought that doing this could at least try to mimic us being together since I don’t really have time to do the usual talkative shit.” I rub my temples, feeling a strain just behind my eyes that comes with studying for ongoing seven hours.

“Baby, I know you’re busy. I get it, but Jesus Christ I feel like-” he breaks off with a sigh, looking away from the screen for a second, “This is the most I’ve talked to you in the past two weeks.” 

I shake my head lightly, looking around at the mess of papers, textbooks and cue cards that litter my kitchen table, “I don’t know what you want from me right now, Merriell, I’m trying my best.” I insist, running my hands through my greasy, tangled hair.

“I know ya are,” he says, voice rising slightly as his frustrations surface, “I know you’re trying, it’s just I fucking hate this.” 

“Hate what Mer?” I question, feeling irritation bubble up inside of me, “Hate that I can’t devote all my time and energy to talking to you?” I’m about to go on, having a list of things to say but he’s having none of my shit tonight.

“Don’t start with that shit,” he glares at me through the screen, “You know I don’t expect that.”

“Well then stop fucking acting like it,” I exclaim, laughing a bit but there’s no humour in it. 

“Y/n,” he sighs, running a hand over his face tiredly, “Fuck, why’s this gotta be so fucking hard.” he groans, eyes running over his screen, no doubt taking in my appearance.

My finger lifts from the table, running over the projection of his face on my screen. My heart longs to feel the warmth of his skin under my fingertips, I can hardly remember the feeling of his strong jaw, of the light stubble that builds there after a few days of not shaving. My hands itch to run through his hair, to feel the texture of the curls that are somehow soft and coarse all at once. The worst part of long-distance, I conclude, is not being able to touch. 

“I just miss ya so much,” He says softly, and even through the pixels, I can see his eyes soften with sadness.

“I know Mer,” I say compassionately, “I miss you too.” 

We sit silently for another few moments, I push away the nagging at the back of my head that screams at me to study, not wanting to risk upsetting him more.

“Maybe I can come visit soon,” he wonders out loud, clicking and typing loudly at his laptop and I know he’s checking his bank statements, “It’s a little tight right now but I wouldn’t starve by any means an’ ‘Gene owes me money anyway I could use for rent-”

“Merriell, no.” I say sadly because as much as I want him to come up, I don’t want him going broke because of it, “We talked about this, you only come up if you can afford to do it without putting yourself in debt.” He opens his mouth to argue so I speak to cut him off, “You’d tell me the same thing.”

He sighs, burying his head in hands. I can see his shoulders are tense, frustration running through every muscle of his body. He takes another minute or two before he looks back up at the screen.

“Yeah, okay.” he says quietly, “I’ll let ya study.”

“You don’t have to go,” I point out weakly, “I know it’s hard for you to be quiet but I’m sure if you made an effort...” it’s a poor attempt at a joke but it gets his lips twitching into a weak smile nonetheless.

“Nah, can’t have my smart girl failing her classes,” He pauses, “Then I couldn’t tease ‘Gene about how fuckin’ stupid he is.” 

I huff out a laugh, “Go easy on the poor guy.”

“Never” he replies easily with a cheeky smirk. 

I shake my head in amusement, the humour replacing the tension that crossed over us if only for a few moments, it’s welcomed. 

“I love you, Mer,” I say softly, “You know that right?” 

It feels important that he knows it, that he believes it. Lately, every conversation we’ve had has ended in apologies and I hate that. I hate that we fight so often, I hate that I have to be so far away from him all the time and I fucking hate, even the possibility, that he could think that I don’t love him. 

He smiles softly, sadly, “I know baby,” he assures me, “I love you too.” 

I sigh, returning my attention back to the textbooks spread across my table. They seem so unimportant right now. The sight of them only reminds me of how terrible of a girlfriend I’ve been lately and the thought of choosing studying over him again makes me sick to my stomach. 

“I’ll let ya go.” he says, snapping me out of my trance.

I don’t want him to go. I want to keep talking to him, I want to listen to his stupid stories about Eugene striking out with the ladies and his day at work and I want him to hit on me like he doesn’t already have me wrapped around his finger. I’m so unbelievably exhausted, school draining every last ounce of energy from me and yet still demanding more. I can feel tears pricking behind my eyes at the thought of being alone in my quiet apartment. 

“Okay.” I croak, taking a shaky breath and looking away from his image before I really lose it. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “You got this baby girl. Just a few more days an’ you’re in the clear.” I nod, chewing a hole in my lip, “we’re gonna get through this, I promise. Near or far, right?” 

I nod again, taking a steadying breath before saying our final goodbyes for the night. I know I’m being stupid, he’ll text me within the hour but that doesn’t the aching in my chest when his face disappears from my screen, replaced with the home screen. 

Midterms could not end fast enough.

~

“Cheers,” Chloe says loudly over the noise of the bar surrounding us, holding a shot high above her head, “to what seems like the longest two weeks of our lives. We did it. Through our blood, sweat, and for some of us,” she sends me a pointed look, “a whole lot of tears. But midterms,” she pauses for dramatic effect, keeping us all in a form of amused suspense, “are over!”

The group hoots and hollers and we drown our shots, barely wincing at the harshness of the alcohol against our throats. It’s early, but a lot of us are already well on our way to being drunk. Spring break has officially begun and that means a whole week of binge drinking and ignoring all our upcoming academic responsibilities. 

“I didn’t cry that much.” I insist for seemingly the thousandth time.

Chloe laughs loudly, “Oh come on, Y/N.” she pushes my shoulder playfully, “There was hardly a day you didn’t call me in tears because you were behind on studying.” 

I pout dramatically, “I was only behind because my idiot boyfriend kept distracting me.” 

“He is an idiot,” she agrees, earning herself a slightly too hard punch to the shoulder on my behalf, “Speaking of,”  she continues, “How are things with you guys?”

I shrug, rubbing at the condensation on my glass, “We’re fine.” I answer, “He keeps insisting we’re fine anyways. Even though all we’ve done lately is fight about how hard this whole long-distance thing is.” I meet her concerned gaze and shrug again, “It’ll be better now that midterms are over I just...miss him. It’s hard.” 

She nods, understanding, “You think you’ll be able to see him soon?” 

“I don’t think so.” I say sadly, “All the money I save goes right back into paying for school. He’s trying to save but I think it’ll be a little while yet.”

Midterms kept me busy enough, that it hadn’t really occurred to me how much longer it could be before I could see my boy again. I was so focused on vocabulary, theories and information that will soon be next to useless, I always had something else to contemplate. But now that it’s all over I’m hit with the unfortunate reality that it could be months before I see him again. And the mere thought of that makes my heartache. 

“God Chloe, I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” I whine, pouting dramatically.

A small, kind of sly smile creeps over her lips and her eyes glimmer with mischief, “Is that so?” 

Her voice sounds teasing and I’m left feeling like I’m the last one in on a joke. I take in the table around me and notice that all my friends are staring at me, giddy with excitement. My brow crumples in confusion and I look back at Chloe, who is practically bursting at the seams, phone pointed and aimed towards me.

“What are you doing?” I question, narrowing my eyes at her.

“Turn around,” she says simply.

I do what she says, turning around in my seat to address the scene behind me and I can’t believe my eyes. Standing in the middle of the bar is an all too familiar figure with unruly curls and sea-green eyes.

The next thing I know, I’ve thrown myself out of the chair and across the bar floor, all but tackling him. His arms wrap tightly around me, we spin and my senses are enveloped in everything that is so undeniably Merriell. I can hear him laughing in my ear, deep and throaty, can feel his arm around my waist, his hand in my hair and his lips on my forehead, mumbling soft words that I can’t hear over the cheering of my friends and drunk bystanders. My fingers clench in his loose-fitting t-shirt desperately, as if I were to let him go he’d disappear. I’m not aware of the tears running down my cheeks until he tilts my head up to gently wipe them away. 

“Baby, why you cryin’?” he teases, kissing the tip of my nose softly.

I let out a wet laugh and shake my head, unable to do anything other than stare up at him admiringly for a moment. I take in a shaky breath, “You’re such an asshole.” it’s said without heat and he beams down at me, placing soft kisses on my lips.  

He maneuvers us back to our table, where he greets Chloe and introduces himself to my friends. I’m faintly aware of everything around me that isn’t him, not quite grasping the fact that this is real, he’s here and not hundreds of miles away in a whole other state. 

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask, my thoughts having settled in my head much in the same way I have settled sideways on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck.

He looks at me with a smile, eyes soft, “Honestly, I jus’ couldn’t wait any longer.”

The group ‘aw’s and I am helpless to do anything but lean in to kiss him. 

