#the delicate flower quest is so annoying someone help me-

[lavendernovaart]

A delicate flower crown

[kingofdinosaurs]

3 6 8 9 12 14 24

feel free to answer however many of em you want for any media you're into (that I actually know)

sorry, unrelated, I just found out they let you DM people images now? What the fuck?

no yeah you can send people images now it rocks thank you for the bridge. going through all of them because im airport bored

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

ok well the worst one EVER was someone saying they thought potemkin should have died in xrd IN THE TAG which was. fucking rude and also totally stupid. honourable mention to that time so long ago i barely remember how it happened when i saw a pokespe fan assert that "wally could never have done what emerald did!" hey why do you think that. when wally was literally in the oras version of the battle frontier (I know oras was out because that's how i was a fan of wally. is it because he's disabled. i want you to fucking say it.

6. already answered!

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

hmm... idk if it's even a common thing anymore because i avoid it like the plague but if i ever have to see "the knight doesn't have a mind or will" arguments again I'll like find whoever started it and put them in a jigsaw trap fuck you fuck you fuck you did you even play the game??? the delicate flower quest alone should be enough to prove you wrong. if the knight can't have its own agenda why the fuck would it go out of its way to do this small unnecessary kindness? also the narrative itself doesn't make sense if you assume the pale king is right about the knight, both in terms of "what was the fucking point then?" and because of the fucking. REASON THE KNIGHT CAME BACK TO HALLOWNEST. BECAUSE THEY WANTED TO HELP THEIR SIBLING. idk if this one is even common anymore but it was frustratingly common back in the day

9. worst part of canon

for persona there's so many choices i feel paralysed, as with blazblue, so I'll go with a wild card: dead cells! anyway anytime when someone acts like the beheaded is just cut and dry easy peasy The King like it can not be that fucking simple that's fucking stupid. he's literally the ship of theseus but a slime piloting around a headless corpse. like at this point you're just giving annoying youtubers ways to be more annoying quit itttttt

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

SYSTEMMMM i love system so fucking much I'm crazy about her. nobody gives a fuck about her because she's a relatively easy boss in a fighting game many people do not like (a crossover, no less!). but she fucking rocks so hard!!! she's so funny in every scene she's in, i really appreciate that about her. she's kind of like queen from deltarune if that helps anyone. it's not even hard to go watch like cross tag story mode it is literally all on youtube everyone who hasn't go meet her! she deserves some attention!

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

actually i can't lie i just like don't have it in me to trawl the fanfic mines anymore so idk what they're doing right now like it is No Longer my problem

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

oh god i have no clue. i don't get involved in arguments like this anymore for my health so i have no clue

[writeblrfantasy]

a king and his knight | part 1

from the day he was knighted, the knight had cared for the king. he wasn’t a king then, only a younger brother who would never become crown prince. he was quiet, kept to himself and his books, but snappy and feisty when provoked. he didn’t seem to care much about his future or his family.

the knight had taken oaths of loyalty for the sick king and his strong, eldest golden son, to serve and protect them and put their safety before all else. but while he and his fellows trained hard, worked themselves to the bone, defended and protected and upheld their oaths, his fellows looked to the king and crown prince, and the knight looked to the younger prince.

his fellows would try to curry favor from the older royals by helping them with small tasks or attempting great big ones, quests that either ended in their tragic ends or with beautiful prizes to give as tribute. the knight, meanwhile, gathered roses from the gardens and left them in a bundle by the prince’s door, since he’d never seen anyone give the prince flowers. he searched for and left him books he’d overheard the prince talk about not having, took a long journey to the sea to collect rocks and a jar of sand on his day off all because the prince had said to the librarian, one of the only people he conversed with, that he longed to go there. the knight had been seated at a table a few aisles over, pretending to read his knights’ handbook, as he often was.

he left notes with all of his gifts in his best attempt at courtly script, though he knew how bad it was compared to the prince’s elegant hand. he wrote little phrases that he hoped sounded charming, romantic, instead of creepy. these roses may be beautiful, but they have nothing on you. these stories could not possibly be greater than anything you might come up with. the beaches are just like you to me: breathtaking, untouchable, perfect. the one difference between the beaches and the prince was that the beaches were terribly difficult to reach. the prince was impossible.

these notes were never signed, there would be no point, if the prince even recognized his name.

the knight usually left his gifts at the prince’s door in the mornings just before he had to go to early training, and he’d only once been able to watch the prince find his gifts. that one time was burned into his memory, something precious and holy that still took his breath away to think about.

the knight had woken late after staying up all night preparing his next gift, and scrambled to get ready, knowing his commander would have his hide at morning training. perhaps to delay the inevitable a little longer, he’d stopped at the prince’s doorway on the way, the only royal apartment not guarded at all times. he wasn’t deemed important enough, he didn’t have any servants, either.

the knight had placed the wood box with the straps in them in front of the door, arranging his note so it faced the doorway, when he heard shuffling inside. he’d quickly hidden around the corner, heart beating quick. that’d never happened before. he’d never been almost caught. no one was up as early as the knights were. he was always gone thirty minutes before the prince was even awake, or so he assumed. today his lie in made him catch the prince coming out of his apartments.

it had occurred to him in that moment he didn’t know what the prince did with his gifts. he’d never seen the roses or the jar of sand or the books with the prince. he’d never even seen the inside of the prince’s rooms. he’d never even spoken to the prince. the prince could just be scoffing and throwing his gifts out the window, crumpling the notes, debating telling the knights that he had a stalker. the knight had turned his head, knowing he wouldn’t be able to bear knowing if that was what the prince truly did, but the door opened before he could run away. he was forced to watch, helpless, as the prince tripped on the box.

