#thanks to my friend wynn for making five of these

[minutia-r]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @ilthit

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 

229

2. What’s your total A03 word count?

736,388, including fics written with coauthors.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I'm not currently super involved in writing for any fandoms unless you count various ttrpg universes, in which case the rp writing I've done that's made it onto AO3 is my and @ilthit's Righteous Blood Ruthless Blades epic.

Other fandoms that I've written more than ten stories for, and were my main fandom at one point or another, include Stand Still Stay Silent, Diana Wynne Jones books (mostly the Chrestomanci series but not exclusively), Vorkosigan Saga, Percy Jackson and related fandoms (mostly Heroes of Olympus characters/era), and Legend of Korra (plus one A:tLA era/characters fic). But there was also a period where exchange fandom was my fandom (I still do the occasional exchange but not as much and usually not the big ones), and also I have been known to write a fic as a reaction to a book or a piece of media and then move on, so the vast majority of fandoms I've written for, I've written a single fic for. Tomorrow? Who knows!

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Natural (Howl's Moving Castle, by far my most popular fic by most metrics, and will likely become my top fic by hits any day now as well) [redacted] [redacted] The Family Expert (Vorkosigan Saga) Five Strays Elizabeth Naismith Took in (and One That Got Away) (Vorkosigan Saga)

Vorkosigan fandom is pretty generous with feedback in general.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Almost always. It can be a good way to have a conversation with readers and even make friends (although most of the time, I'm too awkward to respond even to detailed comments with much more than a "thank you", which I realize is counterproductive for these purposes /o\). More importantly, I want to let the commenter know that I appreciated their comment. There is a chance that this will lead to more comments, if not from that particular commenter, then from others?

(I'm not saying that authors have to respond to comments, or that they should if they don't want to, but personally I prioritize leaving comments on fics whose authors consistently respond to comments, because that way I have a good indication that comments are appreciated. I realize that the vast majority of authors like getting comments even when they don't respond to them, but I have actually run into a few who don't really care either way. Not to mention that if you're reading older fics, the account may have been abandoned or something and the author may not even see your comment. When every comment takes time and mental and emotional energy, it just makes sense to prioritize.) (I know, I should make an effort to leave more comments on the stories I read. /o\ It it what it is.) (Also, perhaps I should add that as much as I like getting comments (I really like getting comments), I also appreciate kudos and other forms of feedback etc.)

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ah, hmm. I have written a lot of bad ends and angst, but I think I would have to go with [redacted].

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, hard to answer. Do you mean the fic where the characters are happiest at the end, or one that fixed canon the most, or gives the most triumphant or warmest fuzziest feeling to the reader, or what? I will say A Year and a Day (Mr. Fox, folk song), which fits several of these criteria, and was also very gladly received by its recipient.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Almost never.

9. Do you write smut?

I do, but I have gotten into the habit of not linking to it or discussing it in detail here, because I had young followers. (The ones I knew about have since grown up, but I don't know the life of everyone who follows me. Seems like a reasonable habit to keep up, much respect to people who systematically block underage followers or just warn them away to maintain an adult space, big fan of adult spaces, but it could not be me on here.) Hence the [redacted]s.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Occasionally. Much more often I will have ideas for crossovers which I can't quite wrangle into a coherent fic. (Same as AUs really).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not personally, as far as I know.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Several, mostly into Russian, one into Chinese. (And maybe some more on sites other than AO3 that I have forgotten about). I have a blanket permission on my profile, which helps encourage this. Anyone who wants to translate, podfic, remix, write fic of, or make art of my fics, PLEASE DO.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! Mostly as previous mentioned with @ilthit

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

My most written ship on AO3, setting aside OC / OC which is several ships in a trenchcoat, is Emil/Lalli from Stand Still Stay Silent. It's as good an answer as any.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Several, alas! Of the ones that I went as far as to start posting on AO3 I will call it a tie between The Hunt of the Unicorn (Chrestomanci) and Get Me to the Church on Time (Heroes of Olympus).

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, characterization in general, prose. Some readers have complimented my worldbuilding, but I don't feel like I'm that good at worldbuilding? Perhaps I make up for in creativity and vividness what I lack in consistency and thinking through everything, idk.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Finishing things, alas. Being able to write fast or consistently, and to stay focused on a project. Also, perhaps relatedly, plot, and planning ahead in general.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have done it, I like to do it, but I do feel like there should be a reason for it beyond "this character is speaking a different language now." Also, if it's a language I don't speak well, I would be extra hesitant to do it without a consultant who did speak that language well. I have been lucky enough in the past to be able to find consultants. Conlangs are a different and greyer area.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I, uh, hm. Depending on how you define your terms, probably Animorphs? Never finished or posted that story; I don't know if the notebook I wrote it in still exists in my parents' basement or what.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

Ah, I cannot narrow it down! But of the fics I've posted on AO3, the ones I've written with @ilthit were probably the most fun to write.

Has everybody been tagged? @grammarpedant, you up for it? (no worries if not).

[jade-owaowa]

2:56/2

2:56/2

By Jade Arnett

10 PM

Thank God for the notes app on my phone, I'm about to make extensive use of it tonight. This will be a chronicle of everything that happens tonight. The reason I want to document everything is that I no longer feel safe in my own home. Last night….. I had a run-in with something awful. I can’t go back to my house. My wrists are bloodied and bruised and my lungs feel like they’ve been filled with blood. I am currently on the bus to get to my best friend, Wynn. I will update this once I get the chance.

11 PM

I have been at Wynn’s for around an hour. She changed the bandages on my arm and got me some cough medicine. I don’t want to tell her what I saw, she’ll think I’m crazy or something.

12 AM

She’s pressuring me to tell her what happened.

12:30 AM

I finally am giving in and telling her over Waffle House. I just hope she believes me

12:40 AM

I’m riding shotgun in Wynn’s car. As I write this, my darkness is on low, and I'm holding my phone at an angle. I looked in the rearview mirror and I felt…..his…. Presence.

12:50 AM

We’re here, we were greeted by a waitress who seemed rather friendly, she kind of looked like my mom a bit.

1:00 AM

“Creeeeeeeekkkkkk” my imitation of that old monster we called a house was spot-on.

“The floorboards were horrifically noisy and woke me up every night at 2:56 a.m. I would hear the heavy thud of boots stomping down on the old wooden floor.”

“Did you ever see anyone?”

“Stop rushing my story, Jesus.” 

I took a sip of my black coffee. Me and Wynn were enjoying our meal at Waffle House. was 1 a.m. now, and we were just sitting and talking.

“My body would immediately sit up. Once I was jolted awake I would smell the same putrid smell of gasoline and rotting meat. The footsteps usually went away….”

I paused for a second, trying to collect my thoughts.

“But this time….. this time was different.”

Knock………Knock……..Knock

“I flinched at the three heavy-handed knocks, each one louder than the last. At this point, the smell had gotten so bad I had to cover my nose with my bed sheets.”

“Wait, do you mean those dino ones?”

“Wynn shut the fuck up.”

Wynn laughed a little at the idea that I still had dinosaur bed sheets at the age of 18.

“Yes, and I am proud of it, so stop laughing,” I said in a semi-annoyed tone.

“Anyways, let me go for five fucking minutes without interrupting me, it's already 1:30 am now.”

“Fine fine fine, continue your bullshit ghost story.”

“Thank you. The room was pitch black other than my door. I aimed my neon blue alarm clock straight at that damn door. Nothing was getting in or out without my knowledge. If I said that I wasn’t scared of the dark, I’d be lying right through my goddamn teeth. Even with the clock, it felt that there was less light than normal. It seemed as if the darkness was fighting the light and prevailing. Then I saw it. The doorknob began to shake and shake and shake until it seemed like it was going to fly off of the door.”

I paused and took another gulp of my coffee. It had turned lukewarm over time.

1:45 AM

“Do you think it was your grandfather just going to piss or some shit?”

“Hell no, I could hear that motherfucker snoring like his life depended on it.”

Wynn started snorting like a pig.

2:00 AM

“Hey, it’s already 2 am.”

“I'll try to wrap up soon. The door was locked, so whoever - or whatever - couldn’t get in. Then I heard it speak.

‘Da………..bria’

“I knew who it was immediately, I believe that the thing coming to visit me……”

“Yes?”

“Was my father.”

“Holy fucking shit.”

The problem with my father coming to visit me every night is quite simple. He’s been dead for nine years. He died in the very house that I was staying at.

“I know, but it wasn’t him….. it was something……. malicious. Its hoarse voice didn’t sound human. It felt like a cheap imitation.”

“What, do you think it was a spooooookyyy ghooooost or something?”

I was right, she didn’t believe me.

“I'm not sure, But what I do know is that it wants me dead. Immediately after it called out my name, I became light-headed and felt like I was going to pass out. I began coughing up blood and old scars on my wrists began to open up. Blood was soon flowing from me like water. I fell on the floor and heard the thing scream louder and louder.”

“OPEN OPEN UP UP OPEN NOW OPEN OPEN OPEN.”

This thing was definitely not human

“Who the fuck are you?” I yelled at the thing, expecting an answer for God knows what reason.

“COME YOUR TIME TIME YOUR COME YOUR TIME COME.”

The broken English in the imitated tone of my dad sent shivers down my spine.

“I crawled my way to that door and pressed my body against it so that it didn’t get in.”

I glanced at the clock, now reading 2:45.

2:45 AM

“I stayed holding that door until the morning. When I finally opened the door, there were bloody footprints leading from my dad’s old room in the basement to my room. I haven’t been back at the house since.

“ When was this?”

“Last night.”

“Jesus Christ Dabria, you didn’t get high did you?”

“ No, I was completely sober.”

“So you called me because you didn’t want to sleep there again?”

“Yeah, I don’t feel comfortable at all there anymore. My dad didn’t visit me last night, and I don't care to figure out who did.”

“Well. let me use the bathroom then we can leave here and go to my place.”

“Okay.”

I sat and gulped the last bit of my coffee. There was something strange; it was oddly empty, even for almost 3 a.m. at a Waffle House. The waitress was no longer in the restaurant so I assumed she left for the evening. I ignored it though, and finished writing this in my notes as I wanted to document this conversation. I will keep updating it.

2:56 AM

Tap tap tap

I froze. I saw it. The time on the clock read 2:56 a.m. That Thing was not my father. It gave me a smile and a wave. This is goodbye, I think.

3:00 AM

I am hiding in the bathroom, Wynn is dead and I have a knife in my hand.

3:15 AM

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming

3:30 AM 

I can’t keep doing this, maybe I should just go out and accept my fate.

Day 2

I'm starting to go insane.

Day 3

I'm so thirsty.

Day ??

I don't know what day it is, I'm so hungry I have begun to eat Wynn.

Day ???

I think this is it, my strength is gone, I am out of food and the tap in the sink doesn’t work anymore. I’m going to let him in, I love my father I love him I love him I love him I love him I lo-

Battery depleted

“What the fuck… chief, come here a minute.”

“What’s up lieutenant…. Oh my god…”

“There's…. so much blood.”

“Dispatch…. this is unit 212…. send a coroner and an EMT asap to 1440 Arroyo Lane.”

“Copy.”

“Oh my God oh my God I’m going to throw up.”

“Jesus, murder-suicides are always the worst.”

“What do you think the motive was?”

“Who knows.”

“ Three people dead, damn you think people would have found them by now.”

“Unit 212 this is dispatch, what are the descriptions of the bodies.”

“One female with heavy lacerations on her wrists, a fatal stab wound in her stomach, and dried blood on the corners of her mouth. She has black hair, blue eyes, and a slender build. The next one appears to be a middle-aged waitress with lacerations to her neck. She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a medium to stocky build. Last is another female. She has Black hair as well, with brown eyes and a medium build.”

“Copy.”

[roigada]

I made 100 pitches for a sixth installment of the hoodwinked franchise

hoodwinked 6 should be the characters acting out goat story like its a shitty school play

hoodwinked 6 should be the plot of chipwrecked

hoodwinked 6 should have the plot of an indian soap opera

hoodwinked 6 should be highly s*xual and detail the wolf and the grandmother's relationship

hoodwinked 6 should be about italian sea monsters

hoodwinked 6 should have emojis

hoodwinked 6 should be about Red transitioning to a boy and the hardships of it

hoodwinked 6 should be about Rumplestiltskin taking away gay rights

hoodwinked 6 should have the same plot as Ralph Breaks the Internet

hoodwinked 6 should be about the complications of time travel

hoodwinked 6 should be a spiritual successor to the godfather

hoodwinked 6 should be set in Rainfurrest 2016

hoodwinked 6 should be about the benefits of a religion that mortals cannot understand

hoodwinked 6 should be a psychological horror film

hoodwinked 6 should be hoodwinked 5

hoodwinked 6 should be interactive like Bandersnatch

hoodwinked 6 should be about the characters going to pride

hoodwinked 6 should take place in the fallout universe

hoodwinked 6 should be a sequel to portal

hoodwinked 6 should be about the grandmother tragically dying and how it affects the principal cast

hoodwinked 6 should be animated like Who Framed Roger Rabbit

hoodwinked 6 should take place in space

hoodwinked 6 should be about Red committing a federal crime

hoodwinked 6 should take place in Freddy Fazbear's Pizza

hoodwinked 6 should be about the squirrel character trying to get famous on tiktok

hoodwinked 6 should be a crossover with the Lion King

hoodwinked 6 should be a bimonthly curated box of snacks

hoodwinked 6 should be sponsored by Edible Arrangements

hoodwinked 6 should take place in a dystopian future

hoodwinked 6 should be like a Brave New World

hoodwinked 6 should be found footage

hoodwinked 6 should be like Unfriended

hoodwinked 6 should be a slice of life anime series on crunchyroll

hoodwinked 6 should be about SCPS

hoodwinked 6 should be a psychological metanarrative

hoodwinked 6 should be a visual novel

hoodwinked 6 should be about the Russian Sleep Experiments

hoodwinked 6 should be a prequel to the Fast and the Furious

hoodwinked 6 should be a romcom starring Adam Sandler

hoodwinked 6 should be a children's puppet show

hoodwinked 6 should be a distant childhood memory in a select group of people's minds that when asked about to their parents, it is revealed that the children were sitting in front of a television playing only static

hoodwinked 6 should have dating options

hoodwinked 6 should be a musical performed on ice

hoodwinked 6 should be a musical inspired by Romeo and Juliet and it should also be in a high school

hoodwinked 6 should have the same ending as Hamlet

hoodwinked 6 should have the same plot as Mamma Mia!

hoodwinked 6 should be a point and click adventure game from the 90s

hoodwinked 6 should be a comic book series

hoodwinked 6 should take place during the black death

hoodwinked 6 should be a modern retelling of the popular story Little Red Riding Hood that is structured like a police alibi

hoodwinked 6 should be about gang violence

hoodwinked 6 should have Markiplier in it

hoodwinked 6 should be a christmas film

hoodwinked 6 should have heavy religious themes

hoodwinked 6 should never end

hoodwinked 6 should replace all the voice actors with the kid that did the fortnite song

hoodwinked 6 should be a sequel to Mike and Melissa

hoodwinked 6 should be a combination of Pokemon and Dungeons and Dragons

hoodwinked 6 should be in the sonic universe

hoodwinked 6 should be a silly little concept posted to tumblr that spirals out of control after someone starts a Kickstarter to make it real

hoodwinked 6 should have a harem in it

hoodwinked 6 should have the same plot as Resident Evil Village

hoodwinked 6 should be about finding Red's biological father

hoodwinked 6 should have Pumpkin Rabbit do a cameo in it

hoodwinked 6 should be made specifically for my friend Veronica

hoodwinked 6 should have the same soundtrack as Undertale

hoodwinked 6 should take place in the Elder Scrolls universe

hoodwinked 6 should be about wizards

hoodwinked 6 should have epic sword fights

hoodwinked 6 should be a retelling of king arthur and the knights of the round table

hoodwinked 6 should be about family values

hoodwinked 6 should have voice commands

hoodwinked 6 should be a sequel to Pokepark

hoodwinked 6 should be half life but the ai becomes self aware

hoodwinked 6 should have a scene where the characters dance to gangnam style

hoodwinked 6 should have annoying orange in it

every copy of hoodwinked 6 should be personalized

hoodwinked 6 should be cursed

hoodwinked 6 should cause the death of everyone who watches it

hoodwinked 6 should be about a girl and her beloved horse

hoodwinked 6 should have Kpop in it

hoodwinked 6 should reference Pewdiepie

hoodwinked 6 should be a minecraft machinima

hoodwinked 6 should be about fighting aliens

hoodwinked 6 should be about falling in love with aliens

hoodwinked 6 should be about escaping prison

hoodwinked 6 should be inspired by Bladerunner

hoodwinked 6 should have been a dream all this time

hoodwinked 6 should have multiple different endings

hoodwinked 6 should be a prequel to hoodwinked

hoodwinked 6 should be about two college friends starting a restaurant with the shared idea of animatronic performers and it documents their wacky hijinks

hoodwinked 6 should be about liminal spaces

hoodwinked 6 should be about why my shoulder hurts

hoodwinked 6 should have strong pro life themes

hoodwinked 6 should be about why all cops are bastards

hoodwinked 6 should be the story of a man named Stanley

hoodwinked 6 should be about gender identity

hoodwinked 6 should be inspired by SAW

hoodwinked 6 should have the McElroy brothers in it

hoodwinked 6 should be starring Tommy Wiseau

[corvase]

Hello! I was wondering if you have any advice or suggestions for book titles. Particularly in the action/romance/drama genre. Thank you!

advice for deciding on a book title

firstly, thank you for asking me! :)

this is definitely one of the hardest parts of writing (along with character names).

for the romance/action/drama genre— or for any genre frankly, there are three ideas i approach to tackle this aspect of writing.

sayings, idioms, and or classic media

^^ cross out titles as a way to switch up phrases

describing how your characters meet, or something relating to their relationship in the novel specifically

to start with #1.

i search up (and or think of) idioms, or media, or things people say in general. then i either use those, or twist it a little and give it my own flare.

an example of this would be the book much ado about you by eloisa james, which put a twist to shakespeare’s much ado about nothing, or one like you deserve each other by sarah hogle, which is just a phrase people use often.

i use this site most often for sayings. i think it also helps to pay attention to daily life.

take the book very sincerely yours by kerry winfrey for example— that title is simply a way to sign off an email— and there are many different variations you could come up with depending on the book, like “yours truly,” or “with love,” or “thinking of you.”

let’s say your story is a comedic/romance/action/drama one about eeehhhh a gal who meets someone who’s a detective on her crazy family’s case (but she doesn’t know at first and they fall in love or something (don’t shoot me okay i just came up with it now)). you could have something simple like “first comes love, then comes cuffs”, or you could go simpler with, “humor me.”

keep in mind:

your title doesn’t actually have to be something blatantly plot specific.

it can be about one component of your story, or two, or five— or it could be about one throwaway line you had in the book (you deserve each other does this).

take for example famous last words by katie alender, where the title only targets the horror/action/hollywood-esque part of the story, although there’s more plot to it. it’s also a relatively common saying and is effective despite being known already.

or on the flip side, there’s the flatshare by beth o’leary, which quite literally tells you exactly what the book is about strictly from the title. a flatshare. it is simple and to the point and doesn’t take away from the story itself. same with howl’s moving castle by diana wynne jones.

