#also she's kissing alistair

[oaksandbirch]

Sometimes the Warden is just a masculine woman

[a-drama-addict]

arl eamons worst nightmare

[lizziedarings]

in my head where daringlizzie are entirely real and true and canon i think daring wld be sooo normal ab the wonderlandians like alistair is fr just some guy to him and it wld be so fawking funny bc alistair CANNOT STAND HIM. alistair cant be normal ab him bc he thinks bunny might have a crush on daring (she doesnt) + thats so fawking rude of daring especially since hes dating lizzie + he still CANT BELIEVE lizzie fell for an idiot like him. she deserves so much better. i think alistair wld try sooo hard to be normal like who even is this guy hes just some guy. ESPECIALLY bc daring is nothing but polite and nice to him but it just pisses him off even more. and he KNOWS that this hatred is entirely one sided like he is not above giving daring a shovel talk and making him think that murder is totally allowed in wonderland if its the name of lizzie (they wld literally never find ur body dude) and daring wld be like haha what a silly thing to say! u wonderlandians r always so funny! and it wld drive alistair crazy. literally who is this guy and why does lizzie like him so much

[notebooks-and-laptops]

Origins Timeline

Origins is epic in scale, and we know it takes place over the course of about a year (Ostagar happens in 9:30, the Archdemon is killed in 9:31).

I wanted a good reference for how long my Hero had been on the road at each part of the game (partly because this would inform their relationships to companions, partly just for reference because I'm a nerd).

So, without further ado:

(click to see the pictures in better detail)

So I've estimated that the whole journey from the moment you leave Flemeths Hut to the moment you reach Denerim and begin preparing for the landsmeet to take about 9 months and two weeks. That's accouting for a total of 6 months of travel (you're on the road a LOT in origins, I think way more than the game can accurately give you a sense of) and 3 months and two weeks doing the various quests you actually play through in the game (with about a month and a half spent in Orzammar).

I used the following resources to help me work things out, as well as focusing on the gameplay and lore (it doesn't make a lot of sense that you'd be spending days and days in Honnleath, for example).

Lavalampelfchild's timeline

Grogblogging Origins Travel Times

myrandacousland's Ferelden Travel Distance and times

Please be aware you may need to make your own maps and timelines to get an accurate idea as the way you go will definitely affect how long it takes your warden (if you cluster activities to one region or if you go back and forth loads). But I would say 9 months and two weeks is a good rough estimate for how long that part of the game takes.

I would then say a further two months are spent on the Landsmeet and everything running up to it/you being captured/the Alienage/everything in Denerium.

I would then reckon the end of the game would take a further month-ish from there, considering you have to travel to and from Redcliffe.

[kirkwallgremlin]

I know yesterday I was like what if I made a warden to smooch Alistair and also carver is there, but now I’m also like what if I made a lesbian warden to be Alistair’s bestie and give them that himbo/lesbian friendship dynamic

[platinumshawnn]

Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood - pt vii

Synopsis: On the morning of the much-anticipated wedding, the feud between the Brackens and Blackwoods comes to a head, leaving everyone on edge. Benjicot’s first day as a husband sees him as the acting Lord of Raventree, as Samwell heads to the Redfork to confront the Brackens despite Benjicot's eagerness to go on his houses' behalf. Nonetheless, Serra and Benjicot celebrate a successful wedding.

masterlist | playlist | backwards | forward

A/N: hi sorry this is late, I wanted to make sure ch 7 was done as well as I could physically manage it but will probably come back and edit more later. also, sorry again if it’s a mess, I’ve been busy getting ready to move back to uni which depletes me of any last will to live every time <33 also peep the special edition banner lol

Content Warning(s): MDNI — 18+, adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content (i.e. m/f smut), mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation -- basically drama and porn idk

Word count: 17.5k

She did not like to describe them as nightmares — vivid and coming at her too fast it left her dizzy, but sometimes she did not know any other word for the dreams that kept her awake at night, plagued by images of her mother. Sleep had been a fleeting thing the past two nights, Serra’s head pounded and she felt nauseous that morning when she woke after a dream of her soft face, sad as she had cupped her daughter’s young face, only to be torn away by the Stranger in death — they had previously only happened every other moon, giving her a break at least. But they had been relentless as of late, never allowing her more than an hour of rest, leaving her aching for her mother to soothe her like a child when she woke. She had sobbed the first night after her kiss with Benjicot, just as she normally did. By the third night, she was drained and had no more tears left in her body to shed. 

She wanted to speak to Kermit about it, just as she always had, but he seemed to be avoiding her since that day in the yards — his face still ingrained in her memory, angry and disgusted as she knelt by Benjicot, tending to the wounds he had inflicted. It seemed Benjicot was too, as she hadn’t seen much of him since. 

The few times she saw him were only when it was necessary and he had no choice but to sit across from her at the table during breakfast and dinner, but he avoided her eye. The most she had gotten was a subtle shake of his head when she had stopped, seeing him training alone with a wooden doll in his usual spot; Ser Alistair at her side and dragging her away too, his eyes darting towards something above her — she assumed by the defeated expression, it was her eldest brother by the clench of his jaw. 

The room smelled of lavender, thick with the scent from the several bunches that had been brought in and placed strategically around the chamber as she was dressed in the meantime. Her eyes were closed as her handmaidens continued to flit around her like a group of nervous birds; busy with the last touches to her dress fixing the red and blue maiden cloak around her shoulders and fixing her hair — she swore she had felt fingers on her neck, startled by their cool touch as her necklace was twisted, a soft hum of hushed voices around her. 

Her head turned, whipping towards the sound of where a distant voice had come from, her eyes finding Grace, who looked at her with a concerned gaze, “My lady?” She asked. 

Serra froze, delirious with exhaustion she presumed as she let out a sharp exhale, turning to look away, “Sorry, I…” she stammered. “I thought you said something.” 

“I asked if you slept well last night,” Grace replied, touching her shoulder. 

“No,” she admitted. “Sleep has not come easy these past nights.” 

Grace smiled, small and sweet as she stepped in front of her — it was a weird thing to no longer have Orpheus at her feet, mulling over her, “Wedding day nerves?” She softly asked. 

She let out a short laugh, tired and strained, “I suppose so.” 

Her handmaiden looked down, smiling as she fixed her cloak’s clasp one last time, “You’ve nought to worry about, my lady.” 

“And why is that?” She asked, looking down at her. 

The girl shook her head, smiling, “I’ve seen the way Lord Benjicot looks at you.” She simply replied as though it was the most obvious thing. The words confused her because as far as she remembered, it was not — her mouth opened to reply, but she was silenced by the soft knock against her door.

She turned as it slowly crept open to reveal her father, who scanned the room with his eyes as he entered, slower than usual and visibly uncertain of his presence there. 

Serra was nothing less than radiant in her wedding gown, the deep red silk contrasting beautifully against her skin. Her auburn hair, a trait she had inherited from him, had been painstakingly woven into an elaborate braid, adorned with small, delicate pearls. But it was her eyes, so full of uncertainty and quiet resolve, that held his gaze.

“Father,” Serra said, her voice soft but steady. She inclined her head slightly, a gesture that made Elmo’s heart swell with both pride and sorrow.

“Serra,” Elmo replied, his voice more gruff than he intended. He cleared his throat, stepping forward to take her hands in his. “You are… you look every bit the lady I always knew you would become.”

Serra’s lips curved into a small, wistful smile. “Thank you, Father.”

