#and I will spread my blight across any and all fandoms

[nintendoni-art]

Bumblekast Thumbnail for April 15th, 2024!

Don't have much of a description on this one, enjoy the sheer chaotic energy.

[guccidishtowel]

The Viscount’s Secret

NSFW UNDER CUT (Warnings under cut)

Fandom: Dragon Age

Words:  3859

Pairings: Varric/Reader

AO3: The Viscount’s Secret

Warnings: Thigh-Riding, Blowjobs, Light Dom/sub elements, Light Degredation (use of ‘whore’)

Walking into the Viscount’s Keep that afternoon, the tension had been palpable. Guards gave their usual greetings, nodding their heads and a few of the more friendly lot offering smiles, but their eyes carried that familiar glint that was just as telling as the muffled voices coming from the office.

The merchant bit back a quiet grin as the reason for their sudden summons became infinitely more clear.

The Viscount was having a bad day.

Halfway up the stairs they heard the telltale sound of something heavy thump against hardwood. Seneschal Bran had no doubt avoided a heavy tome to the head by mere millimeters yet again. They’d mounted the last step when he came stumbling out of the office, chased by a few quills and--if they saw correctly--a paperweight. The poor Seneschal met their eyes just as he closed the heavy doors and practically threw himself upon their mercy.

“He’s impossible!” Bran cried. Upon closer inspection they could see where a blotch of ink stained his forehead. Apparently Bran’s evasive maneuvers had been lacking. “I don’t know how you manage to do it, but please calm him down. We have a stack of correspondence growing larger by the moment and this is certainly not helping!”

They gave him a sympathetic smile, complete with a pat on his shoulder and a subtle gesture to his forehead and sent him on his way--hopefully to clean the ink off. No one else populated the upper floor; apparently no one wanted to encounter the Viscount’s wrath. ‘All the better for me,’ they thought, a wicked smile darting across their face.

They approached the heavy wooden door to the office and lingered outside for just a moment. Even through the thick wood they could hear the telltale sounds of frustrated pacing and smiled to themselves. Perhaps it was self-serving, but when the Viscount was this worked up it always ended up far more in their favor. The familiar thrill of anticipation slipped up their spine like a lover's caress, lighting every nerve on fire. Being such an open secret was interesting. Officially they were just a merchant of some means and one of the Viscount’s personal favorites, often requested to help with balancing numbers or bringing in specialized shipments. Unofficially…

They bit their lip in anticipation, soft lips quirking upwards as they knocked once on the heavy doors.

“The next person who walks through those blighted doors is meeting the business end of Bianca!”

His rough voice sent tingles up their spine, and the quiet fury beneath the words only added to the flame. His threats weren’t always unfounded, but even as agitated as he was he wouldn’t turn his trusty crossbow on one of his own. Still, when they cracked open the heavy door they made sure to let their voice reach him before presenting any potential targets.

“Even when it’s me?” Finally poking their head inside, they were greeted by the sight of Varric’s office in even more disarray than usual. A few of the heavy plush chairs had been overturned. The desk was littered with half-open correspondence, the stains of splashed wax and ink evident on more than one. Even the curtains had suffered a few minor wounds; apparently Bran had led Varric on a merry little chase around the office before making it out to safety.

And then there was the Viscount himself. Standing by the roaring fire with his shirt half open and a glass of what was surely poignant draught in his hand, he painted quite the image. Varric Tethras was a handsome man, of that there was no doubt. From the charming gleam in his eyes to the aged lines on his face, everything seemed to blend together into a visage so breathtaking most men and women would give their right arm for just a night with him. That’s how this merchant felt, at least. But now, with the dark cloud of anger shading his handsome features, he looked...somehow more enticing. A familiar heat began to rise in the pit of their stomach and as Varric threw back the glass to finish off the alcohol they licked their own lips, suddenly quite parched.

“Sorry for the mess, Mischief,” he began, and they didn’t bother to hide their smirk at the familiar nickname. “Today’s just...been a day.”

“I could tell. I think you’ve scarred poor Bran for life. Or at least the rest of the day if he can’t get that ink off his forehead.”

Despite his obvious frustration Varric chuckled, the soft grin breaking apart the dark clouds on his face. He stepped away from the fire and set his glass down to instead rummage around in the drawers of his desk. Soon enough he found another glass, filled both, and turned to pass one off to them with a familiar gleam in his eyes.

“Come on. You know I hate drinking alone. Besides,” he paused, letting his gaze roam over their form. They always felt a pleasant little shiver when under his scrutiny, and they didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened before he brought his own glass up, but he didn’t drink. Not yet. “You’ve got a long night ahead of you.”

The promise in his eyes made their knees weak and the burn of good Ferelden brandy only stoked the fire growing on their stomach. Still they drank it down, hoping to stave off some of the thirst long enough to at least try and find the root of their Viscount’s frustration.

“To what do I owe the pleasure this time?” They finally asked, setting their half-emptied glass aside. “I haven’t seen you this worked up in a while.” It almost felt a shame to bring up business, especially when it made that delicious look fall from his face, replaced instead with an aching weariness out of place on a man so lively.

“It’s the Maker damn day that won’t end. I’ve got nobles squabling like toddlers--which isn’t anything fucking new--along with a whole heap of new laws to look over. Then there’s tying up the loose ends from the Inquisition which is a headache in and of itself. Shipments to look over, palms to grease, and enough signatures to pen that I can already feel my damn hand falling off.” He punctuated his tirade by dropping heavily into the chair behind his desk, glass still clutched in one hand and the other coming up to thumb at the space between his brows.

They pursed their lips, sympathetic expression at odds with the hunger from earlier. Perching themselves on the edge of his desk they brought a hand up to his head, their fingertips massaging into his scalp. As they predicted he leaned into their hand, his sigh rumbling through his chest. It wasn’t the first time a long day had left him more than a little frustrated, and it certainly wasn’t the first time they’d been called up to help him deal with the stress. There was no doubt how the night would end, but sometimes the moments before were just as important. Watching Varric’s shoulders lose their tension as he melted under their fingertips, they knew this was one of those times.

“Definitely sounds like a shitty day,” they agreed, smiling softly at his snort. His eyes had long since closed as he relaxed into their ministrations. There was something empowering about this, about having the Viscount of Kirkwall turn to putty in their fingers. Emboldened by the thought they slid off his desk and instead found themselves comfortably nestled on his lap, prompting him to finally peel his eyes open to observe them. Grinning down at him, they trailed the hand in his hair down, brushing over his temple until they found his jaw. “But I bet I can help you forget all about it.”

Varric’s lips curled and he turned his head, catching the tips of their fingers between his teeth. The subtle sting prompted them to chuckle as Varric moved to settle his broad hands on their hips. “You know I love to gamble, darlin’, but I don’t make stupid bets. We both know you’re going to turn my mood around.” The certainty in his tone was a stroke to their ego. It was hard to think this had all started from a single trip he’d made to the merchants quarters in Lowtown all those months ago.

“I’m at my lord’s service,” they purred, grinning when his expression morphed to one of minor irritation. His hands tightened on their hips in warning and they chuckled, bending forward to brush their lips over his ear. “Oh, let me have my fun.”

“By all means,” Varric replied, his voice husky. “But know it’s gonna cost ya.”

They smiled against his skin. “Mm, promises, promises…”

Promises that would be paid in full, it would seem. Varric finally moved, his mouth finding the skin of their throat and painting it with bruises. They tilted their head to allow him access, helping themselves to the expanse of skin his shirt exposed. The damn dwarf never covered his chest and it was honestly unfair just how distracting it was. Their fingers smoothed under the halves of his tunic, carding through the hair and feeling the muscle beneath their palms. Varric chuckled against their throat, his tongue and lips soothing another love bite.

“No one can resist,” he teased, earning a pinch when their fingers found his nipple. He grunted, the sound tapering into a low growl at the back of his throat. “Brat.”

“Only for you, your grace,” they replied. He glowered up at them, earning himself another wry smirk. “Going to bend me over your knee?”

There was a sudden gleam in Varric’s eyes that made them wonder if, perhaps, they’d made an error in judgement. They knew that look well. Just the sight of it had them tensing, a shot of arousal rushing through them. Varric tilted his head back, leaving their neck for now and instead settling his hands a little lower, spreading their thighs on either side of his own. Realization struck just as he dragged his hands back to their hips, rocking them forward gently. The friction drew a soft, shaky breath out of them that had Varric smirking.

“Well, we can certainly use my knee, but I think I’ve got better ideas than what you had in mind.”

His hands tugged, bringing them forward again, until he settled into a slow and steady rhythm. It was too slow and too light, but they had a feeling it was by design. They brought their hands to his shoulders, marveling quietly at the strength as he guided their motions. The slow build of pleasure promised to be worth it, but they weren’t a patient sort.

“I thought this was about you,” they huffed, their cheeks already blossoming with heat. “I don’t see how this is giving you what you want.”

“You’re right,” Varric shot back. “ This is about me and what I want. And what I want is to see you coming apart on my knee like a good little whore.”

The acidic words brought a small whimper out, the surprise on their face turning to pleasure when he roughly jerked them forward, picking up his pace. Varric chuckled as their fingers dug into his shoulders. “You like that, sweetheart? Like being the Viscount’s whore?”

They groaned aloud, dropping their head against his shoulder, hips rolling again as they ground against his thigh. “Now we’re using titles? I think you’re just being petty--fuck, Varric!” In the middle of their complaints the grinning dwarf had brought one hand up and then down just as swiftly, slapping against their ass with enough force to have them jolt.

“Hey now, you were the one that wanted to be bent over my knee, weren’t you?” he teased. “I think this is much better. Especially when I can see all those cute little faces you make. And speaking of that…”

With their face buried against him they couldn’t see what he had planned, but when strong fingers threaded into their hair it became abundantly clear. He tugged, pulling their head away from his shoulder and forcing them to arch back, throat exposed for his waiting teeth. He bit down roughly and they cried out, the sound ending on a gasp as he sucked at the abused skin. Satisfied, he broke away to look up into their face.

“Don’t hide from me. I wanna see all those little looks. I wanna see how good I make you feel, Mischief.” His hooded eyes sought their own, dark and wanting. They shuddered under the look, their hips moving of their own accord now, chasing their release desperately. Varric noticed and hummed, his fingers threading gently in their hair now. “That’s it. Take what you need from me, sweetheart.”

They didn’t last much longer after that. Rutting against his thigh like an animal and clinging to him, they broke apart just how Varric wanted, muffling their cry of pleasure by sinking their own teeth into his neck. Varric groaned at the sensation and would no doubt sport the bite proudly for the next few days. He took a ridiculous amount of pleasure from seeing all the nobles blush and look away, tittering and hiding their comments behind hands and ornamental fans.

It took a few moments for them to calm, the rush of pleasure leaving them momentarily light-headed. Varric carded his rough fingers through their hair gently, his voice soft and soothing in their ear.

“There’s my Mischief,” he murmured, the tone of his voice making them blush anew. “Good. Always so good for me.” It carried on that way for a few minutes until finally they straightened, standing from his lap only to drop to their knees. Varric blinked in surprise and they relished the thought; it took a lot to shock the blighted dwarf, after all.

“You know I’m not selfish, Varric,” they purred, all traces of the gasping and blushing from earlier gone. “Besides, I have to perform my civic duty, don’t I?” They were here on a mission, after all, and as nice as it was letting Varric have his way, they knew the best way to ease his stress was with a more hands on approach.

He’d appreciate the pun, they were sure.

Surprise turned to amusement and Varric answered by spreading his thighs invitingly. They settled between and smirked at the sight of the bulge straining against his breeches. A few deft tugs of the laces and he fell free, heavy and throbbing in their hand. Varric hissed above them, the light touch already wreaking havoc on his self-control. Humming in delight, they lifted their eyes to his, fingers closing as they began to slowly stroke his shaft.

“Don’t you have some correspondence to attend to?” they asked, a little too sweetly. “I promised Bran I would help you see reason, after all.”

Varric groaned, in pleasure or at the thought of more work they couldn’t tell, and dropped his head back. “The damn nobility can wait,” he insisted. “It’s a waste of time anyway.”

They clicked their tongue disapprovingly. That wouldn’t do.

Varric all but jerked when their hand left him suddenly cold and aching. Eyes wide with disbelief, he looked down at them. Oh, they’d treasure that sight for a long time to come. “Sweetheart, you can’t be serious--”

“I don’t hear a quill moving up there,” they cut him off, lips curling wickedly. “Better get to work, Master Tethras.”

For a long moment he stared at them, disbelieving. They saw the moment he began to appraise them, likely considering if it would be worth waiting out their stubborn streak. He could, and perhaps they would, break, but when the mood took hold they could be quite firm. He seemed to be weighing the odds. And they could see the moment he gave up, sighing heavily as he scooted his chair closer to his desk, casting his shadow over them.

They heard him pick up his quill, begin to write, and leaf through the documents above.

And they heard the moment he sucked in a breath as they took his cock in their hand once more, warm breath ghosting over the tip as they brought it to their lips. His hand stilled for a moment, and so did they. Then he cursed and began to write again, and they finally closed their mouth over him, jaw already burning at the stretch.

What Varric lacked in length was more than made up for in girth, and already they could feel their jaw settle into that familiar ache as they began to slowly work their way down him. The discomfort was worth every moment they could feel him twitch in their mouth, hear every curse and sucked in breath above them. Settling their hands against his calves they began to work in earnest, their head rocking back and forth. The familiar feeling of his hand in their hair had them pause just long enough to make sure they still heard the scratch of quill on parchment before resuming.

Above them, Varric cursed, his shaky signature being scrawled across shipment orders and premade letters alike. “Andraste’s fuckin’ ass, you’re an absolute menace. I’m--fuck, you feel so good.”

The praise only fueled their movements. Just when they thought Varric was beginning to catch his breath they paused, dragged their mouth all the way back to the head of his cock, and hollowed their cheeks to suck against the skin. Varric bucked, his knees slamming into the underside of the desk. It was only by a miracle that he didn’t snap the quill in his hand.

“Shit!” His frustrated grunt had them smiling against him and his hand tightened in their hair. Their scalp tingled from the force. Satisfied, they set to work again, eyes closing as they felt him begin to guide them. His hand tugged them back and forth, the pace increasing as he slowly began to fall apart. They could feel the way he throbbed in their mouth and paused just long enough to trace a vein on the underside of his cock.

“Maker,” he breathed above them, his hips bucking into their throat. By now his hand was faster and jerking them along his length in a way that made their eyes water. “Sweetheart, you feel like you were made for this. I’ve never felt anything--fuck--anything better in my damn life.”

They would answer if they could, but by now the grip on his shins was just as much to steady themself as much as him. He jerked them forward once more and they gagged around him, eyes nearly rolling into the back of their head. The noise set Varric groaning, and his cock throbbed once more in their mouth. They heard his brief warning then, right before he emptied into their throat, his grip on their hair holding them tight against him. Even as they coughed when he turned his grip loose they felt more than satisfied, with the taste of him lingering on their tongue.

Varric pushed his chair back the moment he caught his breath, quickly looking down to meet their gaze. They heard his hands shuffling on the desk before he finally produced what looked to be an embroidered handkerchief. Likely a gift from some Hightown aristocrat. They wondered how they would feel knowing just what it was being used for.

“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice softer than before. He reached to gently wipe their mouth. “Not too rough?”

They shook their head, still hazy from the pleasure. They thought their smile was answer enough, but Varric always insisted they use words. “Mm, perfect.”

Chuckling, Varric finished wiping their face. He then tugged them back to their feet to carefully guide them back into his lap. It was always this way. After they’d finished their business Varric would always insist on keeping them close by for a little while. They found it endearing, really; not many of their past partners had any sense of aftercare. When they’d told Varric, he’d scoffed.

‘Probably didn’t know how to actually satisfy a partner either, did they?’

They hadn’t disagreed.

“I think Bran owes me this time,” they finally said after a few moments of companionable silence. “I actually got you to do some work this time. Normally I’m distracting you.”

Varric laughed, the sound warm and vibrating through his bulky chest against them. They settled further into his lap.

“Just don’t tell him how you did it. I think he might die of embarrassment. But then again, without him around…” His conspiratorial look was met with a swat against his bared chest.

“Behave. You put the poor bastard through enough as it is,” they insisted. “If anything, I think he needs the vacation from you.”

Varric grinned and didn’t even have the audacity to look offended. With one arm still wrapped around them, he reached the free hand to straighten the letters he’d managed to sign into a neat pile, sighing at the sight of the rest. He’d made a dent, at least, but there was still a mountain to go. That, and the thought of them leaving threatened to kill what little optimism he had remaining. Of course that’s when a brilliant idea struck.

“Y’know, Mischief, I was thinking…”

“Dangerous thing, really.”

Varric smirked and shook his head fondly. “Always so rude to me, sweetness. Anyway, I was thinking. Instead of trotting out of here all rumpled like usual, how about...well. How about you stay the night? Make use of the bed this time instead of just my desk.”

They snorted. “You’re the one who always suggests the desk, Varric. I’m surprised my ass doesn’t have splinters at this point.”

“I mean, I could always check if you’re worried--”

“Don’t you have papers to sign?” they cut him off, their mockingly stern expression melting to laughter when he all but pouted at them. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. The thought had crossed their mind more than once. A night in Varric’s bed, of course, would likely have little to do with sleeping, but the idea was still...intimate. They’d always assumed the situation between them to be born of mutual attraction and necessity, but were they really opposed to something more?

Not in the least. But that didn’t mean they had to make it easy for him.

“Mmm, how about you make it through, say, half of this mountain on your desk,” they finally said, ignoring his sputtered indignation. “Do that, and I’m all yours for the whole night, serah.”

Varric paused, his eyes darting from the foreboding pile of correspondence back to the grinning mischief maker in his lap. It wasn’t even a contest, really. Varric had always been a weak man for a nice smile, and when they shot him one that promised nothing but trouble, he could never say no.

So instead he sighed, pressed a kiss to their forehead, and settled them properly in his lap as he picked up his quill.

“Only for you, Mischief. Only for you.”

[dalishpariah]

i’m trying to transcribe greg ellis’s cullen rant video but i dont think i can sit through it so here are the first approximately 4 minutes (out of a total 37 minutes and 55 seconds). 

[A black screen with white writing reads “Dragon Age Day, December 4 2020, Mark Darrah “Resigns”. The Dragon Age instrumental theme plays in the background.]