“another one?” the prince murmured, his back to the knight as he bent to pick it up. the knight held his breath when the prince straightened up and he saw the prince was smiling, in a soft, subtle way unlike the wide grins of his relatives. was it just the sunlight, or were the prince’s cheeks growing red? the knight choked on a breath.

the prince adjusted the coat he always wore, a sky blue with a white fur interior, and cradled the box gently as he opened the lid. he held the note between his teeth as he examined the leather straps and buckles, much like a belt, with furrowed eyebrows. he set the box down to read the note, which said, i wish i could carry your books for you, but here is this instead, so that your arms do not get so tired. the prince could cinch a stack of books up with the straps and carry the loop like a bag. the knight knew how annoying it was to shove books in and out of bags. he’d used straps like these for years.

he’d been bolder with this note, mentioning himself for the first time. it had apparently gone over well, as the prince smiled again and brought his new gift inside his room, into which the knight finally snuck a glance. he saw a writing desk in front of a window, the jar of sand, the books he’d given the prince, before he made his escape. he did indeed get his hide figuratively whipped at training that morning, but it was more than worth it,

what had made the knight fall for the prince, someone so helplessly unreachable, someone who would never love him back? why did he neglect his duties and loyalties to the proper royals in favor of daydreaming about the prince, about showering him in the attention he deserved but never got, protecting him, kissing the back of his hand? well, the prince was breathtaking, with rich brown hair that shone gold in the sun, the loveliest brown eyes, the smoothest milky skin, long delicate fingers and trimmed nails. he was pretty, no, beautiful, the opposite of the knight, who was tall and sandy haired and a strong knight, a good fighter, but one who knew how to serve. just not the people he was supposed to.

the prince was a head shorter than the knight, which opened up all sorts of doors regarding how nicely he would fit in the knight’s arms, safe from the world, easy to protect. he was passionate and talented and had a brilliant mind, but simply because he’d been born two years after his brother, he was passed over, left to himself, without any companions but his books. the knight wanted to give him the world, and he would do it however he could, at whatever cost to himself.

one day, there came invaders from the south, with an army who matched the king’s own. the king and the crown prince assured all that things would be fine and under control, but the knight knew that this would never be the case. the royals were confident of success, the knight’s fellows were nervous but excitedly preparing for battle, and the knight’s prince hadn’t changed at all, still spending his days in the library, where the knight spent every moment he could in the aisles across from him.

the king gave a speech the morning of the battle, when his scouts had seen the enemy close to the royal castle. the king was too old and frail to fight, but his son wasn’t, their golden jewel that every knight drooled over, with his white toothed grin and his muscles and his red cloak and warhorse. the king beamed with pride as he sent his son and his knights off, but the knight slipped away, something easy enough to do in a crowd that large, when everything was chaos no matter how much the king liked to pretend it wasn’t.

going back to the castle instead of going to fight for the king was technically treasonous, but all the knight could think of was the prince, alone in the castle, oblivious or uncaring to the danger he was in. he drew his sword, something he didn’t often wear since it got in the way but was well used to wielding, and climbed the staircases he’d just went down, retracing his steps subconsciously to the prince’s rooms.

he steeled himself outside of it and took a deep breath. he could already hear the sounds of battle in the distance, war cries and blades knocking against one another. he prayed for things to hold just a little bit longer.

he knocked on the prince’s door. when the prince opened it, he looked surprised to see the knight, a bit confused, confirming the knight’s suspicions he’d never even seen the knight before. his heart sank a little. the prince’s beauty was even more stunning up close, long eyelashes and a slight blush to his cheeks.

these were not the first words he’d thought he would say to his prince, he’d have preferred something romantic and charming, but that was a loss he could not mourn right now.

