#Fireside Companion Set

[fairmaiden8]

Duchess Iron Fireside Companion Set 42cm

Enter the world of elegant fireside accessories with the “Duchess” Iron Fireside Companion Set 42cm. Created by the skilled artisans at Black Country Metal Works, this set combines traditional craftsmanship with a sleek black finish to add a touch of style to your hearth. Each tool is delicately hand turned, ensuring every piece features exquisite detailing that will impress any viewer. Plus, the…

[serenaoffaerun]

The Proust Effect

Screenshot and fiction by me, SerenaOfFaerun - please do not use for your own purposes.

Written for @bekilybi for the @bloodweavesanctuary's Fall Flash Exchange.

Prompt word: Sweaters

Relationships: Astarion/Gale (Bloodweave)

Tags: Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Domestic Fluff. Fluffity Fluff Fluff Flufferson. Established Relationship. One teensy mention of Cazador. Blink and you'll miss it. Sweet Astarion. Sweet Gale.

Words: 1.8K

Summary: Post-Netherbrain Astarion is reminiscing about times with Gale brought on by the scent in the wizard's sweater. The sweater that the vampire stole before his husband went out of town. After accepting the fact that he's going to just be sad and lonely until Gale returns, a mysterious portal appears in their kitchen...

Read it on AO3 here, or keep reading below the fold.

The Proust Effect

Sandalwood, lavender, and campfire.

Astarion breathed deeply, the purple fabric of Gale's favorite sweater bunched up around his neck and face, that scented blend filling his senses. He sighed as he gazed out of the sitting room window into the back yard. His rose bushes had finished blooming, the last of their petals littering the ground below. The handful of trees they had on their property were at their peak fall colors.

In the distance, the horizon was a swath of oranges, yellows, and reds, highlighted by the golden rays of the setting sun (which was fortunately on the other side of the tower). It reminded Astarion of a campfire. He closed his eyes and took another slow, deep breath as images flashed behind his eyes.

A campfire, surrounded by scared, tadpoled adventurers. Companions. Friends. His lover sitting next to him, hands on each others’ knees. Little moments where he’d bring Gale’s hand up to his lips to place a kiss on those battle-weary palms before holding it to the side of his chilled face. Even though he didn’t technically need breath, he’d take a deep inhale anyway, the lavender of his soap and the sandalwood that Gale used mingling together with the woody smoke and calming his nerves like his own personal aromatherapy. In those fireside evenings, fears were temporarily washed away by the wine, laughter, and love. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept them all going.

Another inhale conjured visions of fireballs thrown and enemies defeated. The side glances and smirks exchanged between lovers protecting each other on the battlefield. Checking on each other at the end of a skirmish, sweat and musk and relief filling the air as they’d embrace, grabbing stolen kisses to remind each other that they’d lived to fight another day.

Yet another memory caused his undead heart to ache. As Astarion breathed in again, he recalled sitting on a wooden bench, the same one that still sits in front of the rose bushes. He had watched Gale light the fire pit they'd built shortly after Astarion moved in. Due to his…condition…most of their outdoor time together was spent in the evenings. Putting in a fire pit barely required discussion. It was the perfect romantic addition to their yard.

They spent many nights around that campfire, but Astarion’s favorite ones involved snuggling up against each other, glasses of wine in hand, warming each other against the chill of the autumn evenings. They had bought each other the coziest of knit sweaters that first fall season. Astarion's was a deep, rich red with white embroidery around the neck, wrists, and waist, much resembling Gale's camp shirt from their adventures. Gale's sweater was a deep purple with golden stars scattered about in a streak across the front, winding around the bottom on the back. Many, many evenings in the fall and spring were spent out back wrapped in those gifts of warmth and love.

Astarion opened his eyes, still wrapped in the feel and the scent of that purple sweater that he'd snatched from Gale's wardrobe this morning. Between the fiery sunset and the smell of the sandalwood mingling with lavender and leftover campfire smoke from a week prior, the memories were so strong that he felt the ache in his chest rise into his throat. Unshed tears blurred his vision.

He missed his husband.

He missed Gale's strong, defined arms wrapped around his cold, undead chest, warming him with the force of his love alone. He missed the scratch of Gale's beard on his neck, especially over his long-worn bite scars from Cazador that Gale loved to cover up with kisses and nips and licks.

Astarion longed to hear the hums of contentment that he’d get from Gale when he let the wizard lay on his chest and snuggle. After a long day of teaching at the academy, Gale’s favorite place to be was curled up like a cat on top of Astarion on the couch, the vampire’s long, pale fingers carding through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp. If Astarion were being honest, it was his favorite place too.

Breathing in again, he curled tighter into himself and swallowed down the lump in his throat as he pictured Gale’s puppy dog eyes and charming smile. That smile was the fastest way to bring life to his dead, vampiric heart. It made Astarion feel safe. Comforted. Protected. But as his love was off at an educator's conference for a few more days, he'd have to make do with the coziness and warmth of the purple sweater.

He sighed and thought to himself, ‘Might as well get a glass of wine and settle in with a book for the evening.’ Taking one final inhale of that heartbreakingly familiar scent, Astarion stood up, smoothed the sweater out, and walked towards the kitchen.

The sound of magic fizzling in the air made his head snap towards the door. Small, glittering plumes of purple smoke came together and swirled into the shape of a portal, growing in size until a silhouette started stepping through. Thinking quickly, Astarion reached over to the kitchen counter, just steps away, and grabbed a large chopping knife. Wielding it like a dagger, something he had rarely done since the fight with the Netherbrain, he whipped back around in a fighting stance.

As the smoky magic cleared, however, the silhouette took on a very familiar frame. A human, long hair pulled back halfway in a bun, in teaching robes…

Gale froze mid-swipe as he was brushing off said robes. Looking up at the shocked face of his lover, he raised his eyebrows, sheepishly grinned, and said, “…H-hi Honey, I’m home?”

Without looking away, eyes as big as saucers, Astarion reached over and dropped the knife on the counter. “You idiot,” he breathed. “You almost gave me a heart attack! And I’m dead!!” The vampire clutched his chest dramatically, earning a hearty laugh from Gale.

“I’m so sorry, my love, I wanted to surprise you!” He opened his arms and started walking towards the kitchen. “Come here.”

As it dawned on him that Gale was actually home, mere feet from him, the lump in his throat came surging back. Tears once again welled up in his eyes as he laughed and threw his arms around his husband’s neck. Astarion held on for dear life, his emotions still raw from his scent-induced trip down memory lane. He leaned into the crook of his partner’s neck, nuzzled his nose into the brown and silver locks, and softly said “I missed you so much, darling.” It took everything he had not to let his voice break.

Gale wrapped his arms around Astarion’s back with equal ferocity, breathed in deeply, and sighed contentedly. “I missed you too, my star.”

He stood and rocked his vampire love gently from side to side for a moment before he heard a sniffle and a shaky breath. Pulling back and gently holding the sides of Astarion’s face, Gale saw the tears that streaked his cheeks. Wiping them away with his thumbs, brows knitted together, he asked, “Why the tears, my love?”

Astarion looked down, chuckled, shook his head and said, “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just an emotional sap today.” He sniffled again and fidgeted with the cuffs of the purple sweater, baggy around his slender wrists. “I had just been sitting here thinking of how much I missed you. I was remembering our…wait a minute.” His voice dropped for the last bit. He looked back up and cocked his head like a curious dog. “Why are you home? I thought your conference lasted all week!”

Gale shrugged and answered, “The presenter for the remaining lectures unfortunately had a death in the family and had to return home. While any one of us in attendance could have easily talked the others under the table with theories on educational practices, we all decided we valued some extra time off even more.” He pulled Astarion’s face in and kissed him gently before walking back over to the door to hang up his robes. “I almost forgot to go back to the inn to grab my things before rushing back here,” he added with a laugh.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Astarion leaned back against the counter, restraining himself from tackling his husband and taking him right there on the kitchen floor. Gale’s aching knees wouldn’t appreciate that, and the only thing on his mind right now was reacquainting his lover with their bed for what would have otherwise been the remainder of his time away.

He realized that Gale had looked up at him and was chuckling again. Astarion asked, “What’s so funny?”

“You’re wearing my sweater,” Gale answered as he worked at the buckles of his teaching robes.

“Like I said,” Astarion replied, “I missed you. Terribly. We haven’t been apart for longer than a day or two before and I needed to feel like you were close.”

Gale’s shoulders dropped and lip pouted slightly as he looked at his dear, sweet husband like he’d just said the most adorable thing in the world. The endearing vampire continued, “When I start to miss you, I grab this sweater and throw it on for a bit so I can breathe you in and it feels like you’re here. Besides, it keeps me warm, and I couldn’t find my sweater. You know, the red one you’d bought me at the same time. Did you send it to be laundered before you left? Why are you still laughing? What’s so funny about me wearing your sw…”

Astarion was once again at a loss for words. His slacked jaw slowly curved up into the biggest smile as he realized why his husband was so amused. After Gale hung up his robes, he turned back around, grinning so widely as he straightened his sweater. Rather, Astarion’s sweater. The deep red sweater with the white embroidery around the neck, wrists, and waist.

Chuckling and shaking his head, eyes glistening, Astarion walked towards him and said, “We are a couple of sentimental fools, aren’t we?”

Gale pulled his love in close by the waist and kissed him, deeply. Astarion let a few more thankful tears fall as he not only returned the kiss, but added an element of urgency. Their lips never left each other as they stumbled down the hall towards the comfort of their bed.

They would spend the rest of the week in that room, making love and snuggling in each others’ arms. Similarly, the arms of their sweaters would lay entangled with each other in a pile on the floor, the essences of their owners once again mingling into their own personal blend of scented comfort.

Thank you so much for reading!!

This is also baby's first AO3 post! I have a few more things to put up, but I'm waiting until I get a big project off my list so I can focus on them properly. Then, I have a SPREADSHEET full of writing prompts I've been challenged to write - all from BG3!

I plan on coming back and adding a drawing to this piece, as I intend to for MOST of my pieces. I just unfortunately ran out of time this week. Soon though!

You can follow progress of my other works and art pieces on Tumblr and on AO3 under SerenaOfFaerun.

If this fuzzy lil' comfort story made you smile, please leave a kudos (AO3), a like/reblog (Tumblr), and maybe even a comment! I hope it brought you joy 💜❤️

[dicebound]

Legend in the Mist - Kickstarter Now Live!