#2 (which is basically a subsection of #1) is cross out titles, which are also very neat to me (and make for pretty cover art). these are where a title cuts out a part of the original title and only keeps parts that fits their novel.

for example the saying “out of sight, out of mind”, which could turn into “out of sight, out of mind” or “out of sight, out of mind my life” or something silly like that.

a more serious (and real) example is everything i know about parties, dates, friends, jobs, life, love by dolly alderton.

#3 is a title that describes the way your characters meet, which i find have a wistful effect to them.

an example of this would be it ends with us by colleen hoover, the wedding date by jasmine guillory, or aristotle and dante discover the universe by benjamin alire sáenz.

some titles straight from my head that follow the theme of describing the characters relationship (again, titles aren’t my strong suit) are “and yet, there is you” for something along the lines of a second chance romance, or one where the characters hate each other but are still drawn to each other despite it. either that, or “a song for your thoughts,” for a story where one of the characters enjoys singing, or maybe karaoke is an inside joke between them.

was this just me talking about some of my favorite books? maybe! do i regret it? no!

i hope this helps even if the effect is minuscule! happy writing! :)

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

in which harry doesn’t like halloween until a certain pair of trick or treaters knock on his door.

a/n: HAPPY HARRYWEEN EVERYONE! personally don’t like halloween myself, but I hope everyone has a spooky and fun day (indoors, ofc)! here’s my first halloween piece that was meant to be a blurb, but turned out a little longer than expected, enjoy!

thank you to ira @stylesloveclub​ & cait @sweetcreatureinthedark​ for reading this over! <3

enjoy 5k words of teacher/dad!harry being cute

warnings: brief mention of death, mostly fluff

LETS TALK ABOUT PEBBLES & THE SCARECROW IN MY INBOX! pls let me know your thoughts!

pls rb to share! <3

Harry wasn’t fond of Halloween, if he’s being honest. 

The thought of people putting on scary masks, scaring little kids out of their driveway is something that was so unsettling to him. The scary movies that always release around the month of October that promoted their commercials, causing him to startle on the couch because of the jump scare was not something he looked forward to every year. Especially when those said movies would have their ad on the radio, which makes it even scarier because he could only listen. He would usually have his Bluetooth on with his own music playing, but when it’s only a five minute drive, he doesn’t bother with the Bluetooth. Either way, he doesn’t like it. 

Halloween is not fun, he would say every year. 

However, the upside to the month of October was something he looked forward to because that’s when the weather really changed. September would be sunny and hot still, but then comes around October and the sun would peek behind the clouds as the weather got colder. The leaves would fall from their branches and onto the ground, loving the sound of the crunchy leaves beneath his feet, especially building a pile and jumping into them. Not alone, of course, but with his baby girl who loved to just squeal and laugh at her dad whenever he would jump into the pile of orange leaves that he collected on their front lawn. 

Wynn, his daughter, also loved the change of fall weather just as much as he did. Harry would hype it up so much because October was the start of holiday season, and he loved being in a festive mood. So, naturally, Wynn picked up on his behavior and was just like her dad; jumping up and down when he would get excited. 

Another thing that he liked about Halloween was that he got to pass out candy to the fellow trick or treaters to all the students in the school during their Halloween bash, and to the kids in his friendly neighborhood. Every year, he would buy plenty of candy for the students—sometimes buying too much because he didn’t want anyone to be left out when they would walk up to him. But if he did have extra, he would save them for later that night for the kids in the neighborhood. 

He loved seeing the students’ reactions when he would tell them that they had a cool costume. He especially loved it when the kids would compliment his own costume. Some teachers didn’t really like to dress up on Halloween as they only wore a headband of some sorts or a festive t-shirt, but Harry liked to go all out. He’s been teaching for six years, and every year, he made sure to join in on the fun. One of his favorite costumes was when he dressed up as Peter Pan and Wynn was Tinker Bell. They always coordinated costumes, and Harry hoped that once she gets older, she would never stop wanting to match with him, but he knows that’s inevitable; he’ll just hold onto these moments for now. That was one of his favorites because Wynn just loved her costume so much that she didn’t want to take it off, so seeing her so happy in her princess dress just made his heart burst. 

But this year, he thinks he’s topped the previous years. 

As he said goodbye to Wynn, dropping her off at her class, he greeted her first grade teacher. 

“Oh! Don’t you both look absolutely adorable!” Mrs. Robin, an old lady who had been teaching for years and retiring this school year, said. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Robin. Think this year is my favorite,” Harry said, looking down at Wynn as she nodded her small head at him. Harry was dressed as Fred Flinstone and Wynn was Pebbles. He thought she was the absolute cutest, and he even did her hair the same way in the morning, but instead of a bone, he replaced it with a white bow. 

“You two always have the loveliest costumes!” Harry looked down at Wynn, raising his eyebrows at her to say thank you, and she looked at her teaching, thanking her. 

“Anyways, I gotta go get my class from their line. I’ll see you later at the bash,” he told Mrs. Robin. He bent down, meeting Wynn’s eye level. “Be good, okay?” His daughter nodded. “I’ll see you later. Make sure you say hi to me,” he reminded her. “Love you, bunches.” 

“Love you, tons,” the little girl replied, and he gave her forehead a kiss before she wrapped his arms around his shoulders, giving him a hug. They’ve always been inseparable, and Harry had separation anxiety whenever they part even if it’s just a little bit. And as much as he loves how much his daughter loves him, he hoped that she doesn’t suffer from it as well—although, he thinks it’s starting to begin. He couldn’t help it—he was an affectionate person and always loved to give her hugs and kisses, to which she would give them back. 

Harry quickly walked to his classroom, putting his belongings and the bags of candy down before walking out to pick up his class. Harry taught the third grade, and they were a smart bunch. He loved how it was in between sweet and cuteness, but also watching them grow. He thinks fourth and fifth grade was when they started to become too sassy and dramatic, so he liked being in between. 

“Hi, everyone! Happy Halloween!” He greeted, and his class cheered, some of his students telling him that he looked so cool, and Harry said thank you to them as he complimented them back. “Everyone follows me in a straight line. Don’t stop walking, don’t stray, don’t turn around, and please be sure to keep all hands and feet inside of the vehicle, got it?” They all nodded. “Alright, enjoy the ride, here we go!” He started walking as he smiled. He came up with that line when he was in his second year of teaching as he wanted his class to have fun while going into the classroom, so he acted like it was a rollercoaster, and the kids seemed to love it. 

When they got inside the classroom, the kids took their seats at their desk. Harry told them that they had to do a quick lesson before the Halloween bash, earning a groan throughout the classroom. 

“I know, I know. But it’ll be quick! And then we’ll all have fun after. Unless you all would prefer I teach the lesson after the bash and after lunch?” He asked, knowing what the answer would be. Usually on Halloween, they would have a lesson, the bash, lunch, and Harry would put on a movie as he passed out treats to fill in the rest of the day before the school day ended. Their heads shook as Harry chuckled. “I figured,” he said before he started the quick lesson on reading. 

The lesson only lasted thirty minutes, just in time to head out to the bash. All the classrooms were filing out to the courts, which was the larger area of the school that could fit all eighteen classrooms. The classrooms form a single line all around the three basketball courts, and each class would walk around in a single file line with their bags in hand as the teachers would pass out candy. Music would play and some of the staff would dress into one of those big floaty costumes to jump around in and entertain the other classes who were patiently waiting. The parents were allowed to join as well if they had the time to see their kids in cute costumes; the more the merrier. 

Harry’s class stood in their designated spot, having them line up, and he walked around to check if anyone got left behind, which no one did. The music started and classroom number one was instructed to do their lap, which were the kindergarten classes. Harry was classroom number eleven, so he got his big bowl of candy ready as the first class started to walk around. He saw some really fun costumes; one student was the sun and their friend was the moon, which he thought was so adorable. Once the class before the next was halfways, the next class was instructed to go. 

It went by fairly smoothly, although he could tell that some students were bored, which was understandable. Harry waited for Wynn’s class, in which she was in classroom number six, the last one of the first grade class. He spotted her in her bright green polka dot shirt and tortoise pants—she looked so adorable. He got his phone out when her class was close enough, taking a video of her at the same time as passing out candy. 

“Hi, Daddy!” She greeted, reaching up to hug him. 

“Oh, you’re the cutest. Hi, bubba,” he said as he hugged her back. The embrace was so sweet that he didn’t want to let go, and he didn’t until Wynn said something. 

“Uh, daddy, I gotta go now.” He snapped out of it, and saw that her class was onto the next two classes. He let go of her before kissing her cheek, saying see you later. 

The rest of the Halloween day went by smoothly. It was quite cold out, so the teachers were allowed to have the students eat inside if they wanted to. 

By the end of the day, he picked Wynn up from the front before he made sure his entire class was picked up safely. 

“Did you have fun?” Harry asked Wynn once he saw her. 

“Yeah! Look at all the candy!” She showed him her bag full of sweets. 

“Wow! Alright, let’s get home and sort through the ones you want and don’t want. Gonna have to pick fifteen,” he told her and she pouted. He hated that pout, even though it was adorable, it was a dangerous pout that had Harry almost give in, but he had to be the strong parent. “Sorry, pretty. Thems the rules. Last year I gave you ten, so I bumped it up by five.” 

“Alright…” she trailed off, and Harry chuckled. 

Before they left, he quickly caught Mrs. Robin before she walked away. “Oh, by the way, Mrs. Robin. Do you mind taking a picture of us? Realized I forgot to take one this morning.” 

“Of course, dear! Harry unlocked his phone and opened the camera up before handing it to her. She pointed the camera towards them as she snapped a few pictures of them. They were smiling brightly at the camera before Harry picked Lynn up, so they were the same height. “Here you are. Have a lovely Halloween, you two.” Mrs. Robin bid them goodbye as they both waved. Harry looked at the pictures, seeing that they were blurry and some of them had her finger in the lens. Harry brushed it off, chuckling to himself as he’ll figure out how you two will get a picture later. 

They headed to the car and on their way home to continue the fun with by getting and passing out more candy. 

The cold 5 p.m evening was relaxing and quiet as there weren’t many trick or treaters out just yet, only the little ones that needed to get their candy early in order to be back before bedtime. 

And that’s what you were doing with your three year old. You asked Penelope if she wanted to go and get candy, and just the sound of candy coming out from mommy’s mouth was music to her tiny ears, so she nodded her head. 

“Go now?” She asked, and you looked at the time as it was almost five in the evening. 

“Yeah! We can’t stay long because it’s gonna be cold and I don’t want you to get sick,” you told her. 

“No, I don’t want sick,” Penelope shook her head no. 

“Yeah, me either. I’ll bring a jacket just in case, don’t worry,” you reassured her, and she smiled. 

The jacket didn’t take long to put on. Once you felt the breeze rush through you, blowing away some of the leaves from the ground as Penelope was stomping on them, you immediately put her burnt orange teddy bear coat on over her scarecrow brown dress. You left the hood off since she was wearing a pointy black hat with a sunflower attached to it, which kept falling off everytime she jumped a little too much, might you add. So, you kept having to pick it up and put it back on her. 

You two had visited five houses so far, all houses being so lovely to Penelope as they complimented how adorable she was. Now, you were walking towards the next house when you suggested you go across the street since some of the other houses had signs already prepared saying ‘no candy!’

Penelope usually went with the flow, so she agreed as you two walked across the street and decided to just complete the entire block before walking back home before it got too cold and too late. 

“Go on, baby,” you encouraged her to knock on the black door. She ended up slapping the door with her open palm because she said knocking was hurting her hand. You waited at the bottom of the stairs for the owner of the house to open the door, and Penelope waited thirty seconds before she turned around with a pout on her face. “Don’t think they’re home yet. Lets go to the next one!” You said enthusiastically, hoping to lift her frown. She walked down the brick stairs as you reached out for her hand to hold. 

As you made it down the walkway and onto the sidewalk, you heard the door open frantically, making you turn around from the sudden noise and from a man calling out for you. 

“Wait, wait! I have candy!” The man ran down the walkway in a Fred Flinstone costume with a bucket of candy. You chuckled a bit because never did you imagine Fred himself was chasing after you. He was a very attractive man and he pulled the Flinstone costume quite well. “Sorry, I, uh, was just getting changed into my costume. I’m sorry it took so long. I didn’t realize people would be out trick or treating so early,” he said breathlessly from his rushed actions. 

You giggled. “Well, this one has to before she makes it for bedtime,” you referred to the little one who was jumping on the leaves. Harry looked down as his eyes beamed. 

“Well, look at you! Aren't you the cutest scarecrow!” Penelope looked up once she heard her costume. She smiled at the unknown man, but all she knew was that he had a bowl of candy that she would like to get her hands on. “I got lots of options here. You could choose one or two if you’d like.” Harry bent down to Penelope’s height, holding out the candy bowl to her. He had full fixed candy bars and candy packs, and you thought that must’ve been expensive. 

Penelope picked the candies she knew, which were a Hershey’s Cookies n’ Creme bar and a Twix bar. You raised them up to you, beaming proudly as you lowered her candy basket for her to put it in. 

“What do you say, baby?” 

She turned to Harry again. “Tank you!” 

“You’re welcome!” Harry responded. “Oh, uh, I’m Harry, by the way.” He shook your hand, introducing himself. He smiled, dimples popping out and you felt yourself blush. 

“I’m Y/N,” you smiled. 

“And who might this be?” He bent down again at Penelope. 

“I’m Pennie!” Your daughter introduced herself, and you smiled proudly. 

“It’s lovely to meet you both. You look amazing, Pennie! Although, your mummy doesn’t have a costume on,” he teased, looking at you as he smirked, making your heart flutter. 

“Well, mommy stayed up all night putting together and sewing her costume together, so I didn’t have time to make one for myself,” you explained. You were quite proud of Pennie’s costume. It was a brown dress with long sleeves that had different fall colored squares, but it was all one piece, so Pennie didn’t have to wear something underneath besides her leggings. 

“Wow, you made this? This looks amazing!” Harry complimented, and you humbly said thank your 

“So, uh, since your Fred Flinstone, is the rest of your family dressed up too?” You asked curiously. 

“Oh, no. Just my daughter,” he chuckled, “which by the way, you need to see her costume, one second.” Harry quickly walked into the house, calling out for his daughter. You and Pennie waited on the sidewalk. After a few seconds, Harry came out with his daughter holding his hand as you thought they were the cutest pair. 

“You two are just adorable!” You squealed as you looked at them fondly. 

“Hi, I’m Wynette, but I go by Wynn,” the six year old girl smiled as she introduced herself. 

“Hi, Wynn. I’m Y/N, and this is…Pennie, please stand up.” You found your daughter laying in the pile of leaves. Harry and Wynn laughed fondly. “Sorry about that.” You got Pennie to stand up, brushing her dress off from the dirt and mud. 

“It’s okay! Wynn and I love to jump and lay in the leaves all the time,” Harry said. “Oh! Actually, do you mind doing me a favor? I know we just met, but…” 

“Yeah, of course!” You accepted. 

“Do you mind getting a picture of us? We tried getting on earlier, but it was all blurry,” Harry chuckled, taking out his phone and opening up the camera. 

“Yeah, I got you.” You grabbed his phone as Harry and Wynn both smiled and posed. You lowered down the brightness a tad bit, and took multiple pics of them from different angles, even kicking some of the leaves to their feet to add to the fall effect. After you took plenty, you handed his phone back. “Let me know if you’d like me to take more.” 

“Wow, these are perfect!” Harry exclaimed as he looked at them. “Are you a photographer?” 

“Oh, no. I just really liked taking pictures when I was younger, so I always knew how to take good pictures on an iPhone,” you chuckled, making Harry laugh. Harry proceeded to joke that you should definitely be a photographer but only using a phone, and you teased back saying that you’ll think about it. 

Meanwhile as you two were talking, you two didn’t realize Pennie and Wynn playing in the leaves. Wynn was throwing a handful in the air as the leaves rained down onto the two of them. You smiled fondly at the two, and looked at Harry who was snapping some pictures. 

After a few moments, you called Pennie. “Alright, c’mon, baby. Let’s finish all these houses,” you reached out for her hand, but she pouted, shaking her head no. “Pennie…” 

“No, no! I don’t wanna leave!” Her eyes started tearing up as she frowned. 

“Don’t you want to get more candy?” You asked softly. She didn’t respond, rather turn towards Wynn and look at her with a pout. 

“Oh, uh, I think she wants Wynn to go with her,” Harry chimed in. “Think she got attached too easily within those ten minutes.” You let out a chuckle, knowing that he was right. 

“I’m sorry. Uh, she probably won’t leave your front lawn, but you totally don’t have to come with us, but-” 

“Nonsense! We’d love to go! Right, Wynn?” Wynn nodded her head happily as she continued playing with Pennie. “We usually trick or treat later in the evening, but we’d love to go with you now. I’ll just leave the candy out at the front.” 

“But wouldn’t the kids just take them all?” 

“Hey, that’s fine by me. As long as it’s going somewhere,” Harry shrugged. “Just give me one second to get the rest of the candy, and then we could go.” Harry walked back inside of the house. Wynn stayed with Pennie as you two watched them. You noticed Pennie wasn’t crying anymore, but she was giggling with tear stained cheeks as the older girl twirled her around. 

Two minutes later, Harry walked out of his house and locked the door before putting the candy bowl down onto the steps with a sign that said ‘take one, please!’ but he knew that no one was going to follow the sign’s instruction. After that, he turned towards you, smiling. “Shall we go?” You nodded your head as Harry gave Wynn her candy basket. 

The four of you walked on the leaf covered sidewalk; Wynn and Pennie were walking together in the front as you and Harry walked together behind them. 

“So, what do you do for a living?” You started the conversation. 

“I’m a third grade teacher. Have been for six years. What about you?” 

“I run a small business, selling jewelry and clothing. That’s all I do right now, and it’s gotten pretty big, so it’s taken care of a lot,” you smiled humbly. 

“Wow, that’s amazing. I could definitely see the talent through Pennie’s costume. I’d have to check it out sometime to support.” You smiled at that, giving him the name of your shop. 

The two of you continue walking, waiting for your children as they got candy, and getting to know one another. 

“Do you live around here?” He asked. “I mean, not in a creepy way,” he chuckled nervously. 

You giggled. “Yeah, I live about a block away. We usually walk on the opposite side, but decided to come on this side.” 

“Well, I’m glad you decided to come over here,” he said innocently, but it could be taken as flirtatious. 

“Me too,” you smiled softly. He smiled back as he thought you were the most beautiful person he’s ever seen that’s not related to him. You had soft eyes that looked at him with care, and a smile that he thought was the most gorgeous; you even had dimples on corners of mouth when you would smile, and he just thought that was the cutest thing. 

Obviously, he didn’t know that you were thinking the same thing as him. You felt somewhat intimidated by the tall, attractive, and kind man beside you. And you think his daughter is the cutest. They don’t really look alike, but she probably got her mom’s looks. Speaking of her mother… 

“So, the rest of your family didn’t want to come out with you two?” You asked curiously, still waiting for the answer if he was married or taken or not. 