“i’m here to save you. come with me and i’ll protect you, i swear on my life.”

if you read all the way to the end, thank you. i’m going to post part 2 very very soon. this piece means a lot to me, as it’s the first thing i’ve written in months that i’ve been excited for, unable to stop. a mere hour before i started writing this i wondered if i would ever be able to write again, and then i had the most fun writing something i’ve had in a long, long time. this is a reminder to myself and everyone else to write whatever you want, and don’t turn down an impulse to write something you want to because it’s not relevant to your current wip or it’s stupid or anything your brain thinks. write!! life is too short. i had SO much fun writing this and you should write what you want too :)

[llycaons]

episode 8:

I once saw a fan recommend stop watching at episode 32 because they felt that the preres storyline was perfect and anything after was too confusing to be worth it. baffling to me. now I know the postres storyline was hard to follow but lets be fair. there is bullshit going on in both storylines (plus how could anyone want to skip the intimacy, the healing, the love, clearing his name, freedom, being an uncle, mentoring, coming full circle as an adult with support and a new life, and also the story conflict resolution??? like WHAT??)

anyway from what I can gather, the dancing goddess woke up 20 (TWENTY) years ago and attacked the wens, including young wq and wn (making them late and mid twenties in current arc which is obviously absurd), and wen ruohan subdued her, took her yin iron (is that how he discovered it?) and chained her up

present day wen chao, in order to attack lwj (and wwx), breaks the binding array and the chains and sets her on the community. wwx and lwj bind her again (in the next ep) and when postres storyline happens, wwx is surprised to see her unleashed again. nhs unleashed her? or pretended to? the thing that attacked them wasn’t really there?

I completely forgot about that scene when wen chao comes in to harass lxc. the implication that he either turns into the dire owl and flies away or is carried away by the dire ow is likely unintentional, but very intriguing nonetheless. like, wasn't he just in qishan?

seeing lxc visibly worried about lwj is such a wonderful scene. lwj’s connection to his family is one of the few things he cares about besides wwx so it’s always nice to remember, gives him some depth. and I’m very fond of lxc’s older-brother concern for him. like, he’s loved, you know? he’s loved.

anyway, cute character moments, but not as many as last episode. im so impatient for the indoctrination camp/sunshot/BM arcs they’re so so good and here we are watching wwx and lwj fight a statue. there’s not even any tender moments

jc mocking wwx for being unmasculine and liking rabbits would it kill him to be nice for once in his life why is he always such a dick. I know why but also ugh this is why people can’t stand you jc

then later sneaking out to help wwx....with that beautiful smile too. truly do think it adds to the story that jc smiles like that maybe four or five times but they look so gorgeous every time

do not throw rabbits!!! they are delicate!!!

“they can’t be happy if we take them away from their family” if I think too hard about who this line applies to I will get really sad

wwx writing a smiley face on his “I ran away to night-hunt lol” note is so cute what the hell. he’s so cute this age. he asked the bunnies what they thought about lwj’s treatment of him. like hey bunnies, we’re friends, right? we’re friends? elder lan yi said so. we’ve been through battles together and now we have a quest together and he’s my match and unlike anyone i’ve ever met before and I just want to be with him etc. etc.

to be fair, lwj is really hard to read

he said bye to the bunnies though omg...

wq is so smart i love her. her whole lack of reaction when wen chao accused her of having a crush on wwx or lwj. buddy thats a lesbian she just has a conscience.

shame we never see the flower lady

“brother wei, we’re just the same” BI BUDDIES

nhs and wwx are friends for shenanigans but wwx clearly doesn’t take him very seriously and sees him as someone who needs protection, he seems genuinely annoyed that nhs is barging in on his soulmate hero quest with lwj

when wwx scared lwj with the mask it was actually a very clear case of the microexpression acting. I think people call a lot of lwj faces microexpressions when he’s literally not making any kind of expression at all but this one was definitely there, just subtle.

have I mentioned yet how little I like lwj’s teenage wig because it looks so bad. makes him look like an asshole. and teen lwj is kind of an asshole. anyway I think it looks bad

wwx is wearing hairpieces though! I don’t think he does that in any later arcs

stoic love interests are so hard to do well. the only other example of someone acting this well with so little expression of joy is colin firth’s darcy from bbc pride and prejudice. I know for a fact the man didn’t smile the entire miniseries, until the very final shot when they were driving away in the wedding carriage together. it’s not easy, but he pulled it off! like lwj, a ton of his acting is in the eyes and in his body language and gestures, as well as character development through action. cool stuff.

the technique that wwx uses to save lwj in the cave is his binding/bonding thing he invented that he was talking about right?

god these fight scenes are not what I’m here for can we skip to the soulful stares. I’ve been living in postcanon too much in my head, I just want to be there already. but it’s a journey. it’s a journey

[elysianrey]

what could be as lonely as love?

[part two of it’s a slow cinnamon summer. read part 1]

(a/n: Y’ALL. I JUST DELETED THE ORIGINAL POST. I’m so mad at myself... if you liked this or reblogged it sometime yesterday or today...feel free to do it again. The feedback i’ve gotten has honestly been the best. You guys are amazing. I will try to get part 3 up tomorrow. xoxo Content T+)

In the weeks following the secret lake party, Josie decided to throw a small get together at her house for their group of friends. Although Anne did not necessarily consider herself a friend of Josie’s, Ruby had begged and pleaded in the wake of Diana’s absence, especially since Moody was going to be there, and the two had been spending an awful lot of time together. Ruby was convinced that it would only be a matter of days before they officially began courting. Anne could find it within herself to be grateful that Ruby had given up her lifelong pining of Gilbert, however, the reasons why were still not entirely clear to her. 