There was a pause, a brief moment of silence where neither spoke. Elmo searched for the right words, something to ease the tension he knew she must be feeling, but he found himself at a loss. What could he say that would comfort her when he felt the sting of the day so acutely?

“I know this is not easy,” he finally managed, his voice low. “But you are strong, Serra. Stronger than you think. And this marriage… it will bring much-needed peace to the Riverlands. That is something to be proud of.”

Serra nodded, her eyes downcast for a moment before meeting his again. “I know, Father. I understand what this marriage means for our house, for all the houses of the Riverlands.”

Elmo squeezed her hands, then released them, stepping back slightly. “Are you ready?”

Serra hesitated, glancing toward the window where the ancient trees of the godswood could be seen in the distance, their black leaves whispering in the wind. She took a deep breath, then turned back to him with a more confident expression.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

Elmo smiled, a fleeting expression that quickly gave way to something more sombre. He extended his arm, and Serra took it, her grip firm and steady. The hallways were quiet, the only sound was the soft rustle of Serra’s gown against the stone floor as they descended the stairs and approached the entrance to the godswood, Elmo could feel the change in the air. The cool breeze carried with it the scent of earth and leaves, a reminder of the ancient roots that held Raventree Hall in its grasp.

When they reached the edge of the godswood where the two sons of Elmo Tully and Samwell waited along with Maester Edric, their eyes turned to watch as Lord Elmo Tully led his daughter forward. At the centre of it all stood Benjicot Blackwood, dressed in the dark colours of his house, his young face set in a mask of calm reserve.

Elmo felt Serra’s grip on his arm tighten as they approached Benjicot, and he gave her a reassuring pat. When they reached the heart tree, the weirwood’s blood-red leaves rustling above them, Elmo turned to face his daughter one last time.

“Who gives this bride?” Lord Samwell asked. 

“I, Lord Elmo Tully, of House Tully, give Serra Tully, my one and true daughter, to Benjicot Blackwood of House Blackwood in marriage.” 

Her hand shook as his arm slowly slid away from hers, fighting the urge to reach out for her father and drag him back to her side as he stepped back. She looked back at him, eyes wide and scared as he gave her an encouraging nod -- she looked straight ahead, facing the large weirwood tree that hung dead over them, Benjicot’s back still to her. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled -- once, two, thrice before she slowly approached him, her feet sinking into the earth with each step. It was then that she noticed Benjicot’s head was lowered, bowed to the tree with his eyes closed as his hands remained clasped behind him -- she looked up at the Weirwood, its face staring back at her, horrifying and sobbing. 

“Do you, Serra Tully, take this man?” 

She hadn’t realised she had been standing there, in a daze and lost in thought until Lord Blackwood’s voice drew her back to reality. She looked down from the tree, looking at him and finding those familiar dark eyes that held such intensity, she had to force a breath inwards -- Benjicot’s head lifted, turning to look at her, “I take this man.” She echoed. 

There was a moment of silence, Benjicot’s hand emerging from underneath his cloak to extend to her and waiting expectantly for hers; steady and confident as she looked at it. She finally lifted hers, her right in his left, palms pressed together and fingers laced -- his touch felt searingly hot against hers as she was guided to a kneeled position, moving her cloak back with her free hand to prevent herself from getting tangled in it as she sunk to the ground. The ground beneath her was damp from the rain, soaking through the white dress that had been meticulously chosen for her. 

Benjicot’s head bowed again, lowered and looking towards the ground as he took a deep breath, closing them again. She watched him from the corner of her eye, swallowing thickly before she mirrored his actions and lowered her head, her eyes however open and fixed on her lap. She could hear Samwell’s voice from the day prior still, explaining the ceremony to her step-by-step so she didn’t make a fool of herself, the breeze the only noise that passed through them. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling as Samwell gently laid a hand against the crown of her head for a moment, along with that of Benjicot’s, withdrawing after a moment. She did not know what prayer to offer at that moment, her thoughts still racing as she tried to slow her breathing -- she could only imagine what Benjicot’s only silent plea was as she fought for a word of prayer to come to her. 

Mother above, guide my heart and his in this union. Bless us with love, patience, and understanding, that we may grow together in harmony and strength. Grant me the wisdom to be a worthy partner to him, and the courage to face whatever trials may come. May our bond be as unbreakable as the vows we speak today, and may we find joy in each other’s company, now and always. I ask this humbly, with hope and faith in the path before us.

The silence lasted too long for her comfort as she finished her prayer, peering towards Benjicot again in her peripheral vision. His head rose after a moment, not daring to look at her yet as he opened his eyes, looking up at the tree -- he seemed to feel her stare on him as his head turned slightly, just enough to catch her eye and subtly raise an eyebrow at her. His eyes darted up as a way to gesture to her to stand before he slowly pushed up from his knees, Serra fumbling to follow him to her feet — his hand steadied her, still holding hers as she clutched her dress with her free hand. 

He released her hand as they stood, turning to face one another. Benjicot’s hands lifted to her chest, his knuckles brushing her skin as he unfastened the clasp of her cloak; her eyes fixed on his face and watching the look of concentration that etched itself into his features -- his movements were cautious, careful not to damage it as he unclipped it and slowly slid the cloak from her shoulders, finding her eyes as he pulled it towards him. He looked away, holding the cloak out to her father who stepped forward to gather it, turning to look at her again. Samwell held out a cloak that resembled Benjicot’s, large and of their house colours — it was daunting to look at, unsure if it would fit her or leave her swimming in its fabric as Benjicot lifted it, holding it in front of her and shaking out the fabric — he swung the fabric up and around her, letting the cloak rest against her spine and enveloping her shoulders. The cloak was heavier than her own, a thick wool that would keep her warm amidst the rainy weather, rough against her fingers as she fisted it; her head lowered. She avoided his eyes as he fastened the cloak around her shoulders — his hand nudged her chin as he withdrew, encouraging her to look up at him again. 

A gentle breeze blew through the Godswood, the silence filled by the distant sounds of ravens that seemed to constantly hover over the estate, his hands moving to cup her face — his hands were hot against her cheeks, gentle in handling her and holding her gaze. Her attention was drawn to the freckle on his forehead, down to the scar on his nose, his mouth that lingered close to hers but not yet touching, igniting reminders of the memory of his kiss in her room days earlier; though there was a restraint that was not there the time before, hesitating. 

Benjicot leaned forward finally to close the gap, her eyes fluttering shut as his mouth found hers in a kiss that was slow and sweet; tame in comparison to the ones she had the memory of, exploratory and shy as his lips melded into hers. A warmth spread throughout her chest and limbs until it radiated to her fingertips, her heart rate increasing with nervous excitement as she instinctively reached up to touch his cheek. 

Serra withdrew when she felt a trickle of rain land against her brow, her head tilting to look upwards towards the grey skies, covered in thick, full clouds that threatened to downpour -- Benjicot’s eyes followed hers for a moment, scanning the sky before he looked down at her again. When she looked back at him, she was met by a shocking tenderness that she didn’t recognise in him, his mouth pressing into a small, lopsided smile. 

His eyes briefly darted towards where his father stood in front of them, looking to his wife then. She let out a startled yelp as he moved forward, sweeping her off her feet by hoisting her over his shoulder; her hips pressed against him, knocking the wind from her lungs for a moment as her right hand flung out towards his back -- she felt him sway as he adjusted his stance, bouncing her slightly over him so he could adjust her positioning as well, her eyes stuck on his heels. 

