#^ as far as i know no one actually reveals what this thang is until the disc finale at least

[crimeboys]

no bc it actually like the revivebook makes me kind of crazy like all we know for the longest time is that during pogtopia vs. manberg schlatt gave dream Something that had him promise his allegiance. we literally do not know what this is until the disc finale and we ONLY know about it bc dream uses it as a trump card to make sure tommy doesn’t take his last life like he didn’t want ANYONE to know about the revivebook but bc its existence secured his survival both the characters and the audience learn about what it actually is for the first time. like the characters are as lost as us, we are as lost as the characters, dream, punz, and schlatt are the Only ones who knew from POGTOPIA TO DISC FINALE. and the only reason dream fessed up is bc he knew that tommy could never refuse the chance to revive wilbur. i dunno it just makes me a little crazy when i think about.

[sisterspooky1013]

Here and Now

Author: SisterSpooky1013

Rating: Mature

Words: 2198

Read it here on AO3

Tagging @today-in-fic

May 25, 2021

Farrs Corner, VA

8:45pm

She stood at the sink, elbow deep in dishwater as she cleaned up the remnants of dinner. Music poured softly from the smart home device on the counter, a mix of Kasey Musgraves, Blake Shelton and Jason Aldean in what Mulder called “evening music.” She’d never been a fan of country, but this sultry, soulful version was a far cry from the twangy pickup truck tunes that she had previously been exposed to and she was surprised to find that she liked it. A new song started, “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton, and she smiled; it was one of her favorites. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, allowing her hips to sway slightly as the words began.

Used to spend my nights out in a barroom

Liquor was the only love I’d known

But you rescued me from reachin’ for the bottom

And brought me back from being too far gone

Maybe she liked this song because it reminded her a bit of her relationship with Mulder. Not that either of them ever had an inclination for drinking in their sorrow (thankfully) but because they’d saved each other time after time. As if on cue, she felt his hands at her waist as he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her back flush against his front. He swayed softly with her, not speaking, his chin resting on her head.

You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey

You’re as sweet as strawberry wine

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy

And honey I stay stoned on your love all the time

“She asleep?” Scully asked, her hands scrubbing the perimeter of a pot.

“Mmhmm” Mulder hummed, his thumb brushing against the underside of her breast.

At 2.5 years old, Missy, or Samantha Margaret Mulder as she was legally named, was a bedtime resistance champion if there ever was one. Her requests for a drink of water, a trip to the bathroom, socks for her cold feet, or help with a blanket that had fallen off were endless. One or the other of them would sit outside her bedroom for upwards of an hour each night until she succumbed to exhaustion and passed out just inside the door, or on the floor of her closet, or once wedged up on the windowsill. A precocious child with strawberry blonde hair and hooded hazel eyes, she never wanted to miss out on anything and thus could not be bothered with unproductive things such as sleeping. Mulder had more patience for her antics than Scully did, tenderly marching her back to her tiny toddler bed over and over, kissing her plump cheeks and singing one more song. Her most popular request was “Fools Rush In” by Elvis and she would beam as her Daddy sang “I can’t help falling in love with you,” punctuating the ‘you’ with a gentle touch of his fingertip on her nose. The exhaustion of parenting a toddler in their 50’s was overshadowed only by the sheer joy she brought to their days with her inextinguishable curiosity and clear intelligence. Of course, every parent thinks their child is the smartest one in preschool, but in Missy’s case it was true.

Scully rinsed the pot and set it on the drying rack before she pulled the plug and let the water run out of the sink, wiping her hands on a dish towel and turning within the confines of Mulder’s arms to face him. She reached for his shoulders as they moved their dance to the middle of the kitchen, his hands traveling down until they found her hips, pulling her close as his lips brushed her ear and sung the next verse in his gravely baritone.

I’ve looked for love in all the same old places

Found the bottom of a bottle’s always dry

But when you poured out your heart I didn’t waste it

‘Cause there’s nothin’ like your love to get me high.

He pulled back and looked at her, his eyes soft and dreamy, a small smile at the corners of his mouth. She pushed up onto her toes and met his lips in a kiss. At first it was chaste, but when she slid her tongue against his bottom lip he sighed and slipped his hands lower to cup her backside, deepening the kiss and rocking his pelvis against her gently.

“Daddy?” A small voice called from the bottom of the stairs. Still embracing, they turned to see Missy’s rumpled form in her Frozen pajamas, a stuffed Bigfoot in one hand, her hair wild.

“Hey Magpie, what’s wrong?” He asked her. Having named her for both their sisters and Scully’s mom, his options for nicknames was endless and he did not let the opportunity go untapped. On any given day he might call her Missy, Miss thang, Sam, Sammy, Samwich, Maggie, Peggy or his personal favorite, Magpie.

“I heard somefing in my room” she whined, rubbing a fist over one sleepy eye.

“Come here, sweetie” Scully called to her, and she shuffled over to them where Mulder scooped her up on his hip and returned his other arm to Scully’s waist. Scully put her hand on Missy’s back and the three of them resumed the dance, swaying softly with Scully’s head resting on Mulder’s chest, where she could gaze at the sleep-dazed face of their daughter as she leaned against his shoulder.

And you’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey

You’re as sweet as strawberry wine

You’re as warm as a glass of brandy

And honey I stay stoned, on your love all the time

As the last chords of the song faded out, Mulder placed a kiss on the top of Scully’s head and pulled away from her.

“I’ll go get this one back to sleep” he murmured, and she could see that it wouldn’t be a difficult task as Missy was already dozing in his arms. She listened to the creak of his feet on the stairs and sighed contentedly before turning off all the lights, locking the doors and heading up to get ready for bed herself.

When Mulder returned, she was lying on top of the covers reading a book, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. He stripped off his jeans and tossed them into the laundry basket before nestling in beside her, his head on her shoulder.

“What cha got there?” He asked, but she knew that it wasn’t an actual question, just a signal that he wanted her attention. Closing the book, she set it on the nightstand and folded her glasses neatly on top.

“Do you think she’s down for the night?” Scully asked as Mulder rotated so that he was perpendicular to her, his head on her belly so he could see her face. She reached a hand up to stroke through his hair.

“I think so, yeah. She was pretty much asleep when I put her back in bed.”

“That child” she remarked, shaking her head.

Mulder smiled. “I know, she’s impossible, just like her mother.”

Scully’s eyebrows lifted in mock offense. “Excuse me? I love sleeping, she gets that from YOU, sir.”

Mulder scrunched up his mouth “hm, you may have a point there.”

They held eye contact, smiling fondly at each other for a beat.

“I don’t know how you do it, Scully.”

“What, parent? You do the same thing, Mulder.”

He shook his head slightly against the fabric of her T shirt. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

“You just get more and more beautiful. You’re even more beautiful now than you were when I met you.”

She chuckled and gave him a doubtful look. “Mulder, I was 28 when you met me. I don’t know about you, but I remember what my ass looked like at 28, and it was definitely better than it looks now. Let’s not even mention my breasts.”

“I would actually very much like to mention your breasts, which are, as they always have been, exquisite.” As he spoke, he pushed her T shirt up to reveal her chest, drawing a pink nipple between his lips and eliciting a moan from her throat.

“So you’re saying” she continued, her breath growing ragged around her arousal “that if 28 year old Scully walked in this room right now, you wouldn’t go for her instead of 57 year old Scully?”

He let her nipple slip out of his mouth with a little smack. “Well, I doubt that 28 year old Scully would be down to get freaky with 59 year old Mulder, but no, I wouldn’t.” He moved to hover over her, his knees on either side of her thighs. “I might try to talk you two into a threesome, though.”

She laughed and he dipped his head to kiss the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

“No shade to 28 year old Scully, I was a huge fan of hers, but she hardly ever laughed. 57 year old Scully laughs a lot, and I like that.”

“Well, 57 year old Scully is pretty damn happy” she replied, her hands running up and down the broad expanse of his back.

He lifted his head to look at her, a dopey smile on his face. The adoration in his eyes moved her and she felt a lump form in her throat.

“I love you so much” she whispered hoarsely, moisture welling and blurring her vision.

He didn’t respond, just kissed her with all the feeling of the thousands of kisses they’d already shared, and the thousands that never made their way to their lips due to distance, or fear, or stubborn refusal to admit that they wanted to. He pulled her to sit up so he could free her of her shirt, removing his own swiftly, their bare chests pressing together as he kissed her again, their tongues dancing between their mouths in a practiced synchrony. There was no longer urgency in their movements, the desperation of their coupling now ebbed into the languid cadence of a love that you know will never fade, not again, not ever again. Not with Missy asleep down the hall tying them to each other inextricably, not with William out there somewhere as a testament to all they’d been through. Not with the knowledge that there was nothing in this planet or universe that could come between them, not really.

She lifted her hips and he slid her leggings and panties down before pushing off his boxers, settling between her legs as his erection grazed her belly. He moved his hand down to touch her, moaning at her slickness.

“You still get so wet” he growled against her shoulder.

“28 year old Scully got this wet thinking about you too, she just didn’t have the luxury of you in her bed” she replied, grasping his ass and pulling him into her.

“All she would have had to do was ask” he teased, removing his hand and thrusting against her, his length sliding through her wetness.

She put her hands on his face and pulled him away to look at her.

“I wouldn’t change it, Mulder. Not if it meant missing this.”

“That makes two of us” he said as he found her entrance and slid into her, no need for hands to guide him to the place he knew better than his own body.

She hummed and they began a slow rhythm, kissing for a while until he lifted one of her legs onto his shoulder to deepen his angle and she gasped.

“I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be this flexible, Mulder, you’d better enjoy it” she panted.

“Oh I plan to” he replied, increasing his pace until they were lost in a sea of sighs and hushed moans, staying quiet a newfound skill after years of no one being close enough to hear them. She came first, stifling her cries against his shoulder as she pulsed around him, and he followed her shortly thereafter, gently releasing her leg and then rolling to curl up behind her as they enjoyed the afterglow.

She was starting to drift off to sleep when she heard the distinct snick of Missy’s door opening.

“Your turn” Mulder mumbled into her ear and she groaned, throwing his arm from its resting place on her hip before she grabbed her robe and rushed out to the room to get to her daughter before she made it into their bedroom.

After a trip to the bathroom and a drink of water, she was tucking a sleep-laden Missy back into bed, finding her Bigfoot stuffie and slipping it under her arm.

“Mama, sing a song” she requested, rolling on to her belly.

Scully rubbed her back softly and began, woefully off-tune though that never seemed to bother Missy.

“Jeremiah was a bullfrog, he was an old friend of mine. Never understood a single word he said but I helped him drink his wine. Joy to the world, all the boys and girls. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea, joy to you and me.”

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from the movie “Dogma”

“I’m as anatomically impaired as a Ken doll.”

“May I continue uninterrupted?”

“Mention something from a Charlton Heston movie and suddenly everyone’s a theology scholar!”

“Read that book again sometime. Women are painted as bigger antagonists than the Egyptians and Romans combined. It stinks.”

“So you were an artist? Big deal.”

“That’s why he’s the King, and you’re a schmuck.”

“ I repeat; this is not a drill. This is the Apocalypse. ”

“ We call this piece "The Fecalator.” One look at it and your target shits him or herself.“

” I just love to fuck with the clergy, man, I just love it.“

"Let’s kill people.”

“Ah, Sweet Jesus! Did you have to use the whole can?!”