But she knew it had something to do with that night at the lake, where she was beginning to see him as potentially more than a friend. And it frightened her.

Josie spared no expense in ensuring her friends had plates of food and many glasses of punch to help them enjoy the midsummer evening. After one glass, Ruby was giggling uncontrollably at a joke Moody had made and by glass two she was sobbing hysterically at a song he was strumming on his banjo. 

This was when she understood exactly just what kind of beverage this punch had in it, and she took it upon herself to drink enough until the movements of her body felt looser and her mind was a little less sad. Marilla trusted her judgement and Anne had grown far wiser when it came to drinking alcohol since the day when Diana and her consumed a whole bottle of raspberry cordial. She smiled reminiscently at the memory as she swirled the orange liquid in her glass and finished the rest with a silent toast to her bosom friend, hoping that she was savoring her time in France. 

Deciding she had enough of the girls’ dramatics, Anne slipped outside of the house into the clear, July evening that she was fixed on enjoying properly. 

She found herself trailing delightedly through the Pye’s enormous garden, the scent of blooming roses wafting through the twilight air and encompassing her slightly buzzed senses. Giggling lowly, she closed her eyes and attempted to follow the direction of that glorious smell with solely the use of her nose. She reached her arms out to feel for the delicate texture of a petal as she continued further into the maze of tall bushes. 

“Where, oh where, are you my lovely friends?” she called out joyfully into the nature surrounding her. For the most part, she was doing well to avoid running into the walls of bushes, but occasionally she walked headlong into one and had to use her vision by slightly squinting open one eye to redirect her path. The several glasses of punch she drank with her classmates seemed to be helping her discover the world in a new light tonight and she could not resist feeling grateful for it.

Eventually, her fingers found the source of her elation, and she knew she had made her discovery when she felt not only the feather-soft, smoothness of rose petals, but also the prickly thorns that accompanied them. Gasping from the slight ache on her pointer finger from the unexpected sharpness, Anne let her eyes drift open fully to appreciate the hundreds of red blooms that lay before her.

“Ah, there you are,” she grinned cheerily, sticking her finger in her mouth to stop the small drop of blood that had formed. “You are especially marvelous tonight with your velvety red petals and deliciously smelling perfume.” She dropped her hand to glide along the tops of the flowers and revelled in their feel.

“Anne?” 

The girl heard her name, yet her jubilant ministrations on the rose bushes continued. 

“Anne is that you?”

Pausing this time, she turned slowly to face the owner of the curious, low voice. Before her sat Gilbert Blythe, glass of punch in his hand, resting comfortably on an elegant wired bench that was almost humorously too petite for his large, broad form. At this realization, Anne let out an amused laugh, her mind still rather loose from the alcohol she had consumed.

Gilbert’s eyebrow raised in perplexity, his eyes looking bright and content in the dimming evening air. The side of his mouth quirked upwards, revealing half of a smile, as Anne’s laughter began to grow louder and harder until she was clutching her side in a desperate attempt to keep herself from toppling onto the green ground. 

“Oh Gilbert,” Anne choked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she choked for air. “I--you--” she attempted again, pushing the falling tendrils of coppery hair back from her face. “That bench you’re sitting on--it looks as it could nearly topple in half at any moment.” If only her brain would have allowed her to consider the words coming out of her mouth…

“Anne Shirely-Cuthbert,” Gilbert chuckled, quite entertained at this girl before him. “Are you calling me fat?” His face broke into a wide, dimpled smile that Anne could not help but saunter toward slightly, her feet moving on their own accord. 

“I would never,” she playfully gasped, stopping directly in front of him so that she could get a better look at his dapper features. This was the happiest she had seen him look in a long time, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the drink in his hand. It had certainly aided in lowering her inhibitions.  “I am positive that your big ego could do that all on it’s own.”

His face twisted into a mock expression of hurt and Anne’s laughter returned, a melodious tune ringing in his ears. “My ego may never return to the size it once was after a remark like that, Anne,” he grinned, his eyes staring fondly into hers. He brought his glass up to his lips for another sip of his drink.

Anne watched as his lips curled around the rim of the glass, an unwelcome heat forming in the pit of her stomach. These were not details about him she would usually notice and she tried her best to redirect her line of thinking onto something less romantical. 

“Do you know what I’ve always wanted to do, Gil? Touch your hair,” she gingerly stated. Great, Anne. That was just the perfectly normal comment to say to someone who was definitely not your romantic partner.

She watched his shoulders tense and the lighthearted expression on his face faltered enough for her to notice. “Anne,” he replied in a tone that denied everything his body had already told her. “How many drinks have you had tonight?”

Anne crossed her arms, irritation building in her chest. For him to think that she needed to be drunk to say something like she wanted to touch his hair. The nerve. “Why is it of your concern? I’ll have you know that I am entirely in control of my thoughts and actions, thank you very much,” came her terse response.