Greg Ellis [as Cullen Rutherford]:

My name is Cullen...Cullen Rutherford. I am a popular fictional character from the video game “Dragon Age”, an open-world game filled with challenging combat, difficult decisions and complex characters. Cullen Rutherford is one such complex character. The following is a special announcement. 

Dear Cullenites,

Recently a small vocal mob of social justice warriors attempted to have me, and my voice actor Greg Ellis tossed into the cancel culture wastelands. An ignorant few bigots made wild aspersions, outlandish misrepresentations and slanderous, vulgar claims of transphobia and racism and shared them loudly with a few impressionable more.This is my response to the mob’s inquisition of me and my voice actor, Greg Ellis, and how we attempted to understand the resultant blight that spread across the fandom. 

Integrity is earned in turmoil, not merely asserted in comfort. As such, I invite you to join me on our most integral mission to date. We are about to embark on a thrilling new adventure, beyond the realms of any video game. Please, join us on this most magnificent morality quest, as we venture forth to a new land of possibilities - a brave new era of enlightenment. Join us on this most magnificent morality quest as we venture forth to a new land of possibilities, a brave new era of enlightenment, one where people of all sexes, genders, cultures, ages, religions may find more civil discourse. Encourage more harmony, more common threads of well-being.

Getting older is inevitable. Becoming an elder is a skill. Sign up to become an elder. Help us banish the reputation savages and cancel culture hedonists. Find your key, board the fellowship, chart a course, blaze your trail and spread the cipher. Subscribe with us as we come together to set sail and chart a course for integrity, and seek to instill “The Code”. [#TheCode appears at the bottom of the screen.]

“Men are pigs”, or so goes the lazy insult. That is true for some undoubtedly, but not for most. [“The Dawn Will Come” instrumental begins playing in the background.] Me Too and the intellectual glitterati demand that men discard their past treatment of women and forge a new code defining 21st century masculinity - a fair, necessary demand. But what is that new code? Do we simply surrender ourselves to the caricature of the feminist left, binding ourselves to a permanent state of moral reparations where our engagement is merely one of acknowledge expressed shame for the inequities of centuries of patriarchy? If so, count me among the unconverted. That band can preach elsewhere. I believe in stark contrast to the conceit that only subjugation and male guilt should emerge out of our current gender conflict - that the new paradigm must allow for men to respect women and themselves. Lacking that essential self respect, peace and prosperity between men and women will not be at hand, and it can be. Because adjurable, and indeed ancient code exists and draws on the best of traditional masculinity while still affording women the dignity and respect they deserve. That is the chivalric code.

[fandomtransmandom]

2020 Wrapped:

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5-8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

Okay, so as you know, ya boi is verbose af, so apologies, but I could only whittle it down to a top 10 (and one honorable mention.) I like to think my work has improved with time, so the older ones may be a bit rough, but here are my favs from 2020 and why (from most recent to oldest.)  

1.) Southern Comfort-Bill Hader, Teddy Redbones (Doc Now)/OFC

Synopsis: Teddy Redbones viciously despises his political opponent Savannah Harrison...by day. At night, the two tear into each other madly, hiding their secret affair from the world and their feelings from one another.

Why I Love: Honestly when @martymcdie88mph sent me a request that just asked for ‘Teddy Redbones laying down pipe’ I never expected the first fic about him to get the response it did, much less for it to lead to two more requests. It’s provided me with immeasurable laughter and I’m so glad there are others out there down to bone this angry southern dom.

2.) Frozen Dreams-Conan O’Brien/OFC

Synopsis: Receiving bad news while on their Christmas vacation at the height of ‘The Tonight Show’ upset, Conan deals with his grief, assisted by his partner, Molly.

Why I Love: Writing some Conan super angst was so cathartic and beautiful. Thank you @stunninconan for making this request and giving me the opportunity to do so. Just want to cherish our ginger smokeshow and let him know how deeply he’s loved.

3.) Flickering Beauty-Bill Hader, Little Vivvy (Doc Now)/Partners of Multiple Genders

Synopsis: Little Vivvy is away from her family, and her wealth, for the first time in 1970’s New York. As she tries to make it as a dancer, Vivvy undergoes the early stages of her transition and stumbles upon the accepting Ball scene, as well as some struggles of being a trans woman trying to live an authentic life.

Why I Love: I wrote this piece for NaNoWriMo 2020 and I knew going into it I would largely be composing it for myself. Beforehand I considered doing something that might draw in more readers, Reddie perhaps, but I'm so glad I went with my heart because this story is incredibly meaningful to me and I will love Vivvy until the end of my days.

4.) Breathe Me-Bill Hader, Barry/OFC

Synopsis: Barry is back in Cleveland after his discharge, working for Fuches, deeply depressed and feeling hopeless. After running into his childhood friend Annie, he discovers she’s doing sex work and offers to help her financially. But Annie refuses, saying there’s only one way she’ll accept payment from Barry.

Why I Love: One of many ideas I’ve worked on this year with @martymcdie88mph, though arguably our best. I received a lot of positive feedback on this piece that made me feel good about myself, and I simply love the dynamic between these two hurting characters.

5.) Lost and Found-Bill Hader, Reddie

Synopsis: When Richie loses the engagement ring he bought for Eddie, he panics, searching everywhere but finding nothing. Coming across the ring while cleaning, Eddie devises a plan to surprise Richie.

Why I Love: This one was based on a prompt from @halefirewarrior and I just think it’s cute and sweet. And it’s resulted in a dozen or so strangers on the internet telling me to ‘shut the fuck up,’ which is always amusing.

6.) Harmonious Monsters-Bill Hader, Vince Blight/OFC

Synopsis: Sociopathic power couple Vince and Stacy Blight live a hedonistic, extravagant existence based on kinky sex and a mutual disregard for humanity. As their ten year anniversary approaches, Vince reflects on the saga of their relationship.

Why I Love: Pretty sure this one appeals just to me, ha. I had a ball writing it. Getting into the heads of these characters was ridiculously fun and smut-wise it includes some of my favorite things.

7.) In The Midnight Hour-Bill Hader RPF, Priest AU

Synopsis: When Father Bill Hader sees a struggling trans man named Troy attending the weekly free meal offered by the church, he discovers Troy is homeless, offering him a place to stay in the basement. As they get to know one another, Troy tempts Bill and tests his faith in ways he never thought possible.

Why I Love: Writing this one for @phantomofthegallifreyanopera was cathartic for me. As a queer trans man who was trapped in a fundamental Christian community for a time, it felt like sweet vengeance to be able to flex my Biblical Studies degree for the sake of gay p*rn (trust me, it’s completely useless otherwise) and it was fun to see Father Bill teased into sin 😈

8.) Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger-Bill Hader, The Alan (SNL)/OFC

Synopsis: When Lily comes home to find The Alan on her doorstep, she can’t imagine why her friend got her such a silly, extravagant gift. That is, until she discovers the Adult Expansion Pack.

Why I Love: I was nervous about publishing this one and almost didn’t. I truly didn’t think y’all would be on board. But thank fuck everyone in this fandom is kinky as shit and this became one of the fics for which I get praised the most. I loved writing it and I’m so here for cranking out more weird shit all day every day.

9.) If The World Was Ending-Bill Hader, Barry/OFC

Synopsis: Barry knows that tomorrow he is likely to die, the Chechens seeking vengeance for the massacre at the monastery. For his last night, he wants nothing more than to spend it with Valerie. The problem: Valerie and Barry broke up months before when she discovered his true profession. Barry begs Valerie to see him, and for one final time, he finds solace in her arms.

Why I Love: When @erdankely gave me their concept for this request, I was unreasonably excited. So damn cool. And I just sobbed while I wrote it. Such a sl*t for Barry super angst any day of the week. Love this one and I’m pretty proud of how it turned out, actually.

10.) Miles Apart Inside-Bill Hader, Robbie Wheadlan (Doc Now)/OFC

Synopsis: While he’s awaiting trial for murder, Robbie Wheadlan and his lover Abbi reflect on the saga of their relationship.

Why I Love: Not only was this a piece that made me fall hardcore in love with a murderer who was on screen for maybe 15 minutes and has no redeemable attributes, but it strengthened my friendship with @stunninconan and for that I am grateful.

Honorable Mention: Later That Night- Conan O’Brien/OFC

Synopsis: Conan meets author Gwendolyn who comes on his show to promote her book.

Why I Love: This is the first fic I published back in July. I’m sure I would cringe like crazy if I tried to read it now at all the edits it needs, but I’m so, so happy I decided to post it and kept writing and sharing. Without this almost 48k monster about my orange pompadoured beloved and all the kind feedback from everyone, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Thank you all!

And I spend my days doing nothing other than hammering out alphabet p*rn of my own, so I apologize that I don't know who to tag to keep this going because I shamefully never take time to read. But feel free to do your own if you have creations you would like to share!i

[up-in-flames-writing]

A chief falls

So, I've been a long time LoZ fan & have written for this fandom before, but had never published anything. With me getting my hands on BotW & Age of Calamity & the release of BotW2 sometime this or next year, my love for this series has been rekindled. & I know this has probably been done so many times before, but I'm an angst mastermind, so here have my interpretation of the defeat of my favourite Breath of the WIld character:

~~==~~==~~==~~==

The air was thick with the stench of evil, a putrid combination of decay with a hint of corrupt magic, as a mist of purples & reds blotted out the sun. All of Hyrule suddenly was plunged into darkness, a stifling, choking, destroying darkness, as the castle in the centre drowned in the masses of Malice & Guardians. Across the fields, up the hills & in the ditches, creatures clambered from below the earth, clawing their way from beyond their graves in an insatiable bloodlust, a hunger for the lives of the living. They swarmed like ants, in numbers never seen before, the land disappearing below the shifting, wriggling mass of reanimated flesh & bones that spread far into the horizon.

Vah Naboris gave out a thunderous noise, a desperate call for help as Malice crawled across the golden sands of Gerudo Desert, falling across dunes & rolling along the rocks. Like water, it quivered when struck by Naboris' lightning, shivering at the Divine Beast's might. Yet it persisted, pulling itself closer to the giant with every heave of its pulsing, purple body. And when it hit, the Beast gave out a pained cry, crashing to its knees with a shudder that shook the ancient being to its core.

Urbosa braced herself as the Malice hit, unsheathing her scimitar with a familiar shink, letting it reverberate in the silence of the felled Divine Beast. Daybreaker followed suit, a reassuring weight across her forearm, as she turned to face her opponent. It took a few seconds, a cruel anticipation edged with a lining of fear, before the air crackled to life with the warmth of a thunderbolt. Urbosa dodged, the bolt striking her previous spot within inches of her. A blue glow filled the inside of Naboris, a sphere of fast spinning bolts that expanded & grew until a monster stood before the Gerudo chief. Mechanic, made of the same slick, black metal the Sheikah were known so well for, strands of fiery red hair sprouting from its head in the imitation of its master, the shameful 'King' of the Gerudo that should have never existed. And of course, its entire body was wreathed in the blinding, crackling light of thunder, dancing around its blade as if it was mocking Urbosa.

"Make your move, traitor." She called out to the machine, hoping its master heard her. She dared not twitch a single muscle under the unblinking, unnatural gaze of the creature. She would not show fear, not in front of the man who brought scorn to her tribe. No fear, & no defeat, not before Ganon, not now.

It was unbelievable fast, disappearing in a blink & reappearing with an unrelenting flurry of attacks. Urbosa could only parry so often, countering with a fury worthy of a god. Yet her attacks barely left a dent on the electrically charged monster, her biggest strength turned into her biggest weakness. And with every parry that landed her hits on her adversary, the Malice-driven creature attacked with twice as much power, & it was an endless struggle between guarding & not letting herself get pushed into a corner.

When she got a hit in, her movements were like a beautiful dance, the Scimitar of the Seven slicing through the air with a brutally breath-taking display, coupled with its wielder’s fluid grace that followed through on every strike. While she took the stage in her display of power & beauty, her adversary zapped around jerkily, its movements harsh & robotic, swift & precise yet lacking any form, any fluidity, almost in a cruel imitation of her own performance.

Yet beauty wasn't enough, & even in the face of skill, in spite of years upon years of training & battle, it wasn't enough. Urbosa's scimitar crashed against the machine's shield, a parry following that ripped the blade out of her arm. Then came an onslaught of strikes, like unyielding lightning that struck with a vengeance, before a sound like thunder followed. Daybreaker clattered to the floor before her in pieces, its demise at the hands of Ganon's puppet doing nothing to protect Urbosa from the inevitable. She met the creature's lifeless eyes as her own widened in shock. She didn't even get a chance to cry out when the thing's sword drove through her chest, spearing her heart.

Her lasts thoughts before she fell was one last slither of hope that maybe the others reigned triumphant against their blights & that Link still stood alongside Zelda, the sword of evil's bane at his side while the Princess stared in the face of Ganon himself & unleashed her hidden sealing powers. But with one last breath the realisation crashed down upon her alongside the sword of Thunderblight Ganon.

"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?"

~~==~~==~~==~~

Hope you peeps liked it!

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[idontknowwhatsarcasmis]

Old Acquaintances Made Anew

A Morriana fanfic

Hellooooo!! And I’m back in the DA fandom! Hope you’re all keeping safe and reading and writing loads in this quarantine! Stay at home guys! ^^

I started writing this story… sooo many years ago I don’t even remember! Anyways, I know this has been written many many times, buut I wanted to present my take on these two lovely ladies meeting in Halamshiral. I do hope you guys like it, cause I am really proud of it and had quite a bit of fun writing it!

Also, I have already started a second chapter, on Morrigan’s POV back in Skyhold after this, but wanted to see if you guys liked the idea first!

So, do let me know yeah?

As aaaaaalways, thank you brother for beta-reading it ^^

Enjoy!

Ao3

Ff.net

Xxxx

“A distraction would help.” Ellana said, biting her lower lip.

“What kind of distraction? There are plenty of them around here.” Cullen said, looking around in displeasure.

Leliana held back a smile at that, and saw both Ellana and Josie doing the same. The Inquisitor shook her head however.

“No, no. It needs to be something bigger. That’d draw most people’s attention.” She paused and looked at her other two advisors to see if they had any ideas.

Leliana started considering what she could let slip to whom that might entice a duel, but didn’t manage to get far before she was interrupted.

“Oh!” Josie suddenly said. “I think I know what can happen.” She seemed excited (and… scared?) as she looked at Leliana.

Leliana narrowed her eyes slightly.

“Yes?”

“Well, it would positively draw everyone’s attention, and might even leave them quite a bit distracted afterwards.” She said, looking away while biting her lip.

“Josie…” Leliana’s voice was a warning.

“I’m listening.” Ellana said.

“Well,” Josie started, slow at first but gaining traction as she spoke. “As we’ve told you, Your Worship, everyone was staring at you and Lady Florienne while the two of you danced. Another high member of the Orlesian society and a high member of the Inquisition dancing once more might do the same.” She completed, almost casually. So casually, that it made Leliana freeze in place.

She couldn’t possibly mean-

“That’s an excellent idea, Josephine!” Ellana exclaimed excitedly, looking around the room, as if trying to find who could be the centre of attention. “Did you have anyone in mind? I think the only people here that know how to dance properly would be Vivienne, Cass and Dorian, aside from the three of you. Vivienne would not be a novelty really. And I was thinking of taking the other two with me… besides, I think either might do more harm than good down there.” She said with a small frown on her face, likely imagining Cassandra or Dorian insulting someone beyond repair while sharing a dance.

Which, Leliana mused, was very probable.

Still, she was quite sure that they were not who Josephine had in mind.

“Actually, Inquisitor. I did have two people in mind.” The ambassador started and paused to bit her lower lip, eyes darting quickly between Leliana and the Inquisitor.

“Oh?” She asked, eyes also finding Leliana. Less subtly.

“Speak your mind, Josie.” Leliana said. She had a good idea of whom Josephine wanted her to dance with. As much as she loathed to admit, the idea actually did have merit. Getting it to work would be another matter entirely, however.

Then again, 10 years was a long time…

“Well, it so happens that we have two veterans of the Fifth Blight here tonight. One of our own, and one of the Orlesian society.

Ellena looked confused as understanding dawned on Cullen’s face, his eyes now also focused on Leliana.

“Two?”

“I’ve told you I’d had dealings with her on the past, Inquisitor.” Leliana said, barely moving her lips.

“Deal with wh-Morrigan?!” She exclaimed a bit too loudly, and flinched at the look Leliana and Josie gave her. “Sorry. Morrigan? You know Morrigan from the Blight?” She asked in a hushed, excited whisper.

“Yes, we were both companions of the Hero of Ferelden. We fought side by side for many months.” Leliana said, her voice as if of its own accord taking a story telling intonation as she scanned the room, looking for red velvet.

As she focused back on Lavellan, however, she couldn’t suppress a small smile. The Inquisitor was always very excited to hear more about her time with Mahariel.. Lavellan probably heard a lot about her before in her clan, but it was different to have a first-hand account. It was not often, Leliana thought, that a Dalish elf was at the centre of history. Well, at the positive centre of history.

“You did?” Ellana looked like she was about to ask more when Josie cleared her throat, looking at her pointedly. “I-I mean, that is wonderful, though! Surely a dance between you two would draw everyone’s attention! I mean, I wish I could see it…” She mumbled the last part, and the three advisors smiled softly at her.

“While a good idea in theory, I am unsure if it’ll work in practice. Morrigan and I haven’t spoken since the Archdemon was slain. Even then, we never talked much. She… was rather reclusive. Mahariel was the only one she would actively speak with.” Leliana said, eyes once again sweeping the room in search for the witch. “Also, as far as I know, she never cared for dancing, either.”

Josephine tsked at that.

“Really Leliana, that was years ago. She’s been at court long enough to have picked up some steps. Celene would not suffer any member of her court to not know the basics, at least!” Josephine said ,and Leliana conceded her point. “Besides, as you said, you haven’t seen each other for a decade! I doubt Morrigan would not want to catch up.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow at that, face blank.

“W-well, she wouldn’t dare reject the Seneschal of the Inquisition in front of all these people? We are honoured guests!” She tried again.

Leliana maintained her expression. The Morrigan she remembered would have no qualms whatsoever about doing exactly that.

Josephine was suddenly looking very uncertain, and was about to say something when Ellana interceded.

“Well, I think she might surprise you, Leliana! When I talked to her before she seemed perfectly polite. Celene will likely be watching you two, so she won’t have to be concerned about any murder attempts during the dance, and I really need this distraction. I might be gone longer than before this time.” she said with a small, hopeful smile, and Leliana felt her icy heart melt a little. Ellana reminded her so much of Mahariel sometimes.

She so missed her dear friend.