She heard a low snort, quiet and unable to source who it belonged to as the ground beneath them moved; swaying with each step he took towards the house. Her father reached out to touch her shoulder as they passed, Benjicot’s body shaking with a laugh as her father uttered a soft, “Don’t drop her please.” 

Serra was terrified to move or squirm as he walked, his cloak clutched tight in her hands as if somehow that would help break her fall if she slipped off; struggling to breathe with his shoulder pressed into her stomach. She watched as his feet led them inside, the dirt path covered in a layer of leaves that crunched under every step, the rain beginning to pick up -- the men who had joined them in the Godswood followed in silence behind them, her head briefly lifting to find her brothers, her father, and Samwell in tow. The doors were opened for them as they returned inside the grand halls of Raventree, the halls lit and lined with guards and staff who waited for their arrival -- she counted the pairs of feet as they passed, her eyes lifting every so often to catch the odd look of subtle amusement from a young guard or the giddy smile of a handmaiden as he carried her towards the hall. 

They arrived to open doors, the room already lined and filled with several men and women from the Riverlands; other highborn noble couples, lords, and their children. It was only then did she feel him crouch and let her down, her feet making contact with the floor as he slowly placed her down. She stumbled back a step, red-faced and flustered as she quickly fixed her dress, steadied by a hand of his around her elbow and looking ever so proud of himself as he grinned at her -- she let out a breathy laugh, wide-eyed. A sudden chorus of applause erupted within the room, her head whipping around to face the room that welcomed them, lit and basking in the warm glow of the lighting of the ornate chandelier that hung over the rows of tables; Benjicot’s hand finding her back and sliding up her spine as he moved to stand beside her. 

Serra could not remember what it was like to attend a wedding under the old gods -- the few she had attended had been in her childhood, whilst most of the ones she attended in her life were of cousins and relatives who followed the Seven -- but it stunned her how extravagant and beautiful the tradition was, the familiar house colours of burgundy, silver and grey lining the walls; the streamers and banners of their sigil reaching every corner of the space. The tables were lined by gold silverware and utensils, the smell of wine and food wafting towards her and overwhelming her senses as she blindly found his free hand and held it. 

“I hope it is all to your liking,” He quietly said, leaning into her side. 

She admired the candlelit room, the faintest hint of the dwindling sunset casting in through the window that overlooked the hall; the familiar symbol of House Blackwood over the head table at the front of the room, “And more.” She replied, eyes sweeping over the crowd once more. She looked up at him with big, doe-like eyes and smiled wide, his expression softening with a look of adoration. 

“Good.” 

Serra was startled by the sudden announcement as Samwell joined them, his voice loud and carrying to every corner as Benjicot guided her forward and in the direction of the head table that awaited them;

“Presenting Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall and scion of House Blackwood, and his bride, the Lady Serra Blackwood, daughter of House Tully. Let all bear witness to this union, a bond forged in honour and sealed in love, uniting the ancient houses of Blackwood and Tully!” 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot was never much of a dancer. 

He did not particularly enjoy it, although he knew a few basic dances as had been expected of him; it was not something he ever found himself eager to do so willingly. In fact, in his twenty years and as a man, he had only found himself on the dancefloor if it was by his father’s order and he had no other choice — he lacked the grace for it, all long limbs and clumsy as he had to think hard about every step. 

It was an embarrassment, he assumed, for a highborn man to not know much beyond basic steps — but even as a boy, he had gotten strange looks, watching as he struggled through each dance and having to consciously count himself through the steps without tripping over himself. He knew he looked ridiculous doing it, and despite that he was not keen to admit it, he was a prideful man who did not enjoy putting himself in a position to make a fool of himself if he could help it. 

He relented though for Serra’s sake, unable to find it within himself to deny herself the little pleasure of three dances when they had first arrived; despite cringing at the thought while she looked at him with big eyes, pleading and childishly excited — she had tried to conceal it, but there was no denying the giddiness when he had reluctantly agreed and been pulled immediately towards the dance floor. He had hurried back to his seat as soon as he could as he had met his part of their deal, leaving her to Emrys, who had swept in immediately and asked for a dance himself; Benjicot didn’t have the heart to object, because he trusted her, and he trusted his cousin to know his limits. He quietly sat at the head table, nursing a chalice of wine that he slowly sipped, his eyes fixed on the dance floor and watching slowly as the drunken stupor of wine took hold of the guests as the band continued, the sound of joyous laughter and discussion present over the soft lull of music as Lord Elmo and his father conversed among themselves with Benjicot sat between the two men  — even his father who did not care for the taste of wine had taken to indulging himself to a couple of cups. 

“I do not mean to interrupt, my Lords,” Maester Thaddeus said as he approached the men from behind, appearing between Benjicot’s chair and his father’s on his right as the conversation ceased. 

“Then do not,” Samwell said, visibly already annoyed by his presence as he waved him away and looked back to Elmo who raised an eyebrow.  

“It is urgent.” 

Samwell froze, sighing and looking up at him again, “Very well,” he replied. “What is it?” 

He stuttered a moment, “I’d first like to offer my congratulations to the young Lord Benjicot on his union of course,” he said, earning a tight smile from Benjicot. 

“Thank you, Thaddeus,” He replied. 

The elderly man nodded, a forced smile on his face — however, he sensed there was more to the conversation as he glanced between him and his father, “I have also come as there has been news from the borders— there have been more men spotted near the boundaries again…”

Benjicot frowned, looking at his father. 

“—This is hardly the time for this conversation, Thaddeus,” Samwell muttered, his voice sharp with irritation as he lifted his drink to his mouth.

“—Amos Bracken among them.” He added. 

His father stilled, the chalice at his mouth frozen in time as he then lowered it to the table and turned his head again, “Amos has joined them?” 

“It seems so, my Lord,” Thaddeus admitted, 

His father let out a gruff hum, the news hanging over them as he brought his wine to his lips and downed its content in silence; eyes turning to look over the crowd of guests and friends who were blissfully oblivious to the news, “Let me go.” Benjicot pleaded, leaning towards his father, “I can be there within less than an hour on horseback. I can take Emrys and Henry, we can provide support to Davos and his men—”

“And repeat the mess you made last time?” Samwell snapped, looking at him then. 

Benjicot hesitated, “No.” 

His father contemplated his answer, staring at him and setting his empty chalice down, “No, Benjicot.” He finally said, looking away. 

“Why not?” 

“Because I said so,” He answered quickly. “You are hardly married yet, your marital bed still cold and untouched, and you would sacrifice yourself to Amos Bracken before your wedding night is over?” He asked, dumbfounded by the suggestion and turning his head to look at him with a frown. 

He swallowed, glancing towards the room as it dawned on him that there was more to consider than just throwing himself to the wolves of battle — he had grown so used to carelessly throwing himself into these waters, that he had forgotten to consider his new wife, “I can come right back— go there and confront him, I can be back before midnight—”

“Benjicot, you have duties here,” Elmo said. “I admire your enthusiasm, I do, but your duty is here with Serra.”

“—and I will perform my duty, I assure you,” He insisted, “but this was my doing, let me go and put things right back as they were. Let me fix the mess I have made.” 

“Your father and Lord Elmo are right, Benjicot,” Thaddeus said, interrupting him before he could utter another word. His eyes darted between the three men, blindingly rapidly, “that brings me to the second matter at hand.” 

“But…” 

Samwell reached over quickly and grabbed his wrist on the table, silencing him and only shaking his head, “What is it, Thaddeus?” 