“Or you’ll do what exactly? Hit me with that…fish?”

“Honestly, you bottom feeders and your arrogance, you think everybody’s just trying to get in your knickers.”

“Do you go around drenching everybody that comes into your room with flame-retardant chemicals?”

“I am to charge you with a holy crusade.”

“What’s the fine print?”

“I hate when people need it spelled out for them!”

“We’re here to pick up chicks.”

“Well, it’s a lot more compact than the flaming sword, but it’s not nearly as impressive.”

“How am I supposed to strike fear into the hearts of the wicked with this thing? ”

“What work did you do? You lit a few fires.”

“Mass genocide is the most exhausting activity one can engage in, outside of soccer.”

“You’re a man of principle.”

“We figure an abortion clinic’s a good place to meet loose women.”

“You’ll offer us sex as a reward?”

“Fucking Breakfast Club; all these stupid kids actually show up for detention.”

“Movies are fucking bullshit.”

“This is gonna sound really bad. I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this, but…”

"Someone told me I’d meet you and you’d take me some place I was suppose to go.”

“I feel like Han Solo, you’re Chewie, and she’s Ben Kenobi and we’re in that fucked up bar!”

“She’s the slut. Booong!”

“All right, well lets say we’re caught in a situation where we have like five minutes left to live. I don’t know, a bomb or something’s gonna go off; would you fuck us then?”

“Tell me something nobody knows.”

“When you do it, you’re thinking about guys.”

“Wars, bigotry, televangelism.”

“You’re saying having beliefs is a bad thing?”

“My eyes are open. For the first time, I get it.”

“Ours was designed to be a life of servitude and worship, and bowing and scraping and adoration.”

“You know, all I’m saying is that maybe one of us needs a little nap…”

“I think we may have to dispatch our would-be dispatchers.”

“See, don’t let your sympathies get the best of you. They did me, once. ”

“I’ve heard a rant like this before.”

“I have seen what happens to the proud when they take on the throne. ”

“Would you - could you - have believed me? You had to come to it gradually. Only now, after all you’ve seen, could you accept the truth.”

“I don’t want this. It’s too big.”

“It’s unfair! It’s unfair to ask a child to shoulder that responsibility, and it’s unfair to ask you to do the same.”

“I wish I could take it all back. But I can’t. This is who you are.”

“Everything I am is a lie.”

“No one can take that away from you, not even God. ”

“I guess this means no more cheating on my taxes.”

“Come on, demon, I wanna see you try that shit on someone who’s already dead!”

“And the pawns are moving into place as we speak…”

“But then your kind came along, and made it so much worse.”

“But true to his irresponsible nature, man won’t own up to being its engineer, so he blames his dark deeds on my ilk!”

“I’d rather not exist than go back to that…and if everyone has to go down with me, so be it.”

“The whole fucking world’s against us, dude, I swear to God. ”

“If I had a dick, I’d go get laid.”

“I think that God is dead.”

“I can’t wait to die.”

“Do you know what makes a human being decent? Fear.”

“I’m responsible for nineteen of the twenty top-grossing films of all time.”

“The humans have besmirched everything bestowed on them.”

“Don’t you think it’s time we went home?”

“No pleasure, no rapture, no exquisite sin greater… than central air.”

“What the fuck is this shit? Who the fuck are you, lady? Why the fuck did you hug my head? ”

“What the fuck is this, The Piano? Why ain’t this broad talking?”

“You of anyone should know that tits don’t make a woman.”

“But I’m a fuckin’ demon.”

“Guys like us just don’t fall out of the fucking sky, you know.”

“Beautiful, naked, big-titted women just don’t fall out of the sky, you know.”

“You’re Catholic, can’t you talk to them?”

“Consequences schmonsequences.”

“Snootch to the motherfuckin’ nootch!”

“Let it never be said that your anal-retentive attention to detail never yielded positive results.”

“You can’t be anal-retentive if you don’t have an anus. ”

“Ladies and gentlemen, you have been judged guilty of sinning against our almighty God, and I promise you, you shall pay for your trespasses, in blood!”

“I’m feeling a little exposed here…”

“Wings, now!”

“I know they were just kids, but we kicked their fucken pube-less asses!”

“Anyone who isn’t dead or from another plane of existence would do well to cover their ears right about now.”

“Are you saying you believe?”

“I’m telling you, man, this ceremony is a big mistake.”

“Go back to your paper routes, you Mighty Duck fucks.”

“Very basic strategy. If your enemies know where you are, then don’t be there.”

“Your continued existence is a mockery of morality.”

“You’re his father, you sick fuck.”

“You, on the other hand, are an innocent. You lead a good life.”

“You have more skeletons in your closet than the rest of this assembled party. I cannot even mention them aloud.”

“You’re awfully nude.”

“You know, maybe you’re wrong about this slaughter thing.”

“The major sins never change.”

“What, are you insinuating that I don’t have what it takes anymore?”

“Get me a… Holy Bartender.”

“Not born. SHIT into existence.”

“I can take anyone I meet and give a zillion and nine ideas a second, but I can’t keep any for myself.”

“I have issues with anyone who treats God as a burden instead of a blessing.”

“You people don’t celebrate your faith; you mourn it.”

“Your hearts are in the right place, but your brains got to wake up.”

“You were martyred?”

“I can’t believe we forgot about the magazine.”

“Smoke that motherfucker like it ain’t no thang!”

“NOBODY IS FUCKING ME! YOU GOT THAT!?”

“If you don’t pipe down, I’m going to yank your sack off like a paper towel.”

“Your hard-on for smiting has prevented us from negotiating what should be the relatively simple matter of catching or staying on a bus.”

“Well, I say we get drunk, because I’m all out of ideas.”

“Oh no, I’ve seen way too many Bond movies to know that you never reveal all the details of your plan, no matter how close you may think you are to winning.”

“You’re looking at eons of repression getting purged.”

“If only they’d let us jerk off.”

“Quit killing people, that’s high profile.”

“So do you do anal? Is it true that chicks fart if you blast ‘em in the ass?”

“The man was right about you. And I am going to go home and tell him so.”

“Quit leering at me. People are gonna think I just broke up with you.”

“You know, I hear pregnant women can have sex until their third trimester.”

“You’re a pure soul… but you didn’t say "God bless you” when I sneezed.“

"Holy shit, it’s the Pope!”

“Ever the fucking apple polisher!”

“Hey Big Bird! Wanna play the Counting Game? Count the shells, Sucker Duck!”

“Snoogans.”

“So this is all about revenge.”

“After the first couple million years, escape from hell became my all consuming reason.”

“You mean, I’m pregnant?”

“You think someone threw him out of a plane with a message written on him like in Con Air? You ever see that flick?”

“It’s the living dead! Kill it! Kill it!”

“Wait a second! Between guys with wings, guys falling out of the sky, and guys trying like hell to fuck me, I think I’ve been pretty patient so far, and I’m not taking another step until you tell me where the hell you came from!”

“I came from Heaven.”

“Is this why I had to come down here this morning, man? Is this why I had to miss my fucking cartoons?”

“Let me give you a little inside information about God.”

“People die for it, people kill for it.”

“His piece will be rubbing inside of your armor!”

“You know ,death is a worry of the living. The dead like myself only worry about decay and necrophiliacs.”

“I told them I was coming up on a routine possession.”

“'Makin’ with the love.’ It’s a nice way of saying boning.”

“Do I come off as gay?”

“I got half a stock when she kissed me.”

“I hope you’re the skeeball type.”

“Bow down, stupid!”

“It never ends!”

“What the fuck happened to that guy’s head?!”

“She’s a clever girl, that one.”

“You ready to make some of those changes I’ve been talking about?”

“One of the drawbacks to being a martyr is that you have to die.”

“All is being taken care of.”

“Why are we here?”

*touches nose and makes funny noise*

“I told you she was a woman.”

“She’s not really a woman. She’s not really anything.”

“She’s something alright.”

“Are you saying you believe?”

“Crisis of faith over?”

“Why don’t you name the kid after me?”

“We’re in Mexico?”

“I couldn’t help it, the bitch was hot!”

“You know, you can’t talk to me like that anymore, I’m gonna be somebody’s mother.”

“Yo, we should go to Quick Stop.”

[twdeadlysins]

Bloodletting: Part One

Season two, episode two (1/2)

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 3,337

Warnings: Slow burn, panic attack, minor mention of character death, the usual walking dead violence, language, blood, and such with possible typos

Author’s Note: I don’t own anything from The Walking Dead, so all credit goes to their respective owners. This is a twd series rewrite with the reader inserted into the mix. I did and will continue to use dialogue from the actual show because I want it to be similar to what you’ve already watched, but obviously have the reader in it.

If you want to be (un)tagged for this series rewrite, don’t hesitate to send me an ask, message me, or leave a comment and I’ll add/remove you. The same goes for any other fics! I’m in no way, shape, or form a writer. Any feedback is appreciated, but hate is a different story. Thank you and enjoy!

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

MASTERLIST // TWD SERIES REWRITE 

The adrenaline coursing through your veins subsided every pained muscle in your body as you sprinted behind Rick, who was carrying Carl’s limp body in his arms. Shane was trailing behind with the man that caused this whole mess. Other than him mentioning a house and a doctor, you got the directions and tuned out everything else, not caring what else he had to say, Carl was the only thing that mattered.

Once you broke out of the woods, you raced through a field, trying not to pass your best friend. Rick started to falter in his steps, his grip slipping on Carl, so you rushed to him and grabbed his son. Rick’s emotions were getting the best of him which obviously you didn’t blame him, he was carrying his motionless son in his arms, but you were faster. As you were sprinting in the general direction of the house, you heard Shane yelling at the man to keep moving and to get you guys there before Rick shouted in question of how far it was. The breathless hunter had said it’d be another mile and you could barely hear him since you were almost halfway there, seeing  the house in the distance.

In between pants you screamed for help, hoping whoever was inside would hear and come assist you. You cradled Carl in your arms, mentally praying that he’d be okay as you struggled with the tears that threatened to spill from your tired eyes. Once you had gotten a bit closer, you saw a figure standing on the porch before they went inside to bring four or so people out with them.

“Was he bit?” the elderly man questioned as you swallowed the bile in your throat. “Shot, by your man,” you answered, speed walking towards them.

“Otis?”

You desperately shrugged your shoulders since you didn’t catch his name, not caring for introductions as Carl was unconscious on the ground with a bullet in his body. The older man had instructed for you to get him inside of their home just as Rick had caught up with you. He had ordered for a Patricia and Maggie to collect his supplies as he rolled up his sleeves with you trekking behind, leading you into a bedroom. He then lifted the comforter of the bed, so you could lie Carl down. Rick kept inquiring if his boy was alive, but the doctor ignored him, trying to save Carl as he demanded for things. The doctor handed you a pad and so you folded it and applied pressure to the wound since you had some medical experience from being in the military. You didn’t specialize in it, but you did know the basics and enough to get someone by.

He then pulled out his stethoscope and placed it on Carl’s chest while you stared down at your bloody hands. “I’ve got a heartbeat. It’s faint.”

The one you assumed to be Patrica told you to step back, that she had it, so you withdrew your hands and backed away from them to give them their space. The doctor assured they were going to do everything they could for him and told Rick that they needed some room. You lightly nudged Rick and guided him to the door only to see Shane and Otis sprinting towards the house. Once the two of you went outside, the adrenaline you once had dissipated, and a sharp pain shot down your leg making you wince and fall to the ground. You clutched your thigh and rocked back and forth as Shane rushed to your side to help, but you shook your head knowing there was nothing he could do. “It’s okay- I’m- okay,” you muttered in between breaths, grunting at your throbbing muscles.