“No, it’s actually just Wynn and I…” you hummed, smiling to yourself. “You’re probably wondering where Wynn’s mum is, huh?” He teased, noticing your flusteredness. 

“Oh, uh-” you stumbled. 

“It’s okay. I’m wondering if you’re taken too,” he said honestly. 

You chuckled nervously. “I’m not. Haven’t been since Penelope was born, actually.” 

“Do you mind me asking what happened?” 

“Only if you tell me what happened with Wynn’s mom,” you teased. “I mean, only if you want to.” Harry nodded, softly smiling. 

“Pennie’s dad and I got married three years before she was born. Spare the details, but we got a divorce after she was born because I found out that he had another family…and he chose them over us,” you explained. 

“Oh, wow, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright. I’m over it, and it was for the better because I didn’t want Pennie hearing us fight all the time and me yelling and asking where he’s been,” you breathed out a laugh. It seemed like the memory was just yesterday, but it’s been three years. 

“That must’ve been hard. Are you happier?” 

“Oh, yeah. Definitely. That’s when I launched my business because I couldn’t stay at home and do nothing, so I started to design.” 

“That’s amazing!” Harry smiled. 

“So, that’s my spooky story for today,” you chuckled, “what’s yours?”  

“Wel, uh…” 

“Don’t feel obligated to tell me because I told you my story,” you reassured, and he nodded. 

“Yeah, I know. But I want to tell you. Have a feeling we’re gonna be around each other a lot more often.” He pointed his eyes at the two girls walking in front of you. You smiled at the two holding hands. “But anyways, Wynn’s mother passed away when she was about two months old.” 

You softly gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Harry.” 

“As well as her father too.” Your eyes widened as you suddenly stopped walking for a moment. You looked at him skeptically, studying him for a moment. Harry furrowed his brows once you touched his stomach. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Are you a ghost?” You asked seriously. His words caught you off guard that you actually thought you were imagining Harry the whole time. 

“What? No, I’m not,” he laughed. He totally understood why you thought that. 

“Okay, good. Thought I was tripping. I mean it is Halloween. Anyways, you were saying?” You gave him your full attention as you two started walking again. 

“Wynn’s actual parents passed during an accident. They were on their way back from a little date night. Her father, Alex, was my best friend, and I’m her godfather. So, after they passed, I was her guardian. But when they asked me to be her godfather, they told me the responsibilities and that if anything happened to them, to change Wynn’s last name to my own because they didn’t want her to live on with her life wondering who her real family was. So, I did as they told me. I changed it. And I’ve raised her her whole life, and she’s mine, y’know?” Harry told you, and you listened and nodded. 

“Does Wynn know?” 

“Yeah, she does. I told her last year because she wondered why she didn’t look like me, and I knew that I couldn’t just lie and hide it from her. She’s a smart girl, so I knew she would understand. She cried for a little bit—had an identity crisis and felt like she couldn’t call me dad anymore, but I told her that if she wanted to or not then I would be okay with it. Thankfully, she still does.” Harry looked at his feet as he walked, kicking the leaves around. 

“You’re a great dad, Harry. I’ve known you for about thirty minutes, but I just know you are. Wynn is the sweetest, and you’re doing amazing. But thank you for telling me all that. Know I’m a bit of a stranger,” you slightly laughed. 

“Just a tad bit, but I trust you—I feel it.” You smiled at him, nudging him as you walked, to which you earned one back. 

You all walked back to Harry’s house, and by the time you got there, Pennie was reaching up towards you, telling you to pick her up. She must’ve been tired from all the walking and jumping with her new mate, so she was getting sleepy. 

“I could drive you back, if you’d like?” Harry offered. 

“No, it’s okay! Not that far of a walk. Thank you for joining us, though! Pennie and myself really appreciated it and we had fun,” you smiled. 

“We did as well. We’ll see you around?” Harry said, and you nodded, waving goodbye. 

Harry watched as you two walked away, and he really did have a great time. He felt refreshed and relieved after talking to you, and he doesn’t remember the last time he’s had a decent conversation with someone without turning it into more that same day. 

Hopefully he will see you around. 

November 1st was your favorite. You started feeling the festive mood as it was getting closer and closer to the holidays. 

You and Pennie were out for a walk, and you offered to bring the stroller, but she shook her head, wanting to freely walk in the leaves. Taking the similar route as the night prior, you were hoping to see Harry. You were really infatuated with him, and you thought you two would be great friends, and maybe even more. 

Suddenly, Pennie let go of your hand and started running towards the familiar house from last night. She tan quite fast for a toddler, and you would have to ask her if she wanted to join track when she was older. 

“Penelope, get back here!” You chased after her, but it was too late when she slapped the door. You caught up to her and carried her. “Baby, please don’t run away from me like that again.” She said a soft ‘I’m sorry’ as you carried her off the walkway.

The door opened, revealing the familiar man. “Y/N? Pennie?” 

“I’m sorry! We were going for a walk and she ran away from me and ran here,” you said breathlessly, walking towards the front door again. 

Harry chuckled. “You wanna see Wynnie again, Pen?” Pennie’s eyes brightened at the sound of her friend’s name as she nodded. “Come on in!” 

“A-Are you sure?” You asked hesitantly. 

“Absolutely! We’re just cooking breakfast right now.” 

You two walked in slowly as Harry followed behind. You out Pennie down as she stayed close to you. When Harry shut the door, Pennie tugged on his pant leg. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” He bent down, giving his attention. 

“Can I have another candy?” She asked shyly, and Harry smiled. 

“Penelope…” you said. 

“What? H-He gives the full size candy bars!” You and Harry laughed loudly. 

“We have extra, but only if mummy lets you.” Pennie looked up at you with a pouty face, and of course, you gave in. 

“Alright, alright. But you’re only eating it after dinner, and you only get three pieces,” you chuckled. The little girl started jumping up and down happily. Harry looked at the two of you and smiled fondly, loving the dynamic between you two. 

Maybe he did like Halloween after all. 

happy halloween! come into my inbox and let’s talk <3

[kantrips]

Alistair & Celia Headcanon Collection

Some Amell x Alistair (largely fluff) headcanons! Includes some from Origins, Warden time at Amaranthine and the Inquisition-era. Some of these I have had since my first playthrough, but others I may have read elsewhere, loved and thusly absorbed so please let me know if I can link anyone!

Origins

The first time they meet at Ostagar, Celia thinks Alistair is the most fascinating person she has ever encountered because no one in the Circle had a particularly boisterous sense of humour. Alistair is oblivious to her heart eyes, and also holds back because he’s worried she won’t survive the Joining.

Even after the Joining, Alistair tries very hard not to ~feel feelings~ despite the clear signals Celia is hurling at him because he assumes she won’t like him once she gets to know him more/she will get bored of him/ she will leave like everyone else i.e. the boy is hecking damaged.

Celia laughs obnoxiously hard at all Alistair’s jokes because a) she finds them unexpected, and b) because, like a dork, she wants to prove she gets the punch line. Alistair is perplexed by her reactions at first, and cautiously wonders if she is mocking him. Once he realises she is genuinely amused, it bolsters his ego significantly. 

Celia has no concept of personal space and sits and walks very close to everyone. There wasn’t a lot of room at the Circle so she forgets she can spread out. Morrigan makes it clear she needs to back off (Celia doesn’t need telling twice) but Alistair is more relaxed and gets used to it quickly after the confusion of the first night when she blithely sets up her bedroll right next to his. Alistair assumes she is a bit scared of sleeping in the forest but really she is just accustomed to the need to cram as many apprentice bunks into a room as possible.

In a way, Alistair is also used to sharing small spaces (Chantry and Wardens) so it doesn’t bother him at all when Celia chooses to sit pressed against his side, walks so their arms bump together, or unconsciously brushes an eyelash from his cheek. He quickly grows to like her overfamiliarity (for some reason…).

Similarly, Alistair eats Celia’s leftover food if she can’t finish it or doesn’t like it, even before they’re a couple. She just offers one day and after that it becomes a given. The others side-eye them but they are happily oblivious.   

Celia gets in trouble from the rest of the party for getting distracted yelling encouragement and cheering Alistair during combat. In turn, Alistair gets in trouble for turning around mid-battle to thank her when she buffs or heals him. Morrigan advises that if they are both so determined to get killed, she is more than happy to assist with hastening the process.

Celia’s mabari, Trevor, is quickly accepting of Alistair and his proximity to Celia because he observes Alistair protecting Celia in battle and thusly deems him to be a ‘good dog’ and considers that they are equals in the pack.

Alistair and Celia vandalise each other’s wanted posters whenever they come across them. It gets competitive.

Celia doesn’t really want to be in charge of saving the world but has three things working in her favour: 1) she absolutely hates letting people down 2) has an intense need to finish what she starts 3) she is in possession of a bossy streak.

That said she spends the entire Blight screaming internally to an extent not even Alistair fully grasps.

They go to the Circle Tower first, because Celia thinks she will have the best chance of getting help from people she knows and is also ‘homesick’ in the sense that she is very glad to be free of the place, but stressed enough with everything going on to crave something familiar even if she resents it. The events there devastate her. Along with the loss of friends and mentors she has known since childhood, being trapped by herself in the fade particularly terrifies her as she has never truly been alone for so long before in her life. It reminds her of the Harowing which totally blindsided her. She is very teary, untalkative and introspective for some time afterwards, but both Trevor and Alistair have the correct instinct to stay close without trying to interact with her which she finds incredibly comforting.

Accustomed to making potions, Celia will not under any circumstances deviate from a recipe while cooking, whereas Alistair just chucks everything in to use up leftovers and see what happens. Alistair gets meals together super quickly whereas Celia takes forever. A little unfairly, Celia is perceived as the better cook because she produces very consistent meals, while Alistair’s experiments sometimes do work, and sometimes don’t, with people tending to focus on the disasters rather than the successes. Meanwhile Celia is rather: “should I add half a sprig of rosemary? No I mustn’t: it would be far too daring!” so everyone learns to tip their own seasonings into their bowl before even tasting her food.

When they’re travelling and walking for days on end, Alistair and Celia make up a lot of games in the vein of ‘I spy’ and ‘would you rather?’ They can occasionally persuade others to participate though no one enjoys them or gets quite as invested as Celia and Alistair (who are actual children).

A game stops abruptly one day when Celia guilelessly asks if Alistair would rather be Emperor of Orlais or King of Fereldan and he gets extremely defensive and answers, “Neither.” Having no context for this reaction (yet), Celia (a stickler for the rules) pushes him, insisting his answer isn’t allowed and that he’s cheating until Alistair gets grouchy, stomps off and refuses to play anything for days. 

Celia figures he must be overtired, but his unhappy reaction does come back to her later at the Landsmeet and contributes to her already firm resolve not to put him on the throne.

When bored, Alistair also periodically asks Celia to, “Do a trick!” with her magic and she usually obliges with something small and silly which Wynne always scolds them for (but they continue to do anyway).

Celia does not like Eamon one bit and makes it clear from their first meeting. Alistair actually gets a bit annoyed at her because she is polite to 99% of the other people they meet and he can’t understand what her problem is. Celia won’t say because she doesn’t want to drive Alistair away so she remains coldly civil towards Eamon and commences a long, looong process of nudging Alistair towards having the realisation himself that a) Eamon is manipulative, selfish and cruel and b) Alistair deserves better.

Celia wants to collect some of the books they find which is not practical given they are constantly travelling, but Alistair carries as many as he can in his pack and suffers in silence for it, ultimately finding it worth it for her enthusiastic gratitude.

Celia cuts Alistair’s hair and does a very respectable job after weeks of him complaining it’s flopping in his eyes (they used to cut each other’s hair in the Circle). Zevran pretends she did an awful job, gasping in horror at Alistair’s appearance, much to Celia’s ire. Alistair (internally weeping) tries to be brave until he can check his reflection in some plate mail and see it is fine.

Celia is very naïve about how the ‘real world’ works having been at the Circle since she was a child. This is especially evident in Denerim and Alistair has to explain how money works and grab her before she wanders down dicey looking alleyways.

Alistair nearly dissolves into a paroxysm of agony when he points out his favourite type of cheese at the Denerim Markets and (accustomed to the very limited range of bland foods provided at the Circle) Celia innocently asks, “There is more than one type of cheese?” Alistair makes it his mission to educate her. She doesn’t like most of what he feeds her but doesn’t say so to protect his feelings given he seems to take the matter so incredibly personally.

Leliana convinces Celia to sing one evening at the campfire. She’s breathy with a very limited range but manages okay, and Leliana plays and harmonises in support. Watching on with a goofy smile plastered over his face, Alistair comments to the surrounding companions about how talented she is and they’re like “…she’s really not mate.”

When they both wake up from a blightmare (or Celia has one and wakes Alistair with her flailing) they sneak about and eat anything they can find then sit up and have massive deep & meaningfuls (i.e. in the spirit of going for a long drive with a friend or being in the garden with someone outside a party and spilling your guts). Eventually they start blaming the depleted food stores on Leliana’s nug, Schmooples, much to Leliana’s displeasure.

Given Celia usually responds so well to his jokes, Alistair gets a bit peeved when Celia starts replying to some of his more severely self-deprecating humour with an unamused, “No you’re not,” or, “That’s not true.” He defensively argues it’s just a joke, but he does stop doing it so much as time goes on.

Celia is SO excited when Alistair gives her the rose. She never in her life thought she would be the recipient of a proper ~romantic gesture~…however she accidentally sits on the rose about five minutes after she gets it. Celia is devastated. There is a lot of panic and tears and she keeps one petal pressed in a book but has to unceremoniously ditch the rest in secret.

Celia doesn’t tell Alistair about this until years later and she’s terrified he’ll be hurt but he just laughs because he was so worried he was going to be the one to squash it and then she destroyed it basically the minute she got it. Alistair acknowledges it was an impractical gift given their situation. Celia gets mad and says it was a PERFECT gift and is annoyed at how funny he finds it given this has been a crushing, guilty secret hanging over her for years.

Following this, every time Alistair gives her any kind of gift, he can’t help but throw in a ‘Don’t sit on it!” and cracks himself up, especially when Celia gets grumpy about it and accuses him of spoiling the moment. It happens so often that when Alistair chooses a horse for her and plans to teach her to ride, Celia manages to cut him off with, “Yes, I know Alistair: I can sit on this one,” and steals his thunder.

Alistair periodically says Celia’s name just to check if she’ll answer, especially after a long period of quiet or to see if she’s awake à la screaming in the chantry because it’s so silent. When she responds he says, “Nothing” or “Never mind” but he finds it vaguely comforting just to hear her reply and it’s a habit he never loses, even when they have been together for years and he is much less isolated generally. Alistair doesn’t realise he’s doing it, and it never happens frequently enough for Celia to notice: she just assumes he has lost his train of thought.

They sometimes conspire to purposely fall to the back of the group while on the road so that they can hold hands. Everyone knows full well what they are doing, but Alistair and Celia think they are being incredibly ~sneaky~.

The first time they sleep together they laugh. A lot. Before, during and after.

Alistair snores loudly but only when he’s on his back. Celia is used to the noise of people sleeping around her at the Circle so it doesn’t bother her and she doesn’t want to disturb him because she knows he needs the rest.

When they are known to be sharing a tent however, their companions will slap on the walls of it and demand she kick him until he stops snoring. Celia will relent and gently prod and nudge Alistair until he rolls over with a bit of sleepy grumbling.

I think everyone has this headcanon to the point it is basically actual canon HOWEVER I am legally obligated to include it: Alistair is a professional body heat distributor and Celia drastically cuts down on the number of blankets she uses once they are sleeping together. If she stands in front of him on cold days, he understands the non-verbal signal and will automatically wrap her in his cloak.

Also might as well be canon: Alistair likes to be the little spoon. He doesn’t say, but Celia knows.

Decidedly not a fluff one (you can skip to Amaranthine to avoid) but the ritual with Morrigan fairly significantly messes Alistair up (both the act itself and his consideration of the repercussions i.e. Kieran). He’s jubilant and relieved at their victory over the Archdemon, but in the background struggles to process and there is some fallout once the victory celebrations lull and he has time to fully register what happened. Alistair grapples with a lot of guilt, disgust and confusion. He doesn’t know how to express it or where to direct his emotions so it mainly manifests as self-loathing. He wants to talk to Celia about it but can’t articulate his feelings which makes him feel worse.

Celia tries to comfort him, but he needs space on and off for a long while after and she gives him it. She feels a lot of guilt too, and never stops wondering how much it was actually his choice to do the ritual, worrying that she made him feel like he had to do it. Eventually they discuss it openly and honestly, which eases both of their minds somewhat, but it takes a long time to get to a point where they can talk on the subject. Meeting Kieran at Skyhold also helps Alistair down the line, though it’s obviously painful.

Amaranthine & Inquisition

Alistair keeps an eye out for people struggling, especially new recruits who are having trouble fitting in. He takes them under his wing and is very good at building people up and making sure everyone is included. He’ll just start enthusiastically greeting people like they are his best friend and squeezing himself onto the bench next to them at meals until everyone else follows suit.

For recruits that don’t respond well to his ‘mother hen’ type attention, Celia is good at assigning tasks that specifically highlight their strengths and builds their confidence/sense of purpose which also gains them the respect of their peers.

Alistair has been known to stand behind Celia while she is giving mundane orders/making speeches and pull faces or impersonate her, turning stony and impassive when she spins around accusingly because people are laughing.  

But if anyone else talks smack about her he gets very, “Sorry mate, just to clarify was that comment directed at my wife, your Commander, the hERO OF FERELDAN, VANQUISHER OF AN ARCHDEMON!? That’s lucky, I didn’t THINK IT LIKELY. Because that wouldn’t be WISE, would it now?” etc. with some loud, fake laughter and firm backslapping for the worst offenders.

The plan for them to part ways so that Celia can search for a cure goes very badly, especially because Celia (under a lot of stress and not coping™) eventually devolves into, “I’m in charge and I say so,” which is a big betrayal of their agreements both to stay together, and make decisions together on equal footing. She realises this and takes it back but Alistair is demoralised and gives in with a bit of petty, sarcastic reverence e.g. saluting and, “Whatever you say boss, don’t know why I dared to utter an opinion how foolish of me...” so they still part on slightly strained terms, even after later mutually apologising and trying to make the most of their time together before they go.

Both regret the argument during their separation and write horribly soppy letters to each other, but something still feels uncomfortably unresolved until they are together again. They pine. So much. It’s disgusting and cliched. There is considerable sighing and staring at the moon or deep into tankards, very much to the ire of those around them. Alistair can be particularly annoying: “This roll reminds me of my wife...she eats bread sometimes...”

After Celia sends the letter to the Inquisitor, she writes to Leliana directly along the lines of, “I know it was incredibly subtle but I wanted to check: did they get the message? That I will destroy them if Alistair gets hurt?” and Leliana replies in the vein of, “Hon, it wasn’t even remotely subtle ffs…”

When reunited, though ecstatic and nearly delirious with joy and relief, it takes a while to rebuild the trust they once had, especially for Alistair. There’s an unfamiliar awkwardness that flares up unexpectedly, but it doesn’t last and they’re both fully committed to each other and to staying together permanently this time.