Son of Oak is excited to announce their next game, Legend in the Mist, a rustic fantasy RPG based on the award-winning and groundbreaking narrative game engine of City of Mist.

Spin a fireside tale of unlikely villagers setting out on a quest into a greater unknown world, rife with peril and mystery, in the vein of The Lord of the Rings, The Wheel of Time, Princess Mononoke, and many other classic fantasy stories, or create your own legendary realms with the game’s open-ended system.

The Kickstarter campaign will fund the creation of two books – the Legend in the Mist Core Book and the Hearts of Ravensdale Setting Book – as well as a range of accessories such as premade character folios, a Master of Ceremonies (GM) screen, cards, dice, maps, and more.

Legend in the Mist is a narrative roleplaying game with optional tactical features, that evokes the feeling of an old fireside tale. You gather your companions, journey through the countryside and wilderness, overcome dangers both natural and ancient, then have campfire conversations about what it all means. 

Rather than another D&D-clone, Legend in the Mist focuses on bringing story and gameplay together with each one of its features, from its simplicity at the table to built-in tools for developing personal story arcs for your characters that lead to dramatic moments of transformation

Each PC has multiple and sometimes conflicting motivations that the player must juggle between. Players are encouraged to make hard choices, which can eventually transform their characters in dramatic story moments: they swap out themes and all the tags associated with them for new themes and ability sets, changing the character’s gameplay.

PCs constantly evolve narratively, changing their “class”, shifting to a new role in the party, or resolving a major backstory event – and coming out of this transformation with newfound abilities.

Uniquely, the game will support a party of PCs of varying power levels, balancing them by giving them equal narrative power (who was more instrumental in Lord of the Rings, Frodo or Gandalf?).

You can start the game with a party that includes a heroic outlander, a powerful wizard, or even a supernatural being alongside a band of rough-hewn villagers whose heroic days are yet to come. This balance between Origin and Greatness themes is at the heart of the game, and player characters can move between these polarities as they progress and change themes.

Legend in the Mist is a setting-agnostic fantasy game that you can play in any of your favorite settings. The Core Book provides you with guides and tools to create any character, culture, adversary, location, or magic system that you dream up!

[luxheroica]

I wrote Wyll/Karlach, inspired by this art. I have been shipping them hard for months and knew I needed to contribute to the ship in some way. Also on AO3.

Tonight the camp is drunk on success and copious amounts of wine. There is still hardship and danger on the road ahead, not least for those who still bear the tadpoles in their heads. For tonight the goblins are gone and the druids ritual halted, the wine is sweet and the fire bright and that is enough to banish thoughts of darkness ahead. 

The bard Alfira has struck up a string of country dances on her lute, the kind of songs played at festivals and weddings for all to join. Wyll, in good humor and more than incidentally tipsy, joins the first one– a circle dance that has him linking arms with Lia on his left and Zorru on his right as they careen faster and faster around the roaring bonfire. 

There is something liberatory about dancing among the tieflings. None of them stare at his horns (still heavy on his head) or his strange eyes, instead taking them in stride. 

Wyll is the only one among the group that he has privately begun to think of as ‘companions’ to join the dance. Tav snuck off some time ago to find a private tent with Gale. Astarion is skulking around somewhere with a bottle of wine. Lae’zel scorned the idea of any revelry and has gone to bed, and Shadowheart in rare sympatico with the gith has also retired early. 

He is surprised not to see Karlach among the party– until he turns and sees her at the edge of the firelight, drinking out of a flask and watching the dancing, her feet tapping along with the music. 

The song comes to an end with a repetition that is so fast it nearly has all of them tripping over their own feet. Wyll has to catch his breath when at last the lute sings out its last note, and the gathered tieflings break out in applause. 

He excuses himself from the fireside and finds Karlach, who tips her drink at him and nods when he approaches. 

“You don’t wish to join the dancing?”

“Oh, ah,” Karlach shifts on her feet. She’s always in motion, he’s noticed, whether she’s fidgeting or pacing around the camp. “I don’t really feel like setting anybody on fire tonight. Plus I don’t know any of the dances.” As if sensing she’s brought the mood down she grins at Wyll. “You looked like you were having fun though.” 

“It was quite fun,” Wyll says, eyeing Karlach, who is watching the firelight circle with half an eye. “Most of these dances don’t have complicated steps– they’re easy to learn, if you follow what everyone else is doing you’re more than halfway there.” 

“Doesn’t solve the problem of me turning that whole line dance into kindling.” 

She’s keeping her tone light, joking and grinning, like she doesn’t really care that she can’t ever touch anyone without harming them. 

Wyll follows her lead in this. “I’ve got a nice sturdy pair of leather gloves,” he cajoles, pushing her just a little. “And Mizora’s present should make me at least a little resistant to infernal fire.” 

Karlach grins again, softening a little this time. “Don’t worry about me, soldier– I’m all left feet, you get me out there I’ll just careen into everything. Get out there and enjoy yourself.” 

Wyll doesn’t believe that– well, he does believe the part about her careening, she seems like the type to careen– but he doesn’t believe that she truly wants him to leave her to go enjoy dancing. Karlach puts up a good front, but were he in her shoes he would want nothing more than the simple things that had been so long denied him. 

He fishes in his pouch and draws out his pair of sturdy leather gloves which he slides over his hands, like a courtier drawing on his silk gloves so that he might offer a hand to a lady, then bends at the waist in his very best courtly bow. That it is a little out of practice he thinks she will forgive, especially when an irrepressible laugh burbles up out of her. 

Wyll winks, and Karlach laughs again. 

“Well, my lady?” Wyll asks. “May I have this dance.” 

She’s grinning truthfully now, as she takes his hand. There’s a bit of heat, like he might feel pulling a pan from the oven, but it’s shielded by the leather. “You may,” Karlach says, a laugh still at the back of her throat. 

Wyll pulls her towards the firelight. Careful to give her enough space that any careening won’t be a danger, but still within the flickering orange glow of it. A few of the tieflings look at them and grin when they join. There’s a new tune starting up– he knows this one, a sprightly hop meant to be danced with a single partner. 

“This one isn’t complicated, just follow my steps,” Wyll murmurs to Karlach as he begins twirling her around the fire. At first she is clumsy, all left feet as she said, but after a few turns she starts to anticipate the little skip-hop on the third beat. Wyll smiles. “There, you’re getting it.” 

Karlach shakes her head, still grinning. “You’re playing with fire, you know that right?” 

Wyll meets her eyes. Grins right back. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He sends her out in a spin, and her laugh echoes all the way to the sky above. 

They whirl around the bonfire, until the flames become embers and the music slows and they all at last stumble off drunk and sleepy to bed. Wyll’s thick leather gloves are covered in scorch marks, but he considers it worth the sacrifice to see Karlach’s soft smile when at last the dancing finishes for the night. 

There will be danger on the morrow, but for tonight his heart is warm. 

[glittervame]

A Date?

Cedric Diggory X FEM! Y/n

Warning: Smut +18 MDI, Wrap it before you tap it, humiliation, overstimulation, praise, eating out, rough sex

Cedric Diggory's gaze drifted away from the parchment he had been meticulously scribing on, scanning the library with an air of contemplation. The flickering embers in the hearth created a cozy ambience, casting a warm, dappled light upon the storied tapestries adorning the ancient stones. His eyes fell upon you, nestled in the embrace of a plush armchair, engrossed in the whimsical tales of "The Tales of Beedle the Bard." The crackling fire painted your features with a soft, flickering glow as you turned the pages of endless words.

With a tentative step, Cedric approached, his Quidditch robes whispering a gentle melody as they brushed against the floor. His smile, a blend of earnestness and courage, grew as he drew closer.

"Y/n," he began, his voice a blend of Hufflepuff politeness and Gryffindor confidence. "I hope I'm not interrupting your reading."

Looking up, you met his gaze, tsurprised but pleased to see him, and closed the book with a soft thump. "Cedric, not at all," you replied, the book, now a silent companion, was laid aside with care. "What's on your mind?" You asked, the excitement bubbling just beneath the surface of your calm demeanor. 

He took a moment to compose himself, the gravity of his words apparent in the pause. "Well, I was pondering," he began, his eyes searching yours with a hint of vulnerability. "With Valentine's Day approaching, I thought... would you do me the honor of letting me join you in Hogsmeade next weekend?" The words tumbled out of him, as if he had been rehearsing them all afternoon. "I mean, as a date," he clarified, the pink blush staining his cheeks as he spoke the final two words.

Your heart fluttered like a golden snidget at the Quidditch World Cup. "A date?" you echoed, trying to keep the excitement from your voice.

The chatter faded into the background as you considered his proposal. Cedric's kindness and bravery had always drawn you to him, and the thought of spending a romantic afternoon with him in the snow-dusted streets of Hogsmeade was utterly enchanting. "That sounds wonderful," you said, smiling back. "I'd love to go with you."

Cedric's eyes lit up, and the shy blush deepened. "Really?" The candles floating above cast a warm glow over his chiseled features, making him look even more like a Hufflepuff prince.

"Cedric," you finally said, your voice a soft whisper amidst the crackling fire. "I would love to." The smile that bloomed on his face was worth more than any victory on the Quidditch pitch, and you felt a warmth in your chest that not even the burn of fire whisky could match.

Cedric Diggory and Y/n strolled hand in hand through the enchanting cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, the quaint wizarding village nestled at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The air was crisp and filled with the sweet scent of chocolate frogs and butterbeer from Honeydukes. The snow-covered rooftops glistened under the soft glow of the street lamps, casting a warm, romantic light on their faces. It was the perfect setting for a Valentine's Day date.

Cedric looked dashing in his yellow sweater with the golden Hufflepuff emblem standing out proudly. His hair had a slight wave to it from the cool breeze, and his eyes sparkled with excitement as they searched for the perfect spot to sit and enjoy the charm of the village. Y/n looked equally radiant in a cozy pink sweater that brought out the gentle blush in her cheeks. The matching scarf was wrapped around her neck, fluttering with the same excitement as her heart.

They approached The Three Broomsticks, the rustic pub famous for its butterbeer and cozy fireside seating. Inside, the crackling fireplace was surrounded by students and couples, all laughing and sharing stories of their time at Hogwarts. Madam Rosmerta, the friendly proprietor, waved them over to an empty table in the corner. "Cedric, dear, it's so nice to see you again and with your lovely girlfriend?" she asked with a smile as she sat them down.