Rolling her eyes, Leliana let out a small sigh.

“Well, time is of the essence, no?” She said, glaringat the whoop and smiles she received from her companions. “Wait for her to take my hand, if she does, before vanishing. You two” she said to Josephine and Cullen, “go to different corners of the room and look pointedly at the dancing floor once I, hopefully, get there. We want to attract as many people as possible. Ask one of the servants to spread word.” Leliana instructed as she started to push and pull at her uniform, trying to make it look more proper.

Stupid, ridiculous uniforms. Presenting a united front was one thing. Wearing this? It was an outrage. It’d help her play her part when asking Morrigan for a dance, however, so at least that.

The others nodded in agreemnt, and Cullen and Lavellan moved away to play their parts. Josephine, however, stayed behind. Leliana raised an eyebrow.

“Are you alright?” She asked, barely moving her lips.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Leliana felt her brow furrowing.

“Well, you seem nervous.”

“I…” Sometimes she forgot that Josephine knew her from before she had been the Left Hand. “It’s nothing, Josie, don’t worry. Go, time is of the essence.” She said, with a small smile. With a quick squeeze of her hand, Josephine motioned to the main balcony with her chin, before she made her way across the ballroom to the opposite side.

Slowly, Leliana looked to where Josephine had pointed. Right there, by the Empress’ side.

Leliana closed her hand into a fist. Was she nervous? Why, by Andraste’s name, was she nervous?

Visions of lingering glances flashed before her eyes. Words that were, day by day, week by week, less and less cutting and more and more teasing. Fond.

Taking a fortifying breath, Leliana minutely shook her head to focus, and started walking towards her target. She made sure her steps seemed casual, but wide enough to draw attention at the same time. People needed to be watching her as she approached the other woman.

When she was but a few steps away, Leliana finally was able to actually admire the ensemble Morrigan was wearing. The sight almost made her step falter. Red velvet. Gold details. Low on the front. Another vision entered her mind, one that almost made her skip a step. Maker’s breath. What was Morrigan playing at?

Another step made her come close enough to the Empress and her advisor to call the attention of those nearby. As the two women turned to look at her, something flashed in Morrigan’s eyes.

Time for a trip down memory lane.

“Your Majesty, my Lady.” She said in a clear and (appropriately) loud voice, taking a deep bow.

“Sister Nightingale!” Celene exclaimed, nodding her head and giving her a large and warm smile. Out of the corner of her eyes, Leliana saw Morrigan giving her a small courtesy, and her lips twitched upwards. “What a pleasure to have you at court once more. It has been quite a while.”

Leliana allowed her smile to become  larger.

“Too long, your Majesty. I’m afraid my duties have kept me away for longer than I wished.” She said, making sure her voice sounded just the right amount of sad, as if she were trying to hide it.

“’Tis all for a good cause, I hear. With your Inquisition, now.”

The voice washed over her like the first ray of sunshine on a cold winter’s day. An inexplicable tingling sensation spread from the tip of her fingers to the other.

All of which Leliana promptly ignored.

Morrigan’s voice hadn’t changed much. The same tilt. The same way of saying ‘tis’. The same tone that tried to impress on you that she knew much more than what she was actually saying. Leliana felt her smile become that bit more genuine as she directed her gaze to her old companion.

“Indeed. Being the seneschal to the Inquisition is a very busy job, but one I take to proudly.” Leliana said.

“I’m sure.”

Their eyes lingered on one another, but Leliana could not for the life of her figure out what was on the witch’s mind.

“Oh, allow me to introduce you-” Celene started, only to be interrupted by Morrigan.

“There is no need, Your Majesty. Sister Nightingale and I have known each other for many, many years.” Morrigan’s voice carried like velvet around Leliana, just like it had all those years ago. Her tone as she said her title, though, made Leliana want to wipe that smirk off her face.

Leliana could feel more and more eyes being drawn to them as the witch took a small step closer in her direction.“Indeed, your Majesty. There was a time when we travelled together. When we fought side by side with the Hero of Ferelden to defeat the Blight.” Leliana said, letting her old bard training take over as she turned to look back at the Empress. “Alas, circumstances made it so that our paths were separated shortly after we emerged victorious. Your magnificent ball, however, has presented me with an opportunity I have long since waited for.” Leliana let a happy and grateful smile grace her lips as Morrigan’s eyes almost imperceptibly narrowed.

“I’m very happy to hear that, sister. What opportunity have I unwittingly given you?” Celene asked.

“To make an old acquaintance anew. If you’d allow me, Your Majesty, I’d beg you to let me take your advisor from your side for one dance. It has been many years, and I find myself wanting to not let this opportunity go to waste. You’ll be able to keep your eyes on her all the time, of course..”

The fact that that line did not taste at all like a lie on her tongue was something that Leliana would stash away for later analysis.

Celene laughed, delighted. “Oh, but I would love to see such an event! As much as I’ve been trying to impart on Morrigan the importance of enjoying oneself on the dance floor, I have yet to succeed. Perhaps you’ll fare better than I did.” With that, their whole entourage focused on Morrigan, whose eyes had not left Leliana and were by now more perceptively narrowed. To her surprise, however, Leliana did not see anger there. What she saw exactly, she wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t anger. Nor disgust.

Clearing her throat for effect, Leliana extended her hand and gave a bow, eyes never leaving the witch’s.

“Well then, will you do me the honour of this dance, Lady Morrigan?”

Leliana more felt than saw that most of the eyes in the ballroom were on her hand at the moment. If this was a few years ago, she’d be exhilarated… as it was, she was rather glad for the gloves on her hand that’d certainly prevent Morrigan (should she actually take her hand) from feeling just how nervous she really was.

Which was ridiculous. 10 years. She was hardly the same ‘girl’ she’d been last time they’d seen each other. And yet here she was, as enticed as she had been back then with the mysterious Witch of the Wilds. As nervous as she’d been the first time they’d been left alone at camp. The first time Leliana realised that she had developed quite the crush on the younger woman.

But it had been 10 years. Lingering looks and teasing words had long since been lost to time. It was ridiculous to still be feeling this way.

“Well,” Morrigan smiled. A small  smile, for sure, but clear for everyone to see, and if Leliana was not very much mistaken (or counting too much on wishful thinking), quite the genuine one. “If I must.” She said in her usual brusque manner, making all those around them chuckle and Leliana’s smile reach her eyes. As their hands touched and Leliana straightened, her heart did double time, and she had to fight to keep a blush from rising to her face.

“Shall we, then?”

“I did just accept, did I not?”

“Indeed, you did.” Morrigan did. Which in and off itself was sign enough that Leliana was far too out of her game and need to get back to it

“Well, by your leave then, Your Majesty.” Morrigan said, exaggerating on her excitement for appearances’ sake, taking back control over her emotions.

“Oh yes, this is delightful! Go ahead!” The monarch clapped her hands, drawing even more attention as she went towards the balustrade to look down at the dance floor.

Taking a small, fortifying breath, Leliana started making their way down the stairs, Morrigan’s fingers gently clasped on her own.

Soon after they took the first few steps, Morrigan broke their silence. Morrigan did. Which in and off itself was sign enough that Leliana was far too out of her game and need to get back to it

“So, I assume you’ll be the one leading?”

Leliana almost laughed at that, but stopped herself just in time, letting only a smirk spread on her face.

“Well, I was planning to. If that’s agreeable to you, my lady?” She asked casually.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

She could just feel her rolling her eyes at that, even if Morrigan had apparently learned to keep herself from actually going through with the motions in open view.

“The whole point of going to the damned dancefloor, aside from drawing attention to us, is that so no one can hear us. Stop the court talk.”

Leliana did laugh then.

By now they had reached the centre of the dancing floor, and Morrigan stopped right in front of her.

“How should I talk then?”

“We’re in a ball in Halamshiral! How many times have I heard you screeching about these situations?”

Leliana chuckled at that as she placed her free hand on Morrigan’s waist, the other grasping Morrigan’s more firmly.

“You want me to screech?”

“Of course not! But it is unusual to see you not making a single comment about everyone else’s clothes.”Morrigan said, placing her hand on Leliana’s shoulder, closer to her neck than one normally would.

Leliana masked her dry swallowing by giving the witch in front of her a once over, a playful smile coming up on her lips.

“I could start that right now with your dress, if you’d like.”

“Never mind then.” Was her immediate answer, though Leliana felt  Morrigan relaxing at that. Humming satisfied, she let herself join in her calm as they started the first slow, easy steps of the song.

“’I’d sooner let Alistair dress me’, I believe were your actual words.” She laughed as she picked up their pace slightly.

“I really didn’t mean what I said before. Go back to being your weird formal self.” Morrigan quipped, making sure to place a scowl on her face. She couldn’t fool Leliana though; she’d been on the receiving end of her real scowls far too many times to not be able to recognize them.

“I did describe these exact details for your clothes, no? 10 years ago! Did you keep me in mind during all these years? Did you miss me that much as well, my dear Lady Morrigan?” She wasn’t even trying to mask the tone of her voice, and barely even realized what she’d let slip.

Despite what Leliana had told the Inquisitor earlier about masks and playing a part, she’d been right; Leliana had felt more like herself here than she had in years, and even more now, with Morrigan in her hands.

It couldn’t be helped, she supposed; she brought her memories from other times… happier ones, perhaps, even with the Blight. That year travelling with the wardens and their merry little band had been the best year of her life.

“Blast and damnation, Leliana. Go back to making small talk. ‘Tis a better use of your time and mine.”

Leliana openly laughed at that, heart beating as fast as it ever had, throwing Morrigan on a little spin before bringing her back.

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name to me. Ever, I think…”

If Leliana wasn’t paying so much attention to their steps, they’d be both on the floor then and there. As it were, she managed to plunge them in the classic and very dramatic swing dip. By the gasps and coos from all around them, she had managed to do so successfully, and they had indeed managed to gather quite a lot of attention.

“Careful now, Morrigan. We wouldn’t want you to crease your pretty dress, yes?” She asked, and there it was; that famous glare that she so fondly remembered. Though it did lack the actual ill intentions behind it.

A very hard pinch on her neck made her quickly pull Morrigan out of the dip. She picked up the pace, making Morrigan work to keep up as she went for some of the more daring manoeuvres.

“I’m surprised that all your time away from the court didn’t make you lose your touch at dancing, Sister Nightingale.”

“I’m surprised you’ve acquired such skills at all, Arcane Advisor.”

She was sure Morrigan would have shrugged had they been doing anything else.

“One does what one must to survive.”

“Indeed.”

Their words went silent for a few seconds as they spun faster and faster around the dance, the only sound coming from their mouths being a slight panting.

“How’s Kieran?”

Something fiercely protective flashed through Morrigan’s eyes at that.

“I hope he adapted well to the court?” She continued quickly, watching as Morrigan relaxed once more.

“Yes, though he did prefer to have a wee bit more freedom. ‘Tis fine though, he’s doing well.” She said softly as Leliana spun her. Morrigan didn’t need to ask her how she knew of her child. She certainly assumed that Mahariel had told her, and that the name had been learned by spies. Which was true.

“Anything on Mahariel?” Morrigan asked, as if reading her mind (she used to be quite good at that).

“Not for a few months now. You?”

“Not for a few years.”

As the song drew to a close, Leliana smirked once more.

“You ready for the grand finale?”

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed at her.

“What are you planning, bard?

Instead of answering, Leliana quickened up her pace, twirling Morrigan under her arm, spinning her away and then back in to finish with a low and daring dip, following after her so close that their faces were just a scant inch apart, right as the song finished and a truly thunderous applause started.

“Now, that wasn’t too bad, yes?”

“I hate you, bard.”

“Not yet, you don’t.”

“Wh-“

Before Morrigan could finish her phrase, Leliana, in a show of courage and impulse that she could simply not explain, closed even more the distance between their faces and pressed a very deliberate kiss on the other woman’s cheek, right in the corner of her lips.

Not wanting to give her a chance to recover and kill her on the spot, Leliana pulled them back to their standing position, taking one step back for a small bow. Morrigan automatically answered, before lightly, very lightly, taking back her hand and directing them to the stairs, under the sounds of animated and awed conversation. On any other circumstance, Leliana might have allowed herself to be quite proud.

As it was… well.

The silence remained between them until they were halfway through the stairs, and Leliana had started to seriously doubt herself. Her hands, which had begun to dry, were going back to being quite clammy.

“You’re ridiculous, Leliana.”

The spymaster could have laughed with relief at that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear Morrigan!” She said, smirking as she saw the other woman actually rolling her eyes. “Also, second time.”

Her hand being crushed was quite worth the exhilarating feeling she was experiencing at the moment. It had been far too long since she’d felt this alive.

As they reached the top of the stairs, they made a show of bowing and speaking rather loudly.

“Thank you for gracing me with your company for this dance and for the riveting conversation, Lady Morrigan. It was indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more.” Leliana said, daring to bring the other woman’s hand to her lips for a brief kiss, barely touching her skin.

Morrigan’s eyes rolled again, a cross between an amused smile and a scowl on her face.

“The pleasure was all mine, Seneschal. It was good to converse with you once more. ‘Twas good fortune that fate brought us together once more.”

“May it not be the last time, my Lady.”

With a small smile for an answer, both of them turned away at the same time. But before Leliana could take more than one step, the witch spoke once more.

“I did, you know?”

Leliana stopped, turning around only partially. Morrigan was looking at Celene.

“Pardon?”

“Miss you too.”

Leliana froze, mind completely blank as she watched the witch make her way back to the empress.

She didn’t know how long she stood there, half hidden by the column behind her, rethinking everything that had been said on the dance floor.

Before long, what felt like a distant voice brought her out of her own mind.

A very, very excited voice.

“Leliana, that was amazing!” Josie somehow managed to sneak up behind her, Cullen right by her side. “Every single eye on this palace was on you! People actually rushed from other rooms for this!”

“They really did. Some of the guards even left their posts for it.” Cullen said, a small smile on his face.

Well, Leliana supposed, still utterly distracted, mission accomplished.

Now what?

Xxxx

Mission accomplished on all accounts, apparently. Lavellan had performed admirably, and pulled off something Leliana was not sure could ever actually happen. Brialla and Celene governing together was quite something. She allowed herself a small smile; Mahariel would have been proud.

She sighed as she overlooked the gardens, allowing herself to relax a little. Everyone was actually enjoying themselves on the ballroom now since all the mess was done with.

Light steps sounded behind her, but just a she began to tense up, she felt it. The smell of magic. Of wood, fire and wilderness that seemed to still be with her even after all these years away.

Morrigan.

Her heartbeat doubled again, but instead of nervousness, she felt light. Relaxed, even. Happy that she’d been reached out to.

“And here we are once more. Following a Dalish elf in events that shall change and shape the world.” Morrigan said.

“We also have a qunari, a dwarf, another elf, and a warden.” Leliana let an amused smile play on her lips as she leaned her hip against the balustrade, half turning to face Morrigan as the witch came to stand by her side. Rather closer than necessary, but Leliana would certainly not complain.

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “And from what I heard, you also have an older mage that thinks she knows better than everyone else.”

Leliana let out a short laugh at that.

“We have you for that, my dear Lady Morrigan.”

Leliana was sure that the glare she received would have sent many running for their lives. Not her though.

Morrigan scoffed at her lack of response.

“I don’t think I know better than everyone else, bard. I know I do.” She said simply, and Leliana rolled her eyes.

“Of course.”

The two paused, looking out of the palace, to the far distance.

“And I’m not old.”

Leliana laughed at that, turning to look at Morrigan from head to toe, in a very deliberate way. The same way she had 10 years ago, which had almost earned her a fireball to the face for her trouble. Now, though, the only heated response seemed to be on the witch’s cheeks.

Was that a blush?

Leliana smirked, but said nothing.

“What?” Came, predictably, the cutting question.

“No, not old indeed.” She said lightly. “The years have served you well.”

“Stop your games, Leliana.” Morrigan said, rolling her eyes. Leliana allowed her smile to become truly open and genuine at that, wanting to hide nothing at the moment.

“It is no game, Morrigan. Also, third time.”

Blush still in place, Morrigan turned to face her.

“Are you gonna keep count now?”

“Is it going to become  a common enough occurrence for me to not have to?”

The question was not only about the name and they both knew it. Is this where they’d part ways once more? Or would they fight together again, side by side?

“Perhaps it shouldn’t. Maybe I’ll return to calling you bard. Or Sister Nightingale. Seneschal, even.”

Leliana felt a happiness she hadn’t felt for a long time settling deep inside of her.

Side by side it was.

She took a small step closer to Morrigan, their knuckles now brushing.

“I’ll stop counting, if you promise to keep saying it, Morrigan.” She said in a whisper, a little tremble in her voice at the boldness of her request.

Morrigan stopped for a few seconds, just looking at her. A look with so much feeling behind it that it reminded Leliana of how Morrigan had looked at her right before the fight against the Archdemon.

Without realising what she was doing, Leliana grasped Morrigan’s wrist as if to stop her from leaving again.

Once more, it seemed as though Morrigan had been reading her mind, because instead of recoiling as Leliana was expecting, Morrigan simply covered her hand with her own.

“Good. Seeing as I’m to live in Skyhold for the foreseeable future, it’d get tiring quite quickly.” She said, her dry tone failing to mask the fondness in her voice.

With a light squeeze on her hand (so light that Leliana thought she might have imagined it), Morrigan turned around and walked back towards the door, back to the party and to Celene’s side. Just before the witch crossed the threshold, Leliana recovered her senses, ignoring the blush on her own cheeks.

“I’m looking forward to working with you once more, Morrigan.”

The witch stopped.

“So am I. I guess wonders never cease.” She turned to meet Leliana’s eyes for one last time that night “Good night, Leliana.”

And with that, she was gone.

“Good night, Morrigan.” Leliana muttered to the empty balcony.

She turned to look over the gardens once more.

Morrigan had awoken something in her today, and she had no idea how the witch would feature in her day to day routine and responsibilities back home. This whole night had been almost an out of body experience for her; As if she was ten years younger again, flirting with danger, politics, lies, deceit, and with a wild apostate. And she’d loved it.

But tomorrow, they were to head back to the Inquisition. To Skyhold, where she was not a seneschal, but the spymaster. Where her responsibilities had weight, where her actions counted to their minimal details.

It had been a dream… a wonderful dream (full of murder, treachery and lies, but such was their life, and such was where she thrived in), but it had come to an end. Tomorrow, things would be back to normal.

Supposedly.

Leliana sighed.

What had she gotten herself into.