The bruised hip was long forgotten when Carl hit the ground and especially when you couldn’t feel the pain as you raced to save him. You waved Shane off to tend to Rick who had accidentally transferred blood from his hands to his face. As Shane wiped his friend’s face with a rag, you straightened out your leg with a whimper before leaning on the house with one hand for support as you pushed up with the other to stand. Once you stood up, you wiped your palms onto your jeans since the blood had already transferred from clutching onto your leg, your jeans were already stained, so might as well. The four of you entered the house after to check up on how they were doing to see the elderly man next to Carl, holding a towel to his wound.

“You know his blood type?”

“A-Positive, same as mine…” Rick replied. The man then stated that it was fortunate and that he didn’t want him wandering too far because he’ll need him soon before questioning Otis on what happened.

“I was tracking a buck… bullet went through it, went clean through,” Otis explained slowly, still in shock that this was the result. The way he elaborated, the tone and his expression was enough for you to not blame him, it was a freak accident… out of everyone’s control.

“The deer slowed the bullet down which certainly saved his life, but it did not go through clean. It broke up into pieces. If I can get the bullet fragments out and I’m counting six…” the doctor revealed, causing your breath to hitch.

“I never saw him,” Otis desperately assured Patricia from behind you, “not until he was on the ground.”

“Lori doesn’t know,” Rick solemnly said on the brink of breaking down. “My wife doesn’t know… my wife doesn’t know.”

Shane put his arm around his shoulder trying to comfort him and whispered in his ear, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying to him. You got closer to Rick and softly gripped his shoulder, rubbing your thumb to let him know you were there for him too… that he wasn’t alone in this. “I can- I can go back to the group… tell Lori and bring her-”

Before you could finish your sentence, your throat began to itch and you started to cough. You placed your mouth in the crook of your elbow to prevent spreading any germs and it seemed the coughing fit wouldn’t end. A hand was on your back, smoothing circles across it and patting here and there. “Is it just me or is it hot in here,” you inquired in a haze.

Shane had guided you to the couch in the living room and a girl with short brunette hair, which you assumed was Maggie, held a water bottle to your lips, so you tilted your head back for the liquid to coat your throat. After she backed away and set the bottle down on the coffee table, the older gentleman placed the back of his hand to your temple to check for a fever. Your entire body felt like a furnace and you felt so fatigued from the running, the pain, and the heat that you wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

“She’s got an infection,” he stated as he inspected the swollen cuts on your arms. He instructed for someone to get some type of antibiotics that you didn’t catch the name of since all you wanted to do was listen to your body… to pass out. Someone requested for you to open your mouth and you obliged, feeling the pills and the water before you swallowed the contents and rested your head against the back of the couch, letting your droopy eyes shut.

Meanwhile…

“You still worrying about it?” Andrea questioned Lori since she had turned around to look beyond the woods, in the direction Rick and the rest were.

“It was a gunshot.”

“We all heard it,” Daryl reminded.

Lori quickly craned her neck to look at the group. “Why one? Why just one gunshot?”

“Maybe they took down a walker,” the hunter suggested since he couldn’t think of a better reason as to why one bullet was fired. He actually matched Lori’s worries because he knew that Rick, Shane and Y/N wouldn’t have had risked the noise or waste the ammo for a single walker. There were three capable people to take down a walker, so they wouldn’t have used their guns.

“Please don’t patronize me, you know Rick wouldn’t risk a gunshot to put down one walker. Or Shane or Y/N. They’d do it quietly,” she abruptly countered before searching the trees with her eyes as if she was going to see anything, see them.

“Shouldn’t they have caught up with us by now?” Carol questioned.

Daryl didn’t want anyone to start panicking, so he flatly said that there was nothing they could do about it, that they couldn’t just chase echos in the woods. The only thing they could do was beat the bush for Sophia and work their way back to the highway. As they started to walk again, Andrea started to apologize for what Carol was going through, so they paused to wait for the two of them.

“The thought of her- out here… by herself, it’s the not knowing that’s killing me,” Carol sadly said. “I just keep hoping and praying she doesn’t wind up like Amy.”

Carol instantly realized what slipped from her lips and hurriedly apologized for her mistake to the blonde. Andrea didn’t take offense even though her face was a little struck by it, but nonetheless she understood and said that they were all hoping and praying for what it was worth.  

“I’ll tell ya what it’s worth- not a damn thang. It’s a waste of time all this hopin’ and prayin’ ‘cause we’re gonna locate that little girl and she’ll be just fine,” Daryl declared. Daryl didn’t believe in all that religious crap, he did just fine on his own without praying and believing. Listening to Y/N pray didn’t change his mind, but it wasn’t like he was going to think less of her for believing in something he didn’t.

“Am I the only one zen around here? Good Lord,” the hunter said in annoyance as he got a move on. He just wanted to get back in hopes of finding Sophia and wait until Rick and the others came back so they could come up with something else if she wasn’t found.

***

“Why’d I let him come with us? I should have sent him with Lori.”

“Rick… this isn’t your fault,” you weakly assured with your eyes barely open. A light blanket covered your form even though you were burning up, you didn’t want to throw it off because you’d miss it’s texture and feel cold without it.

“She’s right. You know, you start that, you’ll never get that monkey off your back,” Shane advised and it was true. Ever since you blamed yourself for the deaths of your aunt and uncle, the guilt never seemed to go away and same with Sophia.

“Little girl goes missing, you look for her, simple. You said call it, head back-”

“Doesn’t matter what I said,” Shane softly argued, feeling for his best friend and the guilt he was feeling, it was clear in his voice. Rick shouldn’t guilt trip himself for something that wasn’t in his control.

“Carl got shot because I wouldn’t cut bait. It should be me in there.”

Shane chuckled, “You’ve been there, partner. Right? And you pulled through, so will he,” he confidently said. You agreed with his statement, Carl was strong just like his father, he was going to make it and you’d be damned if you were wrong.

After the two of them bantered some more, Maggie opened the door and called for Rick, something about needing blood. You could hear groaning mixed with cries in the other room and you tossed the fabric aside to head to the room, but Shane caught you as you wobbled in your place. “Nah, you stay here, okay? Need to rest to and let the antibiotics do their job, so you get better,” he gently spoke.

You reluctantly nodded your head and plopped down on the couch, covering yourself with the blanket while you heard Carl shout out for his dad. It pained you to hear his cries knowing that you couldn’t do anything for him, that even his own father couldn’t. The only thing he could do was give him his blood and be there for him. When he started to scream in agony, you clasped your hands over your ears and clamped your eyes shut, desperate to close off any distressed noises. You could hear Rick yell to stop, that the doctor was killing him, so you abruptly got up and limped out the door not caring if it hurt.

You were aware that the doctor wasn’t killing him, that Rick was reacting to his son in pain, but all you wanted to do was get as far away as possible because you couldn’t take it. The screams and shouts of pain and arguments were too much especially in your condition at the moment. You managed to sit in a chair outside on the patio, still wrapped up in the blanket, quietly sobbing at everything that’s gone wrong since you arrived at the quarry. Merle’s hand on the rooftop and the cries of Daryl, the deaths of Amy and some of the others, the death of Jim, the deaths of Jacqui and Jenner, breaking down in the middle of an interstate that inhabited death, Sophia’s disappearance and now this. Every emotion you bottled up inside poured out of you like a tsunami, when was everything going to be alright for once? Every time things looked good for you all, it all came crashing down on you. The world was toying with you, handing you something and just as you’re about to reach for it, it snatches it right back before you could get a hold of it.

“Are you okay?”

You snapped your head to see Maggie eyeing you worriedly and you shook your head as you tried to catch your breath and you when you couldn’t, you started to panic and hyperventilate.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. Just breathe, follow my breaths.” She was crouched in front of you and held both of your trembling hands, slowly inhaling and exhaling, encouraging you to copy. You mimicked her breaths and once you started to get the pattern, you closed your eyes, trying to calm yourself. It had been years since you had a panic attack, all the emotions you stored away came rushing back and you started to fear the worse.

“Are you okay?” Maggie asked  with concern again and you unraveled your hands from her grip, rubbing your face along with your tears. “Yeah, thank you.”

“Here, let's get you inside and some water.” She helped you up keeping in mind to not touch your bandaged wounds and escorted you to the couch before prompting you to drink some water.

Time had went by, you didn’t know how long, but Rick and Shane finally came out of the bedroom. Otis and Maggie were each in an armchair eager to hear of any updates whereas you were curled up on the couch. You lolled your head off of the furniture to peer at Shane in hopes for any news since the screams stopped a while ago.

“He’s stable for now.”

Maggie and Otis seemed relieved, but still anxious… things could still change… stable was good, but not good enough to be cheering. You flopped your head back to rest before hearing Rick say that Lori had to be there, that she had to know.

“Okay, I get that,” Shane responded. “I’m gonna handle it, but you’ve gotta handle your end.”

“My- my end?” Rick stuttered, not grasping onto what he was referring to.

“Your end is being here for your son. Even if he didn’t need your blood to survive, there’s no way I’d ever let you walk out of that door. Man, I’d break your legs if you tried, you know that, right?” There was silence before Shane continued. “If something happened to him and you weren’t here… if- if he slipped away while you were gone, you would never forgive yourself for that and neither would Lori, man.”

Shane was right, Rick wouldn’t forgive himself if the worse outcome happened and you knew damn sure Lori wouldn’t either, she’d remind him of it all the time. You remembered a time when Rick helped Carl bake cookies while Lori was away and it turned out to be a disaster, she never let him forget it either. He needed to be there for Carl, someone else could go get Lori and it couldn’t be you anymore, you knew your limits and this was one of them.

“You’re right.”

“When was I ever wrong?” Shane joked with Rick to lighten up the mood a bit and you couldn’t prevent yourself from chuckling knowing he had a grin on his face. The giggle morphed into a cough and you heard Shane stifle a laugh, so once you composed yourself, you gave him a resting bitch face and gave him the bird earning a gleeful smile in return.

After Shane gave Rick another motivational speech, the older man whose name you learned was Hershel, stepped out of the door and informed that Carl was out of danger for the time being. He needed to remove the remaining fragments and he needed to go deeper for the rest, but Carl couldn’t take the shallowest one, so he definitely couldn’t take the others. Another problem was that his belly was distended and his pressure was dropping which indicated that there was internal bleeding. He would need to open him up, find the nicked blood vessel and stitch it while Carl remained perfectly still, not a single movement or the doctor would sever an artery and Rick’s son would be dead in minutes.

In order for Hershel to perform this surgery, Carl would have to go under, but he wouldn’t be able to breathe on his own so either way he would die. “Don’t you need some type of equipment for him- for him to breathe while you operate?” you questioned, clearing your throat once you felt an itch.  

“You need a respirator,” Otis spoke up before asking Hershel what else he needed. Hershel mentioned the tube that went with the respirator and other medical supplies, if he had all of those things, he could try and save the boy. Otis mentioned a high school, they had set up a shelter there and would have everything they needed. Last time Otis had saw it, it was overrun, but there was a possibility it got better with time.