With a twinkle in his eye and a charming smile, he expresses his anticipation to her. "I do indeed hope it's soon, Miss," he says, his voice warm and inviting as he follows Y/n's lead to a cozy booth nestled near the crackling fireplace.

They ordered two butterbeers and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and a bowl of chocolate to share, the warmth of the drink and the sweetness of the fruit a delightful contrast to the chilly air outside. As they sipped, Cedric leaned in closer, his eyes meeting Y/n's with a gentle gaze. "Thank you for agreeing to come out with me today," he said, his voice low and earnest. 

Y/n blushed and took a small sip of her butterbeer, the foam sticking to her upper lip in a way that Cedric found utterly endearing. "It's perfect," she replied, smiling. "I've never been to Hogsmeade on Valentine's Day before.”

"so what do you want to do after school?" He inquires, his curiosity piqued by the thought of their futures intertwining.

Y/n pondered for a moment, her gaze drifting to the flickering flames of the fire. "I've always wanted to travel," she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "See the world, maybe help people with travel to Brazil and study Herbology. What about you?"

Cedric nodded thoughtfully. "I've considered joining the Auror Department," he said. "I want to make a difference, like my dad did."

The conversation flowed naturally, as they shared their hopes and dreams for the future, the warmth of the fireplace and the sweetness of the butterbeer creating a comfortable, intimate atmosphere. They talked about everything from Quidditch to their favorite classes and even delved into the more serious topics of what they'd do after graduation.

As the evening grew darker, the lights from the candles above flickered, casting a warm glow over their table. Madam Rosmerta began to dim the lights, adding to the romantic ambiance. Cedric's hand found Y/n's under the table, and he gently laced their fingers together. The contact sent a thrill through her, and she looked up at him, her heart fluttering in her chest.

He leaned closer, and Y/n could feel his breath against her cheek. "Y/n," he murmured, "I know we've only just started getting to know each other, but I think there's something special between us."

Y/n's heart raced, and she felt a swell of emotion in her chest. "I think so too, Cedric," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

He leaned in closer still, his eyes searching hers, and she knew what was coming next. As he leaned in for their first kiss, she felt a rush of excitement and nerves, her stomach fluttering like a thousand butterflies. Their lips met softly, the taste of butterscotch lingering between them. It was a kiss filled with promise and potential, a declaration of the beginnings of something beautiful.

When they finally pulled apart, they were both smiling, their cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fire and their newfound feelings for each other. 

Cedric might look like your charming boy next door but boy you'd never guess he'd be like this.

In a moment of intimate exploration, his eyes are locked onto yours, a silent question seeking permission, and when he receives your nod of consent, his smile is soft, a promise of the delight to come. He starts by placing tender kisses along the inside of your thighs, his breath warm and comforting against your skin. His fingers trace light patterns, a prelude to the symphony of sensation that is about to unfold.

As he reaches the apex of your thighs, his kisses become more deliberate, the anticipation building as he brushes his lips against the delicate folds of your sex. His tongue darts out, tasting the sweetness of your arousal, and you gasp at the contact, your body responding to his every move. His movements are slow and deliberate, a dance of passion that he has perfected just for you. Each drag of his toung is measured, designed to tease and tantalize, to build the crescendo of your desire.

Cedric's hands glide up your body, cupping your breasts, his thumbs circling your hardened nipples, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. He takes his time, savoring each moment, as if he's afraid that if he goes too fast, this perfect moment might shatter into a thousand pieces. His tongue dips and swirls around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm and moan with pleasure.

Your legs instinctively part wider, giving him better access, and he takes advantage, sliding a finger inside you, feeling the warm wetness that's been building in response to his touch. His eyes never leave yours, watching for every flicker of pleasure, every twitch of your body that tells him he's doing exactly what you need. His strokes are slow and deep, mimicking the rhythm of his mouth against your sensitive flesh.

The room is filled with the sweet sounds of your gasps and moans, punctuated by the soft wet noises of his ministrations. His mouth is insistent, never stopping, as he works to bring you closer and closer to the edge. His other hand travels down your body, his fingers sliding between yours, intertwining as he continues to explore you with his tongue.

As the intensity builds, Cedric's pace increases, his tongue moving faster, more insistent, his fingers curling inside you in a way that makes you see stars. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body tightening, coiling like a spring ready to unleash its stored energy. You're so close, so very close, and he knows it.

With one final, firm suck on your clit, combined with a deep thrust of his fingers, you shatter, crying out his name as the waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body convulses in ecstasy, each pulse sending you spiraling higher and higher. He holds you through it, his mouth and hands never leaving their task, until you're left trembling and sated in the aftermath.

As you come down from the peak, Cedric kisses his way back up your body, his lips leaving a trail of fire wherever they go. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his gentle touch reassuring as he pulls you into a loving embrace. His eyes are filled with a warm glow, a reflection of the satisfaction and connection you both share.

"You can cum all you want, baby" as He lines himself up and slowly pushes into you, filling you completely. The feeling is exquisite, a perfect mix of pleasure and pain, as your body stretches to accommodate him. He begins to move, his rhythm slow and steady, letting you adjust to his size.

With every thrust, Cedric hits that spot deep within you that makes you see white, and you find yourself climbing again, your orgasm building, the not forming in your stomach, tightening your muscles, until it explodes out of you, leaving you panting and gasping for breath.

As he feels you approaching climax, he whispers sweetly, "Cum for me, my love." His words are a catalyst, sending waves of euphoria through your body as you shatter around him.

And through it all, his eyes are on yours, watching you, drinking in your pleasure, as if it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He whispers your name like a prayer, his voice hoarse with passion, as he reaches his own climax.

But Cedric isn't satisfied with just one, if was as if you were watching a switch flip on. He continues to rub your clit with the same tender precision, his pace increasing as he watches your reaction. You begin to feel overwhelmed, but the ecstasy is addictive. As your second orgasm builds, you attempt to pull his hand away, but his grip is firm. He doesn't stop, his fingers working you into a frenzy. His movements become more intense, his strokes deeper.

You're lost in a haze of pleasure and pain as he starts to bully your clit, forcing you to cum yet again. He chuckles, his breath hot against your neck, "Look at you, so greedy for it." Cedric's hand shifts to your throat, his grip surprisingly strong as he holds you down, smirking as your eyes widen in a mix of fear and arousal. "I said I'd be gentle the first time," he murmurs, his voice dark with desire, "You squeezing me so tight, darling." He groans as he watches himself enter and exit your cunt. "You like that?"

Your breath hitches, your body arching into his touch as you struggle to answer. "Y-yes," you manage to gasp out, your voice a bare whisper.

Cedric's smile widens, his grip tightening just enough to make you feel the delicious pressure. "Good girl," he praises, his thumb finding your clit once more. He circles it mercilessly, the sensation making your toes curl.

Your orgasm builds, the pressure rising in your core like a crescendo. You know he can feel it, the way your muscles are clamping down around his cock. He seems to revel in your desperation, his strokes growing faster, his breathing harsher.

As the climax hits, he releases your throat, allowing you to scream out in ecstasy. Your body shudders violently, your eyes rolling back in your head. The feeling of his cock moving in and out of you, coupled with the relentless assault on your clit, sends you spiraling over the edge.

He slows his pace, watching you come down from the high, his expression smug. "You're cumming again? You're so pathetic" he says with a chuckle. "But I do love it." He leans in closer, his teeth grazing your ear.

You feel his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "I want you to remember this moment," he whispers, "Remember who made you cum like this." He starts to fuck you harder, his movements more deliberate. "Remember who owns you."

Your body responds to his words, your pussy tightening around him. You can feel him getting closer to his own release, his strokes becoming more erratic. "I'm going to cum," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "You're going to swallow it all, aren't you?"

You nod, unable to form words as he pulls out, his cock glistening with your juices. He pumps himself a few times before he shoots his load into your open mouth. You swallow, the salty taste of him filling your mouth. He watches you with hooded eyes, his own orgasm written all over his face.

When he's finished, he leans back, his chest heaving. "Good," he says, his voice still gruff. "Now, clean me up."

With trembling hands, you reach down and take his still-hard cock into your mouth, eager to taste him fully. You lick and suck, swirling your tongue around the head to make sure you get every drop. He groans, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides you.

When he's clean, he pulls away, a satisfied look on his face. "Much better," he says, patting your head like you're a good pet. "Now, let's see if you can handle a real challenge."

He stands up, pulling you with him. You wobble on your legs, still trembling from the intensity of your last orgasm. He turns you around, pushing you down onto the bed so that your ass is in the air. "I want to see if you can take it without screaming," he says, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

You brace yourself as he enters you from behind, filling you up to the brim. The angle is new and feels incredible, sending fresh waves of pleasure through you. You bite your lip, trying not to make a sound as he starts to move. His strokes are deep and slow, pushing into you in a way that makes your eyes water.

It's all you can do to keep from crying out as he starts to fuck you harder. His hand reaches around, finding your clit again. You whimper, the sensation too much to bear. "I'm going to make you cum so hard," he whispers, his breath tickling your neck.

The pressure builds again, the sensation of his cock stretching you combined with the relentless teasing of your clit is too intense. You feel your body tightening around him, your muscles clenching. He chuckles, his grip on your hip tightening. "Good girl," he murmurs, "Take it all."

You do as he says, your orgasm ripping through you like a tornado. You bury your face in the pillow to muffle your screams as he continues to pound into you. The pleasure is almost too much, your body convulsing with each wave. "You're wayyyy too fucking loud" He hisses further pushing your face into the pillow, his hand over your mouth as he starts to cum. He fills you up, his warm seed spilling into your pussy as you continue to quiver.

When he's finished, he pulls out, his cock slipping from your mouth with a wet sound. You collapse onto the bed, utterly spent. He stands over you, his cock still hard, a smirk playing on his lips. “you’re a little slut that just wants dick inside you all the time, huh?" He says, stroking himself idly.

You can't even find the energy to respond, your body still reeling from the intense experience. He chuckles again before leaving the room, leaving you alone in the aftermath of your first taste of true submission. The room is quiet, save for the sound of your own breathing. You lay there, feeling used and you absolutely loved it, your body covered in sweat and cum, your heart racing.