Celia and Alistair have a conversation recapping everything that happened while they were apart in which Celia is all, “Poor Hawke. Honestly I’m shocked you didn’t do something obscenely idiotic like try and sacrifice yourself thank the Maker for that…” and Alistair is there, nervously sweating, looking for an exit, loosening his collar etc.

As they settle back into their old routines Alistair will occasionally blurt out things like, “I really like having breakfast with you,” and then berate himself internally for how trite that sounds but Celia replies on cue, “I love waking up next to you and the way you groan when you stretch your back out and the way you check your hair twice before you leave the room and the way you complain if I don’t eat my crusts and the way you still hold my hand when we’re walking...” and basically they’re just blissfully happy being comfortably domestic and even as they get older they are forever just teenagers in love.

The Wardens at Amaranthine acquire/receive a griffon egg and the hatchling imprints on Alistair and decides he is their mother. It can’t cope with separation, crying constantly if Alistair goes out of sight, and won’t let anyone else feed or handle it so Alistair carries them in a sling 24/7. He gets to give orders and run training sessions with the tiny griffon occasionally poking its head out just to glare at everyone.

Whenever the baby griffon squeaks, Alistair automatically replies, “Well said,” or “Excellent point, Ser Beaksly” with a totally straight face.

For the first few months, Celia gets nipped or scratched if she approaches Alistair unless he wraps the griffon up. It so badly wants to fight her. Celia is permitted to sleep in her own bed, as long as the griffon sleeps curled on Alistair’s chest and Celia doesn't try anything outrageous like touching her husband even fleetingly. It gets a little frustrating as the months drag on, but the image of Alistair with the sling over his armour, or with the griffon snuggling possessively around his neck staring daggers at everyone, is so entertaining that Celia can’t get truly annoyed about it. As the griffon gets older it does learn to tolerate other people and becomes more independent but remains very protective of Alistair and favours him above all others. Insert the ‘Ah yes. Me. My husband. And his thousand pound murder-bird-cat child’ meme here.

Modern AU Bonus Round

They share headphones while commuting.

They occasionally end up wearing sort of matching outfits, mostly unintentionally.

They consistently refer to their dog, Trevor, as their son to the point that people who aren’t familiar with them assume that they actually have a child.

[zmwrites]

tag: 20 first lines

I was tagged by @teasenpaiwrites! Thank you!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20 stories just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag others!

I was tagged in a similar game LITERALLY forever ago by @scmalarky PRE-BLOG MOVE, which makes it the oldest tag game sitting my drafts. It came with the following rules:

Rules: list the first lines of your last ten published stories. note if there are any patterns yourself and see if anyone else notices any! tag ten friends!

I put it off bc to date I’ve only published two stories over on Wattpad. So doing the first lines from the last twenty projects is somehow...easier? I suppose? 

I’ll be putting the opening paragraph or so of each piece, and will only be using WIPs that I actually started at the beginning. Anything that doesn’t start at the actual beginning will be skipped.

Anyways, this is going under a cut bc I know it’s going to be ridiculously long. In order of ‘last modified by me’ as per Google Docs:

Remnants

Radka had been a seamstress in a previous life. Trained from childhood on the most delicate stitches, the most intricate embellishments. She had worked for royalty, sewing crystals and spun gold into skirts for the biggest social events of the year. Her steady hand and attention to detail had earned her a job in the palace by fourteen, and a spot on the queen’s personal seamstress team by fifteen. But that was years in the past. The girl she had been then, demure and innocent, wouldn’t recognize the woman she had grown up to be.

Open Seas

Theresia Bowen sat in the back of one of her family carriages, forehead pressed against the window as she watched the countryside fly past. The sky stretched on forever above her, interrupted only by the occasional wispy white clouds, and the spring sun had melted the snow from the hills to her left. The grass was still struggling to grow but was scattered in patches across the mud. To her right, the sea rolled and waved to the horizon. Ships dotted the deep blue, their sails bright and full with wind. Most were trading ships, a few navy, and the smallest of them all were pleasure ships. It was how she knew they were close to her destination.

Indigo Wars

Violet Colby sat cross-legged on her narrow bed in the room she shared with her two sisters at Osbrick Estate. The name was a holdover from the property’s previous life as a stately home, though not much else had carried over. The walled compound was nestled in the eastern sands of Edristan, less than two kilometres west of the capital city, with sun-bleached buildings that housed several dozen orphans and foundlings.

Pine Hollow

It was a miserable Monday morning, with dark, heavy clouds masking the rising sun and a steady rain pounding the town of Pine Hollow and the surrounding area. The dirt trails through the dense forest were slick with mud, the tire ruts becoming puddles and the puddles becoming proper ponds. It was as far from ideal body hunting conditions as possible without snow, but Virginia Crane had a job to do and she wasn’t about to let some adverse weather stop her.

Rochester WIP

The wedding was supposed to begin in five minutes and the bride was nowhere to be found.

Evelyn Rochester, for her part, was not surprised. Her sister Dorothea had claimed a headache a week earlier to get out of a family outing and had been gone by the time they’d returned. A small chest and a collection of her clothing had been gone as well. Their parents had made inquiries to some family friends but no one had seen Dottie, and at twenty-six she was allowed to do as she pleased, so they’d been left to wait to see if she’d return.

Just Jane

Jane rolled over in the narrow bed, pressing her face into the pillow as though it would make it any easier to sleep. Even as she breathed in the warm, sweet scent of the bed owner’s favourite perfume—myrrh, rose, styrax, and marjoram—a new sound made her ears prick to attention.

UNSS Spectre

The spacecraft glided through the void, following its prey silently. It was using its minimum operating power, leaving the two inside to perform their duties without overhead or emergency lighting. Only the glow of their instruments illuminated the interior of the craft. 

“Cloaking device operating as normal,” Ensign Graecyn Ramsey said. She didn’t need to provide verbal updates since Captain Mezei could see everything that she could see and there was no one else aboard the tiny stealth class craft, but it was habit and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

Fissures

Katherine Delacroix was seething. It was hard enough trying to get a gaggle of thirteen to eighteen year old girls to focus under normal circumstances but having the #1 most eligible bachelor of the school just hanging out at the back of the auditorium was making it nearly impossible. To make matters worse, the attention paid to the blond was bruising the egos of the boys in the group and she was painfully aware of how desperately the musical needed them not to quit. They already had a female Cogsworth and Le Fou; they didn't have enough girls with deep voices to play Gaston or Lumiere or, god forbid, Beast.

Snapshots

“Are you still looking for a roommate?” Misha asked, voice muffled slightly by whatever she was doing on the opposite end of the phone.

“You mean since you stole my last one? Yes,” Micah replied. He was stuck in traffic on his commute home from work, something his twin sister Misha knew, which was why she’d called when he had no excuse not to talk to her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like talking to her, he just wasn’t much of a talker.

“You’re gonna have to get over that,” she said.

The Tournament

The coin spun in lazy circles on the table, defying every law of physics. Izora Graham watched it with one hand held in a claw-like position over it. She didn't need to but it made it easier to cover the coin should anyone watch it too closely. The bar was still fairly empty so early in the evening and she was tucked away in the back booth away from the few early birds sitting at the counter, however any displays of magic would bring unwanted attention. Especially something that could be useful to any of the Upper Houses like her telekinesis.

Noyama Contest

Earthens had spread across dozens of galaxies once they’d perfected faster-than-light travel, and hundreds of solar systems within those galaxies. PT-759 was one of the galaxies they’d colonized only to find that it was already inhabited. It had ended up working out alright though, as the native species had radically different planetary needs and also happened to find Earthens downright adorable.

Naetov was a smaller planet at the edge of Federation-controlled space in PT-759. It had a few key cities where government funding was funneled to keep them perfect for non-Earthen tourists. Those cities were clean and friendly, open spaces and carefully maintained flora making up the downtown cores, streamlined designs and shiny surfaces giving the impression of a planet on the cusp of significance.

Gossamer Girl

It was the first day of winter and things were already looking bad. Even though the cold weather had held off for an extra two weeks, the harvest had been poor. A mold had festered in their southern field during the wet spring and had spread quickly. They’d razed the infected sections as soon as the fungus had been discovered but it had already destroyed a large swath of plants. They’d lost nearly a quarter of their usual yield and the troubles had only spiralled from there.

Knotted Strings

The room was just a bit too cold to be comfortable. The walls were wood panelled with some sort of reddish wood that matched the flooring. Rows of chairs with collapsible desks filled most of the lecture hall, with the front of the room dominated by a whiteboard and a table. The professor, hawkish in appearance, was perched on a bar stool facing the students and overlooking the table.

Tess lounged in her seat at the table at the front of the room, notebook open on the table in front of her and pen moving deftly across the page. She watched her competition critically as he spoke. His argument was solid enough to cast reasonable doubt on her case, or it would have been had he bothered to address a small piece of evidence she found to be damning. He finished his conclusion to a spatter of applause and returned to his seat across from her. 

“Well done, Mr. Wynn. Miss Kinney, would you like a few moments to prepare your rebuttal?” the professor asked.

“No, I’m good,” Tess replied. She sat up, scribbled a note in her book, and then pushed the book across the table.

Oh, Ophelia

Alexis lounged in the shade next to the pool, sipping a daiquiri and considering her next move. She’d been using the same identity for nearly fifteen years and the neighbours were starting to get suspicious. With all the new beauty products and surgeries available to people of her wealth it was easier to convince people she was nearing forty when she was in the body of a twenty-three year old, but now she had to deal with people asking for her skincare routines and her doctors and the identity wasn’t worth all of the research she was having to do. She was getting sick of Malibu anyways, what with the yearly forest fires that got closer each year. She missed the deep-rooted history of Europe, the memories she had in all of the major cities, the people like her who were still living in their castles and manors pretending like the world hadn’t left them behind.

Bloodlines

Ten of Wands. The Tower. Two of Swords.

Morrigan Keeling sat on the floor of her bedroom, chewing the end of a pen and staring intently at the tarot cards spread in front of her. It was a simple three card spread to indicate how her day was going to go: a card to describe herself, one to indicate what was going to greet her, and another to show the outcome of the situation. She’d gotten into the habit of doing it every day while living at home, and even five years after moving out she found it a relaxing routine to start the day.

The day’s cards, however, were not very relaxing.

PerDeA

The backseat of the car was dark, only illuminated for short intervals by the orange glow of the streetlights. Two figures sat across from each other in the shifting light. In the backwards-facing seat on the driver’s side was PerDeA. Her dark hair was pulled tightly into a ponytail, lips slightly parted as she stared unblinking out the back window. Shoulders square, back straight, chin up, hands folded neatly in her lap, her breathing perfectly rhythmic; she would have looked human if not for the faintly glowing cybernetic blue rings superimposed over her black eyes.

Westhaven

Her eyes were open but she couldn’t see anything. There were mechanical sounds ‒ beeping, whirring ‒ all around her, and voices too far away for her to understand. The sharp smell of antiseptic and the softer detergent scent beneath it.

“Initiate optical system,” a muted female voice instructed. Between one breath and the next she started processing visual information: bright white lights above her, the featureless ceiling beyond, her own nose and eyelashes. She couldn’t move her head to see much else. Walls that matched the ceiling so well it was hard to tell where one became the other, bits of the bed she was on with its bleachable white sheets and side rails.

“Increase tactile responsivity by fifty percent and disengage the motion inhibitors.”

Pro Patria Mori

She sat on the narrow bed with her packed suitcase next to her. Her blonde hair was pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on a spot next to the door, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The winter chill clung like burrs to the house, helped by the heavy spring rain that beat against the window in a staccato rhythm. Outside, trees bowed under the charcoal sky. The old house creaked and groaned around her, the wind whistling and wailing as the storm continued to batter the country estate. She waited.

At any moment there would be a knock on the main door of the house. Godfrey, the aged and shuffling butler, would answer. Standing on the other side would be some men in crisp uniforms, holding up her picture and asking if he knew her. She had seen them in town the evening before, and it wouldn’t take more than a day before someone pointed them in the right direction. They looked like military men but there was something different in their manner, something sharper. Godfrey would lead them up, and up, and up, until they reached her third floor apartment. The butler would introduce them, she would smile politely, and she would leave with them without a fight.

The Clocktower

Astra hated Capperham. The way it sprawled its squalor from border to border, from the sea in the west to the battlements in the other three directions. The harbour reeked of dead fish and unwashed human, the slums of sickness and stale beer. Even the neighbourhoods of rich merchants and factory owners lay under the thick smog of black soot the mines and mills spat out day and night. The grit and dirt was part of everything, so deeply ingrained that even the most rigorous scrubbing couldn’t make something clean.

Stars Incline Us

The Christmas gala was in full swing. The entire ballroom was full of people Pippa didn’t know, all wearing fancy clothes that probably cost more than her rent. Her own dress was aubergine and a simple V-neck, form-fitting enough to be attractive but loose enough to not draw too much attention.

She and another girl who didn’t seem to know anyone at the event were chatting with Antero and Mr. Rabinoff near the edge of the dance floor. Antero was already antsy to leave despite the dinner having just ended, but Mr. Rabinoff had trapped him in a debate he was too proud to back down from. The other girl was from legal and either found them hilarious or had had a little too much to drink because she kept giggling, leaving Pippa no choice but to laugh along while adding the occasional remark to the back and forth between the men.

That brings us all the way back to October 2016. Which tells me that I need to start at the beginning of more stories haha. If anyone has questions about any of these, please feel free to ask. Also, if you read all of that, you are a saint and a hero and have my eternal friendship.

I tag @the-writing-avocado​, @radiowrites​, @pigeon-hold​, @sleepyowlwrites​, @akindofmagictoo​, and anyone else who wants to share their projects!! As always, no pressure (to play or to read this whole post lmao).

[greenglassmountain]

blue, oxide of chromium, and sepia for the watercolor asks! ❤️️

So sorry this took so long to answer, semester started and I'm absolutely swamped. Thank you for the lovely asks, though!

Blue: What is the most recent dream you remember?

Hmmm that's a hard one because I don't remember most of my dreams. A few months ago, I had a dream and I woke up incandescently furious at one of my friends. I have no idea what she said or did, but I was in a capital-M Mood about it for the rest of the morning. Oh, there was one where I was climbing up a tree, and I was invisible but had to keep clambering along different branches so the people hunting me wouldn't step on me and realise I was there.

Oxide of chromium: What's your favourite book?

You just had to ask this one, didn't you? Honestly, it's got to be a dead tie between Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones and The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett. I read them both as a kid and they have the kind of well-worn comfort that comes from being read again and again, as well as some of my favourite characters ever. There's no way I could choose between them.

Sepia: Name five things that always make you happy.

Aww this is a nice one.

1. Time with my best friend, and all the stupid in-jokes that come with it

2. The clarity of understanding a new concept

3. Inspiration for a new scene, especially after being stuck with writer's block

4. My dad's god-awful puns that make me cackle like a goblin

5. The type of weather where the light is golden and the skies are black with clouds, but it isn't raining yet, just hovering over your head, and it's warm but not stifling and you feel like the world is wrapping you up in a blanket... yeah, that's good

Thank you for the asks! 🧡

[theoriginalladya]

WIP Whenever - Cheese Glorious Cheese

Okay, after my conversation with @ltleflrt about Dragon Age and Mass Effect, I had to go hunt this up.  I don’t really know what to list it as - it’s not really a WIP because I wrote it 10 years ago - the first thing I ever wrote for Dragon Age.  (also, my first attempt at writing fanfic, so please keep that in mind when reading!  My skills as a writer have no doubt improved a thousandfold since then!)