Rick hated the idea of Shane going alone and you wanted to offer to go with him, but you knew that wasn’t an option, not in your condition, you didn’t need anyone telling you that. Shane asked for the doctor to write up a list and draw a map, but Otis said he didn’t need one, that he was going to be his guide. Patricia denied him of going, but Otis wanted to since he was responsible. You understood that more than anybody, so you thought it was best if he aided Shane in the supply run. Like you always said, two better than one.  

Before Shane walked passed you to leave, you grabbed his wrist and looked up at him. “Be safe, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

He grinned down at you, “When have I ever done anything stupid?” You opened your mouth to retort, but he cut you off. “Don’t answer that,” he chuckled before leaning down to kiss your forehead. “But don’t worry about me, alright? Get some rest, you hear? You nodded your head and loosened your hold as he walked away and out the door, you just hoped that the run would be successful and that they’d both come back in one piece.

___________________________________

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[metatiki]

Favorite Passage Written 2018

Tagged by the magnificent @opal-bee! Thank you so much! <3

I don’t know how many words I wrote last year, honestly, but for me it was a low output year. Most of the writing I did was for my Inquisitor Dorian fic, and most of it isn’t published yet and will be later, so I couldn’t use it here.

This scene, however, ended up not fitting the overall pacing and tone of the next Act, so it got cut. But I still really like it, so I thought I’d share it here. I might put it up on AO3 as part of a ‘Deleted scenes’ archive someday (I am keeping quite a few deleted scenes) but for now, it’s a Tumblr-only thang.

This was originally written for Act III of Don’t Worry, I’ll Protect You, my Cullrian fic where Dorian becomes Inquisitor after a terrible accident befalls his dear friend Inquisitor Lavellan (see my AO3 profile under tklivory for more). This scene occurs while everyone is travelling back to Skyhold after Adamant and the confrontation with Nightmare in the Fade. Cullen is recovering from injuries received there. NOTE: I’m presenting it with minimal editing. 

I’m tagging whoever else wishes to do this! Enjoy!

Fic: Don’t Worry, I’ll Protect You Pairing: Cullen/Dorian Game: Dragon Age: Inquisition (AU) Rating: T (This scene, anyway)

The next day proved to be no less tortuous than the first in terms of boredom, but at least Cullen had a bit more physical freedom now that the healers had worked their herbal and magical magic. The bandages were gone, and the heavy casts on his knee and wrist were reduced to far thinner versions supplemented by a spell. He no longer felt as if he were dragging large stones around whenever he moved. A horse still wasn’t possible, but at least he was able to get some real work done on the post-battle summary and recommendations for bonuses for the soldiers in the battle.

Of course, to decide on those awards, he had to speak extensively to the other leaders on the field. Blackwall was straightforward and brusque in his recommendations, and had high praise for several members of the Inquisition Forces. After a similar conversation with Ser Barris, he settled in for a good long session of list making and recommendations. He found himself frequently glancing at the door even as he worked, however, or pausing every time the carriage changed speed, hoping the door would pop open to reveal a familiar smile.

When the carriage did finally slow to a halt, he quickly tucked his lap desk to the side, not wishing to seem distracted from his visitor, especially if it was who he’d been expecting all day.

Dorian’s head pushed into the cabinet. “You’ll need to move your-- Oh, you already have. Capital. One moment.” And then he disappeared again.

As Cullen blinked in confusion, something was pushed into the carriage, floating without a hand touching it: a round, flat piece of decorated wood. As Dorian poked his head in again, Cullen asked, “Ah… What is it?”

“Sit back just a little further,” Dorian said in answer, waiting until Cullen had done so before making a little gesture. “There should be enough room, if my measurements are correct.”

Despite the questions hovering on his lips, Cullen managed to restrain himself until the piece of wood lay flat, allowing him to see the other side. His eyes widened. “A chess board?”

“Indeed!” Dorian exclaimed as he climbed into the carriage with Cullen’s chess set in hand. Settling into the seat across from Cullen, he said, “I had to scour the entire encampment to find one. Apparently, one of the Templars serving under Ser Barris is a fiend for chess. I had to promise some excellent wine from the Skyhold cellars to acquire this.” He rapped the board with his knuckles. “Still, well worth it, don’t you think?” Setting the box on the board, he pushed it across to Cullen. “I’ll let you do the honors, since they are your pieces.”

Cullen smiled. “You stole them from me last night, didn’t you?”

“Well, I couldn’t let them get packed away again, could I?” Dorian replied. “It’s much better this way.”

“It’s fine. It’s been a long time since I last played chess, actually,” he said, reaching for the box at last and working at the clasp. “Not since I played with-- Oh.” He frowned as the box opened, revealing something he’d forgotten until now.

“Commander?” Dorian asked, an expression of concern on his face.

Mutely, Cullen turned the box around so that Dorian could see its contents, knowing he would understand immediately.

“Oh.” Dorian reached out and lightly touched one of the dried flowers of the wreath which lay within. “She always did love embriums.”

“It was our stake,” Cullen explained softly as he turned the box sideways so he could retrieve the wreath. “Whoever won got to wear the wreath in the next game, and she would just make a new one when the old one withered.”

“So you won your last game with her,” Dorian guessed in a quiet voice.

“Mhmm.” Cullen’s fingers moved over the flowers gently, not wishing to disturb the desiccated petals. “She was improving, but I still tended to beat her most of the time. She was a sharp learner, but sometimes she would get overeager, and I could-- I would figure out what her game was. She insisted I not let her win, but--”

“But sometimes you did,” Dorian guessed. “And she figured it out.”

“Apparently I have tells,” Cullen said with a soft chuckle. “She’d reprimand me, of course.”

Dorian smiled. “She could have a sharp tongue when necessary.”

“Yes.” Cullen took a deep breath, letting a smile come to his lips. “I’ll have to figure out how to preserve that. It’s a special memory.” And, he realized, it truly was just that: a memory. Not a pain. Not a loss. Simply a poignant reminder of a happy time in his life.

Leaning forward, Dorian lightly placed his hand on one of Cullen’s. “If you wish to keep these memories of her to yourself,” he said quietly, “then I will find some other pursuit to bring here.”

“No.” Cullen sniffed, then straightened and focused on Dorian, tearing his eyes from the wreath. “No. She’d prefer us to play together, I think. To remember the good times with her, and not… not those last moments.”

Dorian smiled. “I do believe you are correct.” Squeezing Cullen’s hand, he sat back in his seat and began to pull the pieces from the box. “Though I’m not very good at weaving flowers together, I’ll warn you. They’d probably fall off if you so much as sneezed at them.”

Cullen chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Looking down at the wreath one more time, he brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss, then set it onto the table where both men could see it. “There. Now, which side do you want to play?”

“Does it matter?” the mage asked airily. “I’ll defeat you either way.”

As he started to place the pieces on the table, Cullen gave him a look. “We’ll see what tune you sing after the game is over, Inquisitor,” he said with a grin. “I daresay it will be different.”

“You’re on, Commander,” Dorian said, then sat back to contemplate the board, fingers steepled. This game was long overdue, after all.

After that, the chess game became a daily occurrence for as long as he was confined to the carriage. Given that he was the Commander, however, his healing sessions continued morning and night to great effect. The first time he was able to walk - albeit stiffly, and with the aid of a crutch - he had to be forced back into the carriage so that he didn’t overexert the healing knee. And, a couple of days after that, when he was finally allowed onto a horse, he spent the next few hours riding to inspect every last inch of the Inquisition forces.

The cheers that greeted him raised not only his spirits but, he hoped, those of the soldiers as well. He spent as much time leaning over his saddle to shake and touch the hands of his troops as he did actually riding along their lines, but everywhere he went, the men and women of the Inquisition rushed to meet him, to make sure he was all right.

It wasn’t until the evening after an extensive healing session and a light dinner  - eaten one handed, since his wrist was still wrapped securely in a thin cast - that he realized there was one particular face amongst his troops that he hadn’t seen. As a frown came to his face, the tent flap opened to allow Dorian entrance, chess board and pieces in hand. He paused there, regarding Cullen with a raised eyebrow. “Is something amiss, Commander? Is this a bad time?”

“What? No, no,” Cullen said, gesturing to the table. “I’m glad you came. I did miss our game earlier, but…”

Dorian chuckled as he tugged the table closer to Cullen and proceeded to set the board. “You were enjoying your mobility. I quite understand, Commander. But why the frown, hmm?”

“Oh.” Cullen blinked. “I didn’t see Jim while I was inspecting the troops, that’s all. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t see him when there was work to be done. Once he started pulling his weight, anyway.”

“Ah, Jim,” Dorian said with a nod. “Yes. He’s been sent ahead to Skyhold on special assignment.”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose. “Special assignment? What’s this? I hadn’t heard about any special assignment.”

Dorian grinned at him. “That’s because I didn’t want you to.”

“Oh, now that doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” Cullen drawled as his eyes narrowed.

“You’re right. It’s not suspicious at all. Wine?” Dorian moved to Cullen’s storage chest and pulled out the goblets. “I’ve been assured this one is a bit better than the last, so we can hope it doesn’t taste like vinegar.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen groaned. “You’re avoiding the question.”

Dorian gave him a wink as he poured the wine into the goblets. “And quite on purpose, I assure you.” As he handed the goblet to Cullen, his face softened. “Don’t worry, Commander. I care about them, too. It is a special assignment, and no, I’m not going to tell you about it, and yes, the men are perfectly safe while they perform it. I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

Cullen’s gaze traveled over Dorian’s face, a habit that was becoming routine, until he finally sighed and reached for his drink. “If you insist.” A faint chuckle rose to his lips as he settled back into his chair and lifted his leg to rest on a stool as the healers had insisted. “I suppose if I trust you to take me out of the Fade, I’ll have to trust you when you say my soldiers aren’t in danger this time. Of course, now I’m just bloody curious.”

“As you should be,” Dorian teased him as he sat down opposite Cullen. “Now. I do believe I won yesterday, did I not?”

“I was distracted, you remember.” Cullen reached down absently and rubbed his knee gently. “All that infernal itching before they removed the cast.” And definitely not because he’d found himself staring at Dorian, no. Definitely not.

Dorian laughed as he quickly set up the chess pieces so that he got the first move. “You keep telling yourself that, Commander. I think I’ll go with my superior skill, hmm?”

With a grin, Cullen leaned forward in anticipation. “All I can say is you’d better think of something to blame your distraction on tonight. I know your play style now, so I know how to plan my assault.”

“Oh, do you?” Dorian asked. When Cullen glanced up from the board, he caught the amused expression on Dorian’s face when one curl of the mustache rose ever so slightly.

For a bare moment, Cullen stared at it, then quickly dragged his gaze back to the board. “Your move, Inquisitor,” he said in an oddly strained voice.

“Perhaps we should dispense with the formalities in private,” Dorian mused as he drew his finger along the board in front of his neatly arranged pieces. “We do have names, after all, and it seems a trifle odd to keep using our titles when we’re alone. Do you call Cassandra Lady Seeker?”

Cullen thought about it for a moment, then chuckled. “Only when I’m irritated with her,” he admitted.

That made Dorian laugh softly. “Maker forfend you are ever irritated with me! Besides, we already know how you deal with that, hmm? Especially if there’s a wall handy.”

WIth a wince, Cullen reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Inquisitor…” When he heard a little clunk, he looked at the board and saw that Dorian had made his move. “Oh, is that your strategy this time? Provoke me into distraction and then move when I least expect it?”

“Would I do that?” Dorian asked with a flutter of his eyelashes.