[theanoninyourinbox]

Personally for your Skyrim AU I want to hear how you’ve organized all the different factions 👀 I love worldbuilding and Skyrim’s political landscape is so complex!

SO I GOTTA SAY THIS FIRST

Each major city is now a Clan - Whiterun is Paleclan, for example. And each Clan has smaller Clowders or Settlements under it, with a Leader but not one chosen by Sovngarde. So Riverwood is now The River Woods of Paleclan. Not all of these are believers of Sovngarde but will follow the rules of the Clan they are protected by.

Now that I got that brain blurb out of the way, the Factions. They’re vastly different so I’ll be handling them differently. And in alphabetical order for the sake of my brain lol

The Bard’s College is now called The Singers, and they are a well loved part of Clan Culture. Singers are, well, singers, but also historians and messengers - a good Singer can take the sting off of a bad message. They are taught in Solitudeclan territory, in an echoing crevasse with great acoustics. Generally speaking, the Imperial Clowder isn’t as impressed with the Singers, but that’s more of a cultural point than anything else. Most Singers live at the taverns and inns, but some become part of Clans and live in the Clan Territories more permanently. Some never set down roots. It differs from cat to cat.

The Blades are, well, the Blades - an ancient order of Dragon Slayers, and in the Imperial Clowder they were once a respectable role to pursue. Very few made it, but many tried. However, after the defeat of the Imperial Clowder by the Thalmor, they went underground, and are very close to dying off…

The College of Winterhold is now the Sky Touched Towers. In the lands of the Brokenclan (once Snowberryclan), Mages cultivate the magical abilities that all cats in this world have through study and practice. Many find themselves distrusted by the Clan and by outsiders, but most just want to study and learn! Really! Currently led by Savos’aren, and under his leadership, are making strides into improving relations with outsiders.

The Companions have changed the least - they’re fighters and brawlers, for glory and defense and fun. Companions can be hired to help in emergencies, and sometimes will just show up to conflicts. Led by Whitemane, their main camp is on Paleclan land, and Giantstar, leader of Paleclan, will sneak out with Whitemane to have a good time. However, the highest ranking members, called the Circle, have a dangerous secret…

The Coven of Namira is an underground organization, for good reason. Literally cannibals, and with an urge to feed others their horrible meals, they sneak and murder and desecrate graves.

The Dark Brotherhood, here called the Dark Claws, is mostly spoken of as old fireside tales, but they are dangerously real. Following the will of Sithis and the Night Mother, they are killers in the dark. Those who know the Black Sacrament can call upon them, and they never give up on a victim. They once prowled the world, but now huddle in the woods, under the rule of Astrid…

The Greybeards are now Hrothgar Colony, on the high mountain peaks. There, the few cats commune with Sovngarde and learn the ancient ways of Windcaller, the first to Shout as the Dragons do. Hrothgar is where Clan Leaders receive their lives, by listening to the Call Of Sovngarde. They are fed by the nearby settlements, though they do hunt in the nearby peaks, and harbor a strange guest…

The Imperial Clowder is made up of cats of every breed, all under the rule of Emperor Titus Mede II. They are militant but not violent, strict but not tyrannical. And a bit poorly managed unfortunately. They often ally with other Clowders and Clans, however their tendency to spread out led to their defeat by the Thalmor. Led in Solitudeclan territory by General Tullius, who is skeptical but respectful of Clan Culture. Little does he know, that if Fairstar of Solitudeclan were to fall, he would be called to Hear the Call of Sovngarde…

Stormcloaks are now the Storm Rebellion, seeking to revoke all outside influences from the land of Skyrim. Led by the charismatic Wolfstar of Frozenclan, the Rebels are fierce, patriotic…and horribly racist (speciesist? You get the idea). Their camps are many, and with Wolfstar having the power to Shout, they seem unstoppable…

The Thieves Guild is now the Sneakpaws, unashamed of the apprentice naming - for a thief is always learning. They scuttle and creep and take what they wish - within reason. They are no philanthropists, but an unspoken rule is to never steal from the poor. They do protect some cats - from other unaffiliated thieves, and for a price. Currently led by Frayedpelt, they thrive in Riftclan’s many tunnel systems. They are linked to another mysterious group, said to be led by the Night Herself…

aaaaand that’s it for now! Whew that was a Lot! If I’m missing any big details let me know! I’ll fix it!

[bladesandbhaalspawn]

Fireside Comfort

A Gale x Astarion x Tav Ficlet

for @toastergoblins

Pairing: Gale x Astarion x Tav (T, they/them, dragonborn, druid)

Words: <1k

Rating: G

Summary: T returns to camp and is comforted by their partners, giving them a glimpse into what life after the tadpoles could entail.

want your own? check out this post!

The soft rustling of leaves filled the air as some members of the party settled around the campfire. The moonlight cast a gentle glow over the clearing, and the flickering flames danced in harmony with the shadows. Gale adjusted logs in the fire, his face illuminated by the warm light, while Astarion lounged comfortably on a nearby log, a book in hand. T, who had just returned from a wildshaping excursion, was now curled up in the soft grass, their cat form purring contentedly.

Astarion glanced over from his reading and watched as T transformed back into their Dragonborn self, shaking off the last remnants of their feline form.

"You look more relaxed than usual," the vampire remarked, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Perhaps there's something magical about being a cat?"

T offered a small, shy smile and shrugged. "Cats don't worry about saving the world. It's... nice to escape from it all, even if just for a little while."

Gale smiled softly as he approached, summoning a blanket to cover T. "Sometimes, it's those small moments of peace that help us keep going. You deserve all the respite you can get, T."

Both men knew T's anxiety was always just beneath the surface, and that they often found solace in the simple joys of life. As the dragonborn looked up at Gale and Astarion, their blue eyes softened. "Thank you. It means a lot to hear that."

Astarion set his book aside and stretched, his eyes never leaving T. "You do so much for us, darling, often putting yourself in harm's way. It's only fair you have moments like this to recharge."

Gale leaned over and gently placed a hand on T's shoulder. "We all need to take care of ourselves, not just the world around us. You taught me that."

He smiled, adjusting the blanket. "And we're here to support you, no matter what."

T's heart warmed at their words. They looked at the fire and then at their companions, feeling a profound sense of gratitude. "It's comforting to have both of you with me, you know. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Astarion smiled, an unusual amount of tenderness in his eyes. "Well, lucky for you, we're not going anywhere. Besides, you've managed to wriggle your way into our lives and hearts. We wouldn't have it any other way - would we, Gale?"

Gale chuckled softly. "Indeed. And who else would be brave enough to stand beside us, offering their strength and heart so freely?"

T let out a small laugh, the sound mingling with the crackling fire. "I guess I'm just lucky to have found such wonderful partners."

As the night deepened, the three of them settled closer together, sharing warmth and quiet laughter. The stars above seemed to twinkle just a little brighter, as if echoing their shared contentment. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the comfort of each other's company, all worries seemed to drift away, leaving only serenity and the hope of more peaceful nights to come.

[tanthamorewinterfest]

Here are the latest additions to the Tanthamore Winterfest collection over on AO3:

So I’ve Heard by Geek_and_Nina Rating: Mature Summary:

jade’s coaching boxing, and graydon is her favorite student. kit is his best friend and we alllll know where that’s going to lead

More chapters added! This is a prequel of Show Don’t Tell, deaf Kit au. LOTS of prompts used!

Just like in the movies by claymoressword Rating: General Summary: Prompts: warming up from the cold + “Just trust me.”

“Wait! What was a mistake?” The girl gripped at the handle of the door and took a deep breath, back still turned to hide the hurt on her face from the employee. “Nothing, I just... I came here looking for someone that’s no longer here, and it was stupid of me to think that they’d be here after all this time.” A long silence stretched between them and Jade watched as the girl’s knuckles on the handle became whiter and whiter. Impulsively, she walked towards the girl and relaxed the grip, her voice as comforting as possible. “Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll be here tomorrow or the day after, we have the best patrons. Just tell me their name and I’ll make sure to let them know you asked for them, maybe even leave a message?” The girl scoffed, a bitter expression turning her face into stone as she turned to Jade. “Well, you can tell my father he can go fuck himself.”

Samaras (an Architect of Catastrophe story) by spybrarian for Silver85 Rating: Mature Summary:

Prompt: Home and family (found or otherwise)

The deluge shows no sign of stopping. It lasts for days, but then, perhaps it needs to. The earth in the Immemorial City has been thirsty for a long, long time. There’s a lot to wash away. OR Set directly after the end of The Architect of Catastrophe, Kit wrestles with the concept of her future.

The Nightmare Before Christmas by TheLateNightStoryTeller Rating: Teen and up Summary:

Prompts: winter hunting, winter gathering

Demons don't care about the holidays. When Kit and Jade receive an assignment from Lili, their Christmas plans go from eggnog and presents to crossbows and murder.

Part 2 of The Curse of the Wyrm

I Wish You Would by rochke11 for pirateygoodness Rating: Teen and up Summary:

Prompt: home for the holidays

Kit is home for Christmas, feeling the bittersweet nostalgia of her childhood bedroom An OT3 addition to this series

Part 5 of Eras

Baby, It's Cold Outside by lowkeyed1 Rating: General Summary:

Prompt: winter gathering

Graydon is drawn to the piano at Kit's Christmas party, and that draws someone else to him…

The Light That Leads West by TheLateNightStoryTeller Rating: Teen and up Summary:

Prompts: huddling for warmth, under blankets, first snow, fireside, 'shut up and hold me'

Tensions rise as the group journey's across the Shattered Sea but Kit isn't the person she was when she left on this quest and once she's able to cool off, she finds she has a lot to think about.

Afraid of Change, Afraid of Staying the Same by TheLateNightStoryTeller Rating: Teen and up Summary:

Prompts: 'you earned this', beach day (the Shattered Sea totally counts)

On their journey across the Shattered Sea, Jade watches Kit master her swordsmanship with pride. Both of them are changing and with change comes questions that Jade isn't sure she has the answers to yet. A companion to 'The Light That Leads West'

gotta get (bottomed out) by pirateygoodness Rating: Explicit Summary:

Prompts: winter solstice, longest night

Jade had whispered the idea of it first; her words coming so fast that Kit could hardly understand her as she leaned in against Kit's ear during dinner. Do you think people ever - it would be wild if someone - underneath the great tree. Kit had nodded, reminded Jade of the time that Airk had tried and been caught with a minor lord's youngest daughter and nearly pressed into marriage over the indiscretion. Jade had mentioned it again, the next night. Had said, so surely, what if we didn't get caught. Then, the next night: what if you brought your cock. Kit's not entirely proud of the speed with which she had relented. + (Or: Kit and Jade enjoy the Fantasy Strap-On, festively.)