“There is the matter of the bedding ceremony,” He suddenly said. 

Lord Elmo choked on his drink, practically throwing his cup down and eyes bulging as he coughed — Kermit, from his left, grabbed his shoulder and grabbed the napkin in front of him. It had been the first time Benjicot had even noticed the eldest Tully son, making eye contact briefly as Benjicot shoved his chair back to avoid the spill of wine, his hands flinging up, “Shit,” Benjicot exclaimed. 

“Sorry,” Elmo coughed, “I apologise— pardon me. There will be no bedding ceremony.” 

Samwell let out a sudden snort of laughter, earning a series of shocked expressions as he wiped a dribble of wine from his chin that he had accidentally spit out while laughing at Elmo’s horrified expression — the conversation had never risen before this moment, a tradition that Samwell himself had participated in as a young man on his wedding night. He had neither had this conversation with Benjicot, as it had slipped his mind in the days leading up to the wedding but he had expected a better reaction from Lord Tully. Benjicot looked at his father, a frown etched deep into his features as he set his chalice down. 

“I will not have a dozen overweight, elderly men in the room with my daughter to watch her…” Elmo muttered, disgusted by the idea as he stammered, “engage in the marital act.”

Samwell laughed again, bringing his cup to his mouth for another sip, “I do not see what is so funny about this, Samwell.” Elmo said, turning to look at him. “I find the whole bedding ceremony utterly repulsive.” 

Lord Blackwood shook his head and held up a hand, still chuckling as he swallowed his drink and set the cup down again, “Forgive me, Elmo, I…I do not mean to offend you.” He sincerely said, his voice low and quiet. “I just assumed you were a man of tradition, given your house’s reputation.” 

“Not that one.” He readily snapped. “Do you not recall how mortified Alannys was? Serra is too fragile for that, I could not subject her to that.” 

“Oh, I have never forgotten.” Samwell smiled, leaning into the table with his elbows and clasping his hands together as though he was praying; his knuckles pressing to his mouth as he eyed the Lord Tully, “It is only a mere suggestion, right, Thaddeus?” He asked, his eyes lit up with amusement as he looked to the maester who stood over them. Thaddeus hesitated, glancing between the two men before he offered a reluctant nod. 

“It is…optional I suppose,” He slowly said. “It is just a precaution as a means to ensure the marriage is properly consummated.” 

He reached across towards where Benjicot sat, grateful that his sister had whisked the young bride away, as his hand clasped his son’s broad shoulder with a firm squeeze, “I do not doubt that my boy here will be able to fulfil his duty, isn’t that right, Benjicot?” 

The young man avoided his gaze as he stared at the table, sighing deeply and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment; humiliated enough as was, he heard Kermit let out a quiet snort while he too looked away. His eyes briefly glanced across the table, looking up through his lashes towards where Elmo grimaced and rolled his eyes — his father let out a final chortle, “There is no need to make more of a spectacle of the young bride and groom, no need to further embarrass them.” Samwell said, waving his hand dismissively and standing up from his chair. The maester nodded, still wary as he stepped back. 

Benjicot watched as he scanned the room in search of Serra, soon finding her all flushed cheeks and smiles as she laughed, the pair at an appropriate distance as they danced — the sight could have bothered Benjicot, but he was comforted by her smile, relaxing in his seat. She appeared at ease — he assumed the blush on her face was in part from the wine as her head tipped back in laughter. His father waved towards Alysanne who stood in a nearby corner of the dance floor, her dark eyes lifting to catch the movement and standing up and away from the wall to gently push her way towards his wife. 

After a whisper in her ear, Serra nodded, still breathless and smiling wide as she politely thanked his cousin for their dance before retreating with Alysanne from the floor. The two women quietly spoke as they walked towards the doors that exited the great hall, his wife’s head twisting to look back over her shoulder and finding him with her eyes before she exited — her smile softened, nodding her head in his direction as Benjicot pressed a hand over his mouth to conceal the small smile the sight of her brought to his face. At last, she turned and left the room, Samwell’s voice loud and clear as he spoke over the room, the music ceasing, “Honoured guests, the hour grows late, and it is time for our young lord and his bride to fulfil the ancient duties of marriage. Let us raise our cups and bid them a fond farewell for the night, wishing them a fruitful union and a blessed future."

His father raised his chalice, the room mirroring his actions for a moment before there was applause — the sound caused Ben to internally cringe as he took one last drink from his cup with clammy hands, forcing down whatever contents remained. He tuned out the sound of cheers of his name, wishing him well and blessing him as he stood slowly. His chair dragged across the ground, his father looking at him and offering a tight smile — for the first time in years, he found a look of pride and adoration in his eyes. His father moved to meet him as he circled the table, a hand touching coming to the back of his head and bringing his forehead to rest against his own. 

A moment of silence passed between them, the music resuming as they stood together. 

His father released him, stepping back and nodding, “You’re going to make a fine husband and father, my boy.” He said, blinking rapidly. 

Benjicot sucked in a deep breath through his nose, nodding as he forced a smile that was small and timid, “You will be a great Lord of Raventree.” Samwell added, his voice quieter this time as he spoke. 

He couldn’t put a finger on it, but his tone was off and held an edge of emotion that caused a shiver to run down his spine; the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge. His brows furrowed, head tilting slightly as he opened his mouth to question the sudden need for vulnerability but he was interrupted again, “Your bride is waiting for you. Go on.” Samwell said, his tone stern again. His father’s smile was something melancholic as Benjicot nodded and slowly parted ways, heading towards the doors; feeling the room’s eyes on him as he walked. The doors closed behind him as Ser Eryn followed close behind. 

“Is he aware of your intention to go to Redfork tonight?” Elmo asked, the two men staring after the young Lord who had taken his leave. 

Samwell shook his head, “Not yet.” 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Alysanne and Serra walked in silence a majority of the journey back to her newly shared rooms — the only noise that passed between them was the sound of fabric and heels with each step, the music from the great hall growing quieter the further they walked from it, her head down and watching her feet. Every so often, Serra could hear Ser Alistair’s armour from behind them clank, his footsteps heavier than both of theirs. 

It was only once they reached the door did Alysannespoke, touching her elbow in a comforting gesture, offering a small smile that resembled her brothers as it did not quite reach her eyes, “This is where I leave you, my lady.” She softly said. 

Serra reached to take her hand, pulling it from her elbow and holding it with her own as she let out a breath, “Thank you.” She replied. 

The elder of the two women nodded, squeezing her hand, “I pray that my nephew is at least respectful.” 

Serra let out a choked laugh, nodding again. She did not know how to approach the question, her gaze dropping briefly and refusing to release her hand just yet, “Something troubles you.” 

She swallowed, “What is it like?” She asked, her voice small and shy.

Alysanne’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as she processed the question with parted lips that formed an ‘o’ as she glanced towards the guard who stood only feet away. She pondered her next words carefully, shifting uncomfortably as she glanced towards the guard who tried to keep as much distance as he safely could manage, “I’m not sure I am the best person to talk to you about this.” She quietly said, “Did your mother never teach you about such things?” 

Serra shook her head, looking up at her. 

“Oh, my dear.” She said, letting out a breathy laugh that hinted at her uncertainty, “You will be okay. It can be uncomfortable at first, but it becomes…tolerable. That is as much as I can tell you. The rest will come naturally.” Alysanne said, using her free hand to gently cup her cheek and brush her thumb over the skin there in a soothing manner, giving her a tight-lipped smile. 