“Definitely,” Cullen groused as he considered the board for a moment. Granted, Dorian’s first move was fairly standard, but he could at least eliminate some of the possibilities of where the game could go from the outset. As he moved his piece, he said, “Were you serious about the name thing?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dorian asked, surprised. His hand tapped one piece, then moved to another, then another as he hummed thoughtfully. He glanced up, waiting until Cullen brought his drink to his lips before adding, “Although when you are irritated with me, I give you full permission to press me against the nearest wall as a consequence. That should get my attention quickly enough.”

The spray of wine from Cullen’s mouth was followed by a coughing fit and a long breath for much-needed air. “Dorian!” Cullen gasped finally.

“Was it something I said, Cullen?” Dorian asked, lips twitching. He had, Cullen noticed with a flick of his eyes, made his move on the board while Cullen was coughing, in keeping with his new strategy.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice that,” he muttered as he finished wiping the wine from himself and mopped up as best as he could.

“I would never assume your keen eyes miss anything,” Dorian told him. He remained silent while Cullen’s fingers drummed on the board, speaking only when he reached for another piece. “They are such a lovely shade of brown that I would not mind looking into for a while, either.”

Cullen blinked, then looked up at Dorian. His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the completely innocent look the man affected. “You’re up to something.”

“Winning, I hope,” Dorian said as he lifted his cup to drink.

Trying to turn the trick back on Dorian, Cullen said, “I wasn’t referring to anything above your waist, Dorian.” Though Dorian didn’t quite do a spit-take, he did suffer from enough of a coughing fit that Cullen was able to move his piece without being noticed. It wasn’t a brilliant or unexpected move, but it was made using the tactics Dorian had established. When Dorian recovered enough to glare at Cullen, it was his turn to affect innocence. “What?”

“You know exactly what you did,” Dorian grumped as he set his goblet down and looked at the board.

“Truce, then?” Cullen offered.

Dorian sighed. “Oh, very well. Truce. I’m running out of wine, anyway.” With a sigh, he moved his next piece without drama, then set about refilling their cups in silent apology.

After that, they fell into a companionable silence as the game progressed, with only an occasional comment or murmur to break it. Eventually they found themselves down to the last few moves of the game, with both men’s brows furrowed in concentration. Familiarity with the other’s tactics and strategies had settled in, and now they were at the stage of trying to outwit each other in unexpected moves. As Cullen reached out and moved a piece at a diagonal, Dorian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “That sets you up for defeat in five moves.”

“Does it?” Cullen asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.

Dorian glanced up at Cullen’s face, then back at the board, and his eyes narrowed further. “I must be missing something,” he muttered. He shifted in this chair, moving so that he could view the board from one angle, then another, and sipped thoughtfully at his wine in between, all in an effort to understand what, precisely, Cullen was trying to do. “You’re being sneaky,” he accused the other man.

“It’s called strategy, Dorian,” Cullen said. “You should try it sometime.”

‘Oh, ho ho!” Dorian said, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you mocking me?”

“No. I’m twitting your vanity,” Cullen said with a grin. “Go on, make your move.”

“And how can I play when you make such a bold strike with that rapier wit of your tongue against something so very personal?” Dorian protested.

Cullen sat back in his chair and sipped from his drink. “I’m sure you’ll find a way. From what I’ve seen, you usually do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Dorian demanded, even as he reached forward and flicked a piece forward.

The motion brought a frown to Cullen’s face. “Wait. Why did you do that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dorian said airily. A lazy grin came to his face as he held his goblet by the rim, letting it swing gently back and forth as he moved his hand. “And here I thought you had me all figured out.”

With a snort, Cullen glanced at him for a moment, then focused on the table again. “I daresay that is beyond my poor capabilities.”

“You say that now, Cullen, but then… No. No, you’re right.” Dorian gave him a smirk. “You’ll say that after you go down in ignominious defeat as well.”

“I’m the Commander of your Forces, I might remind you,” Cullen said. “You’re not supposed to enjoy trouncing me quite so much.”

“Ah, but it will be such a sweet, sweet victory,” Dorian mused, watching avidly as Cullen moved yet another piece. “Wait. That’s not--”

“That’s not what, hmm?” Cullen said, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back in his chair. “Not what you expected?”

“Oh, hush,” Dorian commanded, hunkering over the table once more.

With a soft chuckle, Cullen raised his glass to his lips and drank from it slowly, watching Dorian try to puzzle through the game as it had been set up for him. His gaze moved slowly over the man, noting that the normally impeccable hair was just a bit out of place. Those few hairs made his fingers itch, and before he knew it, he reached forward to smooth them out.

Dorian looked at Cullen in surprise. “What was that for?”

“Ah…” Cullen coughed and leaned back quickly. “Your hair was mussed.”

Looking amused, Dorian said, “You could have told me about it. Or ignored it.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve gotten so used to you looking perfect that it was a bit disconcerting.”

“Perfect, am I?” Dorian asked with a grin. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to vouchsafe that to other parties? It seems that my perfection seems to elude some.”

Cullen laughed, and tried to ignore the fact that his fingertips tingled slightly. “At any rate, you’re sorted out.”

“My vanity thanks you,” Dorian said, flashing him a brilliant smile before returning to his scrutiny of the game board.

Which brought Cullen right back to his own contemplation of the man across from him. With Dorian’s hair restored to its rightful place, Cullen admitted that he did have a preference for the man’s appearance, which was a startling thing to realize. In fact, he had more than grown accustomed to the man’s presence, he had come to look forward to it in a way that he did with very few others.

And only now, in the depths of his own mind as he sat and studied Dorian, could he acknowledge that it went a fair bit further than that. As Dorian raised his cup for a sip, Cullen found his gaze lingering on that perfect mouth for a bit longer than the motion warranted, and when Dorian’s tongue emerged to lick a bit of wine from his lips, Cullen bit the inside of his own. Surely I can’t… No, he isn’t… Shaking his head, he cleared his throat and quickly gulped his wine.

“Trouble, Cullen?” Dorian asked, looking up at him with a grin as he finally made his move. “Back to being scared of losing again? I think I see what your gambit is, you know.”

“Oh?” For a moment, Cullen could only stare at him. Finally he cleared his throat and asked, “And what might that be?” Maker knows, I’ve forgotten.

“You’re trying to be clever and use the Tevinter Reverse, aren’t you?” Dorian asked. Tapping his temple, Dorian then waggled his finger at Cullen before settling back in his chair. “But I’m on to you, now. I can reverse it.”

“Reverse a Reverse? Are you sure?” Cullen asked, forcing his eyes to drop to the table.

“Well, it is a Tevinter Reverse. I’d besmirch the honor of my forefathers if I couldn’t counter it,” Dorian said airily.

Now Cullen frowned. He didn’t think such a move was possible, but if Dorian said it was… “You’re bluffing,” he said finally, after staring at the board for a few moments. “There’s no way out of this.”

“Care to make a wager on that?”

Cullen looked up at Dorian, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he saw the sly expression on the man’s face. “I left my purse back at Skyhold.”

Dorian’s eyes twinkled. “Well, thankfully, we’ll arrive there tomorrow so that you can pay me. But, if you don’t want to bet money, there are other options.”

Now that was a bit too intriguing. “Like what?”

“You’re a creative man, Cullen. Surely you can come up with something,” Dorian sallied back.

And, try as he might, Cullen simply could not dredge up a single idea that didn’t go straight to a place which seemed, to put it mildly, inappropriate between the Inquisitor and his Commander. At which point, his mind happily supplied just what had gone on between the last Inquisitor and her Commander.

“My dear Cullen,” Dorian said, eyebrows rising. “Are you blushing?”

“What? No. I’m, ah…” Cullen reached for his wine and gulped it down. “Perhaps we could wager for an undeclared favor? That way if you need me to pay your gambling debt to Varric, I can.”

“Clever,” Dorian mused. “You don’t have to come up with something on the spot, and I can decide at any time what to ask of you.”

“Or the reverse,” Cullen reminded him.

Dorian scoffed. “If you win. And that yet remains to be seen. Very well, I accept the wager.” He held out his hand. “A favor owed by the defeated to the victor.”

“A favor,” Cullen agreed, reaching out to shake on it.

The next few minutes were tense now that something rode on the outcome, nebulous as that stake was. With so few pieces left, and each man trying to outwit the other within the narrow path for victory or defeat for each of them, each move took longer than the last. The wine bottle ran dry and the goblets set aside before Cullen finally smiled and looked up at Dorian after the mage lifted his hand from his piece. “Got you.”

Dorian’s eyebrows lowered as he frantically looked over the board. “What do you-- Oh, veshante kaffas, how did I miss that?”

Cullen simply smirked as he moved his piece into position. It wasn’t that it would take Dorian’s linchpin piece, of course, but that the maneuver prevented Dorian from moving his own pieces to defend that piece. The ending was a forgone conclusion in three moves. “Do you concede, Dorian?”

“I see no other option,” Dorian said with a sigh as he leaned back in the chair. “You have your victory.”

“And your favor,” Cullen reminded him.

Dorian tilted his head and smiled. “Oh, you already have that.” After a moment, Dorian blinked and then looked away. “Ah. Pardon. The wine, you understand.”

“Of course. The wine.” Cullen cleared his throat and reached up to awkwardly rub his neck. “It must be quite late by now. I should to bed.”

“As should I,” Dorian said, rising to his feet. He did sway ever so slightly, but the bow he gave to Cullen was impeccable. “I shall leave you to your slumber, Commander.”

“I thought we were using names,” Cullen said mildly.

Dorian chuckled softly. “Do forgive my lapse. Cullen, then.”

And somehow, just hearing it spoken in Dorian’s hushed, deep voice made Cullen’s mouth go dry. To distract himself from that, he lifted his foot from the stool and forced himself to his feet.

Unfortunately, his body wasn’t quite ready for the change in position. Hours of sitting had stiffened his knee enough so that when he did put weight on it, a surge of pain shot through him and it buckled. With a yelp, he fell forward, avoiding an embarrassing fall flat on his face only due to Dorian’s quick reaction.

It took a moment for Dorian to do more than simply support Cullen, during which their faces were mere inches from each other. “Close call,” Dorian said with a bit of strain in his voice. “Don’t put any weight on that knee, all right? I’ll get you to bed.”

Cullen nodded, not quite ready to trust himself with speech given the way that his heart was racing in a way that he couldn’t entirely blame on his near-miss with a face full of dirt. As it was, he kept his eyes on Dorian as the man shifted his grip and slowly lifted them up. He found himself fascinated not only by the intensity of the man’s expression, but also by the play of muscles on his bare arm and the feel of his strength. When Dorian tugged Cullen’s hand over his shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist to help him to bed, Cullen found that hand splayed on warm, firm skin and swallowed harshly.

“Painful, is it?” Dorian asked solicitously. “Don’t worry, it’s only a few steps. Come on, now.” With gentle coaxing and more than a bit of sheer strength, Dorian managed to get Cullen to the bed and swing him around so that his head was mostly on the pillow. “Hold on, I’ll check your knee.”

Cullen nodded, staring up at the ceiling of the tent as Dorian’s hands ran over his leg. A gentle warmth much like that of the mage healer stole over his leg, but the greater cause of warmth was, he realized, his reaction to Dorian’s touch. Closing his eyes, he wasn’t aware that he’d tensed his face until Dorian asked, “Does that hurt? I’m sorry, I’m not a healer. Perhaps I should fetch them.”