He glanced away from her, not buying into what she had told him, however, he would not dare tell her that for he was a bit tipsy himself.

Anne waited crossly until he finished the drink in his hand, which he was gulping down this time. No longer caring that she would later regret a majority of the choices she was going to make from this point forward, the freckled girl stared boldly at him gulp down his drink, his adam’s apple bobbing, wanting nothing more than to prove him wrong.

The heat in the pit of her stomach had returned, and was growing until she could feel it everywhere. Her whole body was hot and it was all because of him. The handsome boy in front of her with his deep, warm eyes that constantly brought reassurance in her moments of doubt, the spotted beauty marks on his face that she wished to count and connect to form new constellations, and that hair. His dark, wild head of curls that folded in every direction, and had been tempting her to reach out and run her fingers through for weeks now. The jealousy she had felt all because of those water droplets that had clung to it that night. 

When he turned his head back toward her, he seemed to pick up on the newfound intensity in her sparkling blue eyes. He rivaled her dark scrutiny with a matching expression of his own.

“So may I?” she asked once again, her chin tilting up to signal that she was not going to relinquish this quest.

“Fine.” His retort was clipped and unfeeling, which left Anne further annoyed that he was acting childish about simply granting her this one wish.

Normally, she was not the selfish type. She was always ready to leave her work at the drop of a hat and run off to help someone in need. But not today. No, in this secluded section of Josie Pye’s garden, filled up on a little too much spiked punch, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was bound and determined to get her way. 

She sealed the distance between them, inching forward until her knees brushed against his. Despite the fabric separating them, her skin burned hot enough that she almost stumbled backward. Quickly steadying herself, she reached out a tentative hand that ghosted along the side of his head. Anne was trying her hardest not to look at Gilbert for she had a sinking suspicion that she would know exactly what she would see if she looked into his eyes. Her hand trembled as she moved her fingertips ever so slowly along the tips of his hair.

Then she brought her fingers into his curly locks and he let out a small gasp of pent up air that she feared had come from her mouth instead because as she touched his hair lightly with one hand, her heart nearly exploded out of her chest cavity in trepidation. His silky strands were everything that she imagined and more. It was as if she were running her hands along the tall wildflowers that grew in the fields near Green Gables. She began to lightly twist a finger around a strand and she watched as it coiled gracefully to her request and then bounce back to its original form. However, one hand coursing through his luscious, sleek hair was not enough for her, and Anne raised her other hand to continue her analysis. As that hand landed on his head, Gilbert’s hands were suddenly grabbing ahold of her waist.

Anne immediately froze, her tender exploration coming to a halt as she inhaled sharply at the contact. She looked straight ahead at the green shrubbery before her and her fuzzy brain wondered if he was going to let go. He did not. Yet she would be a liar if she tried to deny that she didn’t enjoy the slight pressure his large hands were currently presenting on her waist. Reluctantly removing her hands from his hair, she brought them down to hover on top of his hands instead, still not meeting his gaze. 

That’s when she heard a whisper, barely loud enough for her ears to register, and quite desperate, “Anne.”

And for the second time that evening, the copper-haired girl was selfish and finally gave in to what she wanted, no matter how insane the desire was, her blood pumping furiously throughout her body with courage. Closing her eyes, she swiftly pressed her lips against his, sunbursts of light exploding behind her eyelids. A noise of shock bubbled out of Gilbert’s throat at first, then he was pulling her closer to him and her body was wedged between his legs quite scandalously, but when had she ever been one to care about what society deemed as proper?

Here she was, heatedly kissing the most beautiful boy she had ever met, and he was returning her advances with all of the passion and fervor she had ever dreamed of. His lips were slightly chapped, however they felt nearly as soft as his hair that her fingers had returned to, and when she pulled at it, a low moan reverberated in the back of his throat, and Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was confident that Gilbert Blythe was going to be the reason for her undoing. 

Finally pulling back, Gilbert leaned his forehead against hers and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Anne-girl,” he murmured breathlessly, a hand coming up from her waist and caressing the freckles on her cheek with his knuckles. Anne’s heart soared from hearing his affectionate nickname spoken from his lips in such a delicate manner. “I think you’ve made your point,” he added with a quirk of his lips. 

“Hmm...I’m not sure I have,” she teased lightheartedly, tugging again at the dark strands, which prompted Gilbert to go in for another stolen kiss. She ended it quickly though by pulling away from his embrace from where he sat on the bench and taking a distancing set away from him. “We should be getting back to the house. It’s getting late.” Her mind felt like it was becoming clearer. Anne would have tried to walk back by herself, but the game she had made up to find the roses had ultimately left her lost in this garden.

Gilbert could not help hiding the look of disappointment that crossed his face at her abrupt request after the moment they had shared. He rose and offered her his arm, which she accepted graciously with a placid smile, and they started in the direction from which they initially came in silence, neither seeming to know quite what to say.