The door opened beside them, a handmaiden stepping out and curtsying to the pair, “We are ready for you, my lady.” She quietly said.  

Alysanne withdrew from her, gently guiding her by her shoulder toward the room as Serra took one final, deep breath and shakily exhaled with one last look to the older Blackwood woman before she walked in behind the young woman who had come to retrieve her. 

The servant girls had helped her in stripping down to the simple, cotton chemise that fell to her ankles, her dress being neatly folded away for her while they made work of the pins that held her hair in place; allowing it to fall freely down her back while another pulled back the blankets for her. She was grateful once for the help for once as her hands shook the moment she entered her chambers, frozen and unsure what to do as they got to work. Her eyes had just watched, silent as they brushed out her hair with nimble fingers, pulling down the blankets, quick and quiet -- they were gone just as quickly, one young girl mumbling a soft comment of, “Good luck, m’lady” as she left. Serra wasn’t fully sure what she was to expect — her mother was gone before she’d even had a chance to ask these questions, and her brothers and father did not believe in entertaining such improper conversations. She did not even know how to ask about the events of one’s wedding night — she was the first to be married, but surely, her brothers would soon follow with their betrothals and she supposed she was the one to have those answers. 

Her gaze was fixed out the window, picking at her nails as the moments seemed to drag on, alone in silence as she awaited for…well, she wasn’t sure. It felt like hours before the sound of the door opening again startled her, turning to find Benjicot entering the room, his gaze timid and to the ground as he entered; briefly raising to look at her from across the room as he closed the door behind him. She could faintly hear the distant shout from the celebration hall on the other side of the house, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath as she turned to face him, her lips parting. Benjicot’s movements were wary as he slowly walked further into the room, yet to say anything to his new wife as he approached the settee; his left hand rising to reach across his chest to his right shoulder and making fluid, easy work to undo the pin that secured his cloak, allowing the fabric to come apart. He pulled the cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the seat, the pin reflecting the light of the fireplace that had been lit before her arrival before bending to unlace his boots. She watched his actions closely, unsure if she should approach him or let him come to her; twirling her fingers anxiously as she took a couple of shy steps towards him just as he stood upright. Benjicot’s gaze rose from the task, looking at her and watching as she moved toward him and straightened up — the light of the fire cast light across half his face, enough to make out his features as his eyes scanned down the length of her body. 

His hands reached next for the belt that hung around his hips, undoing it and placing it with his cloak, the metal of it clinking with the move. His head dropped to look down as he moved to lift towards the strings of his leather vest, beginning to fumble them undone just as she closed the gap to approach him until she was stood directly in front of him and reached out towards the strings his hands were preoccupied with, “Here…let me.” She quietly mumbled, his gaze going to her face, allowing his hands to drop to his sides after a moment and nodding once. She sheepishly glanced up at him, her fingers trembling as she undid the laces until the vest could be discarded amongst the growing pile of his clothing. 

There was a break in the discard of his clothing, Benjicot instead distracted by her features, a hand reaching up to take the ends of her hair between his fingers and playing with it, fiddling with the strands before his hand rose to brush some behind her ear. His thumb brushed along the shape of her cheekbone as it came to drop down, slow and curious, as if he was trying to map out every curve and dip of her body head-to-toe; the hand ceasing at her jaw and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger. She swallowed, her attention fascinated by his features up close in this light -- even in this light, if not even more, he was strikingly handsome. Her right hand lifted, palm and fingers placed to his chest, splayed out as her hand pressed flat against his sternum to feel that familiar thrum of his heart just beneath his ribs; feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Her gesture prompted a smile from him, mouth curving upwards and a dimple appearing on his left cheek as she felt his heartbeat quicken under her palm. 

He let go of her chin, stepping back just enough to be able to pull the burgundy doublet up over his head and remove it fully, leaving him half-undressed in just his underclothes. Serra fought the urge to reach out and once again touch him, feeling a jolt in the pit of her stomach as her eyes explored the skin, letting him come forward to her again as he stepped closer until he was chest-to-chest with her; hands coming to her waist as his fingers pressed into her sides. Even through her clothing, as little as it was, she could feel the heat of his touch radiate through the fabric as his face hovered so close over hers, his breath brushed over her lips; close but not quite touching as her eyelids fluttered, her breath quickening and instinctively finding hold of him by his shoulders. She felt as he drove her feet backwards and towards the bed until her knees met the frame, so close but not yet kissing her, leaving her in the balance of anticipation and desperation. She practically pushed herself forward into him as his hands slid up her sides at a tantalisingly slow pace before coming to a rest at her ribs, just below her chest and using one hand to cup her right cheek. 

The dam of anticipation in her broke as his lips finally and fully pressed to hers, relieved as he truly and completely kissed her without restraint. His lips and tongue still held the lingering taste of wine from dinner, sweet and warm as his tongue slipped between parted lips to lick at her tongue with his own. The combined sensation of his mouth on hers and his touch left her feeling hot and flustered, a warmth pooling in her belly as she sharply inhaled a breath through her nose; sharing a breath with her husband, whose hot breath tickled her nose and cheeks. It seemed as though any thoughts of battle were long gone and left at the door as Benjicot put his all into the kiss, leaving her dizzy and breathless. 

She was grateful for the moment of air, catching her breath as he parted from her to lean away just long enough to guide her into sitting back on the mattress. She scuttled backwards to give him room to follow between her knees, watching instead amidst the dim glow of the orange flames, as hands went to his waist to untie the lace of his breeches and push them down, leaving him completely and fully bared to her once the final layer of his undershirt was discarded. She sat up against the pillows, knees pulled to her chest as he crawled up to her, too anxious to look anywhere but his face as he approached her on the bed. Soon enough, he was face-to-face again with her, kneeling between her knees that were guided down and apart with one hand that then settled against the bed over her hip as he pressed a kiss to her mouth, simple and sweet in contrast to the kiss moments ago. She lifted a hand to his face, stroking his cheek. 

“How much do you know about…” He quietly asked, mouth parted from hers as he sought the words. She shook her head in reply. 

“Not..a lot.” She admitted. 

He inhaled, letting out a breath against her lips as he nodded too, hand closing around her hip, “Move down, lie back.” He instructed in a hushed tone. 

She shyly moved to shimmy herself down and onto her back underneath him, her hands withdrawing toward herself and resting over her abdomen, flat against her belly as she waited for his next move. Her wide, curious eyes watched his movements closely as he readjusted himself between her legs, his thighs brushing hers and running fingertips down from her collarbone; down her body, his touch leaving a trail of heat in their wake as they trailed down the thin fabric until he stopped at her thigh. He grasped her chemises’ skirt and gently tugged it up until it could be bunched at her waist, leaving her bare to the elements as the breeze from the room tickled the flesh of her thighs, raising gooseflesh along the skin as her thighs rested over his, leaving her hips angled towards him. 

“I have heard that it hurts.” She announced, his eyes going to her face. “The first time…I have heard from other ladies that it hurts.” She further explained, restating herself to clarify her point. She could see the small smile on his face as he leaned over her, mouth coming to hers in another sweet kiss, though she could feel that same heat simmering below the surface from earlier. 

“I cannot guarantee it won’t…it is different for men.” He said, pausing. “Though I can promise to do my best not to bring you too much discomfort. Try to relax.” 