The rest of the night we drink, dance and for the first time months, I feel light and happy. Hardly a moment goes by where we’re not touching each other in some way. It had been too long since we’ve felt the warmth of each other’s bodies against one another, his hands on my hips, mine on his chest. It felt so surreal to have him near again. He was just as obnoxious and loud as I remembered him being and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We had pissed off the rest of the bar while dancing. A familiar jazz tune came on and Merriell had tugged me to the dance floor, attempting to teach me a form of swing dancing that I was 99% certain wasn’t even a thing. Chloe had finally managed to get us to leave, but not after he had managed to nearly get us thrown out for public indecency. Totally his fault, he can’t expect to kiss me like that and not expect me to want to jump his bones. 

The memories of last night come filtering back to me, much like the sunlight that finds its way into the room through my curtains. My eyes flutter open and my senses slowly come back to me. The feeling of soft blankets around my body, the warm skin of his chest beneath my cheek, a hand resting limply on my waist and our legs tangled with each other. His chest rises and falls slowly, mouth parted ever so slightly as he sleeps deeply. I shift on my stomach to watch him, taking in every detail I had forgotten over time. The way his fingers twitch restlessly in his sleep, how his muscles clench ever so slightly as I run my fingers across his abdomen. I missed waking up to him like this. He looks at peace and I can’t help but wonder if he sleeps this good when we’re apart. 

He breathes in deeply suddenly, face scrunching against the offending sunlight. His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer as his other hand rubs the sleep away from his face. He hums softly, a sleepy smile spreading across his features as his eyes flutter open and meet mine.

“Mornin’” he murmurs.

I feel a grin split across my face as I admire his handsome features in the morning light, “Good morning.” 

“I missed this.” He sighs, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I hum in agreement, leaning into his touch, “me too.” 

We stay like that for a while. His arms around me, my fingers dancing across his skin, the room just slightly too warm to be pressed so close but neither of us willing to move away from the other just yet. I don’t know how long he’s staying, how long it’ll be before we see each other again after this and yet I find myself reluctant to bring up the conversation, afraid to shatter the perfect moment we’ve created. 

“Could stay like this forever,” I say instead, softly, a tinge of sadness and longing to my voice. 

He hums softly, a hand coming up to run through my hair, gently brushing away any knots with his fingers, “About that...” 

I pull away, pushing myself up and away from his body to look at him. I feel anxiety begin to bubble in the pit of my stomach at the uncharacteristic bashfulness on his face. 

“What?” I ask softly, searching his face for any clues.

His eyes run over my features silently, lip drawn between his teeth as he debates how to bring up the mysterious subject. 

“I may have done somethin..” he hesitates, “kind of stupid.” 

My mind runs to a million and ten different possibilities, every one worse than the last. My entire body runs tight. But it seems to focus on one possibility in particular and just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach. I’ve heard too many long-distance relationships gone wrong because of drunken loneliness and one night stands and ‘she’ll never have to know’s and I can practically hear him say it in my haze of overthinking.

I cheated on you.

“I sold my apartment.” 

I blink. My mouth opens and shuts and I’m at a loss for words because I don’t know what this conversation is going to be. I silently chastise myself for jumping to a conclusion so drastic. Confusion swarms me as I take in how absolutely nervous he is.

“Okay,” I say slowly, trying desperately to grasp what the underlying meaning is, “Why?” I ask eventually.

His lips twitch into a bashful smile, looking out the window briefly before crossing his legs and sitting closer to me, taking my hand in his. 

“Well,” he starts, looking back up at me with soft eyes, “Because lately New Orleans’ hasn’t really felt like home.” Something clicks in my brain and I have to force myself to contain my excitement, just in case I’m wrong, “So the stupid thing was selling my place before comin’ here and askin’ you this but..” he trails off and he looks so nervous and absolutely adorable that I have to restrain myself from kissing him silly. 

“What would ya think about us movin’ in togetha’? Here?” 

A small laugh escapes my lips and I can’t hold myself back anymore, practically tackling him back onto the mattress, kissing him passionately. A grin on my part breaks our kiss. 

“I would fucking love that.” 

A slow smile spreads across his lips like he truly can’t believe that I agreed and I’m helpless to do anything other than kiss him again. 

“Thank God,” he sighs into my mouth, “‘Cause I got ‘Gene on standby ready to ship all my shit over here,” he says in between kisses.

My heart sores. Never again will we have to resort to weekly facetime calls just to see each other’s face. Never again will I forget the warmth of his body against mine and never again will I have to face heartbreaking longing that I feel when he’s not with me. 

My hand cups his jaw and rubs my thumb over his cheekbone, “I love you so damn much, Merriell Shelton.” I say hopelessly. 

He beams at me, rubbing our noses together softly and muttering the phrase that, to us, means unconditional love.

“Near or far.”

~

A/N: AND THAT IT!!! Feedback is welcome or seriously if y’all ever wanna just spam my inbox with Snafu love I am totally here for it.

[pris-writing-blog]

New Beginnings

Summary: Sometimes, two people who would be perfect together are driven apart by tragic circumstances. Sometimes, they never see each other again. Sometimes, they meet again in the most unlikely of places. Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition

Pairing: Evelyn Amell and Cullen Rutherford

Word Count: 8.4 k

Warnings: PTSD, major character death, substance abuse.

A/N: I’m honestly surprised I actually wrote this, since my tastes tend to lean towards LGBT couples and characters. But the idea of Amell finding Cullen again during Inquisition just really spoke to me and inspired me to write this. I hope you all enjoy.

A diary recovered from Kinloch Hold after it is abandoned during the Mage Rebellion. Some pages are burned, torn out, or simply illegible. A page in the front states it is property of Evelyn Leola Amell.

Date: 9:23 Dragon, 20th of Harvestmere

The Revered Mother suggested I write in this journal. Stuff about my feelings and all that. I don’t know what I’m feeling though! I guess I feel scared, and lonely, and mad upset about leaving. I miss Mother and Father and the rest of the family. I remember mother crying as the Templars took me away. How is this supposed to make me feel better? I just feel worse now. I’m going to go lay down. Maybe tomorrow I’ll try burning this book, that’ll show the Mother.

Date: 9:23 Dragon, 23rd of Harvestmere

So I didn’t burn the book. I did put it away though, hid it under my pillow. I feel a bit better today. I made two friends! One’s name is Anders, a bit older than me, and he’s said he escaped once. He got caught though, obviously. He’s snarky and makes dumb jokes. I like him. Then there’s Jowan, he’s about my age. He’s real nervous, all jittery and easily spooked. But he’s nice and calming. So I guess I have friends now. I still miss Mother.

Date: 9:23 Dragon, 1st of Firstfall, Satinalia

This was the first Satinalia I ever spent away from home. I thought I would be sad, but today was a blast! There was a HUGE feast, with a whole bunch of different dishes than I’m used to. They were all so good, except for the soup. It was grey and tasted like… stuff? I didn’t like it. Anders tried to escape, and I helped! He had this idea to send my parents a gift, but it would really just be him in a barrel wrapped in pretty paper. But the Templars found him before he even got outside- how were we supposed to know they’d unwrap it themselves?

Date: 9:26 Dragon, 13th of Cloudreach

Anders told me today he “seeing” one of the older mages. When I asked what he meant, I regretted asking. I properly shouldn’t write it down, if the Mother found this she’d have me and Anders switched. But it has made me think… Anders wouldn’t say who he was with, but he said it was a man. If a man and a man can do that together, can a woman and a woman do it? Cecilia two bunks down is pretty, I think. I don’t think I want to do that with her, but it makes me feel better that what I feel isn’t too weird.

Date: 9:26 Dragon, 16th of Cloudreach

Anders did it! He really did it! Today when the Templars had us outside for exercise, Anders suddenly bolted off to the dock and jumped off the end! The Templars tried to go after him, but after Carrol almost drowned thanks to his armor, they had to try and take it off first before jumping in. That gave Anders enough of a head start to make it to shore and run off into the woods! He’s free! I just hope it lasts for him.

Date: 9:26 Dragon, 23rd of Cloudreach

It didn’t last. The Templars tracked Anders down and brought him back in shackles. I tried to run over to help him but Jowan held me back. He said I’d just get in trouble too. Knight-Commander Gregoir wanted to make Anders Tranquil. When he said that, Ander’s mentor- Karl I think his name is- yelled at Gregoir. I still don’t understand what becoming Tranquil means, but I know Owain and the other Tranquil creep me out. I don’t want Anders to be like that. First Enchanter Irving stood up for Anders, thankfully, but he agreed to have Anders go through with his harrowing tomorrow. I’m scared for him. Cecilia did her Harrowing last week and failed. I don’t know what happened to her, she just disappeared. I don’t pray to the Maker and Andraste as much as I should, but I’ll pray tonight for Anders.

Date: 9:26 Dragon, 24th of Cloudreach

Anders passed! He made it through his Harrowing. He was grinning like a maniac and his bragging was insufferable, but I’m just happy he’s okay. He’ll be moving up to the mage quarters later, but Jowan and I are going to give him a little party before he leaves. Well, a get together with some sweet bread I managed to swipe from the kitchen. But it’s enough for him that we said we’ll miss him. I wonder when my Harrowing will be.