As I recall, I was making pizza for dinner (from scratch) and was just putting it into the oven when this idea came to me.  I vaguely recall talking to the Ex about it who suggested I write it up (if nothing else, he has always been supportive of my writing ever since we met, so that’s one thing that lingers I guess).  I did ... but didn’t post it online for another four months because a) I hadn’t found ff.net yet, and b) I lurked for a good 3-4 months before I was brave enough to post.  I’ve since taken down all my DA writings from over there, some day I’ll get them revamped and put back up on AO3, but where’s the time?  I have Mass Effect brain! lol  Anyway, I’ll leave this here for anyone interested.  I’d like to thin it’s stood the test of time, just like me. :)

~~~

The hour was late, but business at the Gnawed Noble Tavern seemed as brisk as ever despite the persistence of the Blight.  Silently, cautiously the assassin made his way through the establishment while ignoring the throngs of patrons gathered within the tavern's walls, easily blending in with his surroundings.  Accepting the end to a rather busy evening, Zevran hoped his friends would be as pleased with the results.

Skulking and skirting his way through the common room, Zevran opted down the hall to the right rather than the more private dining room on the left; though occasionally used, he and his companions preferred a more guaranteed anonymity than the chance of being recognized by the Regent’s or the Arl’s men.   

towards the back of the tavern in the direction of the room he was sharing with some of his companions.  It had been a most profitable night.  However, it was as he passed the lodgings of his female companions in the room next to his that the elf found his curiosity piqued.

"Oooooh!" he heard the honeyed alto tones of his fearless leader moaning as he started by the room.  His already pointed ears perked up at this. 

Then came a deep male chuckle, "You like that, do you?"

Alistair.  Zevran chuckled softly to himself.  The future king of Ferelden had finally given in to his natural instincts and desires, it seemed.  Zevran knew that he would be making the most of teasing the innocent young man over the next few days.  Smiling wickedly at the thought, he turned back towards his room...and froze mid-stride when he heard a new voice, this one with a heavy Orlesian accent.  It sounded pouty as she said, "But what about the rest of us?"  Again, Alistair chuckled.  "Be patient," he replied to Leliana.  "I have enough to go around."

The rest of us?  Enough to go around?  Zevran couldn't move for a long moment.  His brain suddenly felt as if it were on overload.  This was too interesting to pass up.  Just what was the ex-templar up to?  When had he become so brazen?  And, more importantly, he added to himself, why was I not invited?

When the haughty tones of the apostate witch cried out, "No more teasing!  It's my turn now!" Zevran found himself scooting ever closer to the door that stood between him and the events on the other side.  He placed an ear up against the barricade so he could hear the conversation more clearly.  Shortly thereafter, he was rewarded with Morrigan's throaty groan of pleasure.

Leliana clapped her hands together delightedly while saying, "It's...it's so...sticky!"  After a moment longer, she spouted off a stream of Orlesian that could only be construed as a positive reaction.

Alistair's voice snorted in amusement at her reaction first, then he asked politely, "Wynne, would you like a turn?"

Wynne's grandmotherly tones chuckled delightedly at his inquiry.  "Usually I would decline," she explained at length, "given that these types of activities are fit mostly for the younger generations.  However," she added, "I will take you up on your offer this one time, my boy!"

The next few moments were filled with such noises of pleasure and delight that Zevran was unable to contain his curiosity any longer.  Falling back on the techniques he had specialized in since a child under the tutelage of the Crows, he quickly bypassed the locking mechanism on the barrier, entered the room silently and stealthily made his way to the rear chamber where the others were located.  The light was dim save for one bright candle on a nearby nightstand, so he was able to remain in the shadows unseen.

As he inched further into the room, he found his five companions seated on the bed, Alistair near the headboard and in the middle with Elissa to his right, Leliana to his left and one of each of the mages on either side at his feet; all fully clothed.  Moving ever closer, Zevran caught himself frowning.  What in all of Thedas are they doing? he wondered.

"Oh, Alistair," Elissa murmured, leaning into his shoulder, "that was absolutely wonderful!"

Leliana softly murmured her agreement as well her eyes closed tightly, a look of pure bliss passing over her features.  She too was leaning against the ex-templar.

"Ah, my boy," Wynne told him warmly, "should the Maker decide to reclaim these old bones on the morrow, I shall go to his side a very, very happy woman thanks to you!"  As she spoke, she leaned forward to pat the young man affectionately on his knee.

Zevran was happy to notice the blush that slowly crept up Alistair's neck and continued to the tips of his ears.

Morrigan hmpfed in satisfaction, loudly licking the tips of her fingers, one at a time.  "Now then," the exotic beauty demanded, "what did you call this creation again?"

Alistair sat back, a contented smile crossing his features, his eyes closing in remembered pleasure.  "It's called ‘pizza.’  Specifically a cheese-extra-cheese pizza," he explained.  "I came across a shop this afternoon making them.  You can get them made with all kinds of toppings, but once I saw the basic cheese, well…."

The women all giggled knowing of his passion for all things cheese.  And, after their own enjoyment of his treat, they could not blame him one bit for indulging.

Zevran, on the other hand, came to such a sudden stop that he was at first afraid he'd alerted them to his presence in the room.  After a long ten-count, he realized they had not realized he was there and turned away in disgust, leaving the room, his concentration no longer on them or their discussion.  Pizza!  Of all the….

Sighing, Zevran silently exited the room and turned towards his own.  As he entered his room, he noted that Sten and the mabari were already sleeping soundly, and Oghren, as usual, was snoring off his drink.  He removed his armor and weapons, setting them within arm’s reach and slid between the sheets of his bed.  "What a disappointing end to an otherwise delightful evening," he muttered to himself as he rolled over to sleep.

[smarchit]

Do No Harm

After a few weeks of the Child being sick, Mando heads to a doctor that was recommended to him. She's determined to make the baby well again, no matter the cost.

Also posted to my Ao3! <3

The Child had been sick for two weeks now. Two weeks of uneaten food being thrown across the living quarters of the Razor Crest, two weeks of cool baths to try and get his body temperature to drop... Two weeks of sleepless nights for both parent and child.

Two miserable kriffing weeks.

Mando hadn't been able to take a job since the Child had gotten sick, too busy and worried as he tried to care for his son. He was running short on credits, food, fuel, and nerves.

He was fucking exhausted. 

Right now, the Child was curled in Mando's lap, blessedly silent after having screamed himself to sleep an hour or so before. 

He needed to find a doctor - and fast. The Child felt lighter every day in his hands when he cradled him and begged him to eat anything that was placed before him.

The last time he had been to Nevarro when the Child had only been sick for a day or so, Karga had given him a few names on a handful of planets to look into that may be able to help them.

"You look a little worn down yourself, Mando," he had chuckled when Mando slumped into the booth. "I can still give you a space in the Twi'lek healing baths."

Thankful for the protection of his helmet, Mando rolled his eyes at Kargas suggestion. It was true though. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and the beskar felt like it weighed two kriffing tons. All he needed was for the Child to stop screaming long enough for them both to get a good night sleep.

The comm to his left beeped and drew him out of his twilight slumber. The Crest dropped out of hyperspace and Mando said a silent prayer to the fucking stars that the Child stayed asleep.

This was the only planet not loaded with remnants of the Empire within the next dozen star systems that was on Karga’s list. It was a low population, something Mando took into high consideration when he looked for someone to care for the Child.

The sun had just begun its descent over the edges of the trees when the Crest docked less than half a mile from the village. Normally, he would have scanned the entire area, landed at least five miles from the village, and walked on foot the rest of the way. 

Not today. He was too tired.

The village was just starting to settle in for the evening when Mando walked in. No one paid him much attention, aside from the usual stares. No one picked any fights or spat in his direction. No Imps guarding the gate either, just a man about Mando's age if he were ever to admit it, with a decades old blaster standing watch.

"I'm looking for a doctor," Mando said softly as he approached the man.

The sentinel glanced at the bundle of blankets nestled in the crook of Mando's elbow and jerked his head backwards down the main street. 

"Down there," he said gruffly. "The green stone building on the left, about five houses up." He eyed Mando from head to toe before he spared another glance at the Child. "Make sure and knock first."

Mando thanked the man and set off down the path. The villagers moved carts and animals out of the way as he walked down the dirt path. A small group of shaak lowed somewhere to his left in a pen, and the Child stirred briefly at the sound.

Appointment in session - Knock please! The sign on the front door stated in Basic in a neat hand. 

Mando stepped back to read the sign above the door. Varik Eshol & Family; Midwifery & Childcare.

"A midwife?" he said out loud. He couldn’t believe it. Is this Karga’s trusted doctor? Or did he just hand Mando a random list of names without bothering to see what they specialized in? 

As if on cue, the front door opened and a young woman with long blonde hair stepped out, her hand curled over her slightly swollen belly. Behind her stepped another young woman with hair like fire, curling around her face as the wind picked up.

"Everything looks great, Jari," the smiling woman said. "It's normal for some spotting to occur in your second trimester. Don't worry, okay? If you start cramping, or the bleeding continues, please come find me."

The pregnant woman smiled and thanked the young woman behind her before she stepped off the little porch. She glanced at the Mandalorian and tottered off to the side to avoid him.

Mando cleared his throat and shifted on his feet to try and get the midwife's attention.

She turned to him with a slightly surprised look on her face. 

"Um, how can I help you?" she asked as she wiped her hands on her dress. "It's after normal hours, and I don't usually--"

"I have a child," he said softly, almost apologetically. "He's sick. I'm not... I can't figure out what's wrong with him."

"Oh, please, bring him inside," the young woman said hurriedly. She stepped backward into her hut and held the door open for the Mandalorian. The woman glanced nervously down both sides of the path before she shut and locked the door behind them.

"You don't look like a Varik," he said in a clipped tone as he shuffled inside. 

"My father," she replied as she grabbed a scanner from a medkit. " He passed last spring."

"I'm sorry," he said. 

"Winter sickness," she murmured. She moved to a basin to scrub her hands clean. "It took half the village with it. There used to be five midwives in town. There's only two of us now."

Mando was quiet as he looked down at the child in his arms. His little cheeks were dusted with pink, lips pale with fever. 

"Can you help him?" he asked. "I... Don't have much money." Mando didn't want to meet her eyes. He couldn't bear to have her kick them out. Not when the next closest name on the list was a doctor on Tatooine. 

"Well," she said softly, scanner in hand, "Lucky for you I work for low fees and very often, pro bono."

"What's your name?" he asked, instinctively holding the Child to his chest as she approached.

"Wynnlow," she replied with a smile. "Just Wynn, to friends. May I see him?"

Hesitantly, Mando pulled the blanket away from the Child's face.

If Wynn was surprised, she did a good job of hiding it. She let out a tiny gasp and knelt down beside Mando's beskar covered thigh to examine the Child. He tried to ignore the heat radiating off of her.

"Look at you!" she hummed. "So cute! What's your name?"

"He doesn't have one," Mando muttered, too irritated from lack of sleep to put up with her small talk.

"Is he your--"

"He is a foundling. Until I find his family or he becomes of age, I'm his father."

Without reply, Wynn stood up and grabbed an out-of-date holopad off a rickety table. She knew that some tribes across the galaxy practiced child rearing in different ways. When she studied under her father, she learned quickly to not pass judgement, that no two people’s lives were the same.

"What's his normal temperature?" she asked as she thumbed through the pad. "He definitely has a fever, but I need to know what I'm working with."

Mando was silent. 

"It's okay to not know," Wynn said with a gentle smile. "It's alright. Come here, little one. Can I see you?"

Mando handed over the Child who had just started to wake up. He watched Wynn carefully as she took him to a small scale and set him down to weigh him. 

She cooed and doted on the Child as she examined him and explained what she was doing, though Mando got the feeling it was for his own benefit rather than the Child's.

"He's definitely got a little bug," she said as she shone a small light into his ears. "Poor guy has some ear infections too. I can get him started on some medicine right away, but would you mind if I kept him overnight to see how he feels tomorrow? I--"

"No!" Mando said, perhaps a bit too quickly. He pushed himself upright and reached for the Child. "Just the medicine."

Wynn looked a little afraid when the Mandalorian towered over her. She turned her body to protect herself from a strike, should it come.

"Y-yes," she murmured, her eyes cast downwards. She kept him in her sight as she moved towards her medicine cabinet.

Mando suddenly felt a little sorry. After all, the girl was doing this for nothing -- and after hours at that.

"At least give him the first dose here," she insisted as she pressed a bottle into his gloved hands. "Sometimes they get fussy. And his teeth look sharp enough to snap fingers."

Her skin felt cool even through the leather, and they lingered for just a moment too long against his palm.

"Thank you," he replied, his tone a little softer. He sat back down on the nearest couch and placed the Child on his thigh.

Wynn tried to busy herself by tidying up the table she had examined the Child on. She didn't want to disturb them. She had never met a Mandalorian before, but knew the stories from her father. 

They don't take kind to strangers. They'll never seek your help - or your comfort. Get all thoughts of that out of your head now, Wynnlow.

Wynn bit her lip at the memory as she tipped out the contents of the waste basket into the fireplace to burn the papers.

A piercing shriek tore through the little hut and Wynn nearly jumped out of her skin. The basket slipped from her fingers into the fire and she reached in without a thought. 

"Kriff!" she gasped as she yanked her hand back. The fishnet pattern of the basket had burned into her fingertips and palms and she pressed them against her dress to dull the pain as the scream came again. 

Wynn turned to see Mando in a vain attempt to administer medicine to the little green baby. Judging by how much the tiny thing was wailing, it wasn't going well.

She cautiously approached the pair, one hand out to them. Her heart was thudding in her chest and her fingertips stung from the fire.

"Let me try," she said softly. "I can usually get them to take it."

Mando looked up at her. After a silent moment with nothing but the Child’s sniffles filling the silence, he sighed heavily and handed her the medicine. He turned the Child around in his lap to face her and held him firmly in place. 

Wynn smiled and knelt down between Mando's thighs to get closer to the baby.

"Hi, little one," she cooed at him. "Hi there, sweet boy. Will you take your medicine for us? It'll make you feel all better."

The Child closed his mouth and put his little hands over his face. Shut tight.

Mando sighed in defeat and let his head fall against his breastplate. 

"Poor thing," Wynn murmured. She ran a cool hand over the baby's forehead and stood up, her hand pressed against Mando's knee to brace herself. "My offer still stands. I can keep him overnight."

"I'm not letting him out of my sight," Mando growled. He pulled the Child closer to him, despite the baby's protests.

"Hey," she said softly. "You can sleep here. It's a waiting room. He's my little patient. I've dealt with babies when they're still inside their mothers. I see them until they're school age. I've treated all sorts of species. It's okay. You can trust me."

Mando's shoulders sagged forward as he mulled over his options. He didn't want to let the Child go. But he heard the word of his alor, the armorer in the back of his head, You are as its father. 

What is best for him?

Mando sighed again and handed the now sobbing baby over to Wynn. His gloved fingers snagged the rough blanket as he pulled his hands away.

"I'll bring you some more blankets," Wynn hummed. She propped the Child on her hip and disappeared briefly into a side room. When she returned, she had an armful of blankets and pillows balanced on the dramatic curve of her other hip.

"You get some rest, yeah?" she murmured. "I'll take care of this little guy."

Mando eyed her warily. He put his trust into too many people and got hurt too many times to count for him to trust that easily. On reflex, his fingers curled around the base of his blaster.

Wynn took a slight step back, her eyes going wide at his movement.

"If he is injured, you will be the most miserable midwife in the galaxy," he warned. "Whatever you do to him, I will do to you ten times over."

Wynn glanced down at the Child, who blinked up at her and cooed softly. She then glanced down at Mando, eyes nervously darting between the hand on his blaster and the unreadable mask.

"I've never lost a patient," she promised after a moment of heavy silence. "Please get some rest. I'll put this one to bed and bring you some food and drink and leave you to eat."

Wynn carefully backed out of the room, her eyes locked with the formidable visor. The Child cooed and waved at his father before the door shut with a dull thunk.

By the time Wynn had put leftover broth, still warm, into a clay bowl, opened a new bottle of tea, and set the Child in a play pen, half an hour had passed without the Mandalorian checking on her. She assumed this meant she had his trust, at least for the next few hours.

Wynn didn’t mind. She understood firsthand how fiercely protective people could be over their children. Her mother had died protecting her when she was only a young child. She had no children of her own, but oh, did she want them some day. That was still far off, she figured. She was simply too busy to think about that right now.

When she brought a tray out to the Mandalorian, she wasn't sure if he was actually sleeping or still awake. 

"Here. It's bone broth and meat. There's some squash from my garden as well. I'll leave it there."

He didn't respond or move. 

Wynn bit her lip and hesitated for a second. Her hand twitched as she watched him, locked in something resembling a stalemate. After a moment, she wiped her hands on her dress and hissed at the pain on her finger. Don't break the string of trust. He already doesn't like you. Respect his boundaries - you’re doing a service, your job.

Under the protection of the visor, Mando watched as Wynn disappeared into the back where the Child slept. He leaned back to get comfortable, his arms spread out along the back of the couch.

The next thing he knew, bright sunlight was streaming through the shutter slats in the window behind him. The warmth seeped into his skin beneath his shirt and he stretched like a lothcat in the yellow light. 

Not thinking clearly yet, he glanced over at the couch cushions beside him to fetch the Child. His heart nearly stopped when he found the couch empty. 

Oh, right. 

Mando sighed and glanced around the small waiting room. The door was still shut to the living quarters, closed off from the rest of the hut. The front door latch hadn't been released yet either to allow patients for the day. 

He strained his ears to listen for noise in the kitchen and found nothing. It was still relatively early in the day, perhaps Wynnlow was still sound asleep? He supposed that since he didn’t hear the Child, it meant he was probably asleep as well. 

Mando stood with a soft groan as his knees and back protested his upright slumber. He shook the sleep from his limbs and quickly removed his helmet to eat the now cold food Wynn had brought him the night before. 

As he made his way to the fresher to clean up, something caused his ears to perk up. It was a soft, high sound, like bells in a garden. 

Singing. 

Mando cautiously made his way down the hall through the doors that opened into the living quarters. The singing was definitely coming from back here somewhere. 

In the back bedroom, the light was fully streaming in from the open window. The air was warm and a gentle breeze shifted the curtains and carried the soft coos of the Child.

Mando stepped into the bedroom where the singing was coming from. The gentle song didn't stop when he came in, but the owner of the voice did glance up at him with a sweet smile.

Wynn was perched on the wide window sill that overlooked the back garden. She held the Child in her lap as she sang to him, his little fingers curled around hers as she gently bounced him on her legs. She was clad only in a short shift dress, her pale pink robe discarded and slung over a nearby chair. Her hair was loose around her face as it had been the day before. The Child seemed enthralled by its vibrant shade - he watched it blow in the breeze and reached up to try and grab it.

Mando moved over to the pair slowly, not wanting to break peace before him. 

When the Child spotted him, he squealed with delight and reached up to his father. His ears were alert and his eyes bright, no trace of sickness immediately evident. The medicine Wynn had given him had begun to work.

Mando gave a short bark of laughter in relief and gently stroked one large ear.

Wynn finished her song and pressed a soft kiss to the top of the Child's wrinkly head. She held him to her chest as Mando played with his ears.

"His fever came down about six hours ago," she said quietly as she passed the Child up into Mando's arms. "And he's been awake for about four. Huh, haven't you, little one?"

"Thank you," he replied. He stepped back as Wynn slowly uncurled her legs from beneath her body. 

She groaned when her feet hit the floor and she instinctively reached out to steady herself on the nearest sturdy object. 

"Don't mention it," she murmured through a wide yawn as she lowered herself into a high backed chair. “He shook in the crib until I held him. My father believed in holding a sick child - something about the warmth comforts them, I think. We always slept with the sick babes in our room when he was alive.”