Her breath quickened, her heart hammering beneath her ribs as her hands slid up from her belly to the neck of her gown as she nodded, her lips brushing his. She watched as he moved back further on the bed, one hand over one of her knees while the other rose to his lips, pressing the digits to them — she couldn’t help but watch, curious and fascinated by his actions, gathering saliva with his fingertips; ensuring they were coated to his liking before his hand lowered between her thighs. It was then, that his stare caught hers once again, her bottom lip being taken between her teeth and sucking in a deep breath through her nose; shy and burning with embarrassment as her gaze turned toward the roof of the canopy of her bed and fidgeting with her fingers as his hand finally made contact with her skin again. She felt the pressure of his touch, the pads of his fingertips gentle in sliding up along her folds, his saliva combining with her slick arousal to allow the movement to glide with ease as fingers pressed against the pearl above her entrance. She could hardly control the clench of her belly, the warmth pooling there spreading like wildfire and igniting every nerve in her body when his fingers slowly began to rub against it with circular motions, his eyes stuck on her face and watching her from his place between her legs, gauging her reaction. 

Her chest rose with a deep breath in, too engulfed by embarrassment to move under his watchful gaze and swallowing when she dared to meet his stare, startled by the soft expression on his face — for once, he just existed peacefully, no signs of frown lines around his brow or mouth. He was just the boy Lord of Raventree — youthful and handsome. His actions caused a charged jolt to shoot up her spine, the warmth once in her lower belly intensifying as her right knee moved to press against his side, with a soft mutter of ‘oh’, her hips shifting against his touch.

 “Does that feel okay?” He suddenly asked. 

She had to muster the courage to choke out a reply, afraid of her voice at that very moment, instead giving him a small nod. She could see the relief on his face as he leaned into his free hand that pressed flat against the mattress beside her waist, buried in the deep red blanket that covered the bed. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him amidst the battle of figuring out where to place them — did she grab hold of the blankets? Of him? 

“You can touch me, you know.” He stated like he had read her mind. She could make out the smile on his face and the tone that teased her, leaning forward to kiss her, a small muffled gasp of air being drawn in; every inch of her body aflame as the heat that spread down her belly, her thighs, until the sensation rested in her toes, tingling. At his words, almost like she had no control over her body, her right hand reached out towards him, leaned over her and made contact with his abdomen; the lean muscles rippling with movement as he adjusted himself so the hand by her waist could move to plant beside her head, his face hovering over hers. Benjicot withdrew from her lips, leaving her mouth chasing after his for a moment, her chin lifting while her fingertips traced down his abdomen until they stopped just between the dip of his hips. The feeling of his skin and the lewdness of the entire situation was thrilling, inciting an involuntary whimper. 

He readjusted, his hips coming closer to hers, enough so that his pelvis brushed hers while his hand moved; taking her whimper as a cue to proceed. His hand dipped, using the slick her arousal created as a lubricant to gently ease a finger into her, slow movements, readily on the lookout for any sign of discomfort that would prompt him to stop — her eyes widened up at him, mouth falling agape and walls fluttering around the digit at the intrusion; he could see her brows furrow, audibly withdrawing a sharp intake of air through parted lips as she seemed to be trying to decide on whether it was a sensation she welcomed. Benjicot stilled, his thumb reaching to brush against her clit and resuming the slow and steady movements against her. 

The hand that had been awkwardly placed at her chest finally moved, gripping his bright bicep tightly — he watched as she dropped her head back against the pillows, a whine of approval leaving her mouth that eased any worry in the back of his head. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her throat, the dip between her collarbones and dragging his lips up along the length of it, before settling at her pulse point and gently using his teeth to nip at the skin there, earning a content sigh as her head turned to bury into the pillow. Once he felt her muscles loosen, he edged a second finger in, his eyes never leaving her face; her hand at his hips sliding to his back and dragging her nails down his spine. 

Benjicot had no desire to overwhelm her — as much as his primal desires wanted nothing more than to fuck her senseless into the mattress, quick and relentless, he bit back his impulsive urges. His face nuzzled against her chest, nose brushing along the curve of her breast, feeling as her hand rose to lace itself at the roots of his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp and earning a groan of approval at the sensation. His fingers curled upwards as they slowly thrust into her, his fingertips pressing up into her walls, a sensation that felt as though his fingers worked in behind the delicate bundle of nerves — her mouth opened with a sharp gasp, moaning as her hips shifted against his hand, lifting into his palm. Her hand in his hair tightened, tugging him upwards and back to her face, her mouth messily finding him in an open-mouth kiss that was more pants of air than anything; his mouth wandering to proper kisses to her chin and cheeks. 

“Oh.” She softly breathed, his thumb picking up pace against her bud. 

His chest pressed to hers as he laid his weight overtop her, hips between her thighs as the heel of her left foot pressed into the back of his thigh. In the move, Serra was reminded just how little separated them now; feeling the weight of his hardened cock brush against her pelvis -- relishing in the sacredness of the intimacy shared between husband and wife, in the privacy of their chambers. She was suddenly grateful that there had been no public spectacle made of their departure following the feast, no bedding ceremony that involved several ageing men standing in their room to witness it — she had heard the stories of others' bedding ceremonies at supper, mortified by the thought. 

Her thighs ached as a pressure built in her belly, warmth pooling there like the embers of fire, stoked only by the ministrations of his hand; his forehead resting to her collarbone as his gaze lowered between them. His nose brushed her chin as he moved to watch the movements of his hand as his fingers moved in and out of her, coaxing every gasp and choked moan from her he could — Serra felt blessed to have a husband who had been gifted with the generous gifts the gods have given him, her chest arching up into his and clinging to him as a cry left her. The coil wound tight within belly snapped finally, her thighs clamping tight around his waist as her head pressed as far back into the mattress it could, stuttering out a mantra of his name as pleasure wracked through her body; her walls spasming around his fingers, “Fuck!” She sobbed. 

His head snapped up towards her at the curse, his eyes on her face as her peak consumed her, body and soul — it seemed such a vulgar expression from a girl who usually presented as demure and calculatedly proper, cautious of ever behaving as anything less. It seemed harsh coming from her mouth but piqued his interest as he pushed himself back in line with her eyes as he eased her through the aftershocks that shook her to the core. His lips grazed hers, pressing a kiss to her mouth and swallowing the whine that left her, her eyes still squeezed shut — harsh as the sound was from her mouth, he ached to be the reason she cursed again, to push her over the precipice of pleasure until she could not find any other words. Pride swelled in his chest as her lips met his in a kiss that was eager and desperate, pulling her up with his free hand by the front of her nightgown. 

She slowly sat up with him, an arm hooking around his shoulders as she leaned up into his kiss — skin hot and heavily breathing as his hand withdrew from between her thighs, earning a shudder from his wife. He sat back on his knees, his mouth parting from hers briefly to reach for the hem of her chemise with eager hands, her eyes on his and chest heaving with each breath as he pulled the gown up and over her head. He sensed her hesitation as her arms lifted with the task, dropping back to her sides once the fabric was discarded off the edge of the bed and gripping the pillows with nervous hands as his face hovered over hers — his right hand rested against her ribs, sliding down her side to the hinge between her hip and thigh as she gripped his shoulders. His nose nudged hers in an affectionate gesture, her lips parting as she let out a content sigh, exhaust already clearly written on her face as she lifted a hand to cup his cheek. 