Part 5 of this is the best day I can ever remember (tanthamore smutverse)

We still have most of the month to go so keep 'em coming! A full list of prompts can be found here and the rules and FAQs are over here.

[contreparry]

hi Ann happy friday!!!!! can I please see "[pulling other person close, feeling them breathe a sigh of relief]" on whichever pairing you want!

Absolutely! Here's some pre-Fenris/Anders in that nebulous time period between the end of Dragon Age II and Dragon Age: Inquisition, for @dadrunkwriting!

The foolish man ran off.

Fenris sighed and kicked dirt over the dying coals of the campfire, more to work out his frustrations than to prevent a potential fire. The light drizzle of morning rain and fog killed any threatening sparks ages ago. Fenris drew the hood of his cloak over his head and scanned the tree line. He was only gone for half an hour at most, scouting ahead before they made their journey further north. North to where, Fenris wasn't about to say. He wouldn't deny that he felt a pull towards his homeland. He had unfinished business there, and now he had the inclination, the time, and most importantly the ability to set forth and conclude that chapter of his life.

The fact that Anders would be relatively safe in the country was merely a bonus.

Fenris promised Hawke that he would keep the man alive. It was no order, no demand, Hawke had not even asked him to- no, it was all his doing. Fenris made a promise, and he would see it through. And Anders... was a decent traveling companion. Quiet. Too quiet, in truth. That happened to soldiers sometimes. Fenris knew that. Fighters too, after hundreds of battles in arenas. Their eyes stared into the distance, seeing something no one else could. They lived in their memories at times, and occasionally a sound, a smell, a flash of color would tear them from the present and send them hurtling into their past, into a world of fear and pain and-

Fenris understood. He knew what it meant to live with pain and fear. And Anders, in those first weeks of their journey, was a dead man walking, shambling along the road with Fenris guiding him through the worst of the muck. He didn’t do much beyond eat when prompted and sleep when they rested. Fenris hadn't the heart or energy to speak either, so their journey was silent. But sometimes, when the fire died down and the wilderness sang with wildlife, sometimes Fenris would look over at Anders and... think. Perhaps if they hadn’t been so combative, if they showed a measure of grace, if they hadn’t gone at each other with teeth bared seeking blood, if they- if they hadn’t met each other as they were at their worst but as they could have been, perhaps… perhaps they would have had more quiet evenings by a fireside. Seemed too late to mourn what they never had, however, so Fenris pressed on with Anders in tow.

Anders grew chattier as time went on, but their conversations revolved around small things. He would make a short remark about a bird he recognized or some other observation. Nothing profound. It was... normal. At least, it was the sort of thing Fenris thought a normal man might discuss while traveling in the woods, and the thought of them being normal men was so ludicrous he wanted to laugh. But he hadn't. He let Anders talk. Point out birds. Plants. Weird rocks that looked like faces if you looked at them just right. It was almost pleasant.

But now Anders was missing, and Fenris cursed how lax he had grown over a few weeks of travel. Foolish of him to lower his guard. Foolish to think Anders wouldn't give him the slip. Fenris gathered his pack (at least the man hadn't taken that with him) and set off, following the muddy trail of heavy footsteps through the forest. He couldn't have gone far, and based on the path he cut through the brush Anders wasn't trying to hide his route. Fenris could catch up if he hurried. So, he did, swift and silent as he followed Anders' path of minor destruction.

Fenris emerged into a clearing as the morning rain lightened to a drizzle. A small cottage stood at the far end of the meadow. For a brief moment Fenris wondered if the occupants were sleeping through the poor weather, for all the lights within were out. But upon a second look it was evident that the cottage had been abandoned for at least a few years. The door creaked ominously on its hinges, and the grass in the meadow was overgrown. The chicken coop was in a worse state, the roof having collapsed in on itself. And it was here that Fenris found Anders. His back was towards him, his arms braced on the remains of a rotting wooden fence that must have once surrounded a tiny paddock. His eyes were fixed on the ruined cottage, and he did not stir as Fenris approached.

“So this is where you were hiding,” Fenris said, though he didn’t know why he bothered to speak at all. Anders was quiet nowadays, and his spirit companion (Justice? Vengeance?) refused to make an appearance. So it was no surprise that Anders ignored him. Fenris joined him at the fence and looked out over the abandoned cottage.

He wished Hawke were here. She’d know what to say. She would say some pithy remark about the place. Nice decor, she would exclaim. It seems like something that you’d like, Fenris. Look at the cobwebs! But Anders was quiet, and Fenris didn’t know how to start a conversation with the man that didn’t end in an argument. So they stood side by side, leaning on a rotten fence as they stared at an abandoned cottage in the rain.

“Didn’t think you’d find me,” Anders murmured, his eyes fixed on the cottage.

“Your trail was easy to follow,” Fenris replied. So he had run off, then. He supposed it wasn’t that much of a shock. It truth it was surprising that Anders hadn’t run earlier. It was a surprise that he hadn’t kept running. Maybe the weather stopped him. Maybe he was too tired to go on.

“Didn’t think you’d want to find me,” Anders amended. “It’s a nice place.”

“Hmm,” Fenris didn’t know if he and Anders had a similar understanding of the word “nice.” Perhaps the manor was a wreck, but at least it had four walls and a ceiling. Even if the ceiling leaked.

“Needs work. New thatching, clear out the insides, salvage what you can. Build a new chicken coop,” Anders continued. “But it’s good. Far away from people.”

“Mmm.” Far from people was one way to put it. Ass-end of the earth was another.

“I’m decent enough with a hammer. I can give you pointers. And you’re smart. You’ll figure it out,” Anders said, as if he was trying to reassure Fenris, and the unease that plagued him the moment he realized Anders wasn’t at their camp returned with a terrible vengeance.

“What, exactly, are you dancing around, Anders?” Fenris asked.

“It’s a good place for you to stay,” Anders said slowly, as if Fenris was the one who was behaving cryptically. “I’ll help you get settled, and then I’ll be on my way.”

It seemed that, despite his new tendency towards keeping silent, Anders still had the ability to utterly confound Fenris. Confound, bemuse, baffle. If this was a conversation from before they fled Kirkwall Fenris might have bristled at a hundred potential slights, but now he could only stand back and marvel at Anders sheer ability to make the strangest declarations at the oddest of times.

“… did you think that you were playing my escort?” Fenris finally asked, which made Anders stir. He rolled his eyes, sighed irritably (like he did back in Kirkwall, back before, years before this entire mess), crossed his arms over his chest.

“I was thinking- “

“Dangerous,” Fenris interrupted.

“-that I am a liability. You want a peaceful life without mages or magic and- well, can’t get more peaceful than “cottage in the woods,” don’t you think?” Anders said blithely, gesturing towards the ruined cottage with more vigor than he had displayed in months. Years.

A peaceful life away from mages and magic. Fenris stared at the stone and rotting wood before him and couldn't help but think the gesture was... sweet. Terribly misguided, of course, but sweet, nonetheless. Fenris let himself think of it: a thatched roof, chickens in the yard, the wind rustling through the thick oak branches, the silence of the forest in winter. He thought of it, held onto the possibility for a moment, savored what he imagined that life could be-

"... foolish man," Fenris grumbled, and he carefully wrapped an arm and his cloak around Anders' shoulders. "Can't be rid of me so easily. Come now, rain's letting up and we've got a day's walk to the next town on the map."

He felt Anders take in a shaky breath against him as they turned away from the cottage and the meadow. They walked together under the trees as the rain and fog lifted and bird song filled the air. Warblers, maybe? Anders would know, but Fenris would wait for him to say so. Or maybe he would ask later. They had a long journey ahead of them, after all.

"It seemed a good place for you. Quiet. You like that," Anders remarked. "It seemed... I thought it might make you happy. To have a place of your own where no one would bother you."

"It would drive me mad in a year," Fenris replied. "I have grown accustomed to being bothered."

Anders' sigh of relief shook Fenris to his soul.

[laurelsofhighever]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 12/? Rating: M Warnings: Canon-typical violence Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.

Read on AO3!

Haring, 9:30 Dragon

The paper crinkled under the twist of anxious fingers, the words of the letter contorting as the linen fibres split just enough to crack the strokes of oak-gall ink. Alistair paced. The messenger had presented the royal missive with a silent bow, its urgency betrayed by the fact that it was done in the relative privacy of a corridor and not at the spectacle of breakfast, where the custom was to deliver any letters accumulated from the day before so that all the nobility of Starkhaven might better pry into one another’s business. Conscious of Princess Meghan’s particular love of gossip, Alistair had come to the deserted upper courtyard without even stopping at his rooms to retrieve his cloak, but agitation stirred his blood too high to find the mild Marcher weather cold.

A Blight. A full muster of the Bannorn underway. A personal request from Cailan to come home.

Water poured into a carved basin from the mouth of a bronze lion set into the white marble wall. Emerald vines scrambled up the pillars of the arcade to proffer clusters of scented, dawn-yellow flowers, their colour blanched against the deep blues of the glazed tile floor. When he turned, he caught the brown flash of a sparrow darting into the low hedge under the lemon tree.

“He says the Warden-Commander himself requested an audience,” he worried. “He says the darkspawn are massing in the Wilds.”

Across from him, his companion stared down at the floor, his chin resting grave against his knuckles and his stern brow knotted over tired blue eyes. Nathaniel Howe had always been serious, quiet growing up in the shadow of his father, and seven years spent as the squire of a Marcher lord had done little to temper that early melancholy. Still, wintering as he was while the Grand Tourney gained enough energy for the new season, he was the closest thing to a friend to be found in Starkhaven’s labyrinthine palace, his judgement sound and his manners a comforting reminder of home.

“I should be going with you,” he said. “It’s my duty as much as yours to defend Ferelden.”

“Ser Rudolphe won’t spare you,” Alistair replied. Although the knight could be generous in his way, he also enjoyed the comforts that could only be provided by a bevy of squires. “If he even believes it to be a true Blight. Teyrn Loghain is kicking up a fuss, apparently.”