Mando watched her for a moment as she yawned again. Her head canted forward to fall against her chest. He looked down at the Child, who trilled and reached for Wynn.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked.

Wynn lifted her head and rubbed the back of her neck. "No. He was worth it though. He's cute. I never got to ask how old he is."

"Fifty. His species ages very slowly."

Wynn raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's interesting."

"Why?"

Wynn bit her lip and stood up. She knew something felt off since the Mandalorian showed up on her doorstep. It all made sense.

"There were some people that came through here about a week ago," she murmured.

Mando felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Fancy clothes, an entourage of Stormtroopers," she continued. “Looking for a baby. Said he was wanted alive.”

Mando's hand twitched against his blaster. He knew it.

"So you called them and told them we were here?" he snarled.

Wynn gave a startled yelp and collapsed back against the chair. She held her hands up and lowered her head. "No! I would never! Do no harm! That's rule one! You brought him to me as a patient. I would never betray that creed. Not for a million credits."

Mando growled beneath his helm at Wynn. He took in how she cowered from him and the fear filled look in her brown eyes. 

"Please," she said softly as she peered up at him through her hands. "Please, I would never. You have your creed, I have mine. Know this."

Mando sighed and let his hand fall from his blaster. He needed to get far away from this planet. "How much for the medicine?"

"Nothing," she replied. "No charge."

"I insist." Please was unspoken on his lips.. 

Wynn thought for a moment. "Five credits."

Mando tossed her a bag without counting them and turned to the door. 

"I told them to never bother me again," she called out as he disappeared into the waiting room. The Child gave a wail when he lost sight of Wynn."This planet doesn't take kind to the Empire. Never did..If someone like that has to specify they want a baby alive isn’t someone I’d turn a child over to.”

Mando paused at the front door and sighed. He thought about the young doctor, the only one who had wanted to keep the Child safe when he handed him over to the Imps. He stood by the front door for a moment and glanced around at her small hut. There was no protection, no place to hide.

"They will come back," Mando called out to her. He set a vibroblade on the counter by the front door. Additional protection, should she need it. "They'll know we were here."

Wynn held her breath as she listened for the distinct open-close of the front door. He was gone. After a moment, she let out a shaky breath. Without bothering to dress first, or change the sign out front, she emptied the credits into her lap and counted out almost ten times what was owed.

They will come back. Mando's words sent a violently cold shiver up her back despite the warmth from the sun outside her window. Outside, a shaak bellowed and a rooster screamed to signal the arrival of the day.

They will come back.

[lavenderhyrdrangea]

Angel or Serpent

For the first time in his life, Zevran was ridiculously lucky. He had been spared a bloody fate and met a beguiling woman who offered him a hiatus from The Crows—She’d given him a second chance. Where was this sense of foreboding coming from then?

Ao3 link here or go continue to read below

Zevran had crows laying in wait for  a taste of his flesh, and a siren in hot pursuit of his beating heart. Of the two, the latter kept him up at night the most.  Her eyes playful yet her bearing strong-willed and hard-boiled, she was a force that never ceased. Every action she took was done so with purpose. For every question he asked she always had an answer. For every answer he gave she followed up with wave after wave of even more pressing questions. He tried to keep a steady footing around her but he failed each time.

Eventually he surrendered; he’d offered Ione the earring.

It was another evening  beneath the stars for their party, huddled around a flame for warmth, food and conversation. Sten and the witch tucked themselves in early. Shale didn’t sleep but sought out the solitude of a tent nonetheless. Wynne wanted to sleep,  however, her motherly nature had put her in charge of making sure Oghren didn’t finally impair his liver. Leliana and Alistair  were deep in a game of Wicked Grace and Ione watched for the bard’s tricky hand.

“Stealing from a babe should  surely give you some type of guilt,” she teased.

“Ah, now this is fascinating.  You feel sorry for the young fellow?  Toughen up. You’ll have to do a lot worse than pickpocket from a child’s coin purse if you intend to survive in house Arainai.”

Zevran always had to shove the distinct voice of Leonel, one of his mentors, back into a little box only for him to spring out, twisted grin upon his lips, like a child’s  crude toy. Made sense. He was a joking man until the end. He’d been extra loud since Kinloch Hold.

“A babe? Well, you’ve got to have a little more confidence in me than that. Only a moron would strike out in Wicked Grace.” Alistair said as  he gave his set of cards a thorough look over.

Leliana giggled. “See? No need to worry. Straight from the babe’s mouth himself. If it  makes you feel any better I don’t intend on keeping any coin I earn here. I’m petty not cruel.”

“Right, this babe—wait! Stop it you two. I’m a perfectly grown man.”

Ignoring her fussy fellow warden, she addressed Leliana once more. “ It would be better for you play our resident assassin. He offers more of a challenge.”

Their eyes were on him then.  He was  laid out on the  right side of his body,  head propped up on his  palm and  the aforementioned piece of jewelry hot in  the pouch on his left hip. His forefinger drummed along his thigh. While he had been waiting for her attention, this was not how he expected it to be given to him. The games could wait for another time.

“Ah, yes, but if I swoop in to serve as a distraction how will our dear babe ever learn how to play properly?

“You didn’t follow through. Should’ve known you wouldn’t. You are but a child yourself. A weak one at that.”

“Not. A. Babe.”

“I’m sure you are to someone,” Leliana commented much to Alistair’s discomfiture.

“He’ll manage. Why don’t you play a few rounds, Zev?” She stared at him as if she could will whatever  she thought he was hiding out from his head. “You look awful bored.”

“Not bored, no. Restless. Perhaps I can walk you back to your tent, my dear warden.”

“Walk me to my...“ She turned around to make sure her tent was in the same place she’d set it minutes ago. “ I don’t intend on getting Oghren levels of intoxicated this eve. Why would I need to be escorted to my tent? More importantly how would that help you with your restlessness? Is there something in my tent that you desire?”

Sudden failure to call upon his sliver tongue rendered him a hedging mess. “ You never know. You can waltz in, ready to lay your head upon your bed roll only to find a treacherous snake resting there instead. I only wish to see that your are protected.  Uh, that is only if you allow it.”

“Come come, where’s your nerve?  I hear you’re suppose to be good at this type of thing.”

Leliana’s lips spread into a slow grin. “What is this? The mighty Zevran fumbling for words? You perform miracles not even the Maker is capable of my friend.”

Ione took this as sign of trouble and though she’d misread the situation he overflowed with thanks and an undying need to cling to her. She lead them away with the excuse  of needing to give him a dagger that  Leliana didn’t want.  On the way in he noticed that the healer had taken a break from watching over a blabbering Oghren to throw them an admonishing glare. She would get over it eventually.

“Are you well?” Ione asked once she sat him down on a bedroll. “You’re free to speak about whatever here.”

“Are you in trouble? That’s entirely up to you. Come, I would like to play a game of Wicked grace but with a little more fun. Let’s ask the young barmaid to join us.”

The close quarters intensified the delightful aroma of  the rosewater she used to sweeten her skin. Under normal circumstances, the scent would’ve drawn him to his knees, had him singing her praises and making promise after promise. Here, it only made him hyper aware of the weight of his words. One error would’ve caused him to sink. Or was that his nerves?

“Instead of betting something boring like gold, you’ll be betting your welfare. Five rounds. You’re options are to bet a game of Pinfinger, where you’ll lay your hand along the table and stab between your fingers in a rhythm like so. Or take the less unpredictable choice. Choose which part your least afraid of scaring and have at it. Obviously the losing hand is the one that follows through. If they get cold feet the winning hand does it for them.”

He opened the pouch and spoke of sentimentality and the dues he owed her. There had been no eager reaching for the earring on her part. Rather, with a tilt of her head she asked what it meant.

“You mean to ask what use it will provide? I’m sure it’s worth a small fortune. You may sell it if you like. Or  if you find it looks  beautiful on you—and I’m certain it will, my darling— wear it.”

“ You pay your debt with your blade and your time. Why give me your treasure? And why so out of the blue?” She tapped her temple. “There’s more going on in here.”

“There is one exception. If you’re able to achieve an Angel Suit Flush then all bets are off. No one has to be harmed. It doesn’t matter how many rounds deep your in. The winning hand is simply victorious.”

“To you, perhaps. There’s a need to repay you. Not just for sparing me and giving me brief respite from the Crows but for the boots and the gloves as well.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned in close enough for her lips to brush against his, for her to ensnare  him yet again. Those carnelian eyes could convince him of anything.

“You let her win that round didn’t you? For what? What has she done for you that you would risk pain?”

“Give me more than your pretenses, Zevran.”

More, more, more. She was just being greedy, impossible even. Every other thing they came across in their travels was taken, no question asked, yet  his gift was met with suspicion. Perhaps in the back of her mind, she still believed he was out for her blood.

He  attempted a genuine laugh despite the angry twinge in his chest. “ Everything is a puzzle to be solved with you.”

Try as he might, Ione heard the bitter undertone. She whipped her head to the side  as if she’d been slapped but recovered and refixed her attention upon him. This time she cupped his face.

“This is our last real breather before we battle the Archdemon. If there’s something you mean to say you must say it now. There’s no guarantee that we’ll make it out alive.”

“Demonstrative gestures at the very last second are pointless; they will mean nothing.”

“You don’t believe that!” Realization settled over her features for a split second. Too loud. "You wouldn’t be trying to give me that earring if you did.” she hissed.

“ Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re three and 0, boy. The game is about lies and deceit. What assassin do you know is incapable of lying?”

A sigh left his lips. She was a current pushing him further away from land.

“You say we are pressed for time, yes? Turn in for the night. Clear your mind. There are other things for you to focus on besides me, I am  certain...Do those.”

He moved to get up and then—

“—Zevran, I’m not long for this world.”

Her usually powerful voice nothing but caricature of itself, she told him everything that only been recently dumped upon her. Slaying the Archdemon required a warden sacrifice to prevent it’s essence from possessing another tainted creature. There was no way Ione would place Alistair on to the chopping block thus she stepped up instead. It was a small wonder this Duncan fellow hadn’t told her  all of this before she drank the Darkspawn blood.

Silence smothered all sound.  Every muscle in his body tensed.  This wasn’t true. It was just a card plucked from her sleeve to push him to confess to whatever inane thing she wanted.  It had to be. The special tenderness in her eyes told him otherwise. It chilled him to the bone.  

“I am sorry.” He rasped.

“For what?”

“Take your pick.”

Feeling as if the ground beneath him had begun to crumble, he escaped the tent before she could get a word in edgewise.  

In his own tent,  he laid, arms behind his head, and wondered whether her presence in his life was  some form of divine retribution. He lured in so many, played with their emotions and cut them down. Now, he was at the mercy of a woman who could make a gaping hole appear in his chest and not need to plunge her halberd in to do so.   It would be the perfect execution of poetic justice. But he had done what he did for the sake of a target. Duty. What was she doing it for? Cruelty? Even he wasn’t so cold.

“What good has your soft heart brought you? Nothing! You’re a mess. Cut deep. Bleeding everywhere.”

And yet that need to hold her came rising again.  The key to freedom from the inescapable pit within his mind was to have her in his arms and he in hers, it seemed. The ‘why’ was just something he  couldn’t place his finger on.

“You’re addicted to it aren’t you? Such a masochist.”

When he first met her, he expected  the tip of her halberd to pierce through his jaw. Instead, she spared his life and gave it purpose and even had done so for those around her and those they encountered.  This alarmed him. While he hadn’t wished it, he expected  her  to buckle under the pressure of  royal intrigue and Archdemon slaying heaped upon her shoulders. Rather than that, she persisted through tears and frustration and even had the nerve to burden herself with more. She didn’t need to seek out those Dalish gloves  for him but she did and that was frightening. She wasn’t purposely going out the way to harm—in fact she acted in the manner of someone who wished to avoid such a thing—yet that  made her all the more dangerous somehow.  Even now with death around the corner she chose  not to spend her night encapsulated by fear but by mingling with her companions and cajoling him to admit…  

“Having another being in charge of your fate is nauseating isn’t it? You could want one thing and they could want another. Life could push you in one direction and the other person in the opposite. You’ll never know until it’s too late. That hesitation you feel is your sense of self-preservation. Don’t mar yourself for such a simple woman. For someone who sees you as nothing more than some sorry assassin.”

Everything crashed over him like a wave.  The true fear wasn’t in that she wanted his heart. It was in that he would give it. He was a fool in love and in spite of her imminent demise he just wanted to be with her for as long a she’d have him.

“ Angel of Charity, Angel of Death, Angel of Fortitude, Angel of Temerity and Angel of Truth. You lucky dog.”

*                                                     *                                                              *

Like seeing someone’s heart broken into a thousand pieces? Don’t worry, I don’t judge. But you might be interested in my DC Comics story, Kandor, starring, Superman and an intruder in his Fortress of Solitude.

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 61 - Patience

Chapter Rating: Teen Warnings: Discussion of wounds and menstruation Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3 or start at Chapter 1

---

He waited, and the mages emerged from the room with bloody hands. All he could do was replay the moment over and over, watch as Erimond spirited Loghain away from the field, and Cailan shouting across the ranks of surrendered Gwaren soldiers for a healer, everything slowed to a horrific crawl he could not stop. They had carried her in still with the sword through her gut.

--

Her hand felt cold where he held it. The blood loss, Wynne explained, kept her heartbeat thready and the circulation poor in her extremities. She explained, too, that she was being held under a Sleep to speed the healing and that everything had been done that could be. That now they would have to wait. He could barely see her breathing, and he watched each shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath the piled blankets as if will alone could keep her from the dark. Fergus stood behind him, with Cailan, Teagan, Morrence, and even the maid he’d heard called Graela, and he didn’t care that any of them saw when he leaned over her to brush a lock of raven-black hair from the pallid, feverish skin on her forehead. An action so like on the first night he met her but with such a world more meaning behind it, it staggered him. Someone put their hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t care who it was. It offered only empty comfort.

“It’s my fault,” Cailan spoke into the silence. “I let this happen. I don’t –” But the words faded, lost, or perhaps waiting for someone else to pick them up.  

Alistair didn’t waste breath on contradicting him; he had seen everything from the walls.

Hours later, he heard the strains of an argument echo down the hall between the king and his newly reunited queen. The words didn’t carry through the distance, but the vitriol that carried to Rosslyn’s rooms held the sourness of long-buried resentment. Once, he might have worried for his brother, but now he only scowled and shifted closer into her side, careful not to disturb her wound as he shared his body heat with her. Despite Anora’s objections about propriety, he refused to be torn from her side, and they all agreed she was too cold, and her body needed to focus on healing, and someone had to stay with her in case – in case –

He refused to think about it. In between the mages’ examinations he lay on top of the covers pressed as close to her as possible, like a dog might, with his hand clasped tight around hers and his ear over her heart, willing it to keep time. Only Graela interrupted the monotony of the hours, bustling in every now and then to stoke the fire or purse her lips at him, but he never moved and she left him alone. The silence grated at him through the long, dark periods in between. To keep time and to ward away the spiralling turns of his thoughts, he did what he always did, and talked. He told her about the clean-up after the battle, the clemency Amell requested for Howe’s pressganged blood mage, the way Loghain’s forces surrendered when they saw the dead rise, and swore fealty to Anora not long after. The servants’ hall in the bailey had been transformed into an infirmary, and a mass pyre had been built for all those who didn’t make it. Fergus was improving now he was being properly housed and fed, but he worried. Of the riders who had gone out with her, only she still clung to life; Erimond had surprised the others with some kind of trap like the one he had seen snare Cullen in the Harrowing chamber, and there had been little left of them when scouts were finally sent out.

Howe had disappeared in the confusion.

“But when you wake up,” he murmured to her, desperate, “when you’re better, I’ll help you track him down, no matter how long it takes, and then you won’t have to bite off his other ear.” He snorted softly and brushed her hair from her eyes. “Yes, Graela told me about that. It’s a very you thing to do, and I’m sure he deserved it.”

But the darkness crowded in on such small assurances, and as the lack of answer pressed against his ears, the fragile quirk of his mouth sputtered like a candle flame and went out. Beyond the walls, a storm raged about the castle, a howling wind that buffeted the keep with enough violence to almost be felt through the stone as well as the air, that frightened even the fire in the grate and drove sleet against the windowpanes. He had to turn his head into his shoulder to blink back the sting in his eyes.

--

The Sleep had been removed two days since, and yet she still hadn’t woken. Alistair took his meals – the little food he could stomach – in her rooms. He didn’t dare take the time away from her to bathe, or even to let Marten shave him, all for fear that she might wake up alone. Only the healers could pry him from his place at her side, and their sympathetic looks grated on his fraying temper. She might be healing physically, but whatever had happened to her mind had left her murmuring in nightmares, fidgeting beneath her blankets without any recognition of the people who surrounded her in the waking world. Worst were the times she screamed, or cried out his name in terror, and he had to hold her down so her thrashing did not tear open her wounds. The pressure of his hand in hers went unreturned, his assurances she wound be alright growing smaller and smaller with every passing fit.

For the moment, five days after they had brought her in, she lay quiet, her eyes still beneath their lids. He tried to focus on the growing colour in her cheeks, and the deep, even suck of her breath, but exhaustion hounded him. It made his eyes gummy and fogged his mind, but he preferred it to the cavernous ache of uncertainty that throbbed with every beat of his heart, because if he were too tired to think at all, he would be too tired to wonder about the future, to fear she might waste away without ever again waking and turning her smile on him.

He shifted in his chair in an attempt to banish the shadow, sitting forward to check the arrangement of her blankets for what must have been the hundredth time. After that, he untucked her hair from behind her shoulders so it wouldn’t itch, and fluffed her pillows, and checked her forehead for fever. Cailan had brought him books from the library to help distract him, and he glanced to them for a moment before a dark spot on the sheets caught his eye. Frowning, he touched it and fell back, shouting for help even before he reached the door.  

“She’s bleeding,” he told Amell, who emerged from the room next down the corridor, where Fergus was convalescing. “It’s soaked through the sheet – maybe the last nightmare? I didn’t think it was that bad, but… Maker, I should’ve –”

“I’ll have a look,” the enchanter assured him, pushing past him into Rosslyn’s room.

Alistair lingered in the doorway, his sense of propriety warring with urgency as he watched Amell peel back the layers of blankets in order to examine her patient.  

“Well?” he asked, when her expression turned from concern to something he couldn’t read.

The healer shook her head. “She’s fine, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“But she’s bleeding!”

“Her monthly courses have come,” Amell explained. “It’s normal.”

He scowled at that, the outrage that despite the stress to the rest of her body, she couldn’t even be spared such an indignity. And yet, considering the alternatives, it was a straw to which he was more than happy to cling. “So she’s not in any danger?”

“Not from this,” Amell assured him. “She’s healing well.”

“Wynne said she should have woken up by now,” he said, before he could stop himself. When the healer refused to meet his gaze, the frustrations of the previous few days spilled over into anger. “If there’s bad news, I want – I’d rather be prepared for it. I don’t need coddling.”

Amell bit her lip, but nodded. “Senior Enchanter Wynne suspects there might be something holding her in the Fade.”

“A demon?”  

“Impossible to say, considering the trauma. But there’s still a lot to hope for.” For a moment it seemed like she wanted to say more, but as she looked him over that now-familiar pity shone in her eyes, and she shook her head. “You should go and get some proper rest, Your Highness,” she said. “You’re no good to Her Ladyship swaying on your feet like this. I’ll stay with her, and send for you if she wakes.”