His hand at her ribs slowly trailed upwards, his thumb coming up underneath her breast and brushing over the hardened nipple there, “My lovely wife,” he breathed, his hand fully moving to envelop her breast in his palm and squeezing gently, “My Lady Blackwood…” 

Her head tilted backwards with a soft mewl of appreciation, leaning back into her other hand that was still buried among the pillows, her eyes fluttering shut. His mouth connected with her sternum, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he abruptly slid down the bed, utterly consumed by his lust as he laid on his stomach; her thighs being dragged up and over his shoulders with his face eagerly coming between her legs. Serra released a startled gasp as his mouth attached itself to her, tongue swiping up her folds and finding her bud once again with his lips this time — his tongue dipped into her, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her womanhood as she clutched tightly to the bedding. One of her hands found its way back to his hair, fisting it between clammy fingers as her chest heaved with heavy gasps for air, “Oh gods.” 

Benjicot released a guttural groan from below her, the grown-in facial hair scraping the delicate flesh of her thighs with each desperate lap and kiss, only heightening her senses as her thighs attempted to close around his head. He could feel her thighs tense, trembling underneath his touch as his mouth continued its ministrations, her body slumping back into the pillows with a cry, “Ben— Ben.” She breathed out, voice cracking with a weak cry of pleasure. 

He could have stayed there forever — between her thighs, listening to her cries if time would have allowed for it, drinking in the image of her as he glanced up; her chest pushed up and arched against him as she writhed against the mattress with whines tumbling from her mouth. 

She tugged him desperately away from her, her body ablaze as he eased off the mattress and was guided up until he was pressed against her; bare chest to hers, her soft skin slick with perspiration against his as he caught his breath. His hands planted against the mattress behind her, her thighs loosely around his waist as his pelvis brushed her own, “Do I satisfy you, wife?” He softly asked, ducking his head to briefly capture her lips with his. 

Serra whined against his mouth, his hips reflexively grinding against hers and brushing against her sensitive skin. Her arms moved around him, coming up underneath his arms and palms pressing to the planes of his back as she pulled him flush against her, “Yes.” She gasped against his mouth. 

It was a simple enough response, but it stirred something in him, causing him to release a moan of his own. His left hand moved to reach between them, his hand wrapping around his cock and bringing the head to her entrance; swiping up through her folds. He felt as she tensed, releasing a gasp that caused him to hesitate — the heels of her palms pushed against his back, pulling him into her again, the cue he needed to proceed; his hips aligned with hers as his hips angled into hers before slowly sinking into her. 

His mouth opened with a soft groan, her face pinched up in a wince as she let out a sharp gasp at the intrusion, “Fuck.” He muttered. 

Her hands adjusted against his spine, slipping down to his waist from his shoulders, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his hips. His gaze rose to her face, breathless as he withdrew his hand from between them to lift and cup her cheek as her head pressed back into the pillows with a strangled whimper, his thumb tilting her chin down and bringing her face back towards his, “Okay— you’re okay,” He soothed, her mouth agape as his hand held her chin in the crook between his thumb and forefinger with a delicate touch as he bottomed out; her walls tight and clenching around him. 

Her chest heaved, eyebrows furrowing as she squeezed her eyes shut; Benjicot’s hips slowly withdrew, his movements slow as he rocked into her, another whimper on her lips at the stretch and burn of him embedded into her. She felt his mouth over hers, lips brushing hers as he spoke, his forehead pressed to hers, “There you go…” He encouraged her. “Just breathe.” 

The hand at her jaw removed itself, reaching to find one of hers and lacing his fingers through hers as his palm pressed against her own; her hand being pinned against the mattress above her shoulder. His mouth captured hers in another heated kiss, a subtle distraction from how full of him she felt — his pelvis brushed hers with a slow roll of his hips, drawing a soft moan from her. It was a relief to earn some noise of approval finally that did not hint at pain, Benjicot leaned his weight into her and supported himself by his free arm as he leaned into his elbow, “Gods.” He breathed out, his hips rutting into hers. 

Just as Alysanne had warned, there was discomfort — tight and feeling as though she could have split right then and there, beneath the weight of him, but it stoked a flame within her; a flush of warmth spreading down her body as her hips lifted into his, Benjicot’s face burying into her neck and arching into him. Her chin lifted towards the ceiling, a sharp breath being inhaled as she then let out a high-pitched moan and moved a hand to grip the back of his hair; her thighs opening further to welcome him. She gasped, the sounds of them both echoing within the room as Benjicot held her in place; pinned beneath him as he mindlessly fucked himself into her, his pelvis brushing against hers in a way that could have brought even the kingdoms to their knees. She felt his mouth find the corner of hers in a kiss, her mouth agape and lazily responding to him as another soft meek of appreciation slipped from her mouth — her senses were still raw, the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. 

A guttural moan left her husband, clamouring to come back to her face as his nose bumped hers, his mouth hovering over hers. The hand that previously pinned hers released, his hand coming to cup her cheek as she instinctively hooked a hip around his waist to pull him into her — her eyes found his, half-lidded and looking at her with nothing shy of awe and adoration; a warm glow in his eyes that elicited a flush of colour to spread across her face, mouth opening in another cry as she felt herself spiral, losing her grip on that last thread of reality that kept her grounded; tumbling through her peak as she clung to him, her nails digging into his flesh. 

His forehead pressed to hers, slick with sweat and hair clinging to his skin. His hips snapped against hers twice more before he let out a euphoric sigh against her mouth, spilling himself into her and screwing his eyes shut. His weight moved off his elbow, laying full into her after a moment; her arms still around him and holding him against her as the room was filled by the soft pants of the husband and wife catching their breath, warmed by the fire that still burned across from them. Benjicot did not move, with his belly pressed to hers and lying between her thighs, still buried inside her as his head soon found rest against her neck — even if Serra had the desire to move, she couldn’t with her thighs around his waist and buried into the mattress underneath him. She blindly found the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers carefully carding through the roots as she slowly came to her senses; her eyes scanning the canopy above her and processing what had just happened — was this marriage? Was this what she had to look forward to? 

In the fog of things, with the last traces of euphoria still coursing through her veins, marriage did not seem so daunting — it seemed pleasant and blissful. 

Benjicot stirred against her, moving just enough to press a kiss to the crook of her neck and then another to her collarbone; lips wet against her skin as he licked them. His left hand found her ribs, sliding up her body and stopping below her breast as his hot breath tickled her skin, moving finally to look at her face again and slowly scanning every little fine detail his eyes could find. Serra gave a breathless smile, letting out a soft laugh — in the dim lighting, she saw Benjicot’s mouth quirk upwards, “You’re alright?” He asked, voice barely a whisper. 

“I think so,” She answered. 

He pressed a kiss to her mouth in that same breathtaking way that she craved for an eternity of, before he withdrew his hips; his body pulling away from hers with the action as he shifted — she was painfully aware suddenly how empty she now felt, besides that warm sensation of him between her legs. His head lowered to press a kiss to her chest as he shuffled back on the mattress and rolled over beside her; sprawled out on his back and let out a tired sigh. Her head turned to look at him, watching the way his chest rose and fell with slow, deep breaths with his eyes closed with a hand over his chest — she wasn’t sure what came next exactly, staring at him, waiting. 

An eye opened, turning his head slightly to look at her, visibly exhausted as they shared a look -- his eyes averted from hers quickly, his mouth opening as though he wanted to say something but instead, she was met by silence; his hand moved to find hers, lacing his fingers through hers and gently squeezing it as they closed again, relaxing as her thumb brushed along the back of his hand. 

A sudden bang on the door was followed by a shout, “Plant the Blackwood seed deep, cousin! Make us all proud!” 