[grimmseye]

A Bird in the Hand: Chapter Twelve

Read on Ao3 here!

Rating: M

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (eventual),

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Tealeaf, Essek Thelyss

Chapter Tags/Warnings: Molly Rez, Amnesiac Mollymauk, Oh My God They Were Roommates, Violence, The best kind of romantic relationships are when you fight big monsters together

— — —

Seeing this side of the world reminded Essek why they were envious of the Empire.

The Ashkeeper peaks, at their southernmost edge, were bright with life. Even in the nighttime, the lands buzzed with a steady drone of noise, small and mundane creatures that would bear them little harm so far from the wastes of Xhorhas.

They didn’t have these luxuries of rich growth and predators that thought you too big to be their next meal. The Dynasty’s lands were long blighted, and what stood today came from centuries of building from scrap.

Essek was not much of a patriot, but he still had some love for his home, and still wanted to see it flourish. Beholding the verdant jungles that spilled out far below, he could not tamp down the resentment for what they’d been denied.

One ear flicked back at the sound of approaching steps. Essek turned as Mollymauk caught up with him, his coat draped between his arms to carry several handfuls of small, round fruit. The smile on his face beamed joy and contentment as he shuffled up to Essek and held out his coat in offering. “Blueberry?”

“Another fruit named after its color,” Essek observed, but reached for a few.

“Make sure to take the firmer ones. A mushy berry will ruin your day,” Molly advised, and Essek rolled back a few that had been soft between his fingers.

They were little blooms of sweetness on his tongue, and he couldn’t help but let a smile spread across his face. Xhorhas struggled to maintain their farms, druids and bards and clerics filtering out to the fields to bless the lands and enrichen the soil. While it let them till the land, magic had a way of leeching the flavor from anything that grew there. It left much to be desired beyond the edible fungi that naturally grew in the wastes.

“Good?” Molly prompted, smiling. “Hey, hey, hand over your bag, will you? I can’t carry these forever.” He reached for Essek’s pack without waiting for real permission, tugging a small pocket open to start shoveling berries inside. “Just let me know when you want some more!”

When the berries were safely offloaded and the pocket closed, they fell into step back along the deer path they’d been following. An arc of one finger sent orbs of light bobbing through the air around him to illuminate their road once again.

They had only been traveling a few hours, his teleportation spell landing them further than he might have liked. Mollymauk took to the mountains with glee, his hooves allowing him to hop up steeper slopes with ease while Essek simply let graviturgy boost him up the hills. It made him feel warm to see Molly scamper up to the crest of another slope and then spin around, absolute delight on his face as he drank in the world below them.

“Mollymauk,” he called, and watched him twitch to attention. “More berries, please.”

“Get your ass up here first,” Molly shouted down. It was a blessing that he didn’t start his usual jeering.

Once Essek had joined him, Molly dutifully opened the pouch, delivering another handful of berries. Several steps down the path, he got a tug on his arm, and the tiefling’s mouth opened wide in expectation.

“You could have gotten your own,” Essek pointed out, but fed him a berry. Teeth closed around his pointer finger, scraping as Essek pulled away.

Molly waggled his eyebrows. Essek turned to walk away.

“Gods’ sake, Essek,” Molly groaned. He caught Essek around the shoulders to pull him down, lips meeting. The hand that didn’t cradle blueberries found Mollymauk’s arm instead, squeezing in expectation for the filthy sort of kisses Molly liked to spring on him these days. Instead he found himself smiling as Molly pressed one, two, three, small pecks to his lips, and then another to his nose, and again to his lips, this time to mumble, “You’re such a hardass.”

“You’ve done nothing to discourage me,” Essek pointed out, and Molly barked out a laugh.

It made travel impossibly slow, but Essek had never enjoyed himself more on this road. Earlier in his career, he had traveled with bands of Kryn soldiers, escorting him under the night, moving quick and quiet with the constant dread of being found out beyond their borders. As he developed his skills and reputation, he’d started coming alone, trusting his own resilience to make a quick escape if needed.

Neither had been enjoyable. Being alone had been an improvement, allowing him the peace to enjoy the change in scenery, but in recent months he’d recognized something that colored all memories of his past: a loneliness that ached to his core.

Now he had Mollymauk.

The Ashkeeper peaks were home to drakes. They weren’t true dragons, lacking their power and intelligence, but hunting one down would fetch a good price in any shaded market. Essek wasn’t here for poaching, though — all he needed were the shed scales that lined their nests.

They reached the peaks a few hours before dawn. The moons had slid out of view, leaving a bright field of stars overhead. He dismissed the lights around them, and they both took a moment to let their eyes adjust to the new darkness.

Mollymauk stuck close from that point forward. His visual range was significantly reduced compared to Essek’s, and he followed close behind. When Essek’s hands drifted to his component pouches, Molly’s swords hissed from their sheathes.

He had been to this drake’s lair a few dozen times already, and knew its patterns. A male, it always left the nest at night to hunt. It dwelled in a cave at the very peak of the Ashkeepers, where snow lined its crest well into summer.

Mollymauk’s steps were near-silent in the frost. Essek cast Message, whispering “Don’t stray from me,” before he set a hand on Molly’s shoulder and cast invisibility on them both.

His grip tightened as Mollymauk’s image slid away. He kept pace, Molly’s tail weighed against his side as the tiefling eased towards the mouth of the cavern. The temperature only dropped further as they passed under its roof. The inside of the cave nearly crystalline with ice. Even invisible, the fog of their path mingled with that which circulated inside.

Essek would give Mollymauk nudges to direct him through the tunnels, the two of them slipping around frozen bends, a veritable maze carved into the mountain. At its end was another cavern, this one with walls and burrows to form an uneven landscape. Essek knew that at the farthest point, the drake’s nest would be tucked away, filled with soft snow and plant matter and any shiny thing the creature could get off the ground.

A low, rumbling sound made both of them freeze. It rolled through the cavern, bouncing off the frozen walls. They held their breaths, counting the seconds of silence before it was chased by a hissing, sucking sound.

Snoring. That was the sound of snoring. The drake was still in its nest.

Molly’s hand replaced his tail, a weight at Essek’s side. He dragged it up, to his arm, his shoulder, skimming fingers along the length of his neck and over his jaw, until he’d found Essek’s ear and held it in place. Heat burned his cheeks as he leaned down and Molly pressed close.

The tiefling’s lips were practically on top of his ear as he whispered, “Still good to go?”

His hand dipped to cup Essek’s cheek, so Molly felt it when he nodded. There was a squeeze to his jaw, and a moment later, Molly slipped away.

The absence terrified him. Essek pulled a piece of iron from his pouch and clutched it in his hand. Even prepared, he was still too far away to cast. He watched Molly’s path through the mist, eyes fixated on every uneven swirl of fog until it grew too dense to parse.

Then his eyes were focused on the drake’s nest, which hovered at the very edge of his vision. He held his breath, blood pumping in his ears.

The edges of the nest were lined with glinting shapes — silver scales. It was the sudden loss of one’s light that alerted him to Molly’s position, watching as a shape lifted, and vanished. Then, seconds later, another. Then a third. All the while, the drake in the nest snored peacefully away.

One by one, Molly plucked the scales from the nest and tucked them safely away. Essek had almost let himself breathe again — and then a scraping sound came from above.

Essek froze. He prayed Molly had done the same, ears straining for the noise. It was the echo of scrabbling talons growing steadily louder, and closer. His eyes widened as he stared at the roof of the cavern, where one of those burrows tunneled up through the mountain to open air, where another silver snout was poking through.

The drake had apparently found itself a mate. Now the new one crawled onto the ceiling, something bloody clutched in its mouth. Its wings spread, bringing it gliding down to the cavern floor, Essek’s heart leaping in his chest as it landed on the edge of the nest. It was not, apparently, on top of Mollymauk, for the drake only siddled back onto the ice and began to scrape at it with its claws.

Mollymauk was invisible. He only needed to stay still and wait for the creature to settle down. Essek repeated this in his head as he watched the chunk of meat — a torn-off deer’s haunch, he was sure — get tucked down in the ice and then blasted with a stream of pure frost from the creature’s throat. It nudged the heap left over, muzzle coming away coated in snow, and for just an instant it looked like it was going to curl up peacefully in its next.

Then its nostrils flared. The pupils dilated, a snarl echoing through the cavern, this time the breath exhaled was more than just snow — it was a cone of jagged ice, to cut and freeze and kill. Essek felt the thread of his spell snap, Mollymauk flickering into view as a silhouette ducking away from the blizzard.

Essek’s feet hit the ground. He moved faster this way, darting forward across ragged ice. The other drake was waking now, as an arc of flaming orbs formed a halo above Essek’s head and then blared jets of fire into its mate.

Molly tried to retreat, scrabbling back. The awoken drake caught sight of him and then shrieked and lunged, the first snap of its jaws missing but talons catching his thigh. Molly snarled. His sword flashed down, Essek threw out a hand. The velocity of his swing doubled just before he struck, driving the blade deep into the meat of the creature’s back.

The second, the male drake, jumped from behind Mollymauk. Essek rushed forward, squeezing the chunk of iron tight enough that it cut into his palm and willing the beast to freeze in place. His magic curled around it for only a moment before it broke free of his grasp. It snapped at Mollymauk with a vengeance, clothes shredding around its teeth and jaws slicked with blood..

Molly couldn’t escape, barred in by two of the beasts. Essek snarled to himself, shifting to an angle where he could line up their thrashing bodies. “Mollymauk,” he called. The tiefling caught his gaze, saw the electricity as it pulled into Essek’s grip, and dove for the female’s tail.

He swung forward. The air pressure dropped, and dark purple lightning burst across the floor. It caught the female in the skull, its mate springing away with a hiss. Molly took the distraction, swinging viciously into the already bloodied drake as it staggered and wailed.

Essek hesitated for only a moment before getting even closer. He could get them out, he just needed to get to Mollymauk first.

And then the female turned, frost billowing between its teeth, and both of them were surrounded by pure cold. Essek shuddered, his legs giving way, knees hitting the ground. Snowflakes clung to his eyelashes, blurring his vision, skin stinging where needles of ice pricked through his flash.

He panted, gulping in a breath before he pushed himself upright. Mollymauk was still on his feet, defending himself against both of the beasts with blood dripping down his chin.

One step forward. Fresh blood drooled from Molly’s eyes, but the tail still caught him in the legs, made him stagger.

Another step. Molly dug one sword into the ice, the other glowing with radiant light. He lunged, dragging a crimson line into metallic scales.

Another step. The drakes both snarled, jaws parting in near unison, two mouths full of ice to expel.

Essek’s hand clamped onto Mollymauk’s shoulder, and he pulled.

They landed outside the cave, several hundred feet down the mountain. The shift in pressure made his ears pop as they collapsed in the grass.

For a moment, they both just caught their breath, adrenaline making his hands shake and his head swim. He listened as Mollymauk regained his bearings, shoving himself onto his knees.

“Can we run one gods- damned errand,” Mollymauk snarled, wrestling Essek’s pack away, “without something getting its teeth into me.”

There was the clink of glass. Essek rolled over, pushing himself to sit up. Mollymauk had pulled out a pair of potions, and was holding both of them out to him.

Essek frowned. “You take one,” he said, lifting a single bottle from his grip. He braced himself and downed it, the grimace from its taste giving way to relief as warmth flushed over his skin again.

Molly shrugged, pinched his nose, and did the same. Essek had to chuckle as Molly gagged and dove for the blueberry pouch.

He watched as Molly crammed a handful past his lips, then threw himself onto the ground. The grunt and groan that followed suggested the potion hadn’t patched everything up just yet.

He chuckled, and then settled his chin in one hand, elbow propped on a knee. “That was unfortunate,” Essek sighed. “I’ll have to go back to making this trip in a group if there’s a pair of them, now.” He was glad they hadn’t actually managed to kill one. If the drakes abandoned that nest, he’d be out of good components. “At least information means the trip wasn’t an utter waste.”

Molly, mouth stained with blueberry juice, suddenly perked up. He gave a wet, food-muffled noise that made Essek grimace before digging into the pockets of his coat. When he pulled his hands free, it was with a bundle of silver scales each.

Essek’s face lit up. He took the scales, even those streaked with blueberry juice, to examine them for a moment and slip them into his component pouch. Excitement thrummed in his chest. That would restore an entire batch of potions and leave him some leftover material for experimentation — he could kiss Mollymauk for that.

He could. That was the truth. Essek peeked back at Molly, to find the tiefling sitting up again with a squinty-eyed grin.

It took a moment to steel his courage before he cupped Molly’s face and pressed a kiss to his lips. The shock and then delight that shone in his eyes after had some odd pride flaring in Essek’s chest.

He’d almost grown comfortable with the arrangement. Mollymauk almost always initiated, pulling him down for kisses or burrowing into his space, clinging in bed when the night was cold. Sometimes he’d push Essek down in that bed and leave marks on his neck that the mantle would hide. Sometimes Essek came home carrying tension in every muscle and Molly would nudge him against the wall and sink to his knees, or lay out across the bed on his belly, tail curling, voice goading.

Turning the tables was fun. Seeing the warmth in Molly’s eyes made his heart do something strange but not quite unpleasant.

“Let’s get a little further out before resting,” Essek suggested, before pulling Molly another five hundred feet down the mountain.

He cast a spell, then, one that Molly had seemed delighted by when he first heard of it. Magnificent Mansion was a requirement for travel. The doorway shimmered into being, and the two of them vanished inside. There were a few plants Essek will need to gather under sunlight come morning, but for now, they could lay in a bed and rest.

And they did. They sank onto a mattress, injuries still too sore to do anything but curl around each other and bask in shared heat after being doused in the mountain’s chill. Meditation was easy to slip into, the deepening of Molly’s breaths becoming the metronome to carry him somewhere beyond conscious thought.

These were moments that made him feel like even in the worst of times, things could still be okay. The yawning pit of his future had given way to a flicker of light.

He was woken by the feeling of a spell shredding through the threads of his magic.

Essek’s heart skipped the moment before he was shunted into another space. He hit the ground in a heap, gasping in one breath before the air became flame.

A scream ripped from his throat. He thought for a moment it was echoing, until he realized Mollymauk was shrieking as well. In the span of seconds, every inch of his flesh was sent crawling with agony, blood pulsing heavy under his skin and leaving him stunned when the inferno fell away.

Arrows had embedded in his body almost without him noticing. He reached for his component pouch, grabbing hold of Mollymauk as they staggered upright. He’d burned too much magic to bring them home, but maybe he could put enough distance, could hide —

The spell crumbled to ash. Essek’s gaze focused on the caster, horror twisting in his gut. Mollymauk met his eyes, then shoved him, barking, “Just run!”

So he ran, dragging Mollymauk behind him. His hand lifted to try again, just one successful cast to save them.

A series of snaps pierced his ears before the bolts drove under his skin. He pitched forward, registering only pain the second before the world turned to black.

Elsewhere, it was raining.

They stood on a hillside, the clouds opened up to a frigid downpour. It wasn’t a storm, yet, but the force of the wind was a warning.

Two pairs of hands dug through slick mud, finding the earth below loose and pliant, the grave they had dug so long ago now revealing itself as empty.

[vulcan-highblood]

Not According To Plan (2/5)

Fandom: Supergirl (2015)/Legion of Superheroes

Summary: (Post Season 3 Ep.18 "Shelter From the Storm") Querl and Imra return to the 31st Century. It's not at all what they expected.

Read it on Ao3 here!

Chapter 2: The Reaction

Querl never realized how lonely it was to be trapped in your own head until his thoughts had nowhere else to go. The others would tease him, at times, about his attachment to devices and other objects they considered “inanimate”. But they were fully organic beings, they didn't understand computers, not the way Querl did. They couldn’t see how clever some systems were, they’d never really noticed the antics some devices would pull. True, the devices and computers that Querl interacted with on a daily basis were not sentient the way a Coluan was, but neither were pets and nobody made fun of people for conversing with or ascribing anthropomorphic qualities to them.

He’d been on the Legion cruiser for over three hours, watching his teammates manually input the coordinates for the route through neutral space that Rokk had eventually gotten from their Braalian contact. Querl wasn’t even allowing himself to touch the computer, too worried that he might access the device unintentionally. Instead, he stood back, watching the Legionnaires inputting the information with painstaking slowness and fighting back an ever-growing sense of frustration. Was this to be his life, now, in the 31st century? He couldn’t function like this, he wasn’t built to be so totally cut off from all computer systems. It was like torture, like he’d completely walled off a part of his own soul. Which, to be fair, he essentially had, as he was as much A.I. as he was an organic lifeform. 

“Brainy, we would all really appreciate it if you would stop pacing,” Rokk snapped, glancing up from the console to fix an irritated glare on Querl.

Querl froze, steepling his fingers as he stared back at the Braalian. “Very well,” he said, barely suppressing the urge to respond in a childish manner. “I will stop pacing.” It took far more willpower than he’d expected, but he did stop. He watched them plug in another coordinate, and another. Grife, it was going to take them another 2.564 hours to complete the task at this rate. Inhaling deeply, Querl focused on exhaling as slowly as possible. It helped, incrementally. He watched them plug in the wrong coordinate. Waited to see if they would notice. They didn’t. “Rokk, that should be one-four-seven-five point nine-nine-eight-three by one-two-seven point seven-seven-four-eight-one,” Querl pointed out, “Not one-four-seven-five point nine-nine-eight-three by one-two-seven point seven-seven-four-eight- seven.”

Rokk glanced between his notes, the map they’d been charting, and blanched. “Right,” he noted, and changed the coordinate. “Thanks, Brainy.”

“You’re welcome,” Querl answered. It wasn’t much. Wasn’t anything, really, considering how quickly he’d have been able to plot the route if he were in contact with the cruiser’s computer. But that was no longer an option. 

“I wonder what Legion HQ looks like without computers,” Reep Daggle wondered aloud, plotting the next coordinate. “I bet it looks different.”

Querl didn’t want to think about it. But it was better than wondering what Colu would look like. “I am certain that the aesthetic details will not have changed significantly, merely the mechanisms required to operate it.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Chameleon agreed, frowning as he waited for Rokk to finish typing in his coordinate before starting the next one. 

Querl resisted the urge to sigh. This was going to take a long time.

~~*~~

After manually inputting all of the commands to fly the Legion cruiser to New Metropolis, they were finally able to gather everyone together to discuss their options. As the Legionnaire who had spoken with the Braalian, Cosmic Boy seemed the best choice to lead the meeting. 