“If I behaved immodestly--” she blurted out anxiously, keeping her eyes directed toward the ground. Now that the alcohol was wearing off, rational Anne, who knew how to behave in the presence of a boy, a friend, was returning.

The boy walking beside her let out an incredulous huff. “You didn’t Anne and if I did anything to lead you---”

“Absolutely not Gil,” Anne broke in vigorously, lifting her eyes to meet his with a calm assurance. As much as it pained her to say it, she added, “I think I just need some time to think and process some of the events that conspired tonight.”

Gilbert’s voice sounded tight as he hollowly agreed, “Yes, of course.” This did not do much to aid the guilt she felt in the pit of her stomach during the rest of the walk to the house. 

He did not say a word and neither did she. 

+++++

The journey back to Green Gables with him by her side was just as quiet and tense, which was very unlike them. Usually they talked far beyond their arrival at the front gate of her home, to the point where Marilla was calling for Anne to come inside the house. Tonight, Gilbert gave her a brief ‘Goodnight’ and turned in the opposite direction toward the Blythe Farm. Anne stood at the gate, watching him go until she could no longer see his broad outline, her throat feeling exceptionally dry. Not like when his lips had been dragging along hers only hours prior. She briefly considered shouting out to him and working to talk this whole situation out. Explain that she had wanted it to happen so badly. Yet he had shut himself off to her because she had hurt him by not saying more.

Here it was, the regret. She was a foolish girl, Marilla was right.

Sighing loudly, Anne opened the gate and made her way into Green Gables. She had assured Matthew and Marilla that she would be alright without them waiting up for her tonight so they were fast asleep in their beds. 

When she got to her room, she shut the door quietly and flopped down on her bed, biting down on her bottom lip, hard, in an effort to keep the tears welling up in her eyes from spilling. It was no use. All she could picture was Gilbert, Gilbert, Gilbert. The way his mouth tasted, how he made every nerve in her body act on their own accord, the noises he made because of her. 

She knew sleep would be futile tonight.

[shannaraisles]

Set In Darkness

Chapter: 53 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M Warnings: None Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

Snowbound

"So ... I have a question."

Rory glanced up from her paperwork at the sound of Kaaras' curious voice. She was huddled next to the big hearth in the main hall, using the other end of Varric's table to get up to date on everything she needed to read and sign off on.

A heavy snow-storm had descended on Skyhold, burying the courtyard in drifts three feet deep, and that was nothing compared with what the storm had done outside the fortress. Skysend was virtually indistinguishable from the rest of the plateau from up here, the drifts so deep that people had taken to carving tunnels through them rather than trying to shovel the excess out of their way. Thankfully, they'd only had one patient in the tents that were still serving as the infirmary for the time being, and he had been relatively easy to move to the armory. There were plans to restore the roof of one of the outbuildings next to the tavern and turn it into a real infirmary, but for now, they were having to make do. No one was doing any manual work until the storm had passed over them.

With nothing else to do, and a firm insistence from everyone around her to stay indoors and not do anything silly, she'd given in and set to catching up on her paperwork, though there would invariably be more to do once contact was reestablished with the city and the world beyond it. She wasn't the only one who had sought refuge in the hall - Cullen was working at a table near the dais at the far end, since their bedroom was now inches deep in snow and the tower itself too cold to work in. Blackwall had fled the stables when it became clear that Master Dennet and his people were going to barricade the doors and wait out the storm, and was even now polishing his sword with his pouch of silks for that purpose. Cassandra, deprived of her usual spot in the upper courtyard, was absorbed in her book, re-reading Swords and Shields, Vol IV, for the umpteenth time. At the other end of the table Rory was sitting at, Varric was going over his correspondence, swearing quietly to himself every time he had to add a note or sign his name to something.

They were all stuck in here together for the foreseeable future, at least the next few hours, and until the roads cleared, there would be no venturing forth from Skyhold, either. Unfortunately, that also meant that the expected guests would not be arriving anytime soon. Despite the fact that no mention had been made of it, Rory knew Hawke was on his way, and Evelyn's family were due to arrive any day, too. With luck, both parties had found somewhere to hole up until the passes cleared. She didn't want to think about Evy's noble parents stuck in a tent in weather like this.

"A question about what?" she asked, setting her quill aside as Kaaras parked himself on a stool next to the fire.

He glanced cautiously at Varric, and lowered his voice further. "How do you woo someone?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Rory stared at him for a moment, her mind caught up in manifests and supply lists. Then the penny dropped. "You mean courting?" she ventured, needing a little clarification.

He nodded, his snapped horn catching the firelight. The truncated curl had healed nicely in the month or so since Haven had fallen, the horn itself slowly beginning to seal over the delicate tissues left open to the air. He wore that break with pride, too, a sign of what he had survived against the odds.

"She likes me," he murmured to her, inching closer until he was leaning on the table, his head bowed toward her own. "At least I think she does. She almost said so. But she doesn't think I can give her what she really wants. She says she wants the ideal, whatever that is, and something about flowers and poetry and candles ... What is that about?"