Date: 9:28 Dragon, 25th of Haring

Damn the Templars, damn Gregoir, damn the whole bloody circle! I don’t care if anyone finds this journal anymore. I hope they do, so they’ll know I hate them all! They caught Anders after another one of his escape attempts. This time he gave him a YEAR OF SOLITARY CONFINEMENT THAT MEANS HE’S IN THE DUNGEONS FOR A YEAR

There is a line of scribbles below this, dark and sharp as if the writer had been stabbing the page with the ink quill.

When they said that, Jowan had to actually hold me back physically. I wanted to hurt Gregoir. I screamed things that made the Mother mad, but I didn’t care. You know what I remember most? Ander’s face as they took him away. He had cast one last smirk over his shoulder at me, but I could see it in his eyes: fear. Damn them all.

Date: 9:29 Dragon, 1st of Bloomingtide, Summerday

We got some new Templar recruits recently. One of them, I think his name is Cullen, he’s cute. Blonde locks and stubble just growing in. And hazel eyes I could lose myself in. But anyways he’s alright to look at, yeah. Couldn’t do anything with him anyway, he’s a Templar and I’m a mage. It could never work. But I keep catching him glancing at me. Today in the Summerday festivities I was dressed in a pretty white dress like all the other young girls and I caught Cullen’s eye. I’ve never seen a face go so red so quickly! And he was dressed in a fine white tunic and pants, I’ll admit my face heated when I wondered what he’d look like with just the tunic. Of course, the mood was ruined when the Mother started reciting the Chant and the lessons. Oh Maker, why must you get in the way of things?

Date: 9:29 Dragon, 31st of Haring

Anders was released today. I didn’t even get a chance to say hello or goodbye before he disappeared again. The Templars are baffled, but they’re sure they’ll find them. I hope they're wrong, for Anders’s sake. I’m not mad at them anymore, I think. I understand their purpose. I just wish we had a choice. I don’t mind the Circle much, I’ve come into my magic well because of it. But for people like Anders, who value freedom more than anything, this place is a prison. It shouldn’t be like that. I’ve also spoken some more with Cullen. He’s so shy and nervous around me, as if just talking to a mage is prohibited. I asked where he was from, about his family, and he asked me the same. I just like talking with him now. I think I like him. Oh sweet Andraste I’m in trouble.

Date: 9:30 Dragon, 24th of August

My Harrowing is tomorrow! I’m scared and nervous and excited all at once. I still don’t know what they do to test you, I mean there are rumors but one can never trust those, so I am a tad worried about that. But I am confident in myself and my skills and I just know I’ll pass. Jowan has been more worried than usual, he’s upset that I’m going through my Harrowing before him, even though he’s older, but I’m sure he’s just being paranoid. One thing has made me a tad scared though: I saw Cullen earlier and saw fear in his eyes. Why was he scared when he looked at me? It almost looked like pity.

Date: 9:30 Dragon, 26th of August

I never did get to write about what happened yesterday. Too much happened. I suppose I should sort it out here. I went to my Harrowing. They pitted me against a demon. An actual Maker-forsaken demon. No wonder Cullen was scared. Apparently, if I had failed and became an Abomination, he was to be the one to kill me. I was terrified, but I passed. When I woke up, Jowan congratulated me, but still seemed nervous. I found out why later. Apparently, the First Enchanter had agreed to make Jowan Tranquil. Something about him being too weak to resist temptation or some other nonsense. He and his lover, Sister Lily, asked me to help them retrieve Jowan’s phylactery and destroy it, so they could escape without fearing the Templars finding them. And damn me to the Void, but I did it. I helped him. I believed him when he said he wasn’t a blood mage. And what did he do when he was backed into a corner like the rat he is? He used his blood to attack the Knight-Commander and escape. And now Lily is gone off to Aeonar- Maker watch over her- and I’m to be made Tranquil after the others return from Ostagar. Damn you Jowan. This is all your fault.

Date: 9:31 Dragon, 5th of Wintermarch

Once again, the Mother suggested I write down my thoughts to soothe my soul. Oh Mother, essays of my writing couldn’t soothe my soul. I don’t even know where to begin. I suppose at the start of this nightmare. I didn’t know it, but the mages and Templars sent to Ostagar returned, or at least the ones who survived. What happened at Ostagar was a tragedy, Teyrn Loghain quit the field and left the Grey Wardens and King Maric to die, along with almost all of their army. Uldred attempted to have the Circle side with Loghain, spinning a tale of lies for them. But Wynne countered him, exposing Loghain and Uldred for the traitors they were. What happened next, no one could have seen coming. In a meeting of the Enchanters, Uldred and a number of other mages turned to blood magic and demon summoning to free themselves. It went about as well as you’d expect. Almost half of the Circle perished in the fight. I barely survived myself. Still locked in the dungeon, I had to fight off demons and abominations while trapped in my cell. But I did it, I survived. Barely; I would have died of starvation if I hadn’t started screaming bloody murder. Apparently, the Templars had assumed me dead. The Hero of Ferelden saved us. Who’d have thought a boy from the Alienage, a bastard prince, an assassin, and an apostate could clear out an entire tower of abominations and demons? Sounds like a bad joke. After it was all over and they were patching me up, I saw Cullen. I didn’t even recognize him at first. He used to be so kind and shy and good and now- he’s a shell of who he was. It’s as though someone poisoned him with hate and fear. When I ran up to him to hug him he drew his sword at me, shouting to stay away or else. I was confused at first. I asked him, “Cullen, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

And he said- no, he growled, “What’s wrong is you. You mages, sick and vile and evil. All of you.”

It hurt. A lot more than I want to admit. But I said to him, “Cullen, you can’t possibly mean that. What about… I thought we-”

He cut me off, though, to shout, “There is nothing between us, mage! An ill-advised infatuation of a foolish boy. I know better now, and pray the Maker will forgive my sin.”

A sin. He called our feelings a sin. Well that was just the rotten cherry on the pile of the shit sundae wasn’t it? I yelled at him, I don’t remember what. It dissolved into a screaming match before others came to separate us. We avoided each other after that. And then he left; went off to Kirkwall, city of Templars. And damn me, but I still

No. I won’t say that, I won’t even write that. It and he are best left forgotten. After the tragedy, we were recruited by the Hero of Ferelden to fight in the Blight. I went to Denerim, saw the Darkspawn horde. It wasn’t as terrifying as what I saw during those weeks I spent trapped, assailed by monsters both human and demon made. And now it’s over. The Blight is ended and the Circle is returning to an uneasy normal. It was decided I would not be made Tranquil, seeing as how they would need as many Enchanters as possible to rebuild. Yay. The future awaits us. Let’s see what it brings.

Date: Dragon 9:37, 28th of Drakonis

Well, I found out what happened to Anders. He blew up a fucking Chantry! Words cannot express the emotions I feel about him and that, so I won’t try to write them. I’m more concerned about the Templar’s response. Mad Meredith invoked the bloody Rite of Annulment on the entire Circle, even though a single apostate caused the explosion. Thousands were killed in the chaos, mages, templars, and civilians alike. Thankfully, the Champion stopped the Knight-Commander. Apparently, I’m related to him! I heard Cullen was It was a mess, all of it. And now the Templars here are cracking down more and more. I heard there will be almost half of the contingent at the Enchanter meeting tomorrow. Anders, you really have turned the world on its head.

Date: Dragon 9:37, 29th of Drakonis

Well, Irving has fan-fucking-tastic timing. He has named me his successor. I suppose I am a good candidate, smart, skilled, not ancient. But in all seriousness, I am honored. I hope I can do well in my position. I do feel as though he’s just passed me the burning tongs though. It will be difficult to lead us through this, but I will do it, I swear to the Maker, I will lead my people through the storm.

Date: Dragon 9:37, 8th of Solace

And so we remain tied to the Chantry. I was attempted to agree with the Libertarians, but Wynne’s speech moved me. So we will remain, for a time. I returned from the Conclave earlier today and I am glad to be home. There seems to be a tangible nervous energy in the air outside, but here at least, we are safe. But the Templars… their gaze is troubling to me. As though they looking at spirits and demons instead of men and women. I pray they do not soon treat us as they see us.

Date: Dragon 9:39, 2nd of Guardian

Maker help us all. They disbanded the college. The Divine was attacked. Seekers everywhere. The world is on the brink of chaos, I can sense it. And now this, a letter from Wynne, begging me to come to Val Royeaux. There is to be a conclave of First Enchanters to discuss the finding of a cure for Tranquility. I am shocked beyond belief that such a thing exists, as well as overjoyed. But more than anything, I am scared. I am scared for my Circle, my family, and all mages across Thedas. A reckoning is about to come. And I fear the world is not ready for what it will bring.