As the man moved to rise, Cullen’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “No! Ah, no. The pain is fading, thank you. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Dorian asked as he sat on the side of the bed and searched Cullen’s face, then pressed his hand on Cullen’s forehead. “You’re flushed. Are you sure you’re not coming down with some sort of fever?”

“Quite sure,” Cullen said, then cleared his throat. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“You don’t have a history of being the most forthright of patients, but… very well.” Dorian withdrew a kerchief from one of his many pouches and used it to remove the sweat from Cullen’s brow. “There we are. Perhaps it is the wine. Some people do tend to get overheated when they are inebriated, after all.”

“That must be it,” Cullen agreed, relieved to have an excuse.

Dorian smiled as he put the kerchief away. “Then sleep is the best course for you, my friend. Here, let me adjust you a bit.” Leaning over, Dorian worked to get Cullen’s pillow in a more comfortable position.

Cullen’s eyes closed again as that subtle musk in Dorian’s hair flooded his senses once more. Maker, what was it about this man? Their relationship had shifted so gradually that he couldn’t pinpoint when acquaintance had become friend, and then most trusted confidant, yet that is what they had arrived at by the time the Inquisition had marched on Adamant. But now, with the scent of the man hovering around him again, he couldn’t help but wonder if the possibility of more had slowly crept from faint embarrassment to alluring ideal.

When Dorian suddenly froze, his eyes snapped open to find the grey eyes staring at him. Mouth dry and heart racing, he licked his lips and croaked, “What is it?”

“Your hand, Cullen,” Dorian said oh-so-softly, and Cullen could tell the moment that Dorian’s eyes dropped to his lips before rising to lock with his gaze again. “It is…. not what I was expecting.”

My hand. Cullen swallowed and concentrated, and finally glanced down to where his hand had come to rest on Dorian’s hip. Well… mostly Dorian’s hip. Actually, in all honesty, it wasn’t even mostly there. Slowly he looked up at Dorian again, his breath catching in his throat as a muscle very deliberately twitched under his grasp. “Do you wish it gone?”

“Oh, I am quite content,” Dorian murmured. An odd play of emotions shifted his features, too swiftly for Cullen to even begin to understand. Ultimately, though, his face settled into a small smile as he asked, “Do you wish it gone, never to have ventured there?”

Maker. Cullen felt the blood pounding in his ears as he licked his lips again, staring into Dorian’s eyes for so long he almost forgot to breathe. Could he admit the truth? “No,” he whispered at last in confession. “I don’t.”

For a long moment, Dorian simply searched his face, brows drawn together ever so slightly. Then he raised his hand to cup Cullen’s cheek as his thumb lightly stroked Cullen’s lower lip. “I’m glad,” he murmured, then leaned down.

Cullen’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt the caress of Dorian’s lips on his, the tension so great in him that even that barest of touches elicited a moan. When the man didn’t press further, though, Cullen’s hand rose from where it rested to sink into Cullen’s hair, drawing him into a more fervent embrace. In answer, Dorian seemed to melt into him, his response to Cullen’s insistence every bit as eager as Cullen could have hoped for.

The need for air finally pulled them apart, and Dorian hovered above Cullen as he panted to regain his breath. “I see you enjoy playing with fire, Commander,” he murmured in a husky tone.

“You could say that,” Cullen replied, his hand still caught in Dorian’s hair. He felt his injuries even more keenly now, or rather the immobility they imposed on him, but that didn’t matter nearly as much as the sight of Dorian’s flushed cheeks and darkened lips.

Dorian smiled, his thumb again stroking Cullen’s lip. “I have to ask… if the wine is a factor.”

Cullen’s brow furrowed, confused by the half-question more than anything. “No,” he said. “No, I am certain. It just… took me a while to admit it.”

A subtle tension left Dorian’s face, and he relaxed with a smile. His second hand rose to lightly trace the line of Cullen’s jaw and stroke through his hair. “Good. I have a… bad history of wine making decisions for myself and those around me.”

After a moment, Cullen ventured, “Hawke?”

Dorian nodded. “Among others, but he was the most foolish one, yes.”

Shifting his hand to cup Dorian’s face, Cullen finally let himself tease the curl of Dorian’s mustache as he had wanted to for so long. “That is not what is happening here, I promise you,” he said, trying to convince Dorian with every fiber of his being. “And we don’t break our promises to each other, remember?”

“No,” Dorian said, his lips curving into an almost tremulous smile.

And that smile then was so tender, so… beautiful, that Cullen couldn’t resist the man any longer. He pulled him into another kiss, ignoring the protest of his knee as he twisted his body to lean into Dorian more strongly. In answer, Dorian’s hand ran down his side and cupped an entirely different sort of cheek, pulling them as close as they could manage despite the awkwardness of the cot and Cullen’s injuries. Since he only had one working hand, Cullen kept moving it between Dorian’s hair and either of the man’s cheeks, or at least the ones he could reach. Finally they parted once more, gasping for breath, and Cullen finally had to admit that he was going to pay for their passion as he hissed in pain.

Dorian immediately grew contrite. “I pushed you too far, Cullen.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I definitely helped,” Cullen told him with a throaty chuckle. “And I don’t regret a single instant of it.” He rubbed his knee. “Well, except the whole being injured part.”

“This cot really isn’t big enough for the two of us, anyway,” Dorian replied. “Perhaps we should discuss a more primal version of this activity later, hmm?”

Cullen nodded, though when Dorian moved to pull back, he wrapped his arm around the man’s waist. “Where are you going?”

Dorian’s eyebrow raised. “I thought we were--”

“Done?”

“Or at least for the night,” Dorian admitted.

“Not yet,” Cullen said, trailing his fingers up Dorian’s bare arm to come to a rest on the man’s chest. “Not as long as we can still caress the other’s lips with our own.”

Dorian’s expression softened. “Is that what you wish?”

“Yes.” For a moment, Cullen let his frustration show as he said, “At least until we’re near a desk that can hold you weight, and I have a knee that can hold mine. But I don’t want to end this conversation quite yet. Our lips still have far more to say to each other, I think.”

Dorian smiled as he took Cullen’s hand and brought it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “Perhaps they do at that,” he murmured. Twining their fingers together, Dorian leaned in, passionately claiming Cullen’s lips with his own once more.

Time melted away around them as Cullen lost himself in the taste and feel of Dorian’s lips. Nothing else really mattered right now. Nothing but Dorian mattered.

And that was the way it should be.

[starryseo]

superhero!sicheng

background: in this alternate universe, the members of nct will have various superpowers and abilities. this bulleted series will describe them in school situations - a school of superheroes/ villains - and also outside of school, in non-magical settings, for instance, describing a non-magical job they may have. it’s kind of like harry potter in the sense that only people with powers can access this magical world (where the school is) but magic users can easily travel in between both worlds. enjoy!

super speed & flexibility;

ok so sicheng here is like a mix of elastigirl and dash

dont ask me how that works out it just does ok

a bit weird maybe

but still super (hah puns) badass

he is really ! heckin' !! flexible !!!

like, he's out there doing flips and somersaults and it looks so cool damn

he can even do the acrobatics in super speed it's awesome

the guys took a video of him doing that once and when they hooked it up to a laptop to slo mo it, the laptop couldn’t handle processing it because they had to slow it reaaaaaaaaal down

so it just crashed lmao

he's really humble about his powers though

he never tries to show them off or gloat or anything

but if - when - people ask him to show them something

he just can't say no because he doesn't want to let them down or anything

he has this move that always makes him and the guys laugh

where he does the bridge, but then he elongates his arms and legs

((it’s the best thing ever))

donghyuck always jumps on top of sicheng when he does that

so hyuck is basically overlooking everyone

it makes him feel superior af #longlivekingdonghyuck

and whenever sicheng is in a minutely awkward or embarrassing situation

you bet your butt hes just gonna super speed away the heck outta there

people tend to think he’s always red because he’s always running really fast

but n o p e

he’s a shy bean that’s blushing because people are constantly complimenting him

ok so imagine there was a school vs school competition

but this time with magic !!!

you bet your butt (again) yuta signed him up for all the running races

yuta also has The Best™ signs and posters with sicheng’s face on it

and he coined the nickname Winwin bc sicheng’s always winning

even against the other super speed runners because this boy is always practicing so he doesn’t disappoint anyone during the race

his smile after winning each race is so precious-

ok so he’s great !!! at phys ed (esp. gymnastics and running for obvious reasons) but he’s also amazing at the no magic sports like swimming. he likes the rush he gets because he’s not as fast in water, so he’s trying to improve his personal best

ofc hyuck and yuta have made him try to run on water

after like 7 unsuccessful attempts (mainly bc hyuck kept pushing yuta into the water as sicheng was running) he finally managed to do it without them two interfering

it was legendary

kinda like dash’s run on water, minus the villains behind him trying to kill him

outside of school!!!!

he also has a job outside of being totally badass in school

of course he’s a cute lil’ barista boy at a cafe close-by

hes winwinning hearts there everyday too give him a break ppl

he tries making lots of different designs on the drink, he mainly bases them on different powers like drawing flames or a snowflake

they may not be super detailed but they’re really cute and he always serves them with a smile

so he gets a lot of tips :)))

he also really likes this job because he gets to see different kinds of people all the time

he usually has late shifts after school, so he gets to see how humans cope with their abundance of school work

and when he has really late shifts, how people are really quiet, mainly listening to music, barely awake

on the weekends, he’s there up and early, and he finds it funny how 50% of the customers are in a rush to get to places like shopping or work

but then the rest are coming in happy groups and they’re just chilling, having a good time

he just really likes watching humans do their thing,, makes him think that there really isn’t much of a difference between their kind and his

but there’s still this separation which he has never really liked, but has had to put up with

so he always try to be as happy as possible around them

because even if they don’t know that hes not 100% human he’s still going to be as nice as possible

bc he’s just a really nice guy like that

my beautiful sicheng, the speedy stretcher <3 

so, as cliches go, you guys met in the cafe he works at

and you quickly became a regular there because of a school project that you had

you would always have a hot chocolate with whipped cream but then ask the barista for what they’d recommend as a side dessert

and he sort of just found that cute and you super cute over the days

but he’s a shy lil’ thang so he would just hand you your stuff quickly & quietly when he was serving you

but then he was always cleaning around the table you were at when his role changed

the guys would catch on pretty quickly because he’d be rushing to leave after school and kept ditching their hang-out sessions for extra shifts

they thought he was doing something dodgy and not telling them 

so they followed him and were rlly confused when he did just get on with his actual job

UNTIIIIIL doyoung realised that sicheng kept staring at one particular customer in the far booth

and then the whole gang knew about this crush

yuta geared up and not so subtly used his powers [will be revealed in his one ;^)] to give sicheng a push in the right direction

a.k.a sicheng tripped over and fell right into you

a.k.a some teen nudged you just as you had picked up your now-lukewarm hot chocolate so it spilled onto you

panic ensued (with yuta and co. cackling in the background) and sicheng frantically trying to hand you tissues

he apologised profusely and you were kind enough to brush it off (but it was obvious you were kind of  annoyed)

and he felt so so so bad because there goes any chance he had with having a good first impression

you still came back the next day though and sicheng gave himself a quick pep talk and walked to you before he could change his mind

he started off the conversation saying sorry again and somehow he managed to string along “i’d really love to make it up to you this saturday...”