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Rokk said, ignoring the fact that there really weren’t many other places to go when aboard a spacecraft. “As we’ve all been made aware by now, the mission was a success, and we successfully prevented the Blight from ever happening.” He frowned a little. “However, from what I understand, a new threat has taken its place. A villain, one that many are calling the Computer Tyrant , has created a virus that spread throughout the universe, destroying all forms of Artificial Intelligence.” 

Eyes turned to Querl, who was doing his best to ignore that and keep his gaze fixed on Rokk. Everything felt so much slower when he didn’t have as many things to occupy his mind, and he mentally noted who was staring at him (everyone but Rokk), immediately regretting his decision. He didn’t like being under scrutiny.

“What makes this interesting is that the Computer Tyrant is identified using a symbol we are all very familiar with.” Now Rokk, too, was staring at Querl.

The sensation of being stared at was growing nigh unbearable. Nonetheless, Querl persisted. He pointed to the symbol on his chest, trying not to look put out. He had a very good idea of who this Computer Tyrant might be, and it was objectively terrifying. “Yes, he or she is most likely a Brainiac,” Querl said, trying for nonchalant and failing miserably, if the tremor in his voice was any indicator. “This symbol has long been used as a crest for my clan, and was recognized by our Braalian contact as a symbol of the Computer Tyrant. It follows, then, that this…” Killer. Monster. Destroyer of worlds. “...villain… is likely one of my ancestors.” Which one, Querl had no real way of knowing. That was the problem with having a surplus of villainous ancestors. Too many to choose from to know for sure who was responsible. And it would likely be extremely difficult to get any information on that subject, considering Querl would not have access to any computer systems for the foreseeable future.

“What are we going to do?” one of the Legionnaires asked. It might have been Chameleon. Whoever it was, Querl hadn’t spotted them, as he had directed his gaze to the crest emblazoned on his chest. Without access to the ship’s security system, he wasn’t able to view the room from alternate angles to identify who had spoken. He fought down another wave of irritation at the inconvenience.

“First, we’ll head back to Legion HQ,” Cosmic Boy said, “And from there, we’ll try to gather information, and come up with a plan.”

Querl nodded along with the rest of the room, but his mind was whirling. A plan. To do what? How could they eradicate what was clearly deeply embedded in the social structure of this time? Grife, even an attempt to eradicate the virus might bring down upon their heads the wrath of planets that had benefited from the widespread eradication of advanced technology. Eradication of an entire race, if not races.

Oh, and that was a thought he didn’t want to pursue, but found his mind unable to resist the magnetism of horror that was slowly overtaking him. All Artificial Intelligence was eradicated. Dead. Colu was dead. Dead, without question. There was no way one of his ancestors would have created a virus to destroy all forms of artificial intelligence and chosen to spare Colu. True, Querl had been something of a persona non grata on his homeworld, due to his insatiable desire to create, design, and experiment. Colu was a world largely based on intellect, not action, which was a large part of why he’d left in the first place. But just because he hadn’t always felt welcome or wanted on his homeworld didn’t mean he wanted them all dead. The very thought sickened him, made it hard to breathe, hard to think. 

It was like all of his emotion was choking him, and that shouldn’t be, he had specific parameters in place to prevent his emotions from overwhelming him like that. Was it because he’d shut down all nonessential functions in his onboard AI? That didn’t make sense, the inhibitors were treated as an essential function. So what, then, was causing this failure to adequately process an emotional response?

“Brainy?” Imra was standing beside him, and sprock, he hadn’t seen her coming, hadn’t noticed her there, hadn’t… grife, he was falling apart, wasn’t he? 

“Saturn Girl,” Querl managed to force the words out, but his chest felt tight. Sprock, it shouldn’t hurt to breathe, he had kept all essential functions active. Was it the virus? Had he already been infected? Maybe he was dying, perhaps he hadn’t been fast enough to cut off access, and now he was going to shut down. “I think I’m… dying,” he choked out, looking down at his hands, watching them tremble as black spots danced in his vision. 

“Brainy,” Imra’s voice was a little more firm, “I want you to breathe, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Querl was breathing. He was breathing fine, that wasn’t the problem, the problem was that he couldn’t sprocking feel his fingers or his toes. He was losing sensation. His AI was shutting down, he was losing his sprocking mind, he was dying, he was -

A sharp pain bloomed across the side of his face, and he blinked, hard. Imra was staring at him, eyebrows furrowed, hand extended. 

Tentatively, Querl reached up, resting his hand on his cheek. “You slapped me!” he accused.

“I did,” Imra didn’t sound the least bit repentant. “Now breathe in, and don’t breathe out until I tell you.”

Querl did as he was asked, confused, but not really wanting his last living moments to be spent getting slapped by Imra a second time. He inhaled deeply, waiting until Imra said “exhale slowly”, and then did so. He continued to breathe when she told him to, focusing on her commands, and was surprised to feel the tightness in his chest begin to loosen. His hands and feet were still cold, but he was starting to be able to feel them again. He flexed his fingers experimentally, and was glad to see they moved smoothly, no longer shaking uncontrollably. 

“Better?” Imra asked, her eyes concerned as she looked him over.

Querl took another deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I… think so,” he said. “I no longer believe I am dying, anyway.”

Nodding, Imra rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “That’s good. Do you need anything?”

Querl needed to feel safe. But there was little chance of that, at least in this century, it seemed. Instead, he shook his head. “I do not.”

Imra patted his shoulder again, and then walked over to whisper something in Rokk’s ear. The two of them glanced back at Querl over their shoulders and then returned to whispering. Again, Querl found himself wishing he had access to the computers, he would at least be able to try and read their lips if not pick up audio. How was he supposed to maintain his air of omniscience if he couldn’t see and hear what was going on at all times? It was so sprocking boring, all twelve of his thought-tracks being trapped in a single body that was still terrified of dying the next time he accessed a computer. He also needed to make sure that the Legion cruiser wasn’t contaminated - if it were, then they would end up stranded at HQ, at least until they learned how the people of this time piloted their spacecraft. The Braalian had insinuated that their race was somehow responsible for space travel. 

Querl wondered if it had to do with magnetism, what manner of propulsion system might be constructed using Braalian powers. That led him down a tangent, wondering if there were any other abilities in the Legion that could be applied as a propulsion system in the event that the Legion cruiser suffered a catastrophic system failure. 

There were no Legion powers that would save him from a catastrophic system failure, though. 

Sprock. He was supposed to be thinking about useful topics, not contemplating his own mortality. 

“I assume you have a backup of your brain somewhere?” Reep Daggle, ever insensitive, sidled up to Querl, shooting him a mischievous grin. “In case, you know,” he dragged his thumb across his throat in a crude gesture, crossing his eyes and allowing his tongue to loll out, his antennae drooping in a dramatic imitation of… death.

Shutting his eyes momentarily, Querl resisted the urge to strangle the Durlan. He turned to fully face his teammate, using every remaining ounce of self-control to steeple his fingers together, rather than resort to a more violent response. “That’s not how Coluan biology works, Chameleon.” 

“It’s not?” Reep at least had the decency to look upset at the revelation. “Oh. Oh!” He looked hard at Querl, his face twisting into a look of discomfort. “I feel like a nass. I didn’t know...” he looked away, his shoulders stiffening. “Sorry.”

Querl wanted to ask why he’d sprocking said it, then. Choosing instead to take the high road, he shrugged one shoulder. “Coluans die, same as any other organic being. Our consciousness, however, joins a larger construct of shared Coluan minds.”

“Oh, so like an afterlife!” Reep grinned.

It wasn’t like an afterlife, it was a literal afterlife, one constructed from all the ancestral minds that had gone before them. Except it wasn’t. Not anymore. “It used to be,” Querl said, before he could quite stop himself. 

The Durlan tilted his head, confused. “What do you mean, ‘used to be’ ?”

Querl’s hands trembled with the desire to clench into fists. “Our afterlife, as you call it, is a massive unity of Coluan minds. It is… an artificial construct.” Querl swallowed hard, and despite the fact that he hadn’t eaten recently enough to run any real risk of sicking up, he felt his stomach churn. “It is, in simple terms, a highly complex... Artificial Intelligence system.”

Reep stumbled back as though Querl had physically struck him. “What?”

He really was going to be sick, Querl realized, clutching at his stomach and inhaling sharply through his nose. It didn’t help. He coughed twice, feeling his insides twist inside him as he bent double, swallowing hard to fight back the saliva gathering in his mouth. It didn’t work. 

“But that means…” Reep was saying, his voice far away, “they’re all dead? Like, dead dead?”

Coughing again, Querl dropped to a crouch, now certain his insides were attempting to turn themselves inside out. A dribble of saliva ran down his chin, and he breathed, he swallowed… he failed to hold it in, his whole body convulsing as he heaved, dropping to all fours. The dribble of water he’d drank several hours earlier came up, splattering across the floor as he shuddered, still trying to vomit despite his now-empty stomach. 

Querl felt an arm wrap around his shoulders, holding him as he heaved, and shook, and heaved, and shook. It felt like an eternity before he was able to breathe without feeling his insides twist. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the bitter taste that lingered on his tongue. 

“I’m so sorry, grife, that was so insensitive of me,” Reep still had his arm slung around him as he rambled, “That’s sprocking horrible, I didn’t even think… sprock, your whole planet…”

Querl sat up slowly. “My whole planet,” he repeated. “Yes.” He shut his eyes. “Also my ancestor.”  

Beside him Reep stiffened. The arm around Querl’s shoulders tightened. “We’ll figure this out, Brainy. We will.”

I’m glad you’re confident in that, Querl thought dismally, because I am not.

[laurelsofhighever]

Chapters: 43/70 Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Chapter Rating: T Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU, Alternate Universe - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining

------

Twenty-first day of Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon

Alistair read the letter, and again. He drank in the sight of the handwriting, the neat arches and graceful lines of every word, so familiar and so long missed. At first, he had been so eager to see his name in Rosslyn’s hand, to make sure it really was her, his mind had skittered over the letter’s contents, his fingers trembling as he held it to the light. Slowly, however, her words had sunk in, her tone, the hurt hidden behind the formality of her farewell, and his breath stuck in his chest as the full, awful implications of everything crashed down around him.

“Alistair?”

Duncan stood on the other side of the small room, one side of his face cast in the glow of the coal fire, and the other in darkness. Even in the low light, his worry showed clearly on his face, in the lines that had deepened and spread since Alistair had last seen him. He had yet to change out of his travel-stained cloak and boots, and yet, despite the lateness of the hour, the line of his shoulders betrayed no fatigue.

“All this time, I thought…” Alistair scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve been a fool.”

“I doubt the matter is as simple as that,” Duncan allowed. “Especially given the look on Teyrna Cousland’s face when she handed me that letter.”

Alistair snapped to face his old mentor. “You’ve seen her? How did she seem? Was she alright?” He snorted and glanced down. “No, that’s a stupid question. And it’s all my fault.”

“She looked strained from battle,” came the steady reply, “and I suspect other things about which it would not be my place to ask.”

With a growl, Alistair turned away from the fire to pace, the last of his sleepiness draining away in his agitation. All this time. When he had been woken in the middle of what passed for the night so far underground, hustled into breeches and a loose shirt to cover his decency, he had dreaded another uprising, or an alarm that the magma river was flooding – anything other than a weary Grey Warden acting as a messenger for someone he had thought abandoned him months ago. He should have known better, should have known her better.

His eyes fell to the letter again. It was like picking at a scab, the itch to keep digging even as the skin blotched around the wound and blood welled fresh from ruptured veins. Her mention of the ‘path’ he had supposedly chosen left him cold with a dread he couldn’t define, but worse than that was the damned pride he read in the words she omitted, the ire of a spurned noblewoman who had flinched from rejection and shielded herself in duty to keep the grief at bay. From the news that had arrived through the messenger relay days before, the battle at South Reach would have proven a perfect ground for martyrdom. And he had done nothing.

“I will help in any way I can, but it would be easier if I knew what was going on,” Duncan tried, breaking into his wandering thoughts with the same patience he had once used to teach swordwork with sticks. He raised his eyebrows when Alistair huffed and passed him the letter to read, but Wardens by nature were discreet, and he scanned the more personal parts without comment. “It would seem your correspondence has been intercepted.”

“I should have realised! Why did I let myself get so distracted with everything going on here? All these – these history lessons and trade negotiations and – and fancy dinners! I should have known something was wrong, tried harder – something!”  

“Dwelling on past mistakes will not help the present,” the Warden pointed out. “Now that you do know, what will you do?”

“Banging my head against the wall is tempting,” Alistair muttered, but he sighed and shook his head. “I guess the first thing to do would be to work out who’s responsible for this, but that’s not exactly easy. A hundred things could have happened on the road from here to Cailan’s camp.” Frowning, he shoved a hand backwards through his hair. “Besides, who would even have a reason to…”

He went still.

He turned, and marched. The guards assigned to his quarters jerked awake as the door smashed open against the wall, but he ignored their cries of protest. Cool air whipped against his face. His bare feet slapped against the polished stone floor, with Duncan’s quieter, more measured step following close behind. The Warden seemed content to let him lead the way through the maze of tunnels that made up King Bhelen’s palace, and he was glad not to have to stop to answer questions. Anger burned in him like lightning, crackling through his nerves, echoing the thunder-boom of his pulse, a tempest sustained and growing wilder with every step he took towards Eamon’s rooms.

The old man’s door was an elegant face of petrified wood banded together with silver in intricate geometric patterns. The latch cracked when Alistair kicked it open.

“What – Your Highness!” The arl’s valet shuffled out to greet him from the antechamber he had been assigned as quarters, gummy-eyed and in nothing but a long nightshirt. “Is something the matter?”

Alistair ignored him, already halfway across the room.

“You cannot – my lord is sleeping!”

He threw the doors of the bedchamber with such force they crashed off the walls and shook on their hinges. In the centre of the wide, low bed, Eamon stirred under heavy sheets, rousing with a confused grumble that slackened to dumb surprise when he realised the source of the commotion.

“Get up,” Alistair snarled.

The old arl blinked and began to slowly pull back the covers. “Is all well, Your Highness?”

“Where are the letters?”

“I’m sure I don’t know –”

“The letters Teyrna Rosslyn sent to me!” Alistair shouted. “The ones that never arrived. What have you done with them?”

Eamon stilled at that. He turned, a new wariness in his expression as he measured the fury on Alistair’s face, and the Grey Warden standing implacable in the shadows behind him.

“So you do know what I’m talking about. I suggest you get out of that bed before I drag you out of it.”

With a heavy breath that whistled through his nose, Eamon swung his legs to the floor, wincing as his joints creaked, and waited for his valet to appear with his dressing gown. Not once did he look towards the doorway as his arms were threaded through the sleeves, or when he gestured to the ewer on the nightstand for a glass of water.

“Perhaps you should ask your captain to make a search of these rooms?” Duncan suggested lightly. “It might speed things up.”

Alistair glanced to him, one eyebrow raised. “Good idea. Mhairi should be –”

“There is no need,” the old man snapped, with a final wave to dismiss the servant as he stood to face his intruders. “Yes, I know which letters you wish to see – what if I told you I’d burned them?”

“I’d think you were lying,” Alistair replied, his face carefully blank of the sudden hope that flared through his chest at the unexpected confession. “You’re smarter than that, and you’re not the sort of person to throw away something that might be useful. You proved that with me ten years ago.”

The arl lifted his chin in a familiar look of disappointment. “Everything I have done – all I have ever done – has been what I thought in your best interest, and the interests of Ferelden. I took you in, sheltered you under my own roof –”

“I remember, in the kennels. I was there at the time. Where are the letters?”

A tense moment passed between them, one that only ended when Alistair huffed and turned to Duncan, the location of Mhairi’s room ready to fall off his tongue. His meaning was clear, and Eamon relented. He stumped towards the desk Bhelen had provided him and moved a stack of papers off a small box, then reached into a side drawer for a key. The lock clicked and the lid popped open with a squeak of stiff hinges, and with pursed lips the arl drew out two stacks of letters wrapped up in plain string and tossed them on the desk.

“Even this, I did to protect you from yourself. I care about your wellbeing, even if you find that difficult to believe. It would be foolish for you to throw yourself away on something that cannot be.”

Heart racing, Alistair stumbled forward. There were his letters, still sealed, bearing her name across the envelope in the broad, blocky handwriting Brantis had tried so hard to refine. He had passed them to Eamon to send with the rest of the missives to the king’s camp, had trusted every time that the messenger took care, had been lied to when he had asked and told they were received. Anger plucked at him again, so strong he had to clench his fists against it, but then his gaze slid to the second stack, the one with his name on the front, and a shiver crawled across his skin. Without a word he snatched them up, ran his thumb along the edges, counting. His hands shook. Over a dozen. Proof she never stopped caring, that he might be able to mend things between them if only he could get the chance. He looked up to blink away the sting at the corner of his eyes, and found Eamon watching him like a kitchen rat eyeing the actions of the cook.

“What’s the real reason?” he asked, cold. “Did you worry she’d influence me too much? Or maybe this has something to do with your ridiculous scheme to get Rosslyn to marry Cailan? If you think she’ll let herself be made into a pawn for someone else’s gain, you seriously underestimate her. She doesn’t care for Cailan, not like that.” At least he hoped not.  

The patient expression vanished in a sneer. “Foolish boy. Her Ladyship is a noblewoman, born and bred for politics. Do you really think if the choice came, she would turn away from her duty to her people? You have proved selfish at every turn, and stubborn as your father with your insistence on ignoring what is right in front of you. I thought if I separated that link, if I discouraged the connection, then you might come to see for yourself that the advantages –”

“This was never just about Rosslyn.” The realisation struck Alistair like a blow – the ‘path’ in Rosslyn’s letter… “Valesh – you want me to marry Valesh.”

“I hope you don’t object to her based on the fact she’s a dwarf?” the old man drawled.

“That’s what all the trade negotiations hang on, isn’t it? That’s the real reason we haven’t been getting anywhere. It’s all been a ruse to keep me here and make me forget everything else.”

“Are you saying you haven’t enjoyed the time you’ve spent with Her Highness?”

Alistair’s grip tightened on the letters in his hand. He had never wanted so badly to lash out, to hurt, and he wasn’t sure what kept him rooted to the floor. Teagan had warned him back in Aeylesbide about opportunistic nobles – Rosslyn herself had told him to be careful of Eamon’s motives – and now the figure that had seemed so large and intimidating when he was a child was revealed as nothing more than an old man scrabbling to cling to power.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

“Of course.” Eamon bowed his head. “When we have wrapped up matters –”

“No, we’re leaving now.” He turned and snapped at the valet, who shuffled forward with a nervous bow.