This is the end of the diary entries. After the conclave dissolved into war, the mages fled to Andoral’s Reach. Kinloch Hold now stands empty, with accounts such as this left to be forgotten.

Find the rest of the story on my ao3 here!

[lexilucacia]

Um... Sirius and Remus going on a date (when they're still at Hogwarts)? Like a one shot kinda thing? X

Sorry this took so long and I know it isn’t exactly the best but I hope you enjoy fluffy Wolfstar! I had a blast writing it!

Remus and Sirius were standing in the astronomy tower, it was just after Christmas break and the air was still chilly.

Remus shivered and the first thing Sirius did was give him his leather jacket.

“Don’t be silly, you’ll catch a cold.”

“You can make it up to me by going out on a date with me? Tonight? You can return the jacket then.”

The first thing Sirius did after Remus had accepted his date offer was run back to the dorm room.

James was sitting on his bed, just finishing up a transfiguration essay McGonagall had assigned earlier that week.

So an unsuspecting James sat on his bed and threw his parchment and quill across the room when Sirius ran in screaming “date time!”

“What are you on about mate?” 

“He said yes. Remus said yes!” This resulted in a lot of loud screaming and dancing coming from the long-haired boy.

Even James got excited, clapping his back and telling him to get some

He quickly gave up the cool guy pretense though and pulled him into a hug congratulating him.

“You hurt him, I’ll kill you.” 

“If I let something happen, I’ll happily hand you the wand.”

Sirius spent the rest of the afternoon running around their dorm, showering, trimming his stubble he’d let grow over the holidays and choosing the ‘perfect outfit’ although James was sure he’d only ever seen him in one.

Sirius finally came out in a striped blue, white and yellow button up shirt, with the first button undone and highwaisted jeans with a brown belt and a pair of brown Chelsea boots.

His hair was tied half up in a bun and half down with his wand shoved into his bun and his hair still wild.

“Damn, if you weren’t Remus’ I would hit that.”

“Are you bi?”

“Yeah, thought you knew. Have you seen the Slytherin chaser? Mmm, hot.”

“TMI dude.”

Sirius running out of the common room flustered thinking about Remus and running into Lily.

“About time, Remus needs to use the dorm too.”

Lily leads Sirius away so Remus can have time to change and asks where she should escort him to.

Sirius going down to the kitchens and begging the house elves to make an array of foods, promising to not trash the common room for a week if they don’t snitch (which they wouldn’t).

Leaving with 2 loaded baskets and dragging them to the Great Lake.

Lily escorting a flustered Remus down the hill to an awaiting Sirius Black who honestly thought Remus had ditched him.

Sirius swears Remus is a God, wearing a white button up shirt under a cream jumper, tucked into a pair of jeans and a pair of scuffed, brown dress shoes.

Blushing profusely, he leans over to give Sirius a kiss on the cheek and Lily walks off with a wink and death threat.

The start of the date is really awkward and neither of them know what to say.

That is until Remus untucks his jumper and shirt, and encourages Sirius to do the same. 

Now both of them are sitting with their feet in the river, jeans rolled up and top few buttons undone. 

“You look good.”

“James told me the same thing.” They both laughed. “Wait did you know?”

“Yeah, how didn’t you? He’s been flirting with that Hufflepuff for sometime.”

“Wow.”

The discussion flows easily from there, with them laughing at Sirius’ obliviousness and talking about their homework.

It feels simple and easy like old times.

Just before the sun sets Sirius pulls out a little tupperware of chocolate covered strawberries and feeds it to Remus who turns redder than the strawberry juice running down his face.

Remus lays his head on Sirius' shoulder as they sat watching the sun set. 

“I was afraid you were gonna ditch me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because everyone does.”

Their first kiss isn’t perfect, there aren’t fireworks or promises of ever after.

But it's Sirius and Remus, and it doesn't need to be perfect, because it's them. 

They pull back breathless, Remus' eyes still closed and Sirius staring in awe.

As Remus eyes flicker open, he swears he’s in love, it doesn’t matter if this is only the first date, he’s loved him since before he even knew what it meant.

“You glad you agreed to the date Moony?”

“Maybe Pads, but I think you might need to kiss me again.”

And when had Remus gotten that bold.

The sun sets and darkness stretches over the grounds of Hogwarts as Remus curls up on Sirius' shoulder fast asleep.

And as the moon shines off his sandy hair, and Sirius traces the scars on the younger boy’s face he knows that this could be his forever.

[dragon-temeraire]

could you maybe write something with deaf Derek? like maybe he is used to people trying to communicate by writing on paper or texting but then Stiles comes along and learns sign language so he can ask Derek out!!!!! and like he learns enough to converse and Derek is just !!!!!!!! I just need pining Stiles and soft Derek

Thank you for the prompt, I hope you like this little fic! (On AO3)

Stiles takes a deep breath. He’s been working on this for weeks, he’s got this.

He walks up to Derek’s table and stands in front of him,hoping to catch his attention. Derek’s already done eating, and has juststarted looking through his class notes, so Stiles doesn’t feel too bad aboutdisturbing him.

When Derek glances up, Stiles points to the chair acrossfrom him questioningly. Derek gives him a little smile, nodding.

He takes the seat, then signs Hi, I’m Stiles, making sure to mouth the letters as he spells outhis name.

Derek says Stiles?back, not in a judgmental way, but more in a ‘did I get it right?’ way.

Stiles nods eagerly, and Derek’s smile gets bigger.

You’re in my historyclass, right? Derek says, his eyebrows practically asking the question forhim.

Derek sits at the very front of the class, while Stiles sitstoward the back, so he hadn’t thought Derek had noticed him at all. Nor did herealize how expressive Derek’s face can be.

When he’d pulled aside a couple of Derek’s friends, Ericaand Boyd, and asked them if they’d teach him a few signs, they’d beensuspicious. Derek gets highly detailed notes from their professor after everylecture, and people were always trying to by friendly with him in hopes of gettinga copy.

But Stiles had made his intentions very clear—he just wantedto be able to talk to Derek. And, admittedly, to be able to ask him out. Butthe communication was the most important part.

Yeah, same class,Stiles says. I’ve been enjoying it so far.

Me too, Dereksays, and looks so pleased to be having this conversation with him, Stilescan’t help feeling a thrill of happiness. Haveyou known ASL all along?

Stiles shakes his head. No,I just started. And that’s probably obvious, because he’s already out ofthings to say.

Derek blinks in surprise, then signs something that Stilesdoesn’t understand. Catching his confused look, Derek carefully says You’re doing really well, Stiles. We shouldtalk again sometime.

 *

 They have to pick partners for a history essay, and Stilesis a little surprised when Derek promptly turns around and signs, You want to?

There was probably a lot more to that sentence, but that’sall that Stiles managed to catch. He understands what Derek’s asking, though,so he nods and gives Derek a thumbs up. Derek laughs, shaking his head, butStiles can’t say he minds.

He’s waiting for Stiles after class, and begins to sign tohim so rapidly that Stiles’ brain can’t figure out anything. Sure, he’s been meeting up with Erica and Boyd to learnmore, but he hasn’t made that muchprogress.

Derek seems to realize that Stiles is lost, and he slowsdown, his expression radiating ‘oops, sorry.’

It’s okay, Stilessays, because he appreciates Derek’s enthusiasm.

I’m just excited aboutour topic, Derek says, and Stiles tries to keep his smile in check. Hedoesn’t want Derek to think he’s making fun of him. Do you want to go to the library with me?

Stiles agrees. He doesn’t have another class today, and theymight as well get a jump start on this project. He follows Derek across campus,keeping close because the quad is crowded. His stomach swoops a little whentheir hands brush, and he rolls his eyes at himself. It doesn’t mean anything.  

Derek takes him around the library, showing Stiles thesection of historical references, then leads him to his favorite study nook.It’s luckily unoccupied, so they claim it with their bags and go grab books.

Here, in the quiet of the library, Derek’s silence doesn’tseem out of place, and Stiles grins when he realizes they can talk withoutdisturbing anyone else. They work for a while, discussing their plan for theessay and taking down notes. They have a good framework laid out by the timeDerek glances at his watch, frowning.

He scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it toStiles. It’s an email address, with Derek’s full name written neatly above it.

We can talk that wayuntil we meet up again, he says, and Stiles nods agreeably, writing out hisown email for Derek.

He’s never been this excited to work on a history paper.

 *

 After three days of emailing back and forth, Stiles knowshe’s doomed. Derek is clever and funny, and so wonderfully passionate abouthistory, that Stiles’ little crush is spiraling out of control.

And he reallywants to figure out how to be witty in sign language, so he can make Dereklaugh all the time.

He’s been getting better at ASL—both through his continuedlessons with Boyd and Erica, and having conversations with Derek himself. It’sa gradual improvement, but it’s there, and Stiles really pleased by that.