Nate’s mouth twisted in a grim parody of a smile. “No doubt this is all some Orlesian plot.”

“Something like that.”

Silence fell heavily over them once more. In truth, nothing much could be said; the war stories they had grown up hearing by the fireside told of great battles against enemies that valour and sound strategy could defeat, not a horde of darkspawn that would come wave on wave and kill for the senseless pleasure of blood, like ants, driven by instinct to swallow everything in their path.

“Will you go by Highever?” Nate asked after a moment.

An image cut into Alistair’s mind of Castle Cousland burning, the orchards at its feet withered black with disease. “I… no. Denerim’s closer from Wycombe.”

“You can’t avoid her forever.”

Instead of answering, Alistair chose to watch the sparrow hunting for insects through the leaves, fluffing its dull feathers against the cold as a cloud passed over the sun and pressed its darkness into the already shaded courtyard. He did not need to answer. The truth had come spilling out in the bottle of Satinalia brandy they had shared the previous year, and now Nate knew every detail of how he had betrayed Rosslyn’s trust, then skulked away like a thieving dog. She had probably grown beyond him anyway, won accolades and admirers far better than –

“I know you’re still in love with her,” Nate said when nothing else filled the silence.

“What –?” he spluttered. “Still – I’m not –”

“It’s been obvious since you were fifteen.”

With a sigh, he gave in and slumped on the bench next to his friend, wistful for a few moments before when the conversation had been about darkspawn. “Not to her.”

He still recalled the day Fergus and Oriana had publicly announced their betrothal. Hiding in the gallery to avoid the adults who had all come to wish her brother well, they had stolen a carafe of deep Antivan red and giggled their way through the speeches, their own small rebellion against those who fawned over Rosslyn like a plaything and pretended the king’s unacknowledged bastard did not exist at all. She had been dressed in layers of samite that rippled in shades like winter fog, like her eyes, with enamelled brooches in the shape of laurel leaves to hold the tumbling night of her hair at bay like storm lanterns on the prow of a ship. That had been the first night he wondered what it would be like to loose the pins and let the silk of it fall through his fingers.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he continued, shaking off the memory. “When I go back, I’ll be fighting, and she’ll hate it but there’s no way her father will let her join him on the field. When it’s over…” He sighed. “Maybe. When it’s over.”

His mind turned to the others he had left behind, to Thea and her family in the alienage, the denizens of Redcliffe, and in between every farm and hold that would be swept away if the king could not turn the horde. He doubted a single child in Thedas had grown up without hearing stories of the Blights, or the unimaginable scale of destruction the darkspawn left in their wake. They were dark tales for dark winter nights – to think they might soon become a reality for everyone he gad ever known…

Trying for a smile, he turned to Nate and folded the letter away into a pocket. “You never know, maybe your father will call you back, too, and we can all take to the field together.”

“Perhaps I’ll write to him first, and see if I can glean anything before you finish packing.”

“Hey! I’m not that disorganised.”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” his friend replied in a placid voice. “And I’m off to join the Grey Wardens.”

[neonshrike]

Director's commentary on Fireside Chat please?

Dogmeat was asleep in the corner of the ruined house they took shelter in, and all that could be heard was the crackle of the fire Fawkes set up before searching for supplies. Penny sat by the campfire, her eyes focused on the flames as her mind was elsewhere.

This fic is set after an uninterrupted quest where a lot of horrific things happen, and the story of the game comes to an end. It feels pretty fast-paced, so I wanted to write a more quiet moment.

How Penny is introduced is pretty central to her character: she’s a thinker. She escapes the world by retreating into her mind. After witnessing horrific scientific experiments, being kidnapped, and accidentally blowing up the enemy base, she definitely needs that time to herself.

“I did not find much, but it should be adequate until we reach the settlement in the morning,” Fawkes spoke, gently offering her a Nuka Cola and a bag of Potato Crisps. She took them and simply nodded as thanks.

Fawkes definitely has an interesting manner of speaking, there’s this contrast between his intellectual words and his gruff, loud voice. He’s also looking out for her and trying to be good at this new thing called “being friends”.

After a few minutes, she took out the couple of bobby pins she kept in her green hair, smoothing her bangs back a few times, and put them back in.

This was a way to introduce the conversation about her hair a little, and to showcase one of the self-soothing things Penny does. She’s a little bit more nervous with an extra pair of eyes on her now.

He cleared his throat before attempting to break the ice with his first friend and traveling companion. She looked up at him, silently telling him to go on.

It was years since he had a proper conversation with someone, let alone a kind person like Penny, so he didn’t want to make a mistake.

“I was curious about something. Your hair, it is of a most unusual and fascinating color,” Fawkes spoke, and she looked away with a quiet chuckle.

“Thanks. It’s actually my natural color.”

Both of them are pretty awkward during this exchange, making them even more like birds of a feather. Penny’s used to her hair being pointed out, and she’s definitely heard it described as unusual, but fascinating is a new one for her. Fawkes has never seen anything like it, and he does like to learn new things, finding them interesting.

Penny looked away, even if it was a common occurrence, she never liked to talk about it. Her green hair marked her as an outsider, to both the wasteland and Vault 101, especially once she learned the truth about her past.

I don’t exactly go into the specifics of why her hair is green aside from a genetic mutation, but I like to think her parents being out in the wasteland and working on scientific breakthroughs might have contributed.

Penny quickly buried her face in her hands so Fawkes wouldn’t see her cry, she always hated being emotional in front of others, even if she wasn’t very often.

Dogmeat sat up, sensing her change in mood, and went over to her. He placed his head in her lap. “Penny?” Fawkes called, reaching out a comforting hand. She took a few deep breaths and uncovered her tear-stained face.

Dogs are actually very good at reading emotions, and after being with Penny so long, he can almost read her mind.

Fawkes wants to help, but he doesn’t have the experience of comforting a friend, and he’s not sure something like him could be considered comforting. He doesn’t touch Penny, a little afraid to hurt or upset her, but he lets her choose.

“I didn’t tell you about the results of the research about my hair,” she spoke as she opened her bottle of Nuka Cola.

After putting the bottlecap alongside the others, she looked up at him with a slight sense of excitement in her eyes. “It’s a genetic mutation.”

Science never fails to cheer Penny up, it’s been her life’s passion. She knew that Fawkes would appreciate the reveal, and understand the irony of it all, but I feel like there’s a little bit of fear about offending him.

Fawkes just stared at her for a long moment before bursting out into his usual boisterous laughter. Penny flinched a little at the sudden change in mood.

Another moment of Fawkes’ voice being alluded to, even though it’s in writing. Penny still isn’t 100% used to the idea of a good super mutant, so the laughter brings other things to mind.

He quickly opened his bottle of Nuka Cola, though half of it spilled due to his clumsiness with smaller objects. Fawkes held out his bottle, prepared to make a toast like how he read about in stories of friendship and camaraderie.

I like pointing out Fawkes’ size sometimes or the idea that he hasn’t completely mastered control over his strength since all he had was a cell.

“To a pair of kindred spirits!”

Penny grinned, then happily clinked her bottle against his, feeling her mood improve from before. “To a pair of kindred spirits,” she agreed, and the two continued their conversation into the night.

All’s well that ends well.

[lorellaishc]

Fireside

((Daily writing challenge august 2023 day 6, Truth/Permanent, @daily-writing-challenge, CW: None))

"Truth.... or dare?" Rinny Screwtorque asked, pushing her glasses up, letting the firelight glint off of them.

"Och, yeh know it's dare! Dare all night long!" Lorellai replied, ready for anything.

"I dare you.... to kiss Taatoo on the mandibles!" Rinny declared, before collapsing into a fit of giggles.

"Ha, is that all?" Lorellai replied, standing up and striking a pose. "I'm nae scared of any big bug, especially not that big softie!" With her head held high, Lorellai strode over to the spot near the fire where the critters were relaxing, and locked her eyes on Shillan's ravager companion. As it often did at rest, it was sitting perfectly still, just taking in everything around it. Lorellai knelt down, ignoring the dramatic gasps from her friends, grasped the ravager's head, and planted a big wet kiss on the face of the bug.

Taatoo was largely unmoved by this gesture, aside from a slight fluttering of his tiny wings that either betrayed a secret passion, or more likely, irritation.

Triumphantly, Lorellai returned to the fire, soaking in the whoops and hollars of the other girls. The summer camping trip of the Elwynn Young Ladies chapter of the Explorer's League had been wonderful so far, but this was the night she'd been waiting for. The ritual game of Truth or Dare, where she'd strategically positioned herself to make sure that she'd be the one on the attack. As she sat, she thought back to the year before, where Shansii had been the one to ask -her-, and she'd ended up having to swim across the cold lake in the middle of the night. This year, she'd have her revenge.

"Dare done! Now it's my turn! Shansii!" Lorellai grinned at her best friend, who looked back at her innocently. "Truth, or Dare"

Shansii smiled back, that winning smile that was starting to set Lorellai on edge. What was she planning?

"Truth." Shansii replied. Lorellai was devastated. She'd spent weeks coming up with the perfect dare, and Shansii had just ruined everything! But of course she knew, she always knew! Curse her for being such a good friend that she could read Lorellai like a book!

"Uh, Lorellai, she said truth, ask her a question." Rinny said, making a let's go motion. "We don't have all night."

Lorellai narrowed her eyes at her sweetly smiling friend, and asked the best question she could think of at the time. "Which of your parents is your favorite?" she asked, regaining her confidence. Surely this question would set her on the back hoof, and make her relent to the dare! Oh yes, the dare! She'd never admit to favoring one of her moms over the other!

"My dad Shillan. I love them all but he's the best dad in the world."

Lorellai's world shattered along with her plan. She'd underestimated her friend, and now it was all ruined. She barely registered Shansii winking as she turned to ask Greta and continue the game.

Lorellai had really wanted to see Shansii try to steal Balinore's chewball.

[fallowhearth]

And I think the answer is that there are actually two kinds of city builders: games about cities as spaces for people and games about cities as systems for production. Most modern city builders are, in fact, the former, interested in the city as a place for people to live and work. [...]