“Your Highness?”

“Wake everyone up, have Captain Mhairi tell them to start packing.”

“What? But…” His voice trailed into silence in the face of Alistair’s glare. With an uncertain glance towards Eamon, he bobbed again and hurried out.

“This is a rash course of action, even for you,” the arl warned as Alistair and Duncan both turned for the door. “You are throwing away a chance for a lasting treaty with Orzammar, something not even your father achieved. How will you explain this to King Bhelen?”

“You can tell Bhelen whatever you like,” Alistair ground out, then halted. “In fact, no. Tell him Cailan has requested our presence and that owing to the constraints of war it would be… it would be dishonest to make promises we cannot be sure of keeping. Once we win, we can place an ambassador here permanently. A proper one. But I will not be marrying his sister. And you,” he added, throwing a narrow glance over his shoulder, “had better hope I can fix whatever damage you’ve done with these.”

He stalked out, once more with Duncan following, but he didn’t care about that. The further away he got from Eamon, the more his attention bled to the stacks of letters still clutched in his hand. After so long, even the stretch to his room seemed too far, and it took all of his restraint not to break into a run, or to simply set his back against the nearest wall and break the seals right there. But then, what if the only thing in them was more heartbreak? He had missed her so much, the absence a constant ache beneath his ribs, and the sudden thought that he might have found her voice again only to have it tell him he wasn’t worth the effort brought him stumbling to a halt. She thought he intended to marry Valesh, that he had abandoned her – what if she, too, had chosen the more political path in response?

“You were almost happy a moment ago,” came Duncan’s quiet voice at his side. They had almost reached his chambers.

“It’s just – it’s been so long, and I don’t know what she’ll say – what she has said.” He chewed his lip, swallowing past the new lump in his throat.

The old Warden lay a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve come a long way, Alistair, and grown into a fine man. Whatever happens, I am sure you will handle it.” He sighed. “I have business to attend to here, and you have to catch up on some reading, so this is farewell for now.”

“Will I see you before we leave?”

Duncan merely offered him a smile as he bowed and strode away.

--

As the hours passed, the noise outside Alistair’s quarters grew as the household awoke, but the commotion passed him by. Still in his sleeping clothes, he lay on his bed, too wrung out to move even as far as the water pitcher on the dresser to quench his thirst. He had dismissed Marten to help with the packing and shut himself away, with the packet still tied with string on the mattress in front of him and his heart fast and shallow in his throat. When he had finally, shakily broken the seal on the first of Rosslyn’s letters, the words had tumbled through his hands like a gale of autumn leaves, each one devoured as if they were kindling. He read her relief, her confusion, her worry, her rage and despair and resignation in such swift succession that he was left blinking back tears and cursing Eamon and his own stupidity all over again. A second time, and he had to pause every few sentences with the paper pressed against his heart. As his own relief washed through his limbs, however, it was chased by hollow desperation because despite these being her words, her thoughts, after so long such closeness wasn’t close enough. His hands itched to be around her, his lips tingled with remembered kisses, and when he scrunched his eyes shut he imagined the smooth glide of her fingers ghosting over the back of his neck.

He read again, and it didn’t help.

Someone knocked on his door. Startled, he gathered the letters into a neat pile and roughed a hand through his hair, swiping his palm across his cheeks, aware enough of his dishevelled state to throw a robe over his sparse attire as he padded over to see who it was.

Valesh stood in the antechamber, dressed in her usual finery, with powdered gold dusting her cheeks and jewels glittering in her ears. Her eyes, however, were rimmed red, and she twisted one of her rings around her finger rather than look at him.

“I heard the news,” she said.

He bit his lip. “Yeah.”

“Can I come in?”

Sighing, he stepped aside so she could pass, but the letters were still on his bed, out in the open where she might glance at them, and now that he knew about Eamon’s plans, having her in his private space left a wriggle of discomfort snaking in his gut.

“I have to ask,” he blurted. “Did you know? About Eamon wanting us together?”

She nodded. “I did. My brother told me after our first meeting that I should woo you.”

That rage again, that disgust at being manipulated and being too oblivious to notice. “Well it’s nice to know you were all in on the little joke,” he snapped.

“That’s not –”

“Let’s all watch Alistair trip over himself – because it’s not amusing enough to dress him up as a prince and make him be a diplomat!”

“It wasn’t like that!” Valesh cried. “I enjoyed spending time with you. I liked how you treated me, and I liked all the things you taught me. I hoped… but I knew you wouldn’t agree to what they wanted.”

He turned. “What do you mean?”

“Are those her letters?” Her gaze softened as he took a protective step towards the bed. “You get a faraway look in your eyes whenever you talk about her. In another life, my brother’s plan might have worked, but that look…” She sighed. “Besides, given the choice, you’re not quite my type.”

“Too tall?”

“Too male.”

“Ah.” He glanced to the bed, to the letters, and his voice turned to steel. “Eamon intercepted them. She thinks I haven’t been writing to her for months, and I thought the same of her, and – Maker, she thinks I hate her.”

“That was cruel. I didn’t know – I swear it on the Stone.” A breath, and an unsteady smile. “It’s probably for the best things turned out this way. If you had stayed here, you would have been condemned to a lifetime of hitting your head on door lintels. And that’s besides all the snide remarks you’d get for being a human. No matter what Bhelen is trying to change.”

He saw it clearly then, how their match would have worked on both sides to be rid of an inconvenient problem. For Bhelen, wanting to secure his rule, marrying his sister to foreign royalty would remove a rival, and any political manoeuvring to try and displace him in favour of Valesh’s heirs. And as for Eamon, what better way to keep his influence on the throne than by burying the king’s brother under a mountain and getting a peace treaty in return?

“What will you do?” Valesh asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“I’ll find her,” he answered. “Beg her forgiveness for not realising sooner what’s been going on. Hope she gives me another chance.” But that only answered half the question. “What about you?”

She shrugged, once more playing with her ring. “My brother would have me stay and be a trophy for whoever gains his favour, but I’m not sure I care for that idea as much I once did. You taught me that there’s more to life than accepting what it gives you, and… I want to see the sky.” She smiled. “I’ve spoken to Duncan – the Warden-Commander. He invoked the Rite of Conscription for Brosca, and I’ve persuaded him to do the same for me.”  

“Being a Warden is a hard life.”

“But I’d be doing good,” she insisted. “Not just sitting around here twirling my hair while half the noble caste slavers after me. This is the only way I can leave with my brother’s standing intact. And I can fight.” She sighed. “I came to tell you goodbye, and good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

He nodded, sorry for something he couldn’t define. “You too. Duncan’s a good man, and you’ll get to travel the world with the Wardens. You’ll have to write and tell me what Weisshaupt is like.”

“I will.”

There was no point in her staying after that. They shared an awkward goodbye at his door just in time for Marten to return and tell him Mhairi’s preparations would only take a few more hours, that they could be ready to go by early afternoon.

“You ought to get some rest while you can, Your Highness,” his valet suggested. “And… perhaps a sluice as well?”

Frowning, Alistair sniffed at his armpit. “It would be a shame to waste the hot water while we still have it,” he mused, “but there’s still time.” Tiredness itched at his eyes. He hadn’t realised how far into the morning it was, how long he had been awake. It would be a long march east once they reached the surface again, and he had a feeling that when they were finally on the move, trepidation might stop him getting much sleep at all.

[mogwaei]

Wheel of Time/Dragon Age parallels

I know you could probably spin in a circle and throw a dart and find parallels for literally any fandom because inspiration/originality/etc.younameit., but @johaeryslavellan and I were talking about WoT and it got me rollinggggg with ideas and since I’m always thinking about Dragon Age, I thought why not combine two of my favourite things in the world?

Here we go (and I’m sure I’m going to forget a lot because WoT is a massive universe) also SOME spoilers if you’ve never read the series:

WoT/DA: has ancient people that have been sealed away and slept for thousands of years

Tel'aran'rhiod  & the Fade = sketchy dream worlds that are big ?????? to everyone

Aes Sedai/Circle Mages: both live in towers (the White Tower of Tar Valon and then the Circle Towers)

Aiel/Dalish: Aiel had a purpose once but was lost in the Breaking of the World and now their people are split into a few different branches. Lots of things have been forgotten (LIKE THE DALISH WHOA)

Angreal & Sa’angreal: Pretty much just Foci.

The Dark One’s prison: the seals are breaking on his prison (mostly just reminds me of the Archdemons and their prisons)

Seanchan/Qunari: both seek to leash mages and have rigid beliefs and a political system in place. They also seek to spread their ideals to the rest of the world. This would take a helluva lot more time to break down because I see the strongest parallels between these two groups but I won't do that this time.

Asmodean/Felassan: Both change sides and both are killed because of it (deaths that I’m still salty about). Also, Asmodean was teaching Rand ancient knowledge, a bit like Felassan and Briala! ;~;

The Source/Magic: magic in both universes is dangerous as fuk. Also you can tear holes in reality in both universes.

The Forsaken/The Forgotten Ones: both are essentially pantheons antithesis to whatever side they were fighting against. Both were sealed away in respective prisons.

Dragons: Both are mythical in both universes. Still have no idea if dragons ever actually existed in the Wheel of Time but I mean we have the Dragon Reborn and he has dragon tattoos and yeah they had to have existed (maybe in Seanchan or something). Obviously they exist in DA. But I mean the entire WoT series literally revolves around the Dragon Reborn...and we have Dragon Age. lol

BLIGHT: HOLY SHIT when I first saw that there was something called the Blight in DA I immediately freaked out and thought back to the Blight in WoT. Seriously, the Blight in WoT is horrific even though it’s not exactly like the DA Blight. WoT Blight spreads across the land and fucks shit up though. Also I’m pretty sure you can’t contract the Blight like you can in DA but...honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised. Also, the monsters in WoT like to hang out in the Blight, kinda like DA darkspawn.

White Tower/Black Tower: It’s a stretch, but totally reminds me of the White Divine and the Black Divines of Dragon Age.

Daes Dae'mar (The Great Game/Game of Houses)/The Game: Because what fantasy universe doesn’t have some stupid complex backstabbing political ‘game’.

Perrin Aybara/Solas: Perrin can shapeshift into a fucking wolf in the Dream World. Solas totally can (fight me). Perrin doesn’t like to kill people, and Solas doesn’t seem to either unless it’s necessary (means to an end). That’s about all they have in common though lmfao

Bards: WoT does it better.

Darkspawn/Shadowspawn: pretty much just in the names tho haha

OH AND ONE MORE:

Moghedien/Solas: “It was said that she ran what was perhaps the Shadow's most extensive intelligence network during the War of Power. Moghedien joined Lews Therin Telamon (Good Guy) as an employee of his staff, and from her position directed several of the major setbacks for the Light in the early War.” Basically, she joined the Good Guys™, did some shady shit in the shadows and escaped notice doing so. She also acquired the title Moghedien (Fen’harel much?) because she “hid her allegiance, conspired and plotted from the shadows.” SHE BLENDED. A lot like our beloved trickster wolf! Both are also exceptionally unlucky and somewhat unsuccessful in their planning! They also scare the shit out of me.

@johaeryslavellan pointed out this one:

Aes Sedai&Warders vs. Templars/Mages: This is a little complicated, but hear me out. Aes Sedai can create a magical bond with anyone. Usually it’s a man and once the bond is created, they become a Warder (with additional perks/buffs). Now, the bond reminds me a bit of a phylactery but without the blood because Aes Sedai can therein track their Warder wherever he/she may go. This bond could totally be abused/perverted if they so wished. Also, there have been a few Aes Sedai that take advantage of their Bonded (sex and whatnot) kind of like the Templars pressing their mage wards.

Wise Ones/Dalish Keepers: pretty much what it sounds like. The Aiel have these elder type leaders that are basically the keepers of their lore. That’s about it.

OKAY so I know there’s probably like a hundred more similarities and before anyone burns me at the stake, I’m not trying to be like OH BUT BIOWARE STOLE FROM WOT, because I’m not! This is just me drawing parallels between two universes I absolutely love with my entire heart and it’s super cool to see these similarities! They also have vast differences and that should always be celebrated as well! :DDD

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Truth Pt. 11

Truth Master List

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But… a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: Feels, mentions of addiction, violence 

A/N: HELLO MY DARLING PRECIOUS PATIENT PUMPKINS! Did you miss these two? I know I did. This starts off domestic and then veers into like two-three completely different territories. It’s a ride that’s for sure. 

I hope y’all like it! 

Tags are open!

@midnightdream83 @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4  @piensa-bonito  @handplucked  @buckysstar  @sam-jae  @marauderconvos –harder @for-the-love-of-the-fandom   @meg-asaur @jewelofwinter @fairislesheets  @animegirlgeeky @lydklein1 @katecolleen @siriuslycloudy2 @zannemes

He stills your hands with his. Your eyes meet his, tears sneaking down your cheeks. He wipes them away.

“You keep your memories displayed… I shove mine in a box under my bed…”

When you had pulled all of this out you were on the verge of completely melting down. Days without sleep, hardly eating, seeing that woman’s face over and over again, the flashbacks… You wanted to remember what you were before you became a monster.

It only served to remind you of everything you lost. That’s when you’d gone to the gym when Bucky found you… You’d forgotten your misguided attempt to keep yourself together until there it was spread on your unmade bed.

There wasn’t much. Your family hadn’t been big on photos, just a few posed pictures, school photos, some holidays. But you loved photos… A grotesque amount of polaroids of your friends… people whose names you forgot or who were possibly long gone… at shows, parties, on the street. Glazed eyes, leather jackets, cigarettes hanging between smudged lips are spread out. 

Maybe the names alluded you for some but you could smell the sweat, the smoke, the whiskey. Faded flyers from underground shows at Safari Club and other D.C. and East Coast punk venues add pops of color to the mix. A few misbegotten AA coins peak out to remind you of wasted time.

You pick one up as he looks over at a photo of 15-year-old you standing stiffly between your parents in front of a Christmas tree. Your expression annoyed, kohl heavily lining your eyes, hair bleached within an inch of its life and huge.

“Is this you?!” A smile curls his lips and you almost laugh.

“Yeah, don’t judge me too much… it was the 80’s.” You flip the coin in the air and catch it. “Probably the last Christmas I spent sober.”

His brow knits and you sigh. “Hi, my name is Y/N, I’m a cocaine addict… and an alcoholic... and… you get the gist.” You toss the coin at him. He looks it over. “Nine months… as long as I ever got.” Picking up the photo of you and your parents you feel your chest tighten.

“She wanted me to be perfect. Her pride. Pushed me to be the best at everything. I was a nationally ranked athlete, excelled in everything from cross-country to martial arts, incredible at any art she threw at me, damn near a genius, graduated high school at 15, got into every Ivy League school…”

Setting it aside you pick up a photo of you and someone who’s name you do remember, Dana, your first girlfriend. “I was even excellent at being a drug addict, never OD’d, high tolerance… Others weren’t so lucky.” You toss the photo aside, not wanting to linger.

Bucky takes your hand, lacing his fingers through your own. “Who kept these for you? Family?”

“I don’t have any family.”

“But… anyone? I mean… you’re so young?”

You snort, “Is 47 young?” Jesus, you were almost 50… such a strange thought.

“Well,” he laughs a small empty sound, “in comparison.”

You nod conceding. “My Mom… she lost her family in the war… in the camps,” you can’t look at Bucky. “Dad was an only child. Fury kept them tucked away in a storage locker at S.H.I.E.L.D. after…”

He nods, “He knew your father didn’t he?”

“Yeah, they worked together…” You release his hand and push through photos to find your favorite of you and your Dad. It was from that nine-month stint of sobriety, he’d been so happy that you’d been doing well that on your 20th birthday he took you to Paris. His smile was so bright… your hand trembles a bit.

“You look happy here,” Bucky rests his cool left hand on your bouncing knee as he looks at you and your Dad, posed in typical cheesy tourist fashion in front of the Eiffel Tower.

“I was… we were…” Your voice cracks. “I never knew what he did… just thought he was some low-level diplomat, never questioned it… I don’t even know that Mom knew…”

“Was she here?”

“God no,” your eyes slide shut for a moment, remembering. “She was hardly speaking to me… I was a disappointment.”

“She didn’t…”

“Tell me that? Oh yes.” You hold up a hand as he opens his mouth, “I don’t know that she was wrong. I… I did everything I could to be the opposite of what she wanted me to be. I doused her American Dream in gasoline and set it on fire…”

“Still you’re not-”

You shrug, “Doesn’t matter. I… never got to prove otherwise.” Your eyes scan your memories, hazy and painful as most of them were.

“They killed her, ya know? Hydra…”

He gives your knee a gentle squeeze, “I assumed.”

“After my last go at rehab… I really thought… I was going to be better, I wanted to be better. Go to school, live my life, make her proud. They took that away… left her bloody on the kitchen floor.” Your skin tingles, energy pulsing through you.

“I… what about your Dad?” The look on his face is pained like he doesn’t want to ask but feels like he must.

“He killed himself.” You shake your head, “At least that’s what the official report says. “Makes sense though… wife dead, daughter missing, all because you were getting a little too close.” Glancing over at his smiling face a tear slides down your cheek, “Who could blame him?”

A small sob trips over your lips and Bucky pulls you into him. Surprising yourself still, you allow him to comfort you and allow yourself to feel this… to mourn them even a little.

Ever since being here you had tried to bury the guilt and the grief. Thinking about the void they left in you, the years you wasted, the final image of her… dead for days collapsed by the back door… It was too much. You couldn’t help but think that maybe if you’d been there, instead of in rehab, you could have saved her… even though you knew the ending would have been the same.

After a bit your sobs quiet. He’s leaned against the headboard, you’re curled into his arms, the steady beat of his heart soothing. When you look up at him his eyes are so soft, warm despite the cool color. The feeling of his fingers gently grazing your skin as he pushes stray strands of hair from your face sends shivers through you.

“Sorry…”

He smiles, “For what? Having feelings?” You shrug a little. “Well if you want to make it up to me,” he reaches across the bed a bit and grabs a picture of you sporting a particularly heinous head of Aquanet enforced hair looking like some combo of Cindy Lauper and a Clash groupie, “explain this.”

You can’t help but laugh and agree to explain your questionable fashion choices.  

The rest of the day is spent intermittently cleaning your apartment and telling Bucky what you remember of who you once were. The good, the bad, and the ugly. He listens and most importantly doesn’t judge.

When you put on some music from your own youth he's not too pleased. It was safe to say that bands such as Bad Religion and Misfits were maybe not his speed. However, he’s much more in tune with Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, and surprisingly The Runaways.