He’s practiced how to ask Derek out numerous times, watchinghis reflection in the mirror to make sure he’s getting it right. But he figuresit’s best to wait until they’re done with the history project. Because if Derekturned him down, it would be super awkward to try and finish their essaytogether.

So Stiles contents himself with reading over their latestdraft, and doing his best to at least be witty via email.

 *

 They meet up again the day before it’s due, because Derekwants to go through it and make sure they’ve covered all the relevant pointsadequately. It’s even harder to be subtle about his pining when he’s aroundDerek now, when he knows what his sense of humor is like, when he knows whatDerek cares about, and is passionate about.

Some of our emailswere getting pretty off-topic, Derek says, and Stiles winces, because it’strue.

They’d been talking about their experiences in high school,their favorite bands, and little stories about things they’d seen in college,with only occasional post scripts actually related to the essay. Stiles hadbeen enjoying it a lot, and had only encouraged it.

My bad, he says.

Derek smiles. I didn’tmind, he says. We just need to getthis finished before we get back to your issues with team sports.

Stiles snorts out a laugh, and pulls out his own copy of theessay, eager to finalize it.

 *

 He and Derek keep talking via email after they turn in theirpaper, because they only see each other on campus a couple of times a week,when their class schedules overlap. And Stiles knows he absolutely cannot ask Derek out by email, so hespends a lot of time thinking (and overthinking) how to do it in person.

In the end he decides not to make a spectacle of himself,and just asks Derek to meet him at one of the picnic tables behind the library.

By the time Stiles arrives, Derek is there already there,reading a book as he idly scratches at his stubble. It’s a little mesmerizing.

Stiles sits down in across from him, back straight and bodytense, and says I want to ask yousomething. He’s not sure he got the signs quite right, thanks to hisnerves, but he’s pretty sure Derek understands anyway.

He nods encouragingly, eyebrows raised.

Stiles’ rambling doesn’t work so well in sign language, sohe takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself before saying, Would you go on a date with me?

Derek blushes then, and his face is soft and open when hesays, Why did you learn ASL?

Stiles licks his lips nervously. He’s not sure why Derek isasking, but he answers as honestly as possible. I wanted to be able to ask you out properly.

You learned far morethan you needed just to ask me out, Derek says, smiling a little.

Well, yes, Stilessays with a shrug. I wanted to be able totalk to you. Get to know you.

Derek grins, still blushing. And that’s why I’m saying yes, he says, and Stiles feels hisstomach swoop pleasantly.

He beams at Derek, and decides he needs to buy Erica and Boyda gift basket.

(Right after he takes Derek on a date, of course.)

[aroroswritingblog]

Night Meeting

Hellooooo!!! This is my gift to @my-lazy-genius for the @aphgenficexchange! Sorry I’m so late, I couldn’t access my computer and then my Political Anthropology teacher fucked up my schedule by making me do a surprise essay :( Anyway, I chose to write about France and Japan meeting while playing Pokemon GO. Tbh while thinking about what to write I remembered that trivia in France’s Kitawiki page about him possibly being a sleepwalker. I hope you enjoy it and have a great day!!!!

Tbh I’m publishing this reeeeally late, so I’ll probably reread it in the morning to check if there are any grammar mistakes or anything like that.

Read on AO3

The soft light coming from the streetlights illuminated the park in front of him. It was completely open, it had never had a fence or anything like that, and as he entered the park Kiku only hoped he wouldn’t encounter anyone there. After all, explaining he was in a park at three in the morning because he was trying to catch a Dragonite would be kind of awkward, and just the type of conversation he didn’t want to have.

He kept walking towards the centre of the park. The silence was unsettling, but he kept going, resolved to find what he was looking for. When the Dragonite finally appeared in his radar, he immediately tried to capture it, but just when he threw the first Super Ball an unexpected sound made him turn around.

Another person stood in front of him, half hidden against a tree. A taller man wearing a flower-patterned hoodie (over what Kiku thought were pajamas) was looking at him like a deer in the headlights, and for a moment Kiku thought that he probably looked the same way.

Calculations ran through Kiku’s brain: whether he’d be able to outrun the other man, if he could win in a physical fight, how many people would be able to hear him if he screamed… But they all stopped when the man pointed at his phone.

“Uuuhh, Pokemon GO?”

The phone in the man’s other hand shone bright, showing a familiar map. Oh. So that was what he was doing. Okay, Kiku didn’t have any right to judge then, even if the man in front of him looked like a hobo who had just woken up. The hoodie didn’t hide his face completely, and it was easy to see some stubble and some strands of disheveled hair, even if he couldn’t see the color or anything else.

Kiku nodded, and then they stared at each other. In moments like this it was expected to make some sort of small talk, he was aware of that, but the night or the surprise had left his already awkward social skills frozen. And just like that, they were both completely silent, unable to look each other in the eye.

“Sorry if I scared you,” the man said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He talked with some sort of accent that Kiku couldn’t identify. “I was playing. Pokemon GO, I mean.”

“It’s okay,” he answered, keeping his face neutral.

A gust of wind reminded him that he was in a park at three in the morning for a reason, so he captured the Dragonite as fast as possible, not being able to ignore the other man’s stare. Once he had it, he put his phone on his jacket’s pocket.

“You got what you were looking for?” The other asked, resting against a tree and looking like he was going to fall asleep right there.

“Yes. Now that I captured it, I’m going to leave,” he answered, wanting to get out of the uncomfortable situation as soon as possible.

“Oh, of course, I’ll go soon too.” The blond said, leaving the tree. Looking directly at Kiku, he waved goodbye with his hand and smiled. It was obvious it was meant to look friendly, but the man’s obvious tiredness made it look stiff and awkward.

Without looking back, Kiku left the park and went home.

The next morning the memory looked more like a dream than something that had actually happened. The Dragonite in his app was the only proof that the night before had happened, and as much as he tried he couldn’t even remember the other man’s face.

It was Sunday. Free day. He could do whatever he wanted. He could stay at home catching up on all the anime he had missed, or finish reading the manga Feliciano and Ludwig had bought for him for his birthday. Or he could go back to the park to keep playing, which was what he actually wanted to do, even if the night before had been one of the most awkward moments of his life and the idea of repeating it made him want to disappear.

Honestly, the possibility of meeting that weird guy again was really low. And he had been playing Pokemon GO every day for three weeks, he couldn’t just break his streak. Making up his mind, he got dressed and ready to leave, putting on his jacket while he pressed the button for the elevator.

The moment the elevator’s doors opened he took a deep breath, and stepped inside. However, just when he was about to push the button a yell stopped him. He instinctively pushed the button to keep the doors open, and before he even knew what had happened, someone had run and slipped into the elevator with him.

“Thank you for holding the elevator, chéri,” a blond man stood next to him, smiling at him.

“You’re welcome,” Kiku answered, ignoring the “chéri”.

The man got a little closer, looking him up and down.

“I don’t think we’ve ever met, right?” The smile grew, looking interested. “I moved here a couple weeks ago, but I think I haven’t had the joy of meeting you yet.”

“I suppose not. I’m Kiku,” he kept glancing at the doors, waiting for them to open. His new neighbor was getting a bit too close to him, and there was something weird about him. Kiku couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but looking at his face made him feel strange. His clothes were elegant and looked expensive, if he had seen him before he would remember, right?

“My name is Francis, chéri. But now that I think about it, are you sure this is the first time we meet? I feel like I’ve seen you before, and I have a good memory for faces…” Showing no regard for personal space, Francis studied Kiku’s face, obviously concentrated.

The doors opened suddenly, and Kiku got out immediately, but Francis followed him, half-talking to him and half-talking to himself, not even thinking of leaving him alone.

“Do you have a dog? I think I saw you the other day. No, wait, that was another person. You know the bakery next to the library? I go there whenever I can, have you ever been there? Or maybe… Hey, is that Pokemon GO?” He suddenly stopped rambling when he saw the app Kiku had opened in his phone.

The realization of why he had recognized Francis hit him, and it felt like all the air of his lungs had decided to escape.

“You’re the hobo from the park,” he said, not bothering to think of how that sounded.

“What do you mean hobo?!”

“I mean, the man from the park. The one who was playing Pokemon GO at three in the morning.”

Francis stared, opening and closing his mouth, but unable to actually say anything. It wasn’t hard to see a lot of things were going through his head, and when his eyes widened Kiku knew he had been recognized too.

Making sure nobody was around, Francis leaned in to talk, as if sharing a secret.

“Don’t tell anyone! I can’t let anyone know!”

“Know what?” He asked, getting worried. Francis looked genuinely distressed, constantly checking nobody could hear them.

“That I get out at night. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

He seemed conflicted, as if trying to decide whether to say something else or not. But eventually he keep talking.

“I’m a sleepwalker. Sometimes I wake up in other places, like the stairs, or… well, the park.”

“Is that why you looked so sleepy?”