“But –”  

“Please, Your Highness. What if she wakes and the thing that greets is her is some great shaggy beast she hardly recognises?”  

She meant the words as a joke, but they blunted the harsher truth. He had no response. He was so tired that the healer’s lightest touch on his arm guided him from the room, and by the time he realised he was being dumped in the corridor, she had already turned her most reassuring smile on him.

“I’ll make her comfortable, I promise,” she said.

“You’ll come find me? If –”

“Of course. Take care of yourself, Your Highness. I already have enough patients to deal with.”

The door shut in his face. Cut loose, he stood in the middle of the hallway, lost, without anywhere else to go. It was too late in the day to call for a bath, and how could he sleep with Rosslyn still yet to open her eyes? He considered going to see Cailan, to offer aid with paperwork so he might occupy his mind, but his few glimpses of his brother since the battle had shown him with sallow cheeks and sunken, fatigue-shadowed eyes that couldn’t be hidden by any amount of grooming. For the first time, Alistair felt a prick of guilt for not making more of an effort to help, or at least thanking him for the lightening of his own burdens. But it was the middle of the night, the castle was quiet except for the weather howling outside, and even if the king were still awake, Anora would likely not be happy at having their rest disturbed – and she disliked him enough already. He wished he could tell Rosslyn about her glares.

Instead, he took a lantern and turned to let his feet carry him down the three flights to the kennel, passing nobody, his thoughts turning to the long nights after his mother died but before he was taken to Rainesfere, when the warmth of dogs snoring in the straw became his only source of comfort. When he entered the harness room, the unexpected light roused Gareth from his cot, and the young man blinked and yawned as he untangled himself from the sheets. With the small number of Highever’s remaining war dogs needing to be housed, he had been declared kennelmaster in his father’s place. The majority of the dogs had gone to war with Teyrn Bryce, and those left behind had either been sold to help pay for Howe’s mercenaries, or had been sent to Vigil’s Keep to improve the stock in Amaranthine, which meant the young man’s duties consisted mostly of trying to track down which animals had gone where. It was one particular animal that Alistair had come to see.

“How’s the patient?” he asked, too tired to stand on formality.

“He knows something’s amiss, Your Highness,” came the reply. “He wunnot eat. If not for that Jowan he’d not be here at all, but he’s pining, and the poultices have knocked him further out’a kilter.”  

He thought back, to the first night he had met Rosslyn. “Last time she was injured, he wouldn’t leave her side.”  

“He’s not strong enough to leave the runs yet, let alone gan up all them stairs. You’ll see.”

Gareth shrugged on a jacket to ward off the chill, and beckoned Alistair into the next room. A few of the dogs rustled in their beds, and one chuffed in surprise at having its sleep interrupted, but they settled soon enough when they recognised who had come to visit, and why. In the nearest cage, piled with the deepest bedding, lay the only dark shape that didn’t move with the two humans’ arrival. Instead of a greeting, the dog stared vacantly at the far wall, the layers of blankets laid over his back rising and falling in time with his breath. Wraps of white bandage stood out against the brindle of his fur, breaking up his shape in the dim light.

“He’s not eating,” the kennelmaster said to Alistair. “He’s got no heart in him, and that’s without all the poultices sending him woozy.”

“Have you got any food I can give him?”

Gareth blinked. “Well… aye. But he’s trained to only take food –”

“I know.” At the sound of Alistair’s snap, Cuno’s head turned ever so slightly, nose twitching as he caught Rosslyn’s scent. “But he has to eat, and she isn’t here.”

Upstairs, he could do nothing for her but wait, and drive himself mad, but this – this he could do, and his heart surged with a faint hope that maybe by helping the one, it might help the other. Maybe the dog could do what he could not, and bring her back from whatever nightmare had her trapped. He had heard Dalish tales about the dogs that guarded their camps at night, and the Ash Warriors who sent their dogs into the Fade after their masters when they died, to protect them on the long road to the afterlife, so… why not try?  

If nothing else, he was sick of being useless. While Gareth went to retrieve the kitchen scraps from the pail by the door, he let himself into the cage, murmuring reassurance to the dog, who tracked his progress with the slow rotation of an ear but still didn’t raise his head. Gareth returned and passed a shallow dish through the bars.

“Here, boy. Are you hungry?”

Alistair sat close enough to Cuno to touch him, but didn’t, and instead set the dish down and settled back comfortably with his legs crossed and his back against the bars to wait. He had learned very early that a dog not overtly inviting touch was one that should probably be left alone. It was understandable. From where he sat, he could see where the poultices had soaked through and discoloured the bandages wrapped around the gap of the missing limb. Even with the numbing effect of the herbs provided by the mages, Cuno had to be in incredible pain, and groggy from blood loss, and confused about why his mistress had abandoned him. The blood mage, Jowan, had worked hard to save the dog’s life, pouring healing spells and blood magic both into the wounds until the point of passing out, according to those who stayed to help him – and it was the only reason Cailan had decided to leave the boy in the dungeons and not hand him to the templars until Rosslyn woke to pass her own judgement.

When she woke up, not if.

With a sigh, Alistair moved the scraps into his lap and lifted a hand to stroke along Cuno’s neck. The dog growled, a low, true warning that echoed too loudly in the confined space, and he let his hand fall to his side with the slump of his shoulders.

“I know,” he said. “I know you’re in pain, and I know I’m not the one you want to see.” He hauled in a steadying breath, which stumbled past the stinging lump in his throat. “It’s not… Maker, it’s not because you failed, or because she’s forgotten about you, it’s…” He closed his eyes, though the tears still leaked between the cracks and rolled down his cheeks, and only smeared across his face when his head fell into his hands, spent.

“She’s lost,” he admitted. “She got hurt, and now she won’t wake up and I can’t bring her back and I don’t know what to do. I – I can’t…”

Something heavy landed on his knee. Blinking through blurred vision, he found dark eyes gazing up at him, their expression somewhere between hopeful and imploring, and still glazed with pain.

“She’ll make it.” Alistair swallowed, but when he cautiously rubbed a hand over Cuno’s ears, there was no growl to make him stop. “There’s nothing she can’t do. But you need to pull through for her. Imagine what she’d do if she woke up now and found out you weren’t eating? You need to keep up your strength so you can climb all those stairs to see her. Imagine how happy she’ll be.” His touch ran to the base of the dog’s neck, where the edge of the bandage met the short, coarse fur. “Don’t worry about this – she’ll love you just the same, and she’ll tell you how brave you are, what a good dog you are, but…” He faltered again. “You need to eat. Just a little. Please.”

He took a small strip of meat from the bowl for the dog to sniff, holding his breath. After a long moment, the very tip of a pink tongue poked out just far enough to lick the morsel from his fingers, and through a shower of half-hysterical praise, Alistair picked out another scrap, and then another. In the end, after a long-drawn endeavour that left his hands covered in grease and slimy with drool, only about half of the food had been eaten, but just before Cuno settled back to sleep, he lapped some water from the bowl pushed under his chin, with more enthusiasm than he had shown since waking from his injuries.

The effort exhausted Alistair. He kept his hand in the dog’s ruff until his soft breath turned into gentle snoring, and even then couldn’t bring himself to leave – and not only because Cuno was seeking comfort pressed tightly against his side. He didn’t want to go back, didn’t want to find out what was waiting for him. What if she was just the same, pale and catatonic and unresponsive? What if she was worse, gripped in another nightmare and calling his name? And what if she had awoken while he was gone, only to find he had deserted her? He couldn’t face it, any of it. His eyelids felt heavy, and the blanketed straw was so warm, the dog’s snores lulling him to surrender to the exhaustion that had been clawing at him for nearly a week…

--

“Your Highness!”

Cuno barked, startled from sleep by the clamour, but even as he was called again, Alistair took longer to rouse.

“What –?”

“Your Highness, you have to come quickly!” Graela pivoted to a halt in the doorway, her hair and dress both awry, and her eyes blown wide with alarm. “It’s Knight-Captain Irminric, he’s saying – ugh, no time! He’s come for Her Ladyship – I think he means to kill her!”

Bewildered, but stung by the urgency in the elven woman’s voice, Alistair staggered out from under the weight of the dog, stumbling through the pins and needles in his legs as he barrelled past Graela and up the stairs. His pulse rolled like thunder in his ears. He should never have left her. He should have been there, ready to defend, like he promised.  

When he reached the second floor, he heard the commotion before he saw it, and skidded around the corner to see two templars standing off against Amell and a pair of soldiers in Cousland blue. Early morning sunlight fell across them from the open doorway, glinted off weapons drawn and raised.  

Alistair didn’t hesitate. The templars barely registered his approach before he was barging past them. The sight that met him as he crossed the threshold stopped his blood cold. Irminric advanced on the bed with his sword in a guard, while Morrence stood before him, her own weapon in her hand, the snarl curling her lips a ragged counterpoint to the melancholy determination on the templar’s face. Rosslyn still slumbered, peaceful and helpless to the drama playing out around her.

“She’s possessed – an abomination,” Irminric was saying, placidly, as if explaining to a small child. “I do not want to do this, but it is a mercy.”

“You won’t touch her.”

“If she wakes, it will be worse for all of us, now stand –”

Alistair’s fist connected with the templar’s jaw, before he realised he had crossed the room. Stunned, Irminric went down in a crash of plate and a yell as his sword spun out of his hand. Morrence kicked the offending weapon into the far corner by the window then turned her attention to the two who had crowded in in Alistair’s wake.

“Knight-Captain!”

“Don’t even,” Morrence growled.  

“I want you gone from the castle.” Every muscle in Alistair’s body shook, but his voice rang through the room like a bell, a lance of white hot fury that burned away even the smart where his knuckles had caught Irminric’s chin. “All of you. You’re no longer welcome here.”

The knight-captain worked his jaw, probing with his fingers for damage. “This is my duty,” he ground out. “It must be done.”

Incensed, Alistair took a step forward, raised his fist again. “You came armed with two knights as bodyguards so you could slaughter an injured, defenceless woman – who, by the way, saved all your lives less than a week ago.”

“I’ve heard her screaming too,” Irminric retorted. “Whatever demon is holding her in the Fade is torturing her, taking over her mind. I don’t want her to suffer, and she wouldn’t want to waste away like this.”

“And being murdered in cold blood by a coward is so much better.”

“I’ve known her since we were children,” he insisted, quieter now. “I do not wish for this, but it is a mercy. For the greater good.”

“She’s still fighting!” Alistair cried. “Whatever it is, she’ll beat it, and I will not let you take away her chance because your Chantry-fed paranoia likes to stab things first and ask questions later!”

“Your Highness –”

But whatever the reply was going to be, it cut short as a clatter in the doorway announced Cailan’s arrival with Graela, and hot on their heels, Fergus limping on the crutches that took the weight off his ruined legs.

“What’s going on here?” Rosslyn’s brother demanded.  

“Nothing that hasn’t already been sorted,” Alistair replied, without moving. “The knight-captain was just leaving.”

“The thing inside her is tightening its grip – you know it, too, even if you refuse to see it,” Irminric insisted.

“I will not give up on –”

“Help me…”

Rosslyn’s voice. Everyone stopped. A frown had come to her face, and her breathing had quickened in the way that usually preluded a nightmare, her eyes fluttering beneath the lids as she rose from the depths of unconsciousness.

He all but shoved Morrence out of the way to get to her, to catch her hand.

“I’m here, love – it’s me,” he murmured as he sank to his knees by the bed.

“Alistair…”

“Rosslyn –”  

She mumbled something else, too low and too quick to catch, but her expression crumpled into pain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he told her, with an iron grip on her hand, the softest touch to the side of her face. Behind him, Irminric was arguing with Fergus, but he didn’t care. “You need to wake up – I need you to come back to me. I need you to fight it.”

“There’s something… something following… so many eyes…”

“Fight it.”

Her breath shortened, brow creased, teeth gritted as her body twitched. The fit only lasted a few moments, and then she went limp once more, the grip on his hand loosening as she fell back into deep sleep. He didn’t have the heart to call her name, not this time as grief and disappointment swelled so tightly in his chest it took all his self-control not to fling something across the room. He wanted to sob. Instead, he pressed his forehead against her hand and squeezed his eyes shut, determined not to give in to the loss of control. He would not give up, and he would not lose her to whatever monster was trying to consume her.

[antivan-beau]

Black Emporium 2020 Letter

Thanks so much for checking out my letter! I’m so excited to see whatever you’ll create. These notes are more geared toward fic than art, but hopefully will give you some good ideas regardless of your medium.

General notes -

Fluff is a-okay if that’s what you like to write, but I prefer when stories have some conflict/plot/problem to overcome.

I’ve got no preference between established relationships or first-time-meeting fics. In either case, I like relationships to have a combination of “interest at first sight” and “people who grow to understand/love each other more over time.”

I’ve got a weakness for people who seem very different but find out they have more in common than they expect.

Humor in fics is really wonderful?? Feel free to let the characters get into silly situations, be awkward and unsuave, and to flex your humorous narrative voice.

I deeply enjoy rivals-to-lovers with a fun/competitive vibe, if you feel confident you can pull it off in a way that’s not mean.

I love angst. Feel free to give me messy (not abusive) relationships, and imperfect people trying their best to do right by each other. People who *could* have a good relationship, but circumstances beyond their control make a relationship impossible. You’ve got permission to hurt my heart, basically.

For E-rated fics - feel free to write E-rated stories for any ship I indicated (except for Gen& ships), but I’m personally gonna be way more interested in F/F than other categories for PWP.

Dragon Age Fic Specific Notes

I'm not a fan of AUs that are fundamentally different from canon (e.g. modern AUs, soulmate AUs.) A specific point of canon divergence is often very interesting (e.g. what if Morrigan showed up in Kirkwall during the events of DA2?) and will probably be necessary for a few of the more obscure ships I requested.

When my prompts include a Warden, Hawke, or Inquisitor, I don’t have a preference for their personality. Want to write about your OC? Feel free! Want to write somebody generic with a default name? Go for it. Want to write about one of my OCs? Be my guest, but there’s no obligation.

Likewise, please don’t feel like you have to stick to any particular worldstate or set of decisions. Whatever you feel serves your story best.

On to details on my prompts!

Leliana/Marjolaine Zevran Arainai/Rinna/Taliesen Zevran Arainai/Isabela 

Prompt set: "pre-Origins relationships." I love imperfect (or downright shitty) past relationships and how people learn from them. Would love to see a story with companions starting off in their careers (bard and assassin), learning new skills, basically becoming the people we meet. How did their early relationships shape them? If you choose to write for Zevran/Isabela, would strongly prefer a “friends with benefits” vibe to a romantic vibe. For Leliana/Marjolaine or Zevran/Rinna/Taliesen, I don't expect or particularly want these fics to have happy endings, but I would prefer that their relationships were characterized as messy, complicated, or imperfect, rather than actively abusive. Any rating. 

Female Aeducan/Anora Mac Tir Female Cousland/Anora Mac Tir Female Amell/Anora Mac Tir

Prompt set: "Let Anora kiss a lady." Want these two as co-rulers of Ferelden? Want them to meet at the Landsmeet and develop sudden and unexpected feelings for each other? Want Amell as Anora's secret mistress? Lots of options here. Any rating.

*It's fine if Alistair is around, but I would prefer not to have him be a partner in this relationship. (e.g. If you want to write about Anora and Alistair co-ruling, with a Cousland as Warden Commander in a relationship with Anora, I’d prefer the story not become Anora/Alistair/FCousland.)

Leliana & Morrigan Zevran Arainai & Leliana Leliana & Wynne

Prompt set: "Leliana gets to sit down and talk to somebody." Wanna format this as an extended, canon-like companion dialogue? A story where the two of them work together to overcome a challenge/solve a problem without the rest of their squad? A story where they start off adversarial, but unexpectedly bond over something? They fight at one another's side and discovery they work well together? Maybe they meet up after the events of Origins (or during the events of Inquisition?) and have a glass of wine and catch up on what they've been up to? Only G-M ratings, please. Only interested in exploring platonic friendships with this prompt.

Bianca Davri/Isabela Rinna/Female Tabris Female Adaar/Leliana

Prompt set: “Unusual femslash grab-bag: rogues edition.” I'm not attached to any particular plots or ideas for these. I'd love to see Bianca and Isabela in some kind of sexually-charged flirtatious professional rivalry, sometime before the events of DA2, or between the events of DA2 and DAI. For FTabris/Rinna, it would need to be some manner of Rinna lives!AU, however you want to manage that. Would love to see how you choose to characterize this gal who got fridged to fuel Zevran's tragic backstory. For FAdaar/Leliana, would prefer that Leliana was not in a relationship with the HoF.

*These are good for anybody looking for a challenge (and looking to be the first fic in a particular tag!) Any rating.

Merrill/Morrigan Flemeth/Wynne Female Adaar/Vivienne

Prompt set: “Unusual femslash grab-bag: mages edition.” I'm not attached to any particular plots or ideas for these. Some possible plots: Flemeth and Wynne have an unexpectedly flirtatious afternoon tea where they bond over being magical old ladies with big secrets. Merrill gets a chance to tell Morrigan that *she* should be the eluvian expert - yet they have unexpected chemistry. Also, would just generally love a story about a female mage Adaar discussing magic as a Tal-Vashoth with Circle Mage Vivienne.

*These are good for anybody looking for a challenge (and looking to contribute to a tag with less than five fics!) Any rating.

[thebakinglibrarian]

Character Interview—Garrett Hawke

(commissioned artwork by the talented @laugandraws !) tagged by my lovely friend @curiousthimble ❤️

'Why am I doing this again?' Hawke asks, pushing the last of the cupcakes into the oven and setting the timer.

Fenris swivels in the Thinking Stool, clipboard and pen at the ready. 'Because we're getting to know our patrons, and I tire of talking to strangers,' the Librarian tells the man, adjusting his glasses.

~~

name; Garrett Nicholas Hawke. ['Your middle name is Nicholas?'] I know, it's dreadful. I blame Mother. [*laughs*]

are you single; I uh—well. No? No. I... am? It's complicated. You know it is.

are you happy; ... Yes, I suppose I am. A lot's happened in my life—you know that—but I wouldn't change it for the world. Where I am now, I am happy.

are your parents—['We'll skip this one, Hawke.']

NINE FACTS

birthplace; Lothering. Good ol' smelly Lothering. There were fields everywhere. It was the best. Marian and I would run up hills and roll all the way down until the sun set. Sometimes I wish we could go back.

hair colour; Black—or as Marian likes to call it, Raven-coloured.

eye colour; Seafoam blue—again, Marian likes to coin these descriptions. She's the one who's better at words after all.

birthday; [*Fenris writes this down himself*]

mood; Tired. I've just gone through a whole day of baking—plus I need to wash everything but I'm being held captive in my own studio doing this interview. [*Sighs* 'I will help with the clean-up']

gender; Male. My beard gives it away, huh? ['There are women who have beards, Hawke. And they are proud of the asset too.'] The next time you see them, call me. I'd like to know what secrets their beards hold!

summer or winter; Winter for sure. Kirkwall never gets any snow. Which is why our parents always brought us to Nothern Orlais for the winter holidays.

morning or afternoon; Afternoon. ['Oh? I was under the impression that you were a morning person'] ... Yeah. Past tense. I used to like mornings when we—never mind. Afternoons keep me busy for the most part, and I appreciate that. ['...']

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

'Wait what does this have to do with the survey?' Hawke finishes folding his dirty apron and sets it on the counter behind him.

Fenris shrugs, mindlessly spinning his pen. 'Head Librarian needed these stats for purposes she did not wish to reveal to me. You can see why I hesitate interviewing strangers.'

'Fair point.'

are you in love; ... ['You do not need to answer if you do not wish—] Yes. ['... Oh.']

do you believe in love at first sight; Yes. It happened to Lavellan. And Bethy. And Marian and Anders. So yes, I do believe in it. Next question.

who ended your last relationship; I don’t have to answer this one. [*Fenris nods*]

have you ever broken someone's heart; Yes. Bethany's when I broke that serial killer's face. She—fuck. You should've seen her face, Fenris. ['I can only imagine, Hawke. I am sorry that your family had to go through something so difficult.'] I’m pretty sure the Hawke name is cursed. Thank you, though. For checking up on me during those weeks. I don't think I ever thanked you for that. ['Always a pleasure, Hawke.']

are you afraid of commitments; I... used to not be. Now I think I am.

have you hugged someone within the last week; Siobhan. She put her paw on my face after that. Then I realised that she had just used the litterbox.

have you ever had a secret admirer; Ha! Never. ['I beg to differ,' Fenris replies in a whisper]