“I’d say you’ll pass inspection,” Bucky says as he puts your mop in the closet.

“Definitely.” You look around and feel oddly sad. His place really was so much warmer than yours. It felt like someone actually lived there, rather than just existing.

“What’s wrong?” Your face must be showing your disdain.

“Nothing,” you flash him a smile. “So… got any dinner plans?”

The smile that lights up his face takes your breath away, “None.” He grabs your waist and pulls you close to kiss you.

“How about I cook? Your place?”

“You cook?”

“I mean, I’m no Julia Child but I can promise it will be better than those packaged meals in your fridge.”

He laughs, “I’ll take your word for it.” You grab some things from your own kitchen and a change of clothes, which he doesn’t even question before you both head down to his place.

-

Five days later Bucky watches you slip into a pair of leggings as he sips his coffee.

“Are you sure you can’t even have some coffee?”

You roll your eyes, “I’m sure, 12 hours fasting for the tests.”

“You don’t have-” You cut him off with a glare. “Fine. But if you decide you want me there-”

“I’ll call. I promise.” You toss on a tee and a cardigan.

He looks away, chewing on his bottom lip. “Hey,” you pluck the coffee from his hands and set it on the nightstand, “I’ll be ok, Buck.” Cupping his face in your hands you place a kiss on his lips. He can feel his heart stutter just a touch, he wonders if it will ever go away. You release him and he buries his face in your chest, breathing in your now familiar scent.

When he lifts his head your smile makes his breath catch. “I’ll be back in a few hours.” Your soft lips press against his forehead. All he can do is nod. 

As soon as the door closes he feels himself wilt a bit, anxiety rising with each passing moment. He wants to believe you but he knows they could accidentally trigger something in you. Be it a memory or a reaction with your power, either could have horrible consequences.

After almost an hour of running worst case scenarios, he can’t stay here anymore. He tosses on some gym clothes and texts Steve to see if he’s free to train. Bucky’s already to the gym when he gets a response of ‘No, sorry pal.’

Sighing he turns around and heads to the shooting range. Clint is already there, experimenting with some new arrows Tony whipped up for him. While Bucky usually prefers to be here alone, he doesn’t necessarily mind Clint. He’s a fellow sniper after all and doesn’t ever seem to want to force Bucky into conversations he’d rather not have. 

The two men shoot in silence for a little more than an hour before Clint pipes up. “So, you and Y/N seem to have taken a turn for the better.” He’s taken up the spot next to Bucky under the pretense of changing his angle.

“What of it?” He may like Clint but the thought of sharing details of his private life isn’t high on his to-do list.

“Nothing. I think it’s great.”

“Yeah, you and Romanoff seemed to have an opinion the other day.” Bucky’s tone is gruff remembering Clint’s quip about her owing him.

He laughs, “Just a good-natured bet. I saw the chemistry between you two.” Bucky doesn’t respond. Some mix of anger and embarrassment blooming in his chest.

“Look, man,” Clint has stepped out of his booth and is leaning on the wall between them, “people like us should take any chance at love we can and run with it. It’s rare enough for civilians and most of them don’t spend their free time getting shot at.”

The tone in his voice drips with sincerity and Bucky can’t help but look back at him, the glare quickly melting off his face. “Who said anything about love?”

Clint shakes his head smiling, “You’ll be one lucky bastard if it ends up being that Barnes. Even if it doesn’t, friends are worth a whole hell of a lot too.” He claps a hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder, “As soldiers, it’s sometimes hard to allow ourselves to be happy. You deserve it. Promise.” Bucky says nothing for a minute and Clint nods, walking away.

“Thank you,” Bucky’s tone is low, sort of unsure. He does mean it though…

“You got-”

“Sargent Barnes and Agent Barton, you’re both needed in Mr. Stark’s lab immediately.” Jarvis’ voice cuts Clint off and Bucky feels the blood drain from his face. The two men hold one another’s gaze for a fraction of a second, a flood of emotion and information being exchanged in that one fleeting moment, before sprinting to the elevator.

When they burst out of the elevator they’re met by Steve and Natasha. Everything seems fine, nothing is on fire or blown to bits so that has to be a good sign. Still, as soon as he’s got eyes on you nothing could keep him back.

You’re sitting in a chair, wires stuck to you all over leading to a computer, tendrils of white light pulsing beneath your skin. “Y/N?!”

“Hey! I’m fine,” his hands are lightly grazing your body where the wires touch you, eyes frantically searching your own for any signs of distress. “Really, Bucky, I’m fine.”

You do seem ok. He wishes he was. His heart is thundering, muscles tense, ready and willing to do whatever he needed to keep you safe. Taking a shaky breath he rests his forehead on yours, trying to calm himself.

“Sorry if we scared you, Manchurian.” Tony quips from beside the computer as he pops a baby carrot in his mouth. Bucky shoots daggers at him.

“They were able to get a lock on the specific energy signature I emit pretty quick and scan for it. We found a match.” His eyes shoot back to you, unsure if you’re glad they found something or not.

“Well,” Bruce pipes up from another monitor, “near enough anyway. Too close to her unique signature to be a coincidence.”

“Another base?” Natasha asks from behind Bucky, who’s still kneeling in front of you, unable to move away.

“That’s what we were hoping you and Clint could clear up for us,” Tony flicks some images up so everyone can see the area they narrowed the signal down to.

Your eyes dart between the two and Bucky finally looks back. The map shows a spot just outside of Cleveland. Yet another nondescript building, nothing that says den of torture about it at all. Clint and Natasha exchange a look.

“Yeah,” she holds a finger to her lips for a minute thinking. “We may have something on this, didn’t seem like much so it’s low on the list.”

“Well, it’s top priority now.” Bucky doesn’t like the tone in Steve’s voice. It’s the one he gets when he’s going to do whatever bullheaded thing he has in mind no matter the consequences.

He sees you nod in his peripheral. “When’s the soonest we can head out?”

Bucky’s glare shoots back to you. “Absolutely not!”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not doing this.” His tone is just as stubborn as Steve’s, if not a bit more so.

You scoff, “Oh? I’m not?”

“No. You are not.”

“I hate to break it to you but you don’t get to tell me what I am and am not going to do, Bucky.” Your eyes darken just a touch as the air around you dips just a touch toward cool.

“After last time you really think this is a good idea, Y/N?!”

“No. But I’m the only one who can properly handle these assets if they attack. I’m the only one who understands even a little how this energy functions. I’m the only one-”

He can’t believe this. “So you’re just gonna throw yourself back into that?! After what almost… after… Y/N you’re being-”

“I’m doing what needs to be done. I cannot in good consciousness allow this to pass unchecked. Too many people are at risk if-”

“This isn’t a negotiation!” He bellows. “You’re my-”

“I don’t give a damn what I am to you or you to me.” It feels like you punched him in the chest. “You don’t give me orders, Barnes.”

When you look away from him to Natasha the dismissal is clear. “There’s some good surveillance footage of the area from local businesses security and traffic cams. Should be enough to establish patterns. After last time we know trying to scan is a lost cause.”

Bucky feels his rage prickle under his skin. You don’t look back to him when you’re done. Huffing he stands and stalks to the elevator, unable to be a part of this ill-begotten plan a moment longer.

-

“You know he’s coming right?” Natasha’s tone is light but she knows her words are heavy.

“Yeah.” You clip the stabilizer cuffs Tony made for you onto your belt. They were just a prototype and only to be used if you felt like you were about to lose it but they still felt strangely comforting to have. Nothing like the comfort you’d felt with Bucky… who you hadn’t seen in three days.

“Assuming you still haven’t spoken to him?”

“Not much to say.” You don’t want to have this conversation now.

“That’s bullshit.” She slips her Widow’s Bites on.

You shrug, “No. You heard how he spoke to me. In front of everyone. Like I was a fucking child like he could just say no and I’d say yessir.”

“He’s from a different time, Y/N.”

“I don’t give a fuck. It’s not 1945.” You slam your gear locker closed. “Plus, not like he’s spoken to me either.”

You barely catch a glimpse of him before he gets on the jet. Grinding your teeth you hang back for just a second.

“Need me to whoop his ass,” Sam says from behind you.

“That is not a fight I’d care to see.” You sigh, “But no. Just think we got ahead of ourselves is all.”

“Well,” he slings an arm over your shoulder, “you’ve still got me, kid.”

You laugh, “You do remember that I’m older than you right?”

“Psh, age is just a number. I got one of them old souls”

As usual Sam’s ridiculousness puts a smile on your face and by the time the two of you are boarding the jet you’re cackling. That all fades the moment you feel Bucky’s stare. Steeling yourself for the uncomfortable mission ahead you keep your eyes averted and your mind on the prize.

Things have gone smoothly for the most part. Some minor scuffles, every computer has been beyond destroyed, and no files that tell you a goddamn thing to be found but less than an hour into the mission and it seems this will be in and out. You’re not even sensing any of the telltale energy like you did last time.

You’ve all spread out a bit to try and wrap this up quickly since it all appears quiet. The area you’ve chosen is just about clear, or so you think. There’s the slightest whoosh in the air before you feel a blade nestle itself in your back.

“Fuck!” You scream as you stagger in pain and surprise. Just barely you can hear Bucky’s voice call out in the com as a foot crashes into your jaw.

It takes you a second but you get your bearings and land a blow to the asset’s abdomen. “I’m good!” No need for anyone to run to your aid when you don’t need it.

You focus a thin sliver of energy in your right hand and shoot it toward them like a tiny spear. They dodge and for a moment you think nothing of it, spinning despite the throbbing in your back from the knife wound, determined to take them out. A groan rings both in your com and from behind you followed by a thud.

Somehow you know before you even turn who’s going to be on the ground. You feel yourself somehow grow cold while also pulsing with energy, dread and rage and heartbreak crashing into you all at once. The asset forgotten, you rush to Bucky’s crumpled form on the floor.

“What the hell?!” His eyes are squeezed shut, teeth grinding in pain as he grasps the wound in his side, red sliding over his fingers.

“Heard you,” he grunts through clenched teeth. You can’t even feel the knife in your back at the moment.

“I said I was good!” You force his hands away and he groans. It’s bad, not as bad as it could be but still…

“Behind-” He doesn’t finish his statement. The asset grabs the knife and twists.

You scream, pain surging for an instant before it’s replaced with something else entirely. Thick cords of energy curl around you, pulsing in time with your suddenly steady heartbeat. There’s nothing in your mind for this moment, not even Bucky. One goal. Eliminate the target.

Pulling away the knife rips out of your back. It should feel like something. It’s just a tingle. Whirling you grab the asset by the neck. You could make this much faster than you do but… Pinning them against the wall you let your power trail down their body from your hold on their neck. They make a noise somewhere between a scream and a gurgle as superheated energy burns its way through them. It only takes a minute.

Once their eyes go dark you hurl them to the side. The sound of bones cracking. It’s then you come back to yourself, the monster sated. Bucky.

“Bucky is down. West sector cleared, I’m taking him up.”

“No, I-”

“Shut up,” you growl as you lift him.

Sam is stitching up Bucky when Nat and Steve declare the facility cleared. Nothing of value gained. They know you’re all looking for them, that’s clear enough by how quickly they abandoned this place.

The ride back is quiet. Sam takes care of the wound on your back and you can’t take your eyes off Bucky’s side. You could have killed him. If you had…

As soon as the door opens you’re bolting out. You think you’re going to run to your apartment but instead, you go to the range. Even so, all you manage to do is pace in the space anxiety thrumming through you, yet you’re unable to bring yourself to let loose the energy that almost killed him…

Before your brain knows what’s happening you’re riding the elevator up to not your apartment but Bucky’s. You know he’s in medical but he’s not hurt badly enough to stay there more than an hour or so. Pacing the hall, you wait.

The elevator doors slide open when you’re at the end of the corridor. Two voices, Steve’s and Bucky’s. You freeze.

“I’m good, promise,” you hear Bucky say.

“Alright. Call me if you need anything.” The doors slide closed and Steve is gone.

He hasn’t even opened his door before you’re on him. A small surprised noise comes from him as you turn him to face you. Logically you know he’s injured, need to be careful, but…

Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling him to you. His kiss tastes like sweat and desperation. Tears burn your eyes as his tongue finds its way between your teeth, his arms winding around you, holding tight.

Suddenly you pull away, pushing against his chest. You punch him hard in his left pec. “You fucking idiot!” Your voice cracks.

“Yeah. I am.” A sardonic smile curls his lips. “Just for you though.”

[gremlinquisitor]

I have a prompt for you! “Are you jealous?” with Alistair :)

for @dadrunkwriting and @will-and-her-fandoms, after far too long - Cullen and Alistair at Skyhold, with a brief mention of Hawke. 

~1800 words, Cullen/Alistair, good for all ages, fade to black (if I upped the rating it would likely never get posted)

Read it here on AO3

“Come in.” Cullen doesn’t look up from the reports at the knock on the door. This time of night most people are asleep. Those who aren’t are welcome, and those who wouldn’t be welcome wouldn’t knock.

And those who wouldn’t be welcome, but would knock, are at least worth letting in before he fights them.

The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he shakes his head. It must be late; his mind is starting to wander. But he wants to have read all of these at least once before the morning, making notes in the margins, suggestions to bring to the table tomorrow. The Inquisitor’s independence grows daily, and he’s glad to see it, but he’s more glad when they come to decisions together around the war table.

He looks up, curious to see who other than him is still awake. He’s met by a familiar uniform in blue and iron grey, and a face somehow more and less familiar at once.

“Alistair.” He sets his quill aside and falls back in his chair, all but knocked back by surprise to see his old roommate. “They really are just letting anyone into the Inquisition these days.”

Alistair shrugs, lines at the corners of his eyes when he grins. He’s only just inside the door, arms folded across his chest, regarding him with a warm gaze that Cullen isn’t sure what to do with.

“I heard that Hawke had a friend, a Warden, that would be coming here to help us, but I never thought--” He stops himself, shaking his head and smiling back at Alistair. It’s a lie. Cullen had thought, as soon as he’d heard. Alistair had been the first name he’d thought of, even before the Hero of Ferelden. He’d thought, but he hadn’t dared to hope. It seemed too much to ask for after all this time. Alistair deserves peace, and he won’t find that here. But then it turned out to be true, and Cullen retreated to his office, his fear of what Alistair might think of him now overwhelming his desire to see him again.

“Oh, I had to come,” Alistair replies, taking a step towards the desk and settling his weight. “I had to see it for myself. Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition’s forces? Teacher’s pet, finally given up on the Order?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be King or something?” Cullen fires back with a grin, hands folded on his chest. His heart flutters underneath them, every word feeling like a victory, a triumph that he’s able to speak at all.

“Nah.” Alistair scrunches his nose when he shakes his head, as if Cullen asked about a second helping of vegetables rather than the crown. “Queen Anora does a fine job without me, and I’m happier in this life.”

Cullen believes it, too. Alistair looks older but no worse for that, the last of the boyish roundness gone from his face, an easy confidence in his stance that Cullen doesn’t recall from their days together. He’s grown into a fine soldier, no doubt. He was never ambitious but always dedicated, wanted to be good at everything they were learning. And he was.

He’d been more of a natural at it than Cullen, but Cullen had kept up by sheer force of will, practicing at all hours, reading, sleeping, breathing the training until it started to feel like instinct, until he’d stopped having to think so much. It had frustrated him, that what he’d always wanted had turned out to be so difficult to achieve; even more so knowing that Alistair’s heart wasn’t in it.

“What about you?” Alistair asks, head tilted slightly. “How have you been?”

Cullen sighs, running a hand through his hair to scratch at the back of his neck. “Eleven years is a long time. Where do you want me to start?”

“I hear things,” Alistair replies. “I was in Kirkwall, briefly. I couldn’t believe you were there,” he breathes. “I couldn’t believe you were in another Circle.”

He crosses the room as he talks, arms falling to hang loosely at his sides, his steps slow, heavy. Deliberate, as he comes to stand beside Cullen’s chair, resting his weight on the corner of the desk.

“After Kinloch, I thought--”

Cullen looks up at him. “I couldn’t just leave. I… I wasn’t ready to stop being a Templar.”

It’s more complicated than that, and Cullen suspects that they both know it.

“And now?” Alistair asks, watching him with a gaze that Cullen would almost think was knowing, but his lyrium abstinence is a closely-held secret that not even Alistair would know.

“Now I’m doing this,” Cullen replies, spreading his hands wide. “I couldn’t keep following the Templars, not after…”

Alistair nods, the corners of his mouth pulling down. He saw Kirkwall, and what he hasn’t seen, Cullen assumes he’s heard.

“So… you and Hawke.” He’s had the words sitting on his tongue since he knew that Alistair was in Skyhold, and he hasn’t come up with a way of putting it that doesn’t sound like he’s asking about something he doesn’t want to know about. Or at least that he’s told himself he doesn’t want to know about.

Alistair sees through him immediately, one corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk as he tilts his head, looking down at Cullen out of the corner of his eye. “Yes. She tracked me down to ask for my help with this red lyrium.”

Cullen is careful not to nod, doing his best to look surprised. With Hawke in Skyhold, Leliana saw an opening, sending Varric and some help to rescue two of her people from the dungeon of the Keep. The Prince’s research into red lyrium could be useful, but Cassandra insisted that asking for it would get them nothing. He suspects her mistrust is a holdover from when she went to him in search of Hawke, but Leliana had agreed to sending agents. He’s not surprised to hear that Hawke was helping Sebastian, but he is surprised that she would think a Grey Warden could be of use with their investigation.

“Why you?” Cullen asks. “You never even started taking it before you left for the Wardens.”

Alistair shrugs. “Desperation, I suppose. The Wardens need lyrium, even if I don’t. Deep Roads, Blight… Warden stuff.” He sighs. “I couldn’t help much, though. Warden-Commander Clarel was-- is looking for me, so I had to disappear for a while.”

“What do you think of her?” A dozen different ways to ask that question and that’s the one his treacherous brain decides on. It’s as if the mantle on his shoulders shrinks when he flushes under Alistair’s curious gaze; he’s too warm in his skin and everything he’s wearing fits poorly. He’d meant to ask if Alistair thought she could be trusted, if she seems stable. If she’s still haunted by Kirkwall the way he is, or some other way.

Alistair slides off the corner of the desk and steps up close into Cullen’s space. “Are you jealous?”

Cullen sputters, but doesn’t manage an answer before Alistair continues, smug and grinning.

“I think you are jealous, but for the life of me I can’t tell of whom, or why.”