Wow, that conversation happened sooner than I was expecting it. But then, in the games, that conversation depended on the Inquisitor completing a silly amount of FedEx quests, in Rory's opinion, just to trigger the cutscene. It made sense that Cassandra might bite the bullet sooner in real life. Faced with this question, however, Rory found herself drawing a blank. She just didn't remember all the ins and outs of Cassandra's romance. More than half a year without a refresher in all things Dragon Age, and she was starting to forget the important things that were going to happen.

"Look," she said thoughtfully, taking Kaaras' marked hand in hers, absently testing the tender flesh of his palm with her fingertips. "You've read Swords and Shields, haven't you?"

He frowned, shaking his head. "Dorian said it was garbage," the Qunari Inquisitor admitted awkwardly.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Garbage or not, it's got all the ingredients of the romance Cassandra yearns for," she told her friend pointedly. "It's got the larger than life hero - that's you. It's got the damsel in distress - that's her, despite all evidence to the contrary. Cassandra wants to be swept off her feet, she wants to be romanced. So what she wants is for you to prove that she's worth all the embarrassment of recreating a fantasy for. She knows it isn't like that really, but it's still what she wants."

"But why want something that she knows is embarrassing?" Kaaras pressed, deeply confused by the female brain in his experience. "What's wrong with just admitting she likes me back?"

"I ... have no idea how to explain it to you," Rory admitted, frustrated with her own lack of creativity here. "Ask Josephine? She has a better handle on where you can get all the things you'll need, too. And besides, you're already on the right lines. When Varric finishes that chapter, you can give it to her, and she'll know you consider her someone worth making an effort for. Believe me, Kaaras, you're going to have to put work into proving to her that you're in this for the long haul. If you're not, back off now, while you still have your testicles intact."

He winced just at the thought of that, but the message seemed to have gotten through. "All right, so I should ask Josephine where to get all the ... romance stuff," he muttered, apparently filing this away in the back of his mind. "And you'll tell me what to do with it, right?"

"If you can't work it out for yourself, of course I will," she promised, turning her eyes down to the glowing green scar on his palm.

Her brows knitted together worriedly - it was noticeably longer than it had been when he'd first fallen from the Fade, though not by more than half an inch. But still ... the Anchor was growing. That was more than enough to worry her, even without knowing where that growth would eventually take him. She seriously hoped that Solas was slightly less of a dick in real life than he was in the games. Maybe Fen'Harel would let his friend keep the arm, if it was possible. She hoped it was possible. Her fingertips stroked gently along the raised mark.

"Is it still hurting you?" she asked softly.

Kaaras' frown changed from confusion to annoyance as he shook his head. "Not so much anymore," he assured her quietly, his eyes on the tracing touch of her fingertips. "It flares up near rifts, and near those Veil artifact things Solas wanted us to activate, but I wouldn't say it hurts anymore. Maybe I'm just used to it."

"Maybe," Rory mused thoughtfully. "Still using the ointment?"

He fidgeted awkwardly. "I, um ... I ran out, in the Fallow Mire," he confessed with a guilty cast to his expression. "And then Haven was attacked, and you've been very busy, Ror."

"Kaaras ..." She sighed, rolling her eyes at him. "This is my job. You're not taking up my time needlessly when you have a need for what I can do. I'll get you some more of the ointment. The least I can do to help is keep that scar from splitting with all the rough handling it gets."

"Thanks, Ror."

It was strange, to see that boyish smile in a face that was already carrying more burdens than it had when they'd first met. But Kaaras was a good man - better than many - and he deserved some relief from those burdens. She hoped he would follow through on his courtship of Cassandra. They both needed a way to relieve their tensions, and doing it together would be a load off everyone's mind. With both warriors currently trapped inside with little room to spar, their ability to get annoyed was ramped up to incalculable levels.

"So, Varric ..." Kaaras raised his head, leaning along the length of the table to prod the dwarf in the shoulder. "Is your bird coming, or what?"

Varric winced, rubbing his shoulder. "Say it a little louder, I don't think Cassandra heard you," he complained, glancing toward the Seeker. Rory couldn't blame him - that relationship was a little more antagonistic than she had really expected it to be. "He's coming, all right? With friends, in case someone around here decides to arrest him."

Rory felt her interest suddenly peak. Hawke is bringing friends with him? Which friends? She let her ability to eavesdrop fade as she considered this question, ostensibly studying the page in front of her. Probably not Aveline, she's busy keeping Kirkwall under control. Sebastian's the Prince of Starkhaven, so he doesn't have the leisure to come along. Isabela's got a ship; I don't even know if Carver's alive; Anders is definitely dead. So ... oh, good grief. She had to hastily turn a laugh into an extended coughing fit. Merrill and Fenris. Oh, joy. It would be a miracle if Skyhold was still standing after that visit.

Her coughing, however, drew the attention of her husband from the other end of the room. Abandoning his work, Cullen took the length of the hall in just a few strides, snatching up a cup of water as he passed the longer table where the nobles were passing the time. Dropping to his knee beside Rory, he laid his hand gently at her back.