free food and time with a cute boy? you couldnt have said yes to his offer quicker

saturday came quickly and the date had gone amazingly - by now, sicheng knew the gang knew and they were all being the best WinWinWingMen [thats literally what they called themselves]

yuta & hyuck taught him Flirting 101

jaehyun picked out his outfit after johnny had had his fashion evaluation on it & then taeyong ironed the clothes out

doyoung tried starting a talk show to ease sicheng’s nerves until the dreamies shoved and locked him out

anyways, the date went amazingly and led to more until you guys started dating

it was cute and all but after being together for two years sicheng realised he hadn’t told you that he wasn’t... exactly... human

and he was really scared about how you would react

mainly because he’d seen people confess things in the cafe and usually it went well

but there were times that it didn’t and he remembers them better and so he’s scared

he doesn’t think you’d react in an over-the-top way but he’s still scared you’d leave him because he’s different

he’s never really spoken to you about Supers, fearing you’d realise he is one and leave him

but one day he decides that you should know because the relationship is serious now and he trusts you

when he sat you down to talk to you

first you thought he was going to break up with you because of how serious he was, and he kept saying “i’m so sorry about this, please don’t take this badly”

and you just held his face and stroked your thumb over his cheeks, telling him to breathe slowly

and after he had calmed down, he mumbled out so quietly, “i’m not... normal”

and at first you thought he was talking about his insecurities until he carried on

“i can do things other people can’t... like i can run and stretch myself”

and, to be completely honest, you were lost, and that obviously showed on your face because sicheng smiled a lil’ and decided to show you instead

so he stood up, and dashed to the door and you were like

whoa

how-

and then it finally clicked: he was superhuman

sicheng decided it would be better to stay away from you in case you reacted explosively

but he wished he was closer because your eyes were sparkling in awe

and he wishes he could’ve seen that up close instead

you were so in awe, and that night you got him to explain more about his powers and magic in general

and he’s so happy you’re still with him, that day was filled with non-stop affection 

after that he mixes up the dates by also taking you around the magic world, but he’s always careful to watch out for authority figures

because they might react badly to a non-magic person

but so far so good

and sicheng’s never been happier

highkey felt bad that i hadn’t posted anything in a while so here we go :)) hope you enjoyed!!

[setepenre-set]

Love and War (chapter 13)

Strange Magic

Bog/Marianne, T rating

This is a story about two kingdoms, side by side, but worlds apart. And at war.

When the Bog King finally wins his war against the Fairy Kingdom, he decides that a political marriage with the eldest daughter of the deposed Fairy King will help to promote peace.

Obviously, he’s never met Marianne.

AO3 | FFN

It takes Bog far too long to figure out what’s happening.

He sees weapons being drawn, sees people shouting and panicking, hears screaming, but he can’t see who’s attacking them; can’t see any enemies.

It’s not until the members of the fairy royal guard begin to drive the goblins towards the center of the room, out onto the empty dance floor, that he realizes what’s actually happening.

And by then, it’s too late.

Hardly any of the goblin guests are armed, and they are far outnumbered by the armed fairies who surround them and herd them into a small, terrified knot.

Bog sees Stuff and Thang in the group of goblins; they must have moved from their place by his elbow while he was standing here frozen. Both of them are still fighting, along with a good number of the others.

He feels as if as if he’s stuck underwater, sounds strangely muted, the sight of his goblins being attacked by the guard rippling and somehow unreal, all of his reactions slow, too slow.

Bog turns (too slow) and raises his sword (too slow) and then he sees—

—his mother. One of the fairy guards has her, has pulled her to the front of the group, her arms pinned at her sides and his sword at her throat and the guard looks at Bog, meets his eyes, and Bog—

—freezes.

The rest of the goblins have seen his mother, too, because they stop fighting, go still.

Behind him, Bog hears the sound of someone clapping, loudly and slowly. The noise of the unarmed fairy guests, who have drawn back to the edges of the room, drops to a low hum and murmur of agitated voices.

Bog turns.

Sir Roland walks forward, out of the crowd and onto the dance floor, clapping. He comes to a halt, and stops clapping, a slow smile spreading across his face. He’s a few paces away from Bog, out of reach of Bog’s sword, but he isn’t looking at Bog, is ignoring Bog entirely, as though Bog is not even here.

Roland is looking at—

—smiling at—

Bog turns to look at Marianne, who is standing at his side, her sword still in hand.

She’s looking at Roland.

But she turns her head and meets Bog’s gaze, her dark eyes wide and her face pale, and he remembers—

Marianne sitting at her dressing table looking tense and anxious Marianne looking at her crown Marianne asking him to keep dancing with her asking him to stay with her keeping him separated from the rest of his people and the attack had started when Marianne raised her sword and she and her sister had been so adamant that he bring his mother to this wedding and now there is a fairy blade held to his mother’s throat, and when did he start thinking of fairies as people to trust and—

I won’t kill you. Seriously maim you at most.

She played him, Bog realizes, understanding settling, cold and heavy, on his heart.

What were you expecting? he thinks bitterly. You fought a war against her family, stole her kingdom, made her marry you; did you expect her to kiss your hand and thank you for it?

Did you expect her to love you, when you forced her to marry you?

Bog looks into Marianne’s eyes, holds her gaze.

“We surrender,” he says to her, and drops his sword.

And Marianne’s expression—

—shifts into something like fury.

“No, we do not,” she snarls, and then she turns away from him, and she raises her sword, and she steps in front of him, as if she’s—

—as if she’s—

Protecting him.

And Bog doesn’t—he doesn’t—

“What the hell are you doing, Roland?” Marianne says.

Marianne looks at Roland from over her upraised blade. He gives her a wide-eyed, guileless look.

(damn him. damn him and damn her, too; she should have known right away what was happening; should have realized; should have reacted faster. but she hadn’t been thinking of anything but Bog and so it had taken her an unforgivably long amount of time to comprehend what was—)

“Why, I’m carryin’ out your orders, of course, Buttercup,” Roland says.

“I never ordered this!” Marianne says.


Roland blinks at her, his face a perfect picture of honest confusion.

“We’ve been talkin’ about this since the day after your wedding, Marianne,” he says. “Don’t you remember? I told you that you could count on me when the time came. And we spoke about it again just a few weeks ago; I told you I had the army all ready to move whenever you wanted. You can’t have forgotten all that.”

“I told you—” Marianne cuts herself off just in time.

She can’t say I told you no, because that will reveal that they did talk about a coup, that she knew of a plot to overthrow Bog and that she didn’t say anything, that she let Roland talk to her of treason and she kept it a secret.

(Marianne can tell by the gleam in Roland’s eyes that he knows this, has planned for it.)

“Marianne,” he says, beginning to move around the dance floor in a slow, wide circle, his voice upraised as he plays effortlessly for the crowd, “darlin’.”

Marianne turns warily with him, facing him, her sword still up, keeping Bog behind her all the time. Roland watches her, eyes still baffled.

“You’re the one who sent me the orders,” he says.

Roland reaches into the pouch at his hip, takes out a piece of folded paper and holds it up just as he comes to a halt, perfectly naturally, beside Marianne’s father.

“In writing,” Roland says.

“I did not!” Marianne says, voice ringing out.

Roland frowns, looking bewildered.

“But this is your handwriting,” he says. “See?”

He holds the note out to Marianne’s father, who takes it.

“Tonight,” her father says, reading from the letter. “At the ball. I’ll give the signal. Marianne.”

He looks up at Marianne, and now he looks confused—no; no—

“I didn’t write that!” Marianne says.

“And you gave the signal,” Roland says. “You raised your sword. Just like we talked about, Marianne.”

“Marianne?” her father says.

“I didn’t write that letter!” Marianne cries. “This is insane!”

She looks wildly around the room, at her courtiers, at the goblins, at the members of her royal guard—and they are hers; they’re hers to command; she is their queen.

“I did not write that letter,” she says again, forcing her voice to a tone of steely authority.

She fixes her eyes on the member of the royal guard that has his sword to Griselda’s throat.

“And as your queen,” Marianne continues, “I command you to release the Dowager Queen and every one of my subjects that you have unlawfully attacked and are now holding prisoner. I believe you to have been following what you were led to believe were my orders, and so if you obey me immediately, the punishment for Sir Roland’s treasonous actions will be faced by him alone.”

The guard’s eyes flicker from her face over to Roland, and then back to Marianne. He gulps visibly, and begins to begins to lower—

“The letter came with the royal seal,” Roland says. “You can still see it there, on the edge of the paper, Your Majesty.”

Marianne whips her head around to look at him, but realizes that Roland’s your majesty was directed not at her—

—but at her father. Who is looking at a seal on the edge of the paper, now.

He looks up at Marianne.

“It—it is the royal seal, Marianne,” her father says.

“I don’t care what it looks like!” Marianne says. “I did not write that letter!”

She looks at her father, but she can see that he doesn’t believe her. Marianne catches sight of Dawn and Sunny’s anxious faces as she turns around to Bog.

He’s looking at her, his sword still on the ground.

“I didn’t write it,” she whispers to him, taking half a step towards him. “Bog, I swear to you, I didn’t do this. Please—”

“Marianne,” Roland says, sounding thoroughly confused and a little worried, now, “come on, beautiful’. Step away from that beast and come over here with me.”

Marianne rounds on him, furious.

“Don’t you call him that!” she snarls. “Don’t you dare! He is worth a thousand of you, Roland. I can’t believe I ever thought I was in love with you.”

Roland presses his hand to his chest, takes half a step back from her, his eyes wounded now.

“But we are in love, Marianne,” he says, voice trembling artistically. “Buttercup, how can you say that? I told you I forgave you, darlin’, and I do, I promise; you didn’t need to send me those things to convince me—”

“What?” Marianne says, “What things? I haven’t sent you—”

Roland’s hand dips down into his pouch again, comes up with a lock of dark hair, tied with a ribbon.

“That’s not mine—”

Roland hands the lock of hair to Marianne’s father, reaches into the pouch once more, and pulls out—

Her necklace. The one she couldn’t find when she was getting ready for the wedding.

The necklace dangles from Roland’s fingers, the pearls gleaming softly in the light of the ballroom.

Marianne takes a sharp breath. The necklace is clearly hers. It’s one of a kind. Her favorite. Everyone will recognize it.

She turns to Bog, who is still looking at her.

“I didn’t give him that,” she says. “You know I didn’t give him that; we looked for it together—”

“Why on earth are you so worried about what he thinks?” Roland says. “You hate him, Marianne; you told me so. It just broke my heart, when you cried to me that day, when you told me how you wanted to die every time he touched you—”

Marianne laughs. She can’t help it.

“You’re a liar, Roland,” she says. She turns again to Bog. “You believe me, now; don’t you? You believe me, now.”

“I believed you before, Marianne,” Bog says.

Marianne swallows, her throat suddenly tight. She holds out her free hand to him, and he walks forward and takes it, moving to stand beside her, lacing their fingers together. He gives her a crooked smile.

“If you had been leadin’ this attack,” he says, “you would have waited until after the sword dance.”

Marianne laughs again, a startled laugh with tears at the edges of it.

“Damn right, I would have,” she says, and, without thinking, lifts their joined hands up and presses a quick kiss to the back of his.

“What have you done to her, you monster?”

Marianne jerks around at the sound of Roland’s outraged cry. What is he—

Roland has his eyes fixed on Bog, now, and there’s a look of horror on his handsome face as he points to the two of them.