Maker’s Breath, but he wants it to be a ridiculous accusation. There’s nothing there to be jealous of; he and Hawke were unlikely last-minute allies in their best moments, and he and Alistair… Well. A few stolen kisses behind the healer’s cabin all those years ago hardly give him any right to be jealous.

“Hawke’s a capable fighter, but she’s not you. She’s got a quick mind, as well, but she’s still not you.” He leans down, so close that his nose brushes against Cullen’s cheekbone, and his breath is warm on Cullen’s ear. “I could’ve stayed in that cave in Crestwood, you know. It’s a better hiding place, but you’re not there.”

The kiss is little more than a brush of Alistair’s lips to the corner of Cullen’s mouth. It could almost seem like a mistake. He can’t be sure that Alistair thought of him at all since then, and if he has, what sort of thoughts could they have been? Cullen curled up on the floor of Kinloch Hold, begging for death? Cullen in Kirkwall, broken but obedient, complicit in the start of a war? Is that what he wants Alistair to think of, if he thinks of him at all?

Cullen turns his head to catch Alistair’s mouth before he’s moved away. He thrills at the soft, delighted sound that Alistair makes when his kiss is answered, when Alistair smiles and pushes back just enough to eliminate any thought that this might not be what he wants.

The angle is awkward, but that’s solved easily enough when Cullen surges to his feet, catching Alistair’s face in his hands. He brushes his thumbs along Alistair’s cheeks, breathing in the scent of leather and metal and the road as he kisses him. Their noses bump as they both move at once, trying to figure out how they fit together now.

“How far under here are you?” Alistair mumbles as he tries to find somewhere on Cullen’s sides to touch that isn’t covered in armor or layer upon layer of cloth. He settles for grabbing hold of Cullen’s hips and pulling, not closing his mouth again after he’s spoken, catching Cullen’s lower lip between his own.

It sends sparks through him, tickling under his skin and lighting up inside him, and Cullen finds himself smiling back at Alistair.

“Stay the night and you can find out.”

Everything stops. Alistair goes still against him, then pulls back to look into his eyes. Cullen’s smile wilts, and he lets go of Alistair’s face as he takes a step away. It was too bold a suggestion, too soon, if it would ever have been wanted at all, and he feels panic squeeze a cold hand around his throat.

Alistair studies his face for a moment, wide-eyed with furrowed brows. “You-- Would you really want that? Me, here?”

Cullen nods, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and not nearly enough blood going to his brain for him to form a more cohesive answer.

This time when Alistair kisses him, there’s real force behind it, need and intent as he wraps his hand around the back of Cullen’s neck and starts to guide both of them towards the ladder.

“You sleep up there?” Alistair mutters, and Cullen nods again. “Still under a pile of furs that would warm half of Ferelden?”

Cullen chuckles, breaking the kiss when they reach the base of the ladder. “Why don’t you get up there and see for yourself. I’ll be right behind.”

[tk-duveraun]

Title: Trepidation 2/? Fandom: DA: Inquisition Rating: T Genre: Romance Summary: Two idiots pining. Power Couple AU Notes: The Day After An Almost-Kiss. Also known as every day. Parts: One

The mere sight of Denerim’s gaudy, post-Blight walls was enough to make Fox slump against his hart’s neck in relief. The entire journey had been a hellish nightmare spiced with just enough meaningful glances and lingering touches to keep him from being able to give it up as a loss.

And as much as his heart ached in his chest, he hadn’t been so sexually frustrated in years. That strapping young templar seemed so horribly long ago and the last time he’d been with a woman was months before that. He grumbled wordlessly and his hart made what sounded like a comforting whinny, but Fox didn’t understand herbivores as well as he did tiny carnivores and dogs. Okay, he’d only ever bothered learning enough animal magic to charm house cats and any dog stupider than a mabari, but that was all he ever needed it for in Minrathous.

Animal empathy aside, Fox was sorely tempted to find some bored, attractive noble to vent his frustrations with. He turned his head to glance at Ela and nearly growled. There she was again, with the halla eyes, staring like she was trying to drown from the sight of him. He was more than half-tempted to pluck her off her hart and sit her in front of him on the saddle and kiss and suck on her neck until she begged him to do all of the things he offered in their flirtations on the way out of the mountains.

Tanithil meowed, but the sound was muted from inside of Ela’s saddlebags. “Me too, Tani. A real bed tonight. Finally.”

“Tell him not to wander. There are a lot of mabari in Denerim,” Fox said. Most of his annoyance melted away when he heard her relating his instructions to her cat, as if Tanithil could understand.

Not that it helped his frustration any, but it at least cheered him up enough that he was polite to the gate guard and them into the city without incident. Fox even had enough left of his senses to pay a page to send word to the Arl of Redcliffe that they would be ready to meet to discuss Inquisition business the next day. The sun was only just setting, but that didn’t leave nearly enough time to get through even the most basic of formalities.

As the approached the Gnawed Noble tavern, one of the beggars miraculously regained use of his legs. He rose to his feet and pulled off his ratty cloak, revealing his dirty Inquisition armor. He gave Fox and Ela a quick salute. “Welcome to Denerim, Serah. No updates from Sister Nightingale as of yet. I’ll check in with you in the morning.”

The scout passed Fox a brass key and straightened the rags of his cloak around his shoulders. “The door with three mabari and a moon.”

“Door, singular?” Fox pocketed the key and then lifted his eyebrows before pointedly glancing at Ela.

The scout shrugged helplessly. “I’m just following orders.”

“Of course.” Fox hopped off of his hart and quickly stripped off his saddlebags before shoving the reins in the scout’s hands. “You deal with this, then. I’m about done.”

The scout just stood there blinking owlishly as Ela did the same, only she threw the reins in his face and made a disgusted noise worthy of Cassandra before following Fox inside. Wordlessly, they walked up to the room, which of course only had one bed, and dropped their bags. They eyed each other for a moment, then Ela said, “If I get my hair washed, can you do the…” Ela made a circular motion with her hand.

“The what?”

“The spell that dries it without it getting all awful.”

The ache pulsed in Fox’s chest. He smiled at her, but could feel the sad wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Of course. I’ll do the same.”

They were silent after that. The tavern catered to more than its share of illicit liaisons, so it had separate baths. Fox wasted some of his sister’s money to have some of the tavern’s servants wash out his hair properly before going across to the other bath and seeing to Ela’s. It didn’t matter that she was the source of his frustration, and her own, if she had any, he still wanted… the best. With a grumble Fox rubbed his temples and tried not to disturb the people working on his hair. The Inquisitor was going to pay for this mess. And Leliana for the nonsense with only a single room with a single bed.

Fox grabbed two bowls of stew on the way back to his room, throwing a few extra annoyed coins on the bar to make up for his sour attitude. Fox set the bowls down on the floor, heedless of how the bread soaked up the broth and turned mushy and useless. Then he sat on the edge of the one bed and started brushing his hair out. It wasn’t a necessary part of magically drying it, but he found it made his hair more manageable afterward.

When Ela made it back to their room, Fox motioned for her to sit on his rolled up cloak on the floor in front of him. Without prompting, she picked up her bowl of stew and used the last stiff piece of bread crust to shovel it into her mouth. Fox gently worked his brush through her long, white-blonde hair. Fox focused on his music to tune out the pleased notices Ela made as he carefully dried her hair.

Fox didn’t release Ela’s hair once it was dry. Instead, his hands acted of their own accord and took advantage of the opportunity to twist and pull on the long strands. He was already damned. May as well make the most of it. With deliberate motions, Fox tied Ela’s long hair until a delicate, loose plait. He ignored the twinge in his chest as he tied it off with a bit of green ribbon. “There. I’ll fix it up into something proper for combat before we leave the city.”

Ela reached back to feel the plait and froze when their hands touched. Their fingers curled together for a split second before Ela was up on her feet and pushing Fox down into her seat. With his insides twisting up like angry snakes, Fox sat on his cloak and pulled the remaining bowl of stew towards himself with force magic. He heated it up with a second flicker of magic. Luckily, his serving had the bread’s heel, which was still stiff enough to use as a shovel, not that he could taste anything.

As she tugged his hair this way and that, Ela hummed quietly and sweetly.

Fox wanted to drown himself in his stew. Not really. It was too lovely, too sweet, too perfect to have her just humming some Dalish tune to herself while braiding his hair. He looked over at Tanithil, but his one ally in this was already dozing, not a single tail flick to show for Fox’s internal struggle.

When Ela finished plaiting his hair, Fox spent all of his willpower not turning to face her. He knew that if he did, that if he looked at her and she was giving him that look, the one with wistful longing he was all too ready to fulfill, he knew he would press her into the thin mattress and make good on all of his half-teased promises over their weeks of knowing each other, the meeting with the Arl be damned.

With breaths as measured as he would keep them in combat, Fox carefully spread out first his cloak, then Ela’s on the floor. Still without looking at the bed, Fox settled the squishiest part of his pack into something like a pillow and laid down. Neither of them said anything as Ela settled into the bed. She tapped him on the shoulder ones, a silent request for her blanket out of her pack, which Fox handed her without looking. The fire slowly burned down in the hearth, but neither was cold enough to shatter the… the truce? Fox didn’t know anymore. He didn’t understand why they weren’t wrapped up in a tangle of warm limbs and hotter mouths.

He didn’t know what was wrong. All Fox knew for certain was that if Ela ran from him that night, after the whole ritual with the hair, after days on the road, waking up pressed tightly together, if she ran then, he wouldn’t be able to reach for her again. And more than anything, he didn’t want to end it like this.

It was dark in the room, but still lighter than their camps had been, the last few days, but even still, Ela asked into the darkness, “Fox?”

Fox laid frozen, muscles so tense they hurt, for a moment before responding, “Yes?”

“...Could you get out my lamp?”

His hand doesn’t shake when he blindly holds it out behind and above so she can take his Lightning in a jar. Fox doesn’t imagine the way Ela holds his hand holding the glass for far, far longer than she needs to and he wants to shout his frustration loud enough that the windows shatter from his uncontained magic. The Lightning wisp in the glass globe flares brightly green, but it’s not the color of the Breach, it’s the color of Ela’s eyes and she gasps to see it.

Fox pulls his hand away and twists it in the blankets before dimming the Lightning with closing his ears to any other sounds for the night.

[broomballkraken]

Title: Protector

Fandom: Fire Emblem Awakening

Pairing: Brady/Cynthia

Word count: 1778

Warnings: None

Summary: Brady was happy. Happy that everyone he loved was alive in this timeline, and he would be fighting tooth and nail to keep it that way.

When every new battle started in their struggle to build a better future, Brady was reminded how much he hated fighting. His brow furrowed in concentration as he cast a physic on Vaike, who had neglected to notice a Risen attacking from behind, and he had took a sword blow that left a nasty gash on his back. Brady's healing spell managed to stop the luckily small amount of bleeding, and Vaike turned to yell out a thanks before charging back into the fray.

Brady sighed and went back to surveying the battlefield, looking for any signs of his allies being in trouble. Their group made a hell of an army, but some people were too reckless for their own good. Sure, everyone made it out alive in the end so far, but Brady did not want to see the day when someone did not. Especially when one of those someones was the love of his life.

He spotted Cynthia across the field and grimaced when she jumped off of her pegasus, backwards, while swinging her lance before her and taking out two risen at once. Unfortunately for Brady, Cynthia happened to fall into that extremely reckless category. He watched as she stumbled a bit when she landed on the ground, but recovered in time to deflect an attacking risen's sword. Brady cringed, and a worried look settled on his face. He caught some sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he realized what it was, his legs moved before he could think as he sprinted in Cynthia's direction, ignoring the startled shouts of his mother and the other healers behind him.

He saw as the entombed sunk to the ground before the gross mass began moving quickly in Cynthia's direction. Brady's heart beat rapidly in his chest as he moved to intercept his attack. Cynthia was too focused on the risen that she was currently fighting to notice the danger that she was in, and any attempts to warn her verbally fell onto deaf ears. He made it just as the the entombed reemerged from the ground and readied his claws to strike at Cynthia's vulnerable back.

“Over here, stupid!” Brady yelled as he swung his staff as hard as he could at the monster, cracking it upside the head. Unfortunately, his staff was not made to give out blunt force trauma, and the impact caused the head to snap off and shatter, leaving Brady holding the splintered remains. Brady was also lacking in physical strength, so he wasn't able to do much of anything to the entombed besides enrage it. The monster's red eyes bore into him as it made Brady his new target. Brady cringed as he managed to block one of the entombed's clawed hands with the remains of his staff, but it's other hand cut upwards, ripping through Brady's robes. He was able to moved back enough so that his chest and abdomen remained unscathed, but a blighted claw caught his lower arm and cut through his skin a muscle, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Brady!”

He stumbled backwards and clutched at his badly bleeding arm as Cynthia rushed passed him, impaling the entombed though the chest with her lance. Brady panted heavily as he blinked away tears of pain, his vision blurring. He looked down at his hand that was covering his wound, and blood was oozing out between his fingers. He slowly removed his hand from the wound and retched when he spied his bone peaking through his ripped up flesh. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he collapsed to the ground, dizziness filling his consciousness. Cynthia's voice yelling his name again before darkness consumed him and he passed out.

*

“Ah jeez Ma, quite yer fussn'! I'm fine!”

“No! You almost lost your arm, Brady! That is not fine!”

Brady glowered at Maribelle from his cot in the medial tent. He had finally woken up after passing out on the battlefield, and he really wasn't in the mood to be lectured by his mother. His wounded arm was bandaged heavily and resting in a sling. Cynthia's well being was on his mind, rather than his own, but see as she wasn't occupying one of the cots in the medical tent like he was, he could safely assume that she was unharmed.

“Just what were you thinking, charging at an entombed with nothing but a staff? Are you daft?” Maribelle lectured as she glared at her future son, who adverted his gaze to stare down at his good hand that was clenched into a fist.

“Um, Maribelle? Maybe we should let him rest. He did lose a lot of blood.” Ricken finally said, placing a gentle hand on Maribelle's shoulder. She sighed and nodded.

“Alright.” Maribelle said, taking Ricken's hand in hers. She turned to Brady an managed a small smile. “I am glad that you are alright, dear. I am sorry for yelling at you. You...just had me worried, that is all.” Brady's eyes became misty as he blinked away the tears.

“I'm sorry for worrying you, Ma. Really. You too Pa.” Brady said quietly, biting his lip as a wave of shame coursed through his gut. He didn't say it out loud, but he would not hesitate to repeat his actions if it meant saving Cynthia again.

“Rest well dear.” Maribelle said as she and Ricken left the tent. Brady sighed and leaned back until his head touched his pillow, and he closed his eyes, letting his exhaustion win as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

*

Brady yawned as consciousness returned to him, and he had to blink a few times to waken up fully. He turned his head and was surprised to find that Cynthia was sitting in a chair next to his bed. Her hand was gripping his uninjured one as she dozed off, her head lolling to one side as she breathed softly. Brady managed a small smile. He was so glad that she was alright. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and Cynthia's head suddenly jerked up, her eyes opening and locking with his.

“Oh Brady! You're awake!” Cynthia exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Relief washed over her in waves. When she had turned around during that battle and saw his arm gushing blood, she had been horrified. When he had collapsed in front of her, she had never been so scared in her entire life. Having him awake again made her feel so much better.

“Hey Cynthia. Glad to see you're alright.” Brady said, grinning slightly.

“Well yeah, I'm fine. You're the one we were all worried about.” Cynthia responded, a broad smiled crossing her face. “Thank you for saving me Brady! You were so cool!”

“Aw, it was nothin'...” Brady said, a blush forming on his face. Cynthia giggled.

“Hehe! Whatever you say! I guess I need to work on that entrance flourish some more.” Cynthia began rambling. Brady frowned. There was that recklessness of hers coming out again, the same that had gotten them into this mess.

“Cynthia...” Brady began, but Cynthia was too busy rambling to hear him.

“Ooh, maybe a front flip would be better than a back one, I could probably stick the landing then...”

“Cynthia.”

“Or I could forget the flip altogether and instead-”

“Cynthia! Listen!” Brady yelled, his emotions finally boiling over. Cynthia's breath caught in her throat at the outburst, her eyes widening as she was stunned into silence.

“Gods damn it Cynthia, why d'ya haveta be so reckless all the time? When I saw that entombed headin' your way, I...I was so scared.” Brady paused for a moment and sniffed as hot tears began running down his face. “I reacted without thinking. I...don't know what I'd do if something happened to you.”

Brady's soft crying quickly dissolved into sobs as he covered his face with his good hand. “I already had to go through the loss of my parents, and I kinda have them back now. But you Cynthia...you are irreplaceable to me. I don't think I could bare to lose the gal that I love.”

Cynthia stared at Brady for a moment before she brought a hand to her face, tears filling her own eyes. She hadn't really stopped to think about how her reckless abandon when it came to battle would effect others, especially Brady. She had caused him emotional and physical pain, and she broke down sobbing as well as she pulled Brady into another hug, burying her face in his shoulder.

“I...I'm so sorry Brady. I didn't realize how much worry I was causing you. I'll try to be more careful from now on.” Cynthia whispered, pulling her face away from his shoulder. She reached up and wiped the tears from his face, and he did the same for her with his good hand. “I love you too Brady. Lots and lots.”

Brady chuckled softly, his hand lingering on Cynthia's face as he gently rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “Jeez, I'm one lucky guy. Lucky that such a beautiful woman could ever love this ugly mug.” he said, a grin crossing his face.

Cynthia giggled. “You have a certain rugged handsomeness, Brady. I think it's the scar.” she teased, running a finger over said scar.

“Tch, the scar may be cool, but the story of how I got it sure isn't.” Brady said, his face heating slightly as Cynthia's finger stopped at his jawline. She grinned and placed her fingers under his chin, lifting his head up slightly as she moved her face closer to his.

“It think it's a good story. Endearing even.” she whispered as she leaned forward, pressing her lips softly against his. Brady smiled, his eyes sliding shut as he leaned into the kiss. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, and her arms came to rest around his neck. The sound of someone clearing their throat caused the two to part suddenly.

“Hmm, Ricken dear, should I maybe procure a book on how to properly romance a lady for our dear son?” Maribelle said from her spot at the tent entrance, a wicked grin spread across her face. Ricken let out an exasperated sigh and looked away sheepishly. A mortified look crossed Brady's face and Cynthia burst out laughing.

“Ah jeez Ma! No!” Brady groaned, but he couldn't help but laugh. He was happy. Happy that everyone he loved was alive in this timeline, and he would be fighting tooth and nail to keep it that way.