"Easy, sweeting," he murmured to her, apparently unconcerned that Kaaras and Varric had a first-rate view of his caring for his wife. "Breathe."

Blushing in embarrassment at how badly her cover-up was backfiring on her, Rory did as she was told, letting him guide her into sipping the water slowly. "I'm fine, really," she promised. "Honestly, something got caught in my throat, that's all."

He searched her eyes, a vague hint in his expression that he had noticed her deception but didn't quite understand why she wasn't being truthful. She smiled, leaning forward to brush her lips against his cheek, murmuring to him as she did so.

"I had a thought about Hawke," she told him in a tone carefully calculated for his ears alone. "I'll tell you later."

As she drew back, she saw the comprehension in Cullen's eyes, the suspicion fading as he stroked the flyaway hairs from her brow. "The sooner we get that roof fixed, the better," he admitted reluctantly. "I am not looking forward to bedding down in here with everyone else tonight."

"Oh, Curly, you're going to break my heart," Varric drawled, unable to let that go by without comment. "We're as much a part of your marriage as you are. We should get to experience everything with you."

"Yeah, we're not going to give you anything like that to write about," Rory interjected with a low laugh. The thought of even attempting to discreetly fuck her husband when they were sharing the main hall with a good third of Skyhold's population was, oddly enough, non-conducive to the creation of arousal.

"Not even a few sounds, so I can get it just right?" the dwarven storyteller teased.

Cullen scowled at him. "My wife is not fodder for your books, Varric," he pointed out sternly.

"Oh, give it up, Curly," Varric chuckled. "I've been writing about you two since it began. Just haven't published it yet."

"And you won't," Cullen told him, somehow managing to forget the cardinal rule when talking to Varric Tethras - never tell him he can't do something.

"And I might not, if something better comes along," was the dwarf's only concession to the commander's flaring temper.

Rory laid her hands gently over Cullen's. "Something better will come along," she promised her husband, raising a brow at Varric pointedly. "If someone gets on with his part of the deal."

"I'm working on it," Varric protested easily, glancing up at Kaaras, who was reading his manuscript over his shoulder. "Thought you didn't like romances, Beanstalk?"

The Inquisitor shrugged. "I might learn to like them?"

"Uh-huh. And the Seeker might learn not to believe everything I say," Varric grinned back at him, nudging the big man away from his elbow.

"Maybe if you were a little nicer to her, she'd be a little nicer to you," Kaaras pointed out, making Rory smile with how easily he came to Cassandra's defense.

She wasn't going to intercede in this conversation, though, even if someone offered to pay her. She liked everyone involved; she didn't really want any of them to decide they didn't like her, just because she defended the wrong person at the wrong time. Instead, she looked to Cullen, still on his knee beside her.

"I promise, I'm fine, love," she assured him. "Coughing a little does not make me an invalid. All right?"

"Take a break soon," he told her, drawing his gloved thumb over her cheekbone tenderly. "You've been at this table too long."

She raised a brow in amused indignation. "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black, somewhat?"

Cullen rolled his eyes at her, rubbing his neck as he rose to his feet. "I am supposed to be joining Dorian in the library in a short while," he informed her. "I believe you should come with me."

"Oh, all right," she conceded with teasing reluctance. With the storm blowing outside, there were very few places she could go, anyway. "Only if I get to curl up in his comfy chair and read while you're both discussing the finer points of Tevinter literature."

The secret beauty of his hidden smile warmed whiskey-lit eyes as he looked down at her, squeezing her hand affectionately. "I look forward to the image that will present," he told her, as much a promise to make certain Dorian gave up that armchair of his for a little while as anything else he might have said.

As Cullen strode away, returning to his temporary desk and Rylen swearing over whatever it was he was reading, Kaaras grinned at Rory. "And that isn't romance, huh?" he asked in amusement.

"Not the way you need to know it, no," she told him with a low laugh of her own. "Go and ask Dorian to find you some reference books, you big baby. Then you can go and read with her."

"I might just do that." The Qunari rose to his feet, bending almost double to pat her midriff affectionately. "See you later, baby."

Varric caught Rory's resigned glance. "Let me guess ... he talks more to the baby than to you," he smirked, laughing out loud at the mild scowl he got in return.

"Anyone would think it was his," she admitted, her mood brightening as the dwarf's laughter died. "Mind you, in this place, I need never worry if the kid wanders off. You're all more excited about this than I am."

"Oh, I'm not," Varric assured her. "I'll read to it, but that's about it. I don't do babies."

"You know, that's actually pretty encouraging." Rory laughed softly, nodding to him as she picked up her quill once again. At least there was someone here who didn't look at her and instantly imagine the baby. She had a feeling that tendency was only going to get worse as the months went on.

And if she'd worked it out correctly ... she was going to give birth around the same time as the Inquisition laid siege to Adamant. Oh, yeah. Great timing, Rory.