And here, the jump backwards in design for Neb[uchadnezzar] and P[haroah: A New Era] was quite sharp. I knew back when I played Caesar III in 1999, I was supposed to kind of imagine a real living city underneath the systems I was interacting with. By contrast, in 2021 or 2023, the decision not to have even the fig-leaf of such a simulation is a design choice. Instead, strip off the thin layer of paint and you realize that mechanically these games have more in common with Factorio or Satisfactory than they do with Farthest Frontier or Cities: Skylines. Cities are not living, breathing spaces for people in Neb. or P:ANE but rather mechanistic mega-factories for producing specific goods (mostly armies and monuments) and so what gets simulated are the elements of industrial production; people who aren’t workers don’t matter. [...]

Certainly some of that is the old Impressions influence, but I also think it speaks to the way the ancient world is understood by developers and the public. Medieval city builders have increasingly come to imagine cities as being driven by and fundamentally being about the people who live in them (with some exceptions, e.g. Stronghold). But ancient cities are instead instrumental: economic engines for social elites to produce things they want with. Notably nearly all of the ancient city builders explicitly place the player as a ruler, a pharaoh, a Roman governor, a Mesopotamian king (in contrast to the player as a mayor or other sort of elected representative) and generally their scenarios are set by having the political powers that be set objectives for the city.

Bret Devereaux

[hallothere]

16 for bronagir 👀

16. Wish

The Last Bridge felt exposed, vulnerable in every way he'd been taught to quantify. He supposed it must've been the might of Arnor or Cardolan or even Rhudaur of old that kept brigands and snipers from assailing it. Perhaps now it was... perhaps not the threat, but the power of Elrond of Rivendell that kept the passage safe.

The Trollshaws were a wild place. Untamed somewhat- and unforgotten by most- but wild in the way of dangers and secrets. There were many a tale that had origins in this place. Trolls, naturally, but other strange creatures as well haunted the fireside stories of minstrels and captains alike. Culang liked to spin yarns. He had quite a few to weave ere Bronagir set out on his journey.

Mudfoot was a stout horse and a staunch companion. His origins were humble in name and lineage, but he was a good horse and Bronagir would accept to slight against him. Many a time his own mother had named him Mud-foot in his youth for tracking 'all strains of the earth' through her house. Now, when given a brown horse with browner socks, Bronagir knew what he ought to do.

"I name him Mudfoot," he said to Nat, "so that my mother will be forced to choose another epithet, lest she confuse us."

Yet his heart was filled in melancholy; for Mudfoot meant travel, and travel what his heart desired least.

He left behind his post (though not without leave, and with a mission besides) and friends, and some... Tinnudir had grown dear to him. It might not be very Ranger-like of him, but he felt he belonged in a place called Home. A place he could dwell, yes, but defend also. A place he could nurture. Like many Rangers before him, his heart ached for the days of Kings. The days of purpose bestowed by hand and with aim, not mantle taken up in memory and mourning.

He and Mudfoot found the signs and the trail that would take them south. Calenglad had messages, and in his fey mood sent Bronagir with them. Wroth was his captain and urgent was his charge.

"Why not send Ringlor the swift...?" He mused, mostly to himself though Mudfoot shook out his mane.

On the southern road, he passed the camp at Gaerond and his thoughts wandered to Esteldin, to his mother and sister who would like as anything be headed this way next. The North Downs grew dangerous, as did much of the North.

And yet his heart did not ache for Esteldin. It was his only wish, in fact, to return to the isle on the lake and to sink his cares into the waters his people loved.

[shouldaspunastory]

Inquisitor as a Companion

~ORANA~

Race / Class / Specialisation: Elf/ Rogue (Dual-Blade)/ Assassin

Gender Identity: Trans woman

Varric’s Nickname for them: Kit

Short bio: A former slave, Orana is rescued by Garrett Hawke’s clan while they were tracking her then-mistress Hadriana. The crew later helping to train and mold her into a talented duellist. While a traumatic past leads her to be more cautious around strangers, Orana is at her core a nurturer, and fiercely driven to help the Inquisition after surviving the Conclave in order to protect and mend a war-torn Thedas for those she loves.

Recruitment mission: There’s a rumor circulating (overheard between Leliana and a scout at her tent in Haven) of an unknown elf who has been slipping in and out of camp and isn’t among the pilgrims and refugees. That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s working for the Venatori or this Elder One you keep hearing about, but it couldn’t hurt to know what she’s looking for and who she’s reporting back to. Speak to your companions or villagers around Haven who will offer up a description. After talking to three people, Varric can be found/seen speaking to the elf you’ve been looking for on the outskirts of Haven. Upon being caught, Varric will introduce her as an old associate from Kirkwall who’s been helping him to keep tabs on other old friends. In the wake of a letter from Varric about the Venatori, she is currently attempting to track down and make sure one such friend is safe. She will offer her services to the Inquisition as a spy and party member if you promise to assist her.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven: In the gardens at Skyhold, or wandering throughout camp or talking to Varric at the fireside in Haven.

~Personal quests~ Quest 1: Following the Blood Trail Orana is trying to follow up on rumors of Tevinter Slaver caravans being ambushed and the slavers murdered. A new table quest will appear to set Leliana and her spy network to work picking up the trail. Several small table missions will ultimately lead to a tip where they may strike next at which point the Inquisitor may choose to Josephine to send a courier to meet them or Cullen who will reluctantly attempt to stop further bloodshed. The latter will result in disapproval from Orana, but either will wrap-up the questline. Upon completion, you are rewarded with a brief and vaguely threatening letter to take care good of Orana, as well as a personal letter for her. (This quest must be completed before Orana will be accessible as a party member.)

Quest 2: Deep in the Weeds Sometime after arriving in Skyhold, Orana she can be overheard speaking to Krem in the tavern about ingredients for a potion- she’s having trouble finding seeds or starters of a necessary pair of herbs to plant in Skyhold’s gardens. Neither the requisitions officer, nor Skyhold’s surgeon will have any or be able to tell you their purpose or location, but both will suggest checking with Vivienne. Vivienne does indeed know where to find them and will direct you to the Hissing Wastes and Emerald Graves. The Inquisitor can choose to reveal who they are for or keep the information to themselves. (Discretion will earn some extra approval from both Orana and Varric.) Upon delivery, Orana will express her surprise and delight, before becoming concerned and suspicious of the Inquisitor’s motives. If approval is high enough, Orana will confide that the herbs are the last ingredients in a potion she takes to “look like herself.”

Quest 3: Needle & Thread After arriving in Skyhold, a new table mission will appear. Orana suggests as a less famous and elven member of your Inner Circle she may be able to slip about the party at the Winter Palace unnoticed. Josephine or Leliana may use their contacts to find out what the palace servants will be wearing for the evening. Travel to Val Royeaux with Orana to pick up the necessary fabrics and meet with a forger who can make a convincing mask to pass her off as one of Celene’s servants. Orana will be tucked away against a pillar eavesdropping during the ball, and available as an alternate party member to temporarily swap out with any of your chosen three to take with you to explore the rest of the palace. Taking Orana with you will result in additional banter as well as the ability to unlock hidden doors and chests regardless of whether or not the player has the“deft hands” perk.

Quest 4: Tevinter Alchemy

If “Deep in the Weeds” was never completed, Orana can be found early into Trespasser arguing with Dorian about plans to return to Tevinter, “with or without his approval or help.” Unable to find or make the potion she’s come to rely on, the elf has begun searching for other means and intends to seek the help of blood magic to make the changes in her body permanent to reflect her gender. While difficult, without completing “Deep in the Weeds”, it is not impossible to have high enough approval to side with Dorian and successfully dissuade her from this plan. Failing this check will not automatically fail and close the quest, but open up a side-quest to find out more about the procedure Orana is looking into. Several books hidden around the grounds will confirm that it may be possible, but the spells come with great sacrifice and a significant amount of risk. The Inquisitor can hand this information over to Dorian to help him convince Orana not to go through with it, or give the information to Orana themselves whereupon she will ask for their opinion again. If the Inquisitor is in a romance with Orana and suggests going through with her plan she will break things off with them. “In case things don’t go right.” Telling Orana to go through with the plan will result in great disapproval from Dorian and Varric, and slight disapproval from Orana.

~Approval~

How to get their approval: Declaring the Inquisition’s purpose to be to restore peace and order, supporting Varric and Dorian, any of the more creative/ironic but well-deserved judgements (Avaar dispatched to Tevinter, servitude to the mages for Alexius, etc), choosing to dedicate/expand the Skyhold Gardens to grow plants and the courtyard to healing, Saving Hawke from the Fade

How to get their disapproval: Choosing Cullen for “Follow the Bloodtrail”, Lying to bring Dorian to meet his father, taking Cassandra’s side in her argument with Varric, Telling Cullen to resume taking Lyrium, leaving Hawke in the Fade, Putting Gaspard on the throne (without Briala’s influence) Are they romanceable? Yes, with any male character. Can you have sex with them? Yes, but only after completing her “Deep in the Weeds” quest, which will only become available to Inquisitors with high approval. Romance up to that point is generally a very slow burn. If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who? Yes. Orana will embark on a relationship with Cullen if neither are romanced by the Inquisitor. She will have a queerplatonic relationship with Dorian regardless of hers or other’s romance status. Who are they friendly with? Dorian, Varric, & Cole Who do they dislike? Vivienne, although she’d never do anything to suggest or say so. Vivienne is clearly in this for herself as much as anything, and Orana is distrustful of anyone that’s such a formidable player of the Game. Cole’s readings: “Kit. Young, small, quiet. Heart much larger and loud. They think her soft, but they forget her teeth.”

On her gender/past: “Skin knitted together long ago, but the wounds won’t scar. Scars don’t hurt. A fiercely fought and silent battle of one.”

On a budding romance: “Quiet and quick. Slipping in, out, and between like water through fingers. Better, useful, this way. Too many secrets to keep. But she thinks she might like being seen, to be held.”

On locked-in romance: “She wanted to be seen as she wished to be, but he sees her as she is. Helps her see it too. She was never wrong, the mirror was.”

~Companion card~ Starting card: A three-quarter’s view of a hooded, plainly dressed Orana climbing a hill and looking over her shoulder, hand on the dagger hilt at her hip

Loyalty: Side-view of Orana crouched behind a wall with a hand poised to draw one of her dual-blades from her back.

Romance:  Straight-on view of Orana in a simple dress collecting a basket of Daffodils from a garden

~Side quests~

When nearing a hidden item: “Should we poke around a bit?” When seeing a high dragon: “Well… shit. That’s probably not good.”