“Yes, it’s a bit disorienting waking up in a completely different place. So sometimes I just… play Pokemon GO for a while before going home. Otherwise I’m too tired to move. Just don’t tell anyone, please.”

Processing everything he had just heard was hard, and he wasn’t even sure how he had gotten in the current situation. But, even if they hardly knew each other, he didn’t want Francis to get more nervous.

“You don’t need to worry, I won’t tell anyone about your sleepwalking.”

“Really?” Francis looked like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he could finally breathe.

“Really.”

“Thank you, mon ami!” Francis slung an arm around Kiku’s shoulders, bringing him closer. “I’m glad to know I can trust you.”

“It’s okay.” This time he didn’t even bother trying to get the other man away from him, apparently he was glued to him now.

“Can I invite you to a coffee or anything to thank you? I know an exquisite coffee shop, and there are a lot of Pokestops in the way.”

The answer was… not clear. Kiku didn’t tend to accept invitations to hang out with people he hardly knew, and if it ended up being half as awkward as the night in the park, he was probably gonna wish the ground would swallow him. But Francis was looking at him with the biggest smile he had ever seen (and not even a flirtatious one, just a genuinely happy one), and he really didn’t want to take that away.

“I guess that could be a good idea,” he answered.

Francis let go of his shoulders, only to grip his arm and drag him towards their destiny, already talking about what type of coffee they should get and whether they’d be close enough to the library’s Gym to battle the Pokemon there.

[loquaciousquark]

[Fic] A Little Slice of Heaven

Rating:  K/G/so, so harmless Characters/Pairings:  Fenris/Hawke, Aveline/Donnic, Orana Word Count:  5000ish? Summary:  Hawke wins a baking contest and yet seems distraught.  Fenris investigates.  Jade is bad at summaries without Quark to vet them, but alas, ‘tis the price of surprise gift fic.

happy you can survive practicals you survived practicals you put in an offer on a house MOVING DAY! here it is on your blog so you don’t even have to check your dash for it yay hiatus your assignment:  write an essay explaining the significance of cake in fenhawke fic, since apparently it’s become A Theme

also on AO3

i love you

Sweat crept down Fenris’s forehead, tangled in his hair, seeped between his skin and the band of his trousers, as he raised his blade above his head and held it, impossibly still, counting the seconds in Tevene as he forced his arms not to tremble, his grip to stay firm.  Thirty.  Forty.  Fifty...fifty-five... He brought the blade down with whistling speed, nearly slicing into the stone pavers, but at the last possible moment he twisted his wrists and the blade skimmed parallel to the floor, his body following the twist until one foot left the ground and he pushed himself into the air, legs swinging around as the blade came flying up again in an arc, his back arched until his feet hit the ground again and he threw his weight forward, the tip of the sword this time sparking against the floor as he dragged it for a moment— all for show, of course; these moves in combat would get him killed, and he’d learned them for Danarius’s pleasure, to titillate the ladies and frighten their magister lords.  He’d never particularly enjoyed them, even when he did enjoy fulfilling his master’s every whim, and something distasteful still lingered on his tongue, mixed with the sweat from his upper lip, whenever he performed them. Used them; they were tools from his former life, and as tools they were excellent for conditioning his physical form in times when he otherwise had no outlet for his skills. A break, as it were, from more habitual training drills, or from sparring with the Guard, forcing him into positions and angles he’d normally never consider, stretching muscles that otherwise might remain untested until a crucial moment in battle. And if he focused on his breathing, he could ignore the memory of the drums to which his master had demanded he dance. Always one for theatrics, Danarius. In some ways it sweetened the dance, that he now performed it only for the skeletons of the magister’s mercenaries that littered his front hall. His hall, now. His tools. His choice. A knock at the door.

For a panicked moment he thought perhaps he’d tempted fate, that his mockery—but no, he’d know, and besides he recognized the sound of those particular gauntlets against the wood, and so he lay his sword to rest on a nearby bench and opened the door. Aveline and Donnic stood on the stoop, their polished guard armor glinting in the late afternoon sun, and the spring breeze that snaked past them reminded him abruptly that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “Do you greet all your visitors this way?” Donnic asked, raising an eyebrow. “Only the special ones,” he answered, as Aveline swallowed a laugh and he stepped aside to allow them entry. “Pardon me. I was—” “Practicing?” she asked, nodding to his sword. He wiped the sweat from his forehead on the red band around his wrist and cast about for his shirt with the vague and sinking feeling that he’d left it upstairs. “Yes,” he said. “It has been—” “Quiet,” she supplied. “Mercifully so,” Donnic said, leaning against the wall. “The sort of quiet that comes before a summer storm, but I’ll take it while it lasts.” Aveline shot him a look Fenris didn’t quite understand. “Is trouble brewing?” he asked. “Do you need—” “Nothing out of the ordinary,” she said. “Nothing unusual. We’ve just come from the Wintersend festivities at the Viscount’s Keep—” “The Viscountless Keep, more like,” Donnic said. Aveline shot him another look, this one more understandably aggravated, before returning her gaze to Fenris and saying, “It’s a horrible joke, but every official event that happens only underscores the empty throne, and the tension between the Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter.” “Nothing unusual, then,” Fenris said. “Things continue as they have been,” Donnic said with a shrug. “No one’s overstepped their authority yet, though if you ask me—” “He hasn’t,” Aveline cut in, but Fenris recognized the protective glower on Donnic’s face from their conversations regarding the Knight-Commander, accompanied by beer and diamondback. “And even if he had, that’s not why we’re here.” “I know,” Donnic said. “I still don’t think—” “Hawke was there,” Aveline said doggedly, and behind her Donnic shook his head and shot Fenris an apologetic look. “As Champion.” “Of course,” Fenris said neutrally, though he wasn’t quite sure why he felt such an instinctive need to be cautious. He and Hawke were on good terms, these past few years; he wasn’t surprised he hadn’t been invited to the festivities and certainly didn’t feel left out for having not attended what had no doubt been a tense affair of interminable ceremony. Aveline waited an awkward beat, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say; Donnic’s expression grew more apologetic. “Well,” his wife said, recovering, “she won the baking contest.” “The what?” “It’s a traditional part of Wintersend in Kirkwall,” Donnic said.  “Celebrating the return of fresh milk and butter and eggs and whatnot.  Have you never wandered through Lowtown and wondered why every fishwife has a pie sitting on her sill?” “Er,” Fenris said, “no,” and then the rest of Aveline’s words caught up to him and he said, “She won?” “That’s what I said,” Aveline said. “She seemed very upset and left soon afterwards,” Donnic said.  “Which is unfortunate, as she was supposed to judge the fishnet knotting contest that followed.  They had to ask the captain of the guard to lend her expertise—” “I told you never to speak of that again,” Aveline said, her face flushing. “And I told you we oughtn’t bother Fenris with the fact that Hawke almost walked out of the Viscount’s Keep without her cake,” Donnic said, “yet here we are.” The silence that followed was very awkward, Aveline avoiding her husband’s gaze but not quite meeting Fenris’s, Donnic scratching his stubble while looking at the ceiling, Fenris remembering with sudden force that he was sweaty and shirtless and in no state to visit Hawke, not that he really had a reason to, not that he needed a reason (as she’d told him countless times). “It does seem...” he said at last. “Odd?” Aveline supplied. “Yes,” he said, though privately he settled on nigh unthinkable that Hawke would forget about cake, let alone win something with her culinary...talents.  “Was something said?” “Not that I heard,” Aveline said.  “A few of the noble ladies did speak to her, but I can’t imagine any of them saying anything—” “—that she would take to heart,” he finished, shaking his head.  And then, hesitating and wincing at his own hesitation, he said, “You think I should...speak to her?” “Couldn’t hurt,” Donnic said neutrally, although Aveline cut her eyes at him in such a way as to suggest disagreement. “That’s why we stopped by to tell you.” Aveline’s mouth, half-opened to interject, shut abruptly.  Her husband smiled thinly and straightened, retrieving his wife’s hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow as she attempted to collect her indignation. “If nothing else, you might as well try to get a slice of the cake, if there’s any left.  Lemonberry.  Really quite delicious.” “And Hawke made it?” Fenris said. Donnic shrugged.  “That’s what she claimed, and I don’t think she’d lie just to claim the title of Best Baker in Kirkwall.” “For a very limited selection of Kirkwall bakers,” Aveline grumbled.  “You could do at least as well.” “Ah, if only I had a title, I too could compete with the likes of Dulci de Launcet,” Donnic sighed, steering his wife towards the door.  “Anyway, good luck to you, Fenris.” “Thank you.  And good day to you,” Fenris said, following them to the door, shutting it behind them, and staring at it in bewilderment for a good minute or so before deciding that nothing could be decided before he’d had a bath.