'...'

'What's wrong?'

Fenris’ expression hardens and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. 'I do not know if you wish to answer this one.'

Hawke folds his arms across his chest. 'Fenris, I've already answered some that I don't want to.'

have you ever had your heart broken; Yes. Of course, many times. I’m an empath after all. When my parents were murdered. When Wynne passed. When Marian and Anders broke up—because I felt her heart break like it was my own. When I found out Aveline had cancer. When I realised that Bethy had been suffering alone. When you—well. I'll just leave it at that.

SIX CHOICES

love or lust; I used to think it was love, but now I think lust is easier. Neither, maybe.

lemonade or iced tea; Lemonade. Tea isn't supposed to have ice in it. I don't know what those hipster Orlesians were thinking. ['Agreed']

cats or dogs; If you ever tell Marian, I'll know because I'll probably have my tea poisoned. Dogs. ['I will make certain that your body is rushed to the morgue for autopsy ASAP so that they can track the culprit'] Gee, you're a such a good friend, Fenris.

a few best friends or many regular friends; The many. Unlike Marian, I don't like being alone. People make me happy. Plus, I get to bribe my way into their lives with all these sweets. ['You are already likeable by nature. No bribery is required, Hawke, I can assure you that.'] I—thank you.

wild night out or romantic night in; Disney, and lots of snacks ['Disney and a lot of snacks indeed.']

day or night; Day. Again, work keeps me busy.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out; No. That's Marian you're referring to.

fallen down/up the stairs; ['I know the answer to this one.'] If you write that down Fenris I swear I will place all the books in the library in the wrong shelves. ['Then you will simply have to answer to the Head Librarian'] ... Shit.

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt; Yes. It still hurts, if I'm being honest.

wanted to disappear; No. I guess I've never thought about that because I've conditioned myself to not have such irresponsible thoughts. If I disappeared, who will take care of my family?

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes; Eyes. People can lie through their smiles. You can't do that with your eyes.

shorter or taller; Shorter. I like reaching for things for them. It makes me feel useful.

intelligence or attraction; Intelligence. I never went to school, and I'm always amazed at what people know. It attracts me enough that they're willing to teach me, or share their knowledge instead of belittling me.

hook-up or relationship; Next question.

FAMILY

do you and your family get along; Both yes and no. We stab each other in the thigh but we kiss the wound to make it go away, too.

would you say you have a messed up life; 100%

have you ever ran away from home; Yes. ['You have?'] I got as far as the library. Wynne found me—knees scraped, snot-nosed and everything.

have you ever gotten kicked out; Again, Marian.

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends; Well, I don't hate her... ['A hint of dislike, then?'] Yeah, you know who I'm referring to. ['I do. Is it... just her?'] Well, who else would there be? ['I thought—never mind. Forget I said anything.']

do you consider all of your friends to be good friends; Most of them, yes. Some are trying to be better, and I appreciate them for that.

who is your best friend; Lavellan. She's been part of a huge chunk of my life—for most of the important stuff, and while she may not be physically here majority of that time, she's here when it matters the most.

who knows everything about you; My sister—Marian—naturally. Lavellan, of course. Aveline because she has this supernatural big-sister-sense and... you. ['Me?'] Sometimes you know things about me that I don't even realise. And you were always so sure about me, too.

'Present tense. Always present tense, Hawke,' Fenris corrects him.

'Even after everything?' He asks quietly, somewhat afraid of the answer.

They make eye contact. 'Of course,’ he replies, then looks away as if hurt by his own answer.

Hawke sighs. The weight in his heart doesn't match the thoughts in his head. 'You can still use it, you know. My name.'

'I did not want to overstep—'

'You're family, after all,' Hawke interrupts, reassuring him. And as the words leave him, the clutter of thoughts start to clear. He watches as Fenris' shoulders relax, and he feels the stiffness in the air dissipate. There's a small smile on Fenris' lips, mirrored instinctively by his own.

'Thank you, Garrett,' he utters the name after so long, and the weight in Hawke's heart escapes him in a flutter.

[claudia1829things]

"CINDERELLA MAN" (2005) Review

"CINDERELLA MAN" (2005) Review When I had first learned about Ron Howard’s biopic about boxing champion James J. Braddock, I was very reluctant to see the film. In fact, I did not even bother to go see it. Instead, I merely dismissed "CINDERELLA MAN" as a ‘"SEABISCUIT" in the boxing ring’. After I finally saw the movie, I must admit that my original assessment stood.

”CINDERELLA MAN” and the 2003 Oscar nominated film, ”SEABISCUIT” seemed to have a lot in common. Both were released by Universal Pictures. Both films possessed a running time that lasted over two hours, both were sentimental stories that centered around a famous sports figure and both were set during the Great Depression. Unlike ”SEABISCUIT”, ”CINDERELLA MAN” told the story about a man – namely one James J. Braddock, an Irish-American boxer from New York and Bergen, New Jersey. The movie started out with Braddock (portrayed by Russell Crowe) as a boxing heavyweight contender in 1928, who had just won an important bout against another boxer named Tuffy Griffiths. But within five years, Braddock found himself as a has-been struggling to keep his family alive during the depths of the Depression, while working as longshoreman. Thanks to a last minute cancellation by another boxer, Braddock gets a second chance to fight but is put up against the number two contender in the world, Corn Griffin, by the promoters who see Braddock as nothing more than a punching bag. Braddock stuns the boxing experts and fans with a third round knockout of the formidable Griffin. After winning a few more bouts, Braddock ends facing boxing champ, Max Baer (Craig Bierko), for the heavyweight title in 1935. Despite the similarities between ”CINDERELLA MAN” and ”SEABISCUIT”, I must admit that I regret not seeing this film in the theaters. It turned out to be a lot better than I had expected. Director Ron Howard, along with screenwriters Cliff Hollingsworth and Akiva Goldsman, did an excellent job of chronicling Braddock’s boxing career at a time when he had been labeled a has-been by the sports media. The movie also featured some excellent fight sequences that came alive due to Howard’s direction, Crowe, Bierko, and the other actors who portrayed Braddock’s opponents. Although the movie’s main event was the championship fight between Braddock and Baer during the last thirty minutes, I was especially impressed by the sequence that featured Braddock’s fight against Art Lansky (Mark Simmons). In my opinion, most of the praise for these fight sequences belonged to cinematographer Salvatore Totino, and editors Daniel P. Hanley and Mike Hill (who both received Academy Award nominations for their work) for injecting the boxing sequences with rich atmosphere and effective editing. Ironically, the movie’s centerpiece – at least in my opinion – was its deception of the Depression. I understand that Howard had used the city of Toronto to serve as 1930s Manhattan and New Jersey. And judging from the results on the screen, he did an excellent job of utilizing not only the cast led by Crowe, but also the talents of production designer Wynn Thomas, Gordon Sim’s set decorations, Peter Grundy and Dan Yarhi’s art direction and Totino’s photography to send moviegoers back in time. There are certain scenes that really seemed to recapture the desperation and poverty of the Depression’s early years: *Braddock begs for money from the sports promoters and boxing managers at Madison Square Garden *Mae Braddock’s discovery of the gas man turning off the family’s heat *The Braddocks witness the desertion of a man from his wife and family *Braddock’s search for his friend, Mike Wilson (Paddy Considine), at a Hooverville in Central Park Howard and casting agents, Janet Hirshenson and Jane Jenkins, managed to gather an impressive group of cast members for the movie. The ironic thing is that despite the impressive display of talent on screen, hardly anyone gave what I would consider to be a memorable performance – save for one actor. Russell Crowe naturally gave an impressive, yet surprisingly likeable performance as James Braddock. Although I found his performance more than competent, I must say that I would not consider it to be one of his best roles. There was nothing really fascinating or complex about his Braddock. I suspect that screenwriters Hollingsworth and Goldsman could have made Braddock a more interesting character . . . and simply failed to rise to the occasion. I have to say the same about their portrayal of the boxer’s wife, Mae Braddock. Portrayed by Renee Zellweger, her Mae was a loving and supporting spouse, whose only kink in her personality revolved around her dislike of Braddock’s boxing. In fact, Zellweger’s Mae threatened to become a cliché of the countless number of women who end up as wives of men in dangerous professions. Thankfully, Zellweger managed to give an excellent performance and with Crowe, create a strong screen chemistry. Paul Giamatti received an Academy Award nomination for his portrayal of Braddock’s manager, Joe Gould. Many had assumed that Giamatti had received his nomination as a consolation prize for being passed over for his superb performance in ”SIDEWAYS”. After seeing his performance as Gould, I suspect they might be right. I am not saying that Giamatti gave a bad performance. He was excellent as Braddock’s enthusiastic and supportive manager. But there was nothing remarkable about it . . . or worthy of an Oscar nomination. If there is one performance that I found impressive, it was Paddy Considine’s portrayal of Mike Wilson, Braddock’s friend and co-worker at the New York docks. Considine’s Wilson was a former stockbroker ruined by the 1929 Crash, who was forced to become a menial laborer in order to survive. Although his plight seemed bad enough to generate sympathy, Considine did an excellent job of portraying the character’s bitterness and cynicism toward his situation, President Roosevelt’s ability to lead the country out of the Depression and the world itself. I hate to say this, but I feel that the wrong actor had received the Oscar nomination. God knows I am a big fan of Giamatti. But if it had been left up to me, Considine would have received that nomination. We finally come to Craig Bierko’s performance as Max Baer, champion boxer and Braddock’s final opponent in the movie. Baer’s character first makes his appearance in a championship fight against Primo Carnera, following Braddock’s surprising upset over Corn Griffin. From the start, he is portrayed as a brash and aggressive fighter who does not know when to quit. And it gets worse. Before I continue, I want to say that I have nothing against the actor who portrayed Baer. Like Crowe, Zellweger and Giamatti, Bierko had to do the best he could with the material given to him. And he did the best he could. Bierko, being an above-average actor, infused a great deal of energy and charisma into his portrayal of Baer. It seemed a shame that Howard’s direction, along with Hollingsworth and Goldman’s script forced Bierko to portray Baer as some kind of callous thug who felt no remorse for killing two other fighters in the ring and was not above needling Braddock at a Manhattan nightclub by making suggestive remarks about Mae. Baer’s son, Max Baer Jr. (”THE BEVERLY HILLIBILLIES”) had been naturally outraged by what he deemed was the movie’s false portrayal of the boxer. What the movie failed to convey was that Baer had only killed one man in the ring – Frankie Campbell – and had been so shaken up by the other man’s death that it affected his boxing career for several years. Nor did Baer ever make any suggestive remarks toward Mae Braddock. He also hugged and congratulated Braddock following the latter’s June 1935 victory. I really do not know why Howard thought it was necessary to turn Baer into a one-note villain. Someone claimed that the movie needed a nemesis for Braddock that seemed more solid than the vague notion of the Depression. If that is true, I believe that Howard and the movie’s screenwriters turned Baer into a villain for nothing. As far as I am concerned, the Great Depression made an effective and frightening nemesis for Braddock. This was brilliantly conveyed in Braddock’s bout with Art Lasky. At one point in this sequence, the New Jersey boxer seemed to be on the verge of defeat . . . until his memories of his family and how the Depression had affected them . . . urged him to a hard-won victory. Sequences like the Braddock-Lasky fight and Braddock’s search for Mike Wilson in the Central Park Hooverville made the Great Depression a more effective nemesis than the one-dimensional and crude behavior of a falsely portrayed Max Baer ever could. Despite the movie’s badly written portrayal of Baer, and slightly uninteresting major characters like James and Mae Braddock, and Joe Gould; ”CINDERELLA MAN” is still an excellent biopic that featured exciting boxing sequences. More importantly, it is one of the few Hollywood films that revealed an in-depth look into one of the country’s most traumatic periods – namely the Great Depression. Flawed or not, I believe that it is still worth watching.

[brightly-painted-canvas]

for the series ‘fic I think about all the time but I’ll never be able write’, I’m honoured to present you:

Band of Brothers’s High School Football (and I mean soccer!) Team AU

featuring:

- the team’s name is Currahee Easy of Toccoa High School (I don’t make the rules... I mean yes I do, but you know...) and they’re basically shit at playing football/soccer - it’s not that they don’t have good individual players or don’t train hard enough, it’s that their coach, PE teacher Sobel, doesn’t know shit about tactics and theory and he’s just too much of a dick to admit it - so the team trains hard everyday under every weather condition, but they still suck in championship games - (it’s by then a well known thing in Toccoa High School) - except this year is senior year for a big chunk of the team and most of them really really want to win at least one game before parting ways and going to college - so some of them basically mutiny against Sobel and go beg Principal Sink for a new coach - (he’s easily convinced after he sees the disgraceful row of defeats the team managed to string in the past three years) (it’s disgusting) - he calls in his office the other PE teacher, Richard Winters (who’s in fact already the coach of the baseball team) and gives Winters the responsibility of coaching the football team as well - thing is: right until that moment Dick Winters knows nothing about football, but he’s not a bitch about it so he buys a lot of books and watches a lot of youtube videos and drags his best-friend-and-maybe-also-more Lewis Nixon (history teacher at Toccoa) to a bunch of games to study - he’s a good student because when he meets the team for the first time and they try some of the tactics out, they seem to work - (he goes with basic 4-4-2 formation but his full backs are fast and both his side midfielders can shift to the attack on the occasion) - so the championship starts and the boys are for once both physically and tactically ready (mentally not so much, but hey can you blame a rowdy team of 20 teenagers?)

- so the team is composed like this: - D. Hoobler as the keeper (2nd keeper: D. Webster, although everyone is secretly glad he never plays because last time he did he was reading books during the game when the ball was on the other side of the field... at least on the bench he can read as much as he wants and pretend to be too precious and literate to play sports) - “Buck” Compton and “Bull” Randleman as center backs (reserves: “Tab” Talbert and “Pat” Christenson) - “Babe” Heffron and Frank Perconte as full backs (reserves: “Popeye” Wynn and A. Blithe) - center midfielders: Joe Liebgott and Johnny Martin (reserve: D. Malarkey) - side midfielders: “Shifty” Powers and “Skip” Muck (reserve: A. Penkala) - forwards: Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye (reserves: “Chuck” Grant and P. O’Keefe) - coach: R. Winters; coach’s alcoholic husband: L. Nixon; 2nd coach: C. Lipton; manager: H. Welsh; assistant and medic: “Doc” Roe; referee: R. Speirs - (everyone is scared of the local referee as there are numerous rumors circulating about him, like the one that says he once stabbed a protesting player in the eye with the red card) - Toccoa also has a student radio broadcast and the designated sportcaster is George Luz, so he also follows the team in away games (and having him around helps with the team’s morale) - the first match is a draw, which is neither a good or a bad thing, but Winters is still kinda proud of the guys and buys ice cream for all of them and says inspirational things like “the best is yet to come” - the second match is a whole struggle against the defending champions of the previous year, which makes the opposite team’s players a bit too arrogant and which causes yellow cards to fly around - to the surprise of absolutely nobody Liebgott is the first to get a red card and gets sent out. To the surprise of everybody except his teammates, he’s double booked because he picks a fight not with the opposite team but with his own (specifically: Guarnere asking for more forward passes and Webster, still on the bench, for seemingly no reason at all). Luz announces that it’s probably the first time in the history of football that this happens (yay for a new embarrassing record for Currahee Easy!) - Easy loses in the last minutes after a struggle to maintain the 0 - 0 and Lipton has to intervene before the whole team riots against the referee (not Speirs this time) who also gives a penalty to the opposite team in recovery time. It ends 2 - 0 for the defenders and in the brawl that follows the three final whistles Heffron loses a shoe, Toye gets a bloody nose and Liebgott sneaks out from the locker room just to throw a few punches - they win the third match. The opposite team never shows up at Toccoa High School so it’s a forfeit win - (rumors say the opponents didn’t want to attend not because they were scared of Easy, but because they were scared of Speirs, the designated referee for the game) - after the sixth match they start to win for their own merits and everyone is ecstatic. The whole school gets involved (all thanks to Luz’s enthusiastic commentaries and sport-related news) and there’s suddenly an high attendance of audience at their games - some of them even gets fans, like some guy starting to admire Guarnere’s technique and some girl suddenly making banners for Christenson or even Webster (though that must be less for athletic merits and more for aesthetic reasons, much to all the other player’s displeasure)(and Liebgott’s absolute rage, though no one gets exactly why)(c’mon guys...) - they manage to end the championship at an average position in the chart and with enough points to access a row of head to head games - the last match of the season is one of those direct clashes and becomes very important not only because it’s the last match ever for the senior students, but also because winning would mean getting an access to summer play-off - everyone is super nervous - coach Winters makes another one of his nice motivational speeches which leaves almost everyone near-tears (even the tough ones)(and especially Lew, who still gets free access to the locker room despite not being directly involved with the team) - things turn bad real soon real fast because during the first half within minutes both Guarnere and Toye get a leg injury and need to be substituted by Grant and, to the whole team’s horror and desperation, sweet innocent O’Keefe - Doc Roe gets helped by Lip and Welsh to get Bill and Joe out of the pitch and most of all to placate their rage and frustration (my poor boys...) - despite the injuries and early substitutions, Shifty manages to score an outside the box stunning volley for the 1 - 0 that makes everyone in the audience literally freaks out - the opponents equalize right at the end of first half with a goal following a contested free kick right outside Easy’s penalty area - the second half ends on a draw despite the team’s best efforts in maintaining their shape and positions as well as their nerves (and everyone is extremely proud of them, but most of all surprised by Liebgott)(considering he’s not even being supervised by Martin, who had been substituted by Malark at some point) - after the first extra time Dick is already thinking about the penalties: to the sudden shock of everyone present at the game (and the delight of his hardcore fangirls), Hoob gets substituted with Webster - (all of Easy, as one man, think they’re doomed) - the penalties are a matter of even more nerves and sweat and tears, but the five kickers get chosen (Grant, Buck, Skip, Heffron and Shifty) and after that, everything is in their preferred foot (and in Web’s hands) - Web saves the first penalty and the whole school gasps in disbelief - (while Dick and Lip share a knowing smile on the bench) - Grant scores, Buck scores, Skip’s shot unfortunately gets saved and they’re back to equality - no one speaks (Luz included!), no one even blinks - Babe manages to score a stunning lob penalty that has the whole field freaking out again - (Bill from the bench points at him and screams: ‘That’s my boy!’ jumping on his uninjured leg) - Shifty scores with cynical precision (and Winters almost sobs out loud) - as Webster takes his position between the posts, silence falls again all around the pitch and tension is so thick it feels like it could be cut with a knife - right before the opponents fifth kicker positions the ball on the penalty spot, everyone takes a deep breath and holds it for seemingly endless minutes - Webster saves - everyone screams - chaos is everywhere - Lieb kisses Web on the mouth - someone cries - (probably Web’s fangirls) - (and also mama!Lip since he’s so proud of his boys) - after that everything is a blur of celebrations and tears and hugs and also other less celebrated kisses (but Babe gets one from Doc and Dick gets several ones from Lew and, to be fair, no one is really that surprised) - Luz loses his voice at some point and completely forgets being on air on the school’s radio as he runs down to the field to celebrate with the team (which results in long minutes of radio silence he’d be scolded for the next day)(and, for what is worth, he does not give a single fuck) - Easy chases coach Winters across the field and lift him in the air to celebrate, then they do the same for Lip and Welsh and (surprisingly?) Nixon - (Doc Roe refuses and hides behind Babe and Bill and everyone loves him too much to force him anyway) - more chaos ensues and rumors say the celebrations went on for weeks - (also some rumors say referee Speirs took part to the celebrations as 2nd coach Lipton’s date, but no one present ever confirmed or denied that) ...and that’s basically it. Sorry for any mistake: I typed this all in one go and my football terminology is strictly Italian-based (just as much as my football enthusiasm lol) so I may have got something wrong. Thanks a bunch to my sister @gaiayukari85 for having helped with the plot (as often happens when we create silly stories)