“Festis bei umo canavarum. We’re going to fight that thing, I suppose?”

Low health:  “Anyone have extra potions?”

“Venhedis! This is going to be so hard to clean later.”

The Inquisitor falls: “No! No, get up. We’ve still got work to do.”

“Hang on, we’re all getting out of here!”

~Greetings/goodbyes~ Low approval:   *Nods*

“The Herald  with free time? And I thought the hole in the sky was strange.”

“Herald.”

Neutral approval: “Hello. Something I can do for you?”

“Good day, then.”

Friendly:  “Come back for more gossip?”

“Greetings.”

“Banavis fedari, my friend.”

Romanced:   “Best part of my day, seeing you.”

“So, we’ll talk later. Yes?”

“Perhaps we could share dinner later, Amatus?”

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit? Orana sees good and bad on both sides of the war. She’s sympathetic to the mages in the South, specifically those in Circles who simply want their freedom. She can, however, see some sense in Templars- at least in principle- to protect the mages and others from demons, but believes they’ve lost their way. She advocates helping the mages in Redcliffe first, and will greatly disapprove if the Inquisitor meets with Dorian, but decides to seek out the Templars instead. Orana sees the war as a long time coming, she just wants to get herself and those she cares about safely through it, to a hopefully brighter and more peaceful future on the other side.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party: Dorian leaving the Inquisition, or leaving Hawke in the Fade (with neutral/low approval)

~The Fade~ How they react: (If they went w/ Hawke in “Night Terrors”): *weary sigh, shaking head* “I had really hoped not to come back here.”

“Fasta vass! This can’t possibly be good. We can get out here, right?”

Their Tombstone: Rejection

What the Fears look like: Herself trapped in her masculine body, or her loved ones rebuking and leaving her.

What the Nightmare says: “Ah Orana. So fierce. So brave. So desperate to prove your worth. So terrified of your own reflection. You think your new friends will stick by you? They’ll see it eventually.”

Hawke or Warden: If you leave Hawke in the Fade with only moderate or low approval, Orana will leave to deliver Varric’s letters personally, sighting that it’s too difficult to remain and she will find other ways in which to help the cause. If you have high approval prior to leaving Hawke in the Fade, she will greatly disapprove, expressing that she is staying to keep an eye on Varric.

The Wardens, Exile or Allies? Orana advocates rebuilding the Wardens. Better to have the ace up your sleeve should another Blight come around.

~Halamshiral~ Where they linger: The edges of the Ballroom. Orana is frequently mistaken for one of the serving elves, but will sometimes go so far as to serve drinks in order to make herself invisible. Her mastery of several languages and unobtrusive manner mean that she can pick up all sorts of secrets Leliana and the Inquisition can put to good use. Are they good at the Game?: She is good at the part she plays within it, as a fly on the wall, but will never be a master at it. Apart from keeping her past well-guarded, Orana generally dislikes lying. She is exceedingly good at spotting lies/inconsistencies and collecting secrets and finding the best person to deliver them to. She’s incredibly good at rooting out other’s tells when it comes to playing Wicked Grace.

What people say about them: “Can’t see what all the fuss is about. Rather ordinary, isn’t she?”

“Those clothes… Well above her station. And she does know we’re fighting Tevinters, doesn’t she? Unfortunate enough that she looks so much like them.”

Gaspard, Briala, or Celene?: Orana will advocate that Celene is killed, and Briala rules through Gaspard, but will reluctantly accept a player’s decision to reunite Celene and Briala (slightly approves).

~Temple of Mythal~ Rituals or Hole?: Orana advocates for respecting tradition. Corypheus and his forces certainly won’t, and it might be dangerous to ignore the rituals. There could be traps for those that try to take shortcuts.

Agree with the Elves’ bargain?: Will disapprove if you won’t ally with them.

Morrigan or Inquisitor for the Well?: Morrigan, though she would have preferred Solas if she’d been able to convince him. She knows she isn’t nearly knowledgeable enough to put what the Well would give her to good use. Even if the Inquisitor is a Lavellan, Orana will express her reluctance they take up the task themselves, believing it to potentially be too great a risk. She will be especially eager to see Morrigan take on the job if in a romance with the Inquisitor.

~Trespasser~

If neither she nor Cullen were romanced and “Deep in the Weeds” was completed, stray dialogue with either will reveal the pair were quietly married. End slides will say that they are making plans with Mia to visit Cullen’s family soon.

If “Deep in the Weeds” was not completed, Orana can be heard arguing with Dorian about her plans to return to Tevinter. “Tevinter Alchemy” quest then becomes available.

If the Inquisitor convinces a romanced Orana to go back to Tevinter at the conclusion of “Tevinter Alchemy” or fails to complete the quest, she will end the relationship.

[aonemanarmy]

With no immediate response coming from Vincent the madman figured that whatever Jenova had said or done had properly cowed the man. As stubborn as the ex-Turk appeared it was somewhat surprising to see him seemingly so compliant and submissive. Then again, Sephiroth had never had the opportunity to properly try to break the gunman, so it was impossible to gauge how much punishment the other man had taken, although physically he appeared no worse for the wear.

When Vincent's eyes met his own he could see the defeat there as clear as day, but there was something else behind those crimson irises that he made a note to watch for. Whether Jenova had deemed the ex-Turk a threat or not didn't mean that Sephiroth felt the exact same way and he was naturally wary of any unknown variable thrown into his plans. Still, if he played his cards right he figured he might have the opportunity to use Vincent in his favor, but that was not here or now.

“We head north.”

It was the only other words that he spoke as he made his way past Vincent, not sparing so much as a backwards glance at the man as he made his way out into the city proper. Sephiroth would miss this place, but he had a job to do and maybe once the world was properly cleansed of humanity's taint then he might return to visit this place once more.

Setting out onto the well-worn and winding cobblestone streets Sephiroth made his way through the abandoned city and out into the wilds beyond. The journey ahead would be long and harsh but that would hardly be a deterrent for him; he had spent the majority of his life under unforgiving conditions and now would hardly be any different. However, he had initially planned to undertake this journey alone, although Jenova had seen fit to grant him an unlikely travel companion that he hardly saw any real use for outside of as a potential distraction.

Being unused to traveling with company after his time with Shinra, Sephiroth pushed ahead at a brutal pace that would've been punishing to any ordinary human. It was quite simply his way and he saw no reason to change it as he scaled the harsh terrain now composed of frozen plains and snow-capped mountains that swept up around them like sharp, jagged teeth. Here the cold had grown especially bitter, the wind's icy claws tearing through clothing and straight to the bone as it howled in a wordless melody.

They were making good time. Soon enough they would venture beyond the Great Glacier and reach the Whirlwind Maze, and from there at long last they would be at the Northern Crater. Even with the minor delay provided by Vincent's untimely interference they had managed to travel farther than Cloud's party – a fact he verified for himself thanks to Jenova's cells – and would reach their destination before they had the chance to catch up to them. From there it was just a matter of waiting and then Sephiroth would be able to properly put his plan into motion and seize control.

As night fell Sephiroth decided it was best to make camp, since as tireless as he was he wasn't certain if the same could be said of Vincent despite his immortal form. From what he saw the gunman still possessed a mortal shell and it had its limits even if they did far exceed your average human's capabilities. Either way, they did have the time to spare so it was no hardship to setup a quick makeshift camp with a small fire where they could sit and warm themselves until dawn broke.

Sitting by the fireside Sephiroth said nothing, not even acknowledging the ex-Turk as he gazed blankly into the flames and watched them dance in the encroaching darkness.

A different sort of darkness had crept over Vincent’s mind as the realization saturated his thoughts—a darkness that sought to secure him in a downward spiral of hopelessness and no form of escape. There was no reason to question the authenticity of Jenova’s threat; for he himself had become the weapon, and she was now the one with her finger on the trigger. Like a mindless machine, he would obey with no thought or will of his own. Chaos was now under Jenova’s authority, and by way of association, Sephiroth’s as well. But how? What was that blue light? Would he ever reclaim what little autonomy he had, or was this now his fate?

Each word from Jenova sought to add yet another sting to the situation, intent to bring the man down lower than he had already become. He could practically feel Jenova’s grin creeping over Sephiroth’s face. Hojo had already stripped him of his humanity. And now Jenova had robbed him of autonomy. And whether he disobeyed or if Jenova deemed it so, he would lose what he cherished most… by his own hand.

Vincent thought of what Sephiroth had told him a few days earlier with regards to the end of the world and his fate. If he could be forced to kill Lucrecia, there was no doubt in his mind that Jenova could also cause him to turn against Cloud and the others as well. It was one thing to lose those he cared about. But it was another if he was their designated executioner. Though the pain in his chest had been deep, nothing prepared him for the penalty Jenova was about place on him. Crimson eyes widened in horror as Jenova pronounced her sentence upon him, his clawed hand and fingers curling against the ground under the weight of the consequences. A bodyguard… a loyal dog… a servant to a man who sought the destruction of the planet and those Vincent cared about; an accomplice for the planet’s death… Cloud’s enemy. Vincent didn’t so much as lift his head; his heart trembling within his chest. What have I done…? The darkness soon dissipated, and the ambience of the Forgotten Capital once again made itself known. However, Vincent didn’t so much as take note. He could hear Sephiroth’s voice above him, his tone indicating that Jenova had relinquished her hold on her ‘son’. Sephiroth’s words rang dull against Vincent’s ears, processing what all had just happened as well as the new ‘request’ he had to now maintain. Sooner or later, he would come across Cloud and the others. They would fight, and he would have to either prevent the fight and risk losing Lucrecia or submit and act as Sephiroth’s meat-shield. Or worse—kill his friends. It wasn’t a matter of whether or not he could bear it. He had no choice. Unless there was a solution, this was now his fate. Sooner or later, he would be forced to shed blood. And unfortunately, it would never be his own. Slowly, Vincent forced himself to stand, finding it difficult to look up at Sephiroth at first. There was no escaping any of this… not now. Perhaps never. He had to accept that. After a few silent moments, he lifted his head and his eyes came to rest upon Sephiroth’s pair of mako-colored eyes. Vincent gave no verbal response to Sephiroth. Though the initial fight was all but gone, a new form of determination had taken its place, subtle though it was. He would play his part. …For now.