“Yes, hello—oh, Fenris,” Orana said as she opened the door, a worrying note of relief in her voice as she recognized him.  She stood aside to let him in, her shoulders straightening as she looked inward and said, more loudly, “Why, Master Fenris, what a pleasant surprise to see you.  Are you well?” “Yes,” he said cautiously, though she wasn’t looking at him.  “Is everything—” “Oh,” Orana said, almost a sigh, closing the door, “well.” They stood for a moment in the dim foyer, the west-facing door letting in enough of the late afternoon sun to choke the small space with burnished dusty light, melting into the color of Orana’s hair as she turned her head back to him and said, “You’ve come to see the mistress?” Before he could answer she continued, “Of course you have, someone must have—well.  She came home about an hour ago, disappeared into the kitchen—I thought she was leaving the cake for dinner, but then she came back out with it and a bottle of something, I’m sure Bodhan could tell you what it is, and she’s been sitting on the landing in front of her mother’s door ever since.” A cold shiver ran down his spine as his stomach sank.  “Her mother?” Orana shook her head.  “I don’t know, honestly.  Well—she did say her mother used to make the cake, but she seemed happy when she was helping to mix it.  I don’t—know what changed.” Uncertainty washed over him, familiar and painful, and for a moment he felt a strong urge to turn around and leave, apologize and come back tomorrow, to flee and rethink his strategy (or appalling lack thereof).  But then a voice, slightly unsteady and echoing with hiccups, floated through the foyer:  “Orana? Is there someone at the door?” “Yes,” Orana called back, and before he could stop her, “it’s Fenris.” “Fen—” was the only reply, followed by a curse and chaotic series of thumps, and he couldn’t have left if he had tried. Orana’s hand rose to cover a fond smile, though concern lingered in her eyes.  “Good luck,” she said, more quietly, and then she was gone in a rustle of skirts, leaving him to face the house alone. He briefly considered what he might say, in light of this new information, all with a sinking feeling that his best plans and intentions rarely survived their first encounter with Hawke; and then he steeled his shoulders and stepped into the hall, which proved empty.  No Bodahn, not even a Toby lolling in front of the fire, which smoldered with inattention and would soon be little more than embers. It may have been Wintersend, but one day hadn’t been enough to chase the winter’s chill from the high-ceilinged hall, and so he reluctantly stoked the flame, adding another log, well aware he was stalling and still lacking any sense of how to proceed. He heard a clatter, this time from the general vicinity of Hawke’s chamber, followed by a dog yelping and a profuse apology.  Sighing, he tossed the poker to the side, its own clatter upon the hearthstones a sort of warning, and then he turned and made his way up the stairs. He stopped on the threshold of her room; she wasn’t on the bed, or standing in front of the fire (though Toby lay there, nose buried between his paws), or—“Fenris!” she exclaimed, with a hint of a hiccup in her voice, as she turned around in the chair at her desk.  “Fancy seeing you here.” “Indeed,” he said, aware that he was being too grave, aware that the fragile façade of her levity might crack with the slightest pressure and that his concern for her had always made her weak at the knees.  She stayed in the chair and kept looking at him with the same forced cheer, a waver in her smile begging him to smile back, and he swallowed and said, “I...heard there was cake.” He meant it as a joke, the sort of non sequitur she delighted in, but instead she turned away from him with an alarming speed, her shoulders hitching, her voice muffled as though she’d put a hand in front of her mouth.  “Cake?” “Er—” he said, and then he saw it on the desk, a white cloud topped with red berries, missing a few slices that revealed a yellow crumbly cake within, perched upon a crystal stand.  Involuntarily, his mouth began to water.  “Is that...it?” “Oh,” she said, forcing out the last of the levity, “yes,” and then she put her head down on the desk and started to sob. He froze, his hand half-lifted to reach for her, but before he could decide whether or not to close the distance she picked her head back up and rubbed furiously at her eyes.  “So sorry,” she said, “it’s the brandy.  Or whiskey.  Or...” she reached for the bottle resting next to the cake, turning it in search of a label.  “Whatever this is.  It’s nothing! I’m fine.” “Hawke,” he said, as she continued to stare at the bottle with an intensity that suggested she hoped to divine its contents with the mere power of her gaze.  Or that she hoped if she stared at it long enough, he would stop staring at her.  He merely waited. “Oh all right,” she said, shoulders slumping, slinging an arm over the back of her chair as she turned back to him. Tears continued to drip down her scrubbed-red cheeks, and she only met his eyes for a moment before saying, “Who tipped you off?  Aveline?” “Hawke,” he said again, and she shuddered. “All right,” she said, though he thought she was more annoyed with herself than with him, “I’m not fine.  But—” and in a moment she was out of the chair, pacing past him to the fireplace, so close he felt the whisper of her robe against his arm, though she didn’t seem to notice.  “It’s so stupid.” “The cake?” “No,” she said, waving him off as she kept pacing, first in front of the fireplace, then around her bed, following an erratic path as if to shake off some unseen pursuit.  “Well, yes, but I know—I know it never goes away.  I’ve been living with this long enough that I know—but this stupid cake—” Her voice failed with a quiver and she stopped as suddenly as if she’d run into a wall, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes.  “It’s not even—Bethany was the one who helped Mother bake, not me.” He took a step towards her as she dropped her hands and stared into the middle distance.  “I was always too busy pounding Carver into the dirt to help, or—well, once he got bigger I usually lost—but anyway I remember wandering through the kitchen long enough to lick the spoon once it was in the oven. Mother made sure I helped her at least once, and it was fun, but I wasn’t good at it like Bethany was, and it sort of—it was theirs, you know?  Their thing, like Father and I and bad jokes, they made this cake, and it was for special occasions and birthdays and Carver always—well,” she said, “it doesn’t matter.” It does, he wanted to say, listening with an ache in his heart that was as much to do with her grief as it was do with his own hunger, the gnawing emptiness within him that came from having no such memories and wishing with all his strength that he did. Even if they eventually pained him, as hers so obviously did. “And...making it with Orana,” he said cautiously, “you...miss them?” “No!” she said, with a despairing sort of laugh.  “No, that was fun!  We had to look through Mother’s books to find the recipe—I only remembered the basics, and with baking you have to be precise—and there were all sorts of fun little notes and memories—good ones—and Orana’s very patient with me when I’m her sous chef.  And it looked just like I remembered—no, it’s those blasted—it’s our cake,” and now she sounded furious, and afraid.  “It’s the Hawke family cake, except apparently it’s the cake my grandmother always brought to the viscount’s keep for Wintersend, and her mother before her, and the recipe probably came from Orlais and—” She stopped again, shoulders hunched and hands clenched, lips pressed together so tightly the skin around them turned white, and he waited; and in the silence she finally looked at him again, a cautious glance out of the corner of her eye, and he watched her breath catch, at what he didn’t know, and then leave her in a long sigh that made her shoulders droop and her hands flex, still grasping at nothing. “Orlais is known for their fine pastries,” he ventured, and her lips turned up against the weight in her eyes. Encouraged, he said, “Hawke—” “All those ladies,” she said, her voice soft, and then she looked away from him and said, “all of them, de Launcet and her cronies, but even Lady Busson—all of them, coming over to me and telling me how good it is to see the legendary Amell cake restored to its former glory.  How much they’ve missed it, all these years, or the ones too young for that telling me that their mothers used to speak of it in jealous tones, and even Bran was speechless to see it, though my grandmother’s been dead for I don’t know how long and Maker knows it’s not like Gamlen’s been competing and—” He couldn’t stifle a snort at that, and she half-smiled again before saying, “And I realized, when Busson was bossily informing me that it was about damn time someone from my house brought the cake—I’m not an Amell.  Mother was,” she said, and tears began to well in her eyes again, but she blinked them back.  “But I’m not.” “Hawke,” he said again, more out of instinct than any sense that he might get a word in edgewise, and yet she shuddered. “But Kirkwall is my home,” she said.  “And I feel like an imposter, a Hawke in the Amell estate, but I realized—all those ninnies harping on me and badmouthing me the moment they turned their backs about how my blood and name have soiled this house, but this is their city too and I wouldn’t lift a finger to help one of them but I’d die to keep them safe.” “You nearly did,” he reminded her as the memory clenched a cold fist around his heart. “You are just now realizing this?” “Oh,” she said, startled, and he remembered that for her the aftermath of the battle with the Arishok was a haze of sleep and pain she’d done her best to forget.  “That.  That was an emergency, and Isabela’s life was on the line, and I was the only thing standing between Thedas and Qunari domination, and I’d hate for history to remember me as having failed.” “You nearly died.” “Ah, but he died first,” she said.  Before he could chastise her further, she said, “Did you know the lemonberry is native to Kirkwall?  I didn’t.  We always had a bush in a pot, and Mother eventually planted it in Lothering.  There’s one in the garden here.  I wonder if that’s where Mother got hers."  Her voice went very quiet.  “I suppose I’ll never know.” He waited through the pain, as silently as ever, though it seemed to pass more quickly than he remembered.  “It never had berries at Wintersend, though,” she said, now looking at the rug as if she saw the fields of Ferelden before her instead.  “Far too cold still.  I never knew a Wintersend that looked remotely of spring till we came to Kirkwall.” “And I did not know of a winter that needed sending,” he said, and for a moment he felt the pervasive heat sinking through his skin into his bones, the cling of humidity mingling with sweat on his brow, the very air nearly too thick to breathe.  If nothing else, there were moments he missed being warm, missed feeling as though the coolness of stone was a relief instead of a curse.  The stones of Kirkwall held winter’s deadly chill far too well for far too long. But there were fires, and the warmth in Hawke’s eyes as she said, “Well, I’m glad we met in the middle.” Now the room was too warm, her pink cheeks and his hot neck, but it was a warmth from within he’d never known in Minrathous.  “Indeed.” He was acutely aware they were both standing in the middle of her bedroom staring at each other rather stupidly, aware that it still didn’t feel—right, to reach for her, no matter how much he wanted to; and he saw the same recognition in her eyes, the painful restraint as she abruptly crossed her arms and said, “Well!  So.  Just missing my family and wrestling with the fact that I’m a Hawke calling the Amell estate my home.  A Kirkwall noble with Fereldan bones.  I’m sorry you were bothered, but thank you for coming, please don’t feel—” “I came,” he said, very carefully, grave in the face of her half-forced cheer, waiting for the smile to slowly fade from her face before he finished, “for the cake.” “For the—Fenris,” she said, and then she was laughing, one hand on her cheek while she hugged herself, and he had to divert all his strength into maintaining a solemn expression as her laughter washed over him, sweet and clear as a mountain stream. “Cake,” he insisted, but his voice cracked on the word and she started giggling anew. “All right,” she said, waving him off as he turned towards the desk, “wait, let me fetch plates, don’t you dare stick your finger in it, I had a hard enough time keeping Bodahn and Sandal out of it, never mind Donnic—” and then she was gone through the door, leaving him to contemplate her laughter, his desperate desire to understand what fragments of memory were left to him, his inability to give himself so freely as she always did, to everyone, at a moment’s notice; but mostly the cake on the desk looking so particularly delicious as that it might erase all his worries with a single bite. She came back with two plates, forks, and a serving knife, “no glasses, I’m afraid,” she said as she set everything on the desk with a clatter, “and besides, the drink’s not that good, and it wouldn’t go at all with the cake,” and with a clink of metal on crystal she cut two slices and carefully slid them onto the plates.  She bowed as she presented one to him.  “Your cake, milord.” He accepted it with undisguised eagerness and within a moment closed his lips around the first bite, the icing melting as it touched his tongue while the moist cake dispersed itself throughout his mouth and then—the lemonberry curd, tart and creamy, and an involuntary noise of contentment escaped him. “You like it?” Hawke said, teasing, but as he opened his eyes he saw her take a bite with similar results. “You,” he said, “did not make this.” “I’ll have you know I measured all the ingredients,” she said, indignant, “and I kept the curd from scrambling.  And I mixed the icing.  And I kept the oven’s fire constant.” “You—” “That was Father’s job for the longest time,” she said.  “Even when he said Bethany and I were ready, Mother didn’t trust our stamina.  It’s not easy.” He considered this use of magic, how if he had heard it mentioned before trying the cake he would have decried it as hopelessly frivolous, how he currently could find no fault with it.  He looked from the cake to Hawke’s face; she was staring into the middle distance again, her lips upturned, her eyes wistful.  “When Mother did let us do it, we had to take turns.  It was a game, who could stand it the longest, though I was older and so I almost always won.  Bethany would try to get Carver to distract me—once he put a snake down my shirt and I almost burned the house down and oh, did Mother beat him with a spoon—Father was too busy laughing—” She sighed, long and soft, and finally she said, “Maybe I’ll decorate.” “Decorate?” “The house,” she said, and he inhaled sharply.  “I know,” she said, “I told everyone not to touch anything, but...it’s my house now, not a mausoleum.  And M—” she pressed her lips together, then said, very carefully, “Mother would be appalled to know that I’ve kept out the velvet table runners through two summers.” “A grave offense indeed,” he said, though he knew little of what was appropriate in such situations—Danarius had been fond of velvet year-round.  But she smiled, grateful, and he felt his own lips quirk and took another bite of cake, simply because he could. And because it was delicious. “And I really don’t like the color of the runners on the stairs, maybe I’ll get new ones.  And...oh, I can’t remove the crest,” she was saying, and so he took the opportunity to continue eating, “but surely I can embellish it.  Ribbons?  More of Isabela’s crude drawings?  Feathers!” “Feathers?” he said involuntarily, around a mouthful of icing. “Hawk feathers, of course,” she said, without a trace of irony.  “I’m sure I can find plenty around the Sundermount.  Or the Dalish might have some they’d be willing to part with.  Will you come?” “Now?” She glanced out the window.  “I suppose it is getting a bit late.  Tomorrow, in the morning?” “You want me to assist you in your search for hawk feathers,” he said. “Of course,” she said, and then her cheeks went pink again and she said, “And I can drag Aveline along too if you’d like, it’s her fault you’re here in the first place—oh, don’t give me that look, I know it is—and Merrill, or maybe Isabela, or—” “Whomever you think is necessary,” he interrupted. “Well,” she said, but she left only you, though written clearly across her face, hanging unspoken in the space between them. It filled his ears anyway, and he quietly reveled in the sound before saying, “Just Aveline, then.” “So you two can sourpuss behind me all the way?  As you wish,” she said, and then she said, “You didn’t have to come.” “Indeed I did," he said.  “This cake is outstanding.” She laughed and shook her head.  “Oh, well.  Do you want to take it home?  I can always make another.” “Has Orana had any?” Her eyes went wide and she clapped her hands to her cheeks in alarm.  “Oh no, oh, no, I came home a sobbing mess and swooped up to my room with the cake and the brandy and didn’t even think, oh, I am the most ungrateful wretch—” “Yes,” he agreed unhelpfully, polishing off his slice and setting the plate on the desk.  “I will leave you to your remunerations, then.” “Of course,” she said, “I’ll see you out,” and she picked up the cake stand and turned, wobbling— “I’ll carry it,” he said, neatly stepping into her path and plucking it from her grasp. She narrowed her eyes at him, though this close her eyes weren’t what particularly caught his attention.  “I’ll have you know I carried it all the way back from the Keep myself.” “You’d had significantly less brandy then,” he said, and she huffed and swept out of the room, but he could hear the suppressed giggle in her voice and followed with a irrepressible smile. She had him set the cake on the table in the foyer and opened the door, leaning her cheek against it and squinting against the light and looking at him in the way that made him feel as though she were drinking him in like a fine wine, savoring every drop, and he made himself put one foot out the door in defense.  “Thank you for the cake,” he said, unable to keep his eyes from lingering on the way the sunset painted itself on her pale skin, rosy and inviting, shading the crinkles at the edges of her smiling eyes. “Thank you for coming,” she said, “Fenris,” and then their eyes met and for a timeless moment the sun-drenched air between them caught its breath, waiting, and he could feel the whispered ghost of her lips on his cheek. “Hawke,” he said, and her smile broadened.  “If ever—“ “I know where you live,” she said, teasing and gentle and far more beautiful, he thought, than he could withstand.   He forced his other foot over the threshold.  “Watch the steps,” she said, not unkindly, but definitely laughing at him. “Forgive me,” he said, slowly backing away.  “I fear the cake has robbed me of my senses.” “A foul magic indeed,” she said.  “I’ll be sure to speak to Orana about making unsanctioned changes to the recipe.” “After you’ve apologized for hoarding the cake.” “I believe you were leaving,” she said, and his feet touched the street. “I am,” he said, but he stopped where he was, looking up at her, basking in her mock disapproval.  “Sundermount tomorrow?” “Not too early,” she warned, and he stifled a snort.  “And only if you want to.” “If you insist.” “I do.” “Then I will see you in the morning,” he said, turning away with what little remained of his willpower.   And then she laughed, damn her, and he nearly turned back around.  “Good evening, Fenris,” she called, as his toes curled around the paving stones in resistance. “Hawke,” he said, but he didn’t turn around, and her delighted laughter followed him all the way back to his mansion. He paused in the doorway, surveying the bodies; the dust; the diffused, murky glow of sunset through dirty windows; and he pondered, as he stepped over a splintered bench he’d never bothered to move, how he’d never had a home, per se, how this place still felt like a hideaway, even after all these years, how he had no memory of a home to call upon during the long dark cold winters of Kirkwall.  How could he offer a home?  How could he take the home she offered, with nothing to give in return? He couldn’t, after all, and he’d been right to leave. But spring was coming, wending its way on the breeze floating through the cracks in that one window he’d never replaced, and with it the hope that one day—perhaps—they’d bake the family cake together, and he would stay and eat his fill.