“You’ve done something to her; I know you have!” he says. “My Marianne would never—”

“I am not yours,” Marianne snarls.

“You’ve used a love potion on her!”

A gasp ripples through the crowd at Roland’s accusation.

“…what?” Bog says, voice blank.

“He must have!” Roland turns to appeal to the crowd. “Marianne would never act like this, would she? Would Marianne be singin’ duets with the goblin that conquered her kingdom? Would Marianne be holdin’ his hand and eatin’ off his plate and kissing something so disgusting? Would she dance with him all night like she forgot anyone else was in the room? You all know Marianne! She’s been actin’ strange for days, hasn’t she?”

Beside Roland, Marianne’s father shifts uneasily; it’s a tiny movement, but Roland catches it, and turns to him.

“Hasn’t she?” Roland repeats.

Her father licks his lips, his eyes darting between Marianne and Roland, and Marianne can see it, can see what he’s thinking, that he’s remembering their argument after breakfast, remembering how she said she doesn’t regret her marriage—

“—well—” her father says hesitatingly.

“And he’s done it before,” Roland says, looking at Bog, and Marianne can see the spite in his eyes, almost completely hidden by his expression of righteous fury. “He’s used a love potion before. Isn’t that right, Lady Plum?” he adds, turning to her.

“—ah—” says the the Sugar Plum Fairy, with a nervous little twittering laugh. “That is to say, I—I mean—yes, but—”

Roland looks again at Marianne, and this time the expression she sees hiding in his eyes is triumph.

“I’ll bet he never told you that, did he,” Roland says.

Beside Marianne, Bog has gone completely still, as if he’s made of stone. Marianne tightens her fingers around his.

“He did, actually,” she says to Roland.

Roland blinks, looking honestly taken aback for a moment, but he covers the moment quickly, turns to the crowd.

“And would the Marianne we all know forgive somethin’ like that?” he says. “He has to have used the potion on her! How else do you explain it?”

“This entire conversation is ridiculous,” Marianne says, voice ringing out with as much authority as she can put behind it. “These unfounded accusations of Sir Roland’s are merely meant to distract from his own treasonous—”

“Let me prove it, Your Majesty,” Roland says to Marianne’s father. “Let me search her room. If he used the potion on her, I’ll bet he did it there.”

“I—” her father says, his face somewhere in between white and a queasy green. “Well, that’s—”

“And where would he be getting this supposed love potion from?” Marianne says, giving the Sugar Plum Fairy a sharp look. “It’s illegal. Not to be made ever again. Isn’t that right, Lady Plum?”

The Sugar Plum Fairy gives another, even more nervous, titter of laughter.

“Yes, yes of course; it’s illegal!” she says. “So obviously—obviously he couldn’t have—”

“He must have been saving it,” Roland says. “From before the ban. I’m sure none of use here mean to accuse Lady Plum of anything.”

He gives Lady Plum a gallant bow and the watching crowd murmurs.

“I am not under a love potion,” Marianne says. “Can’t you all see that he’s just trying to distract—”

“Say it, then,” Roland says. “Tell us all,” he gestures to the entire ballroom, “that you’re not in love with him. Say that you’re not in love with him. Surely, if you’re not under the potion, you can say that.”

Marianne goes very still. She is terribly conscious of Bog, at her side, terribly conscious of everyone watching the two of them. There’s a smile hovering around the edges of Roland’s mouth, now, and his eyes are glittering oddly as he looks at her.

He knows, Marianne realizes with a jolt. Roland knows that she’s in love with Bog. He knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

“You son of a bitch,” Marianne says softly. “You have no right to ask me that. None of you do. It’s none of your business whether or not I happen to be in love with my husband.”

“I’d say, given the circumstances, it’s pretty important, Marianne,” Roland says, “and it’s a simple enough question. Can’t you answer?”

“I will have your head on a spike,” Marianne says. “How dare you.”

“I’d dare anything for you, Marianne,” Roland says, and he sounds so sincere, so convincing, that something inside Marianne, some thread of self-control, just snaps.

She lets go of Bog’s hand and launches herself at Roland, sword upraised to strike. He makes an alarmed sound.

“Hold her! Hold her!” he shouts, and suddenly Marianne finds herself surrounded by guards.

“Marianne!” Bog says, and, turning, she sees him moving towards her, fear and fury written on his face.

“If he moves any closer, slit his mother’s throat!” Roland shouts, and Bog stops in his tracks.

Marianne tries to leap into the air and take flight, but someone catches her around the ankle and drags her back down. She attempts to fight, but there are too many of them, too close; they overwhelm her by sheer numbers and pull her sword from her grasp.

“Careful with her, now.” Roland says. “Careful. She’s not herself.”

The guards holding her arms ease their grip accordingly; the others draw back. Marianne forces herself to relax as if in surrender.

Roland must notice this, because there’s a very slight note of satisfaction in his voice as he says, “Careful with her,” again.

Marianne pants for breath, trembling withe the effort of keeping herself from fighting.

“There, now, Marianne,” Roland tells her, “nobody wants to hurt you. We all want to make sure you’re all right, that’s all. We’re worried about you.”

Marianne looks at Roland, looks at his beautiful face, and his beautiful expression of sincerity, and she summons up every bit of deception in her soul—

—and she makes an expression of uncertainty cross her face.

Oh, and Roland definitely sees that; she sees his eyes light up. He takes a step towards her, and then another.

“Come on, Marianne,” he says gently, “You think you’re in love with him; I know you do. But it isn’t real, Buttercup. Doesn’t it seem strange to you, that you feel that way?”

Marianne licks her lips, casts a quick look at Bog over her shoulder, then looks back at Roland, her eyes wide. She tries to deepen the expression of uncertainty.

“I—” she says, making her voice waver. “I don’t—he wouldn’t, though—”

Roland hears the lack of conviction in her voice, she can tell. He takes another step towards her, motions to the guards to release her. Marianne pulls her wings close, curves her shoulders inwards, angles her head down so that she’s looking up at Roland.

I learned this for you, she thinks viciously. I learned to make myself seem small for you.

She pulls her hands in to her body, hides them in her skirts, lets them twist in seeming nervousness.

“He wouldn’t,” she says again, voice trembling even more, and now she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

She sees triumph flash in Roland’s expression for a split second—he thinks he has her; he thinks he’s won. He takes one more step toward her—

And Marianne stabs him in the shoulder with the little dagger she’s slipped from the hidden pocket of her dress.

...to be continued.

Thank you all again--and always!--for all of the likes, reblogs, and comments! They always make me so happy.

[resmarted]

we are in some of the same college courses, one being a stadium size where there’s way too many students to count and it’s all lecture and no discussion, and then there’s another one where it’s only a handful of us, but everyone is really annoying. we are both quiet for the most part and keep low profiles while everyone else trips all over themselves to reveal how much they do and do not know, what their strong opinions are, and they overuse the word society to the point of completely misusing it altogether. what they don’t know about us and what we don’t even know about each other yet is that we are from different worlds - literally. we are interdimensional travelers and we came from parallel earths where lots of things are the same as this one, but everything is just slightly different. in mine ketchup is purple and the beatles are still alive, still touring and as popular as ever. in our worlds the ability to travel to alternate versions of earth has been available to the public for years, but here we must keep our heads down and not disrupt the order of things as they are in this primitive reality. there are rules that apply to us that everyone abides by, to stay anonymous and to keep your higher knowledge to yourself, because the people of this earth have the free will to stay shielded from the unknown and kept away from truths that would otherwise drive them to insanity. our worlds are more evolved and while similar, still different in small technical ways. we both live in similarly ruled governments, hillary got elected in both of our planes, and kylie sells candy flavored vape pens instead of lipstick and she snaps videos of her personalized diamond encrusted vape pens each fully charged and organized by flavor. most people where we’re from travel here to help or for fun or to be in awe of how stupid everything is, sort of like to become more grateful in a way, because common earth is so sad compared to the ones we have seen. people can usually tell something is a little off about us, but eccentricities are normal in college so it doesn’t do much to cause alarm. it isn’t until you speak up in class one day that my own gaze is lifted and i see the flags being raised all around you. somebody tries to make a point about time, and humans of this earth are all just big dumb babies anyway so it’s not even worth engaging in debate on most days, but on this particular day i hear you let out the most exasperated sigh and it’s the first time anyone in class has ever heard you make a noise. you launch into this rant where you say things like think about it, why would they be geoengineering the weather all the time, using all this time and money and resources, just to put manmade tornadoes into the sky? you think that’s all just for research? the professor is too stunned to respond, we all are. nobody was even listening to this lecture, even i was zoned out, and here you are suddenly waking up the room and everyone is alive now. nobody seems to know what to do or say and i hear myself speak before i realize i’m chiming in with, “she’s right!” and i walk to the board to start drawing a mathematical geometry type thang like, it’s all about perception. what we know to be the sky is actually just a perceived concept of what the sky is as mankind has discovered thus far. if we just change our perception with a mere 90 degree angle, the sky becomes the wall. if the sky is the wall and we are limited by gravity to get to it, then how do we get to the other side of the wall and what is beyond it? and more importantly, does that phrase the sky is the limit apply to a more sinister meaning if the sky is truly just a wall between us and a more advanced- and you stop me before i go to far and stand up shouting, “exactly!” the one jerk looks at us both and goes, so what you’re saying is they’re manufacturing tornadoes into the sky to open portals to another dimension? we both sigh a loud yes like finally, now you geeks are starting to get it. i remind him that the sun he knows isn’t just the sun, it’s one of many, many suns and that there are many other planets orbiting each of them. so if there are many suns, and many galaxies, then why wouldn’t there also be many dimensions? you come to the board and draw a figure of the sky as a wall and a tornado connecting to the earth and pushing through the other side. somebody in the back who isn’t rolling his eyes but actually in awe shouts out an emphatic, it’s like dorothy, dude! and we both shout yes! even dorothy was sent to another dimension through a twister, all warps in the time-space continuum look like tornadoes, the whirlpool effect has everything to do with- and then i am the one stopping you this time. what she’s saying is that if you had access to the money and technology it takes to make synthetic weather, why wouldn’t you try to break through the wall? this is the first time either of us has spoken a word all semester. the professor is looking at us now like she’s a character in a bad movie and is just like uhhh ok, very nice. now back to the aztecs and quantitative social science 101. after class you tell me that was really close back there, you could get reprimanded by the council for that. i laugh at you like bish wut? and say i was only trying to cover for you cause it was actually your ass that was about to be on the line. you tell me you could hold your own just fine and we exchange information on which planes we are from and how we got here, what’s our story, why we came, and i tell you i spotted your insignia pinned onto your bookbag amongst all the other buttons and punk bands, and that you seem to be adjusting to this world rather nicely. then we exchange numbers on our primitive iphone 900s, and there is a strict policy against falling in love during transcendence, but surely that doesn’t apply to you and i. we can both see with all three of our eyes, it’s not like the consent isn’t legitimate? i drive you to your earth home in the suburbs and we listen to everyday chemistry, the now infamous beatles album that was robbed from my earth and brought back to this one, and i tell you how i know that guy and how much trouble he got into over that tape, and how it was a good thing everyone on reddit accused it of just being a mashup and written off as fiction because otherwise- and you stop me again but this time it’s to make out, and oh fuck it, let’s do it anyway. let’s fall in love over and over again in every world we can find, no matter how forbidden it may be, cause what are rules anyway?