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he already has.”  

Benjicot leaned up on his elbows, his gaze fixed on the door and opened his mouth, his brows furrowing as a series of drunken cackles followed. He listened to the clamour of his cousins, stumbling over one another as a thud followed, presuming one of the boys had fallen; Serra shifted beside him, his head turning to look up at her with an incredulous look, eyes widening as he then rolled them; a shy smile on her face as she let out a quiet laugh. 

“Don’t take too long! The boys are missing you!” Emrys shouted. 

“Shut up— take your time!” Henry silenced his younger brother, the sound of their clamouring footsteps heard from under the door, “We’re entrusting you two to create the next legendary Blackwood heir!” 

“I could kill them, you know,” he suggested, voice quiet and looking back towards the door, “kill them, we flee to the woods and live in a modest little hut of our own. It’s sounding oddly appealing right about now.” He grumbled. 

“Not like this,” She replied, shifting to lean over and press her lips to his shoulder in a kiss. Benjicot looked at her, his nose brushing hers in close proximity, “We will have to return sooner than later, you know.” She mumbled. 

“We don’t have to,” he remarked. “We could just stay here the rest of the night— surely, I think the council and my father would understand if we were busy trying to secure the Blackwood line.” 

The suggestive tone in his words left her speechless, face warming as she could only muster a shy smile against his mouth as he leaned in, closing the gap to press another kiss to her mouth, “You’re the heir. We can’t.” She quietly managed to mutter against his mouth, feeling as he let out a hum into her lips. Her right hand lifted quickly and wrapped around his neck, fingers gentle as she nudged him back, “We can’t.” She repeated, her voice firmer. 

She watched the look cross his features, a grin on his face as his gaze dropped to her mouth for a moment, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, “If you say so,” He teased. 

Benjicot moved quickly, lunging to his feet and bending to sweep up his clothing; finding his pants rather quickly and pulling them back on, leaving them on his hips untied. Her eyes watched him, entranced as he found his undershirt and slid it on — while collecting his clothing, his fingers plucked up her shift that had been strewn on the floor in the moment. He looked proud of himself, smug as he sauntered towards her, a hand lifting to gesture her up and towards him with a summon of his fingers. 

Serra felt the urge to shy away under the heat of his gaze, a self-satisfied smile on his face as she slowly moved to slide off the bed and stand in front of him in all her entirely; bare beneath his gaze. One of his hands reached out to graze up her side, nudging her arm to cue her to lift them to which she complied, her arms raising to allow him to easily glide the fabric down her arms and over her head. Nimble fingers worked to tug the fabric down over her chest and belly, the fabric enveloping her thighs with touches that lingered, brushing along the expanse of her body as he gave the gown one last fix. 

Her hand reached out suddenly, his eyes darting towards it and back to her face — he relaxed, allowing her to proceed and reach out. She avoided his eyes as she moved to tuck his shirt into the pants, straightening out the straps over his shoulders; her hands then began to make swift work of lacing him up at his waist, fastening the article of clothing around his hips. She finally glanced up as her hands dropped once the task was completed, finding him still watching her with that same look; he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, dimple prominent with the action as he seemed to be lost in thought. 

“Do you need help with your dress?” He asked, voice hushed. 

“I can summon Grace,” she said, smoothing out the shirt over his chest. “I don’t imagine you have any experience with dresses, you need not worry.” 

Benjicot withdrew and walked backwards towards where her ladies had previously neatly folded her dress over a table to keep it from being wrinkled, a grin on his face, “You underestimate me, my dear wife.” 

Her eyebrows shot up, following his steps in moving forward towards him with slow, tentative steps, “And pray tell, why might you know such things…husband?” 

“I’m observant,” He nonchalantly replied. 

She stepped forward until she stood in front of him again, her husband reaching for a flagon of water that sat atop her writing table; searching for a cloth but coming short and instead settling on a handkerchief among her things. Benjicot tipped the flagon enough to wet the piece of fabric by pouring water into it, offering it to her with a look that flickered between her face before lowering south between her legs — she eyed it, sucking in a breath as she dawned on the realisation of his suggestion when he gently shook it. She reached out to accept it and retreated to a stool to clean herself near the fire; the sound of rustling fabric behind her as the once pristine handkerchief was stained by a light spotting of blood and the reminisce of their duty, wincing. 

She glanced briefly over her shoulder towards him, finding him delicately handling her dress and holding it over his arms, waiting expectantly. 

She huffed as she tossed the handkerchief to a nearby bin for soiled clothes, standing and straightening her shift. Benjicot offered her an arm as she stood, her thighs clamping together uncomfortably as she uttered a soft ‘thank you’ — he only let out a hum, seemingly focused on the task with a knitted brow as he helped the dress over her head; circling her to straighten out the back. Serra was used to the routine of others dressing her, feeling hands at her waist and neck, fixing her dress; but it dawned on her that Benjicot was too — it was a thought that she found discomforting, but unable to find it within herself to say anything as she felt the cloak of his house colours settle on her shoulders; his fingers sliding underneath the fabric to fix it against her skin. His hand closed around her shoulder to turn her, facing one another as he reached to fasten the cloak but was stopped by her hand, “I can do it.” She insisted. 

He looked up at her, nodding. She did not mean to become so irritable the more she thought about it, but the words had come out before she could even think to restrain herself — she leaned up and kissed him, to soothe the wound before she backed away. The thought lingered, however, her father’s words echoing in her memory; angry as he rambled on about ending their betrothal on the spot — she pondered the tone of his voice when he denied the claims of a child, running through that moment a thousand times since and analysing every little detail; the sincerity of his words. He had been exhausted from the beating and she had never thought to question it before. 

She couldn’t help but picture a child with his bright eyes and matching dark hair, chubby, rosy cheeks and all smiles — dawned in yellow and red to match their mother’s house, and the thought made her feel sick and dirty, feeling as though to some degree she could have been responsible for taking the father of a child away from them before they were even granted the chance to know him, true or not. The thought made her want to crawl out of her skin that she could have been responsible for such an idea — the anger and shame she held within her body could only be directed at the man in front of her, not towards a child who had no say in the matters of their conception; they were not responsible for bearing that burden of accountability for something beyond their control before they were even born. Serra swallowed. 

She learned that Benjicot seemed to have a way of making dressing look like an art form that he had mastered; in his own oblivious world and doing it with such ease, practised as he walked throughout the room whilst tying his shirt closed, and pulling the doublet over his head. He had hardly paused as he fixed his hair with his fingers, plucking up the leather vest and pulling it on; Serra watched as he easily tied it back together and snug against his body, barely giving any mind to her task at hand. His eyes briefly lifted as though he felt her watching him, and there it was again — that small knowing smile on his face, looking up through his lashes as he tugged the vest to straighten it against his chest; that smile that made her heart swell within her chest, a juxtaposition to her resentment towards him for betraying her before he had even allowed her to do right by him and prove herself, and bringing a child into the world that he had no intention to claim — the flurry of emotions that coursed through her veins and haunted her thoughts involved nothing but shame. 

She lowered his eyes from his, embarrassed at being caught staring as she collected her stockings from the table and sat once more to roll them up her legs underneath her dress, the fabric rising with the task. Her skirts were shoved back down and smoothed, turning to find her husband waiting with her shoes in his hand, having already pulled his boots and cloak back on — she hesitated, looking at them and his face before he slowly crouched to set them down in front of her. He helped her into them, offering her a shoulder for her to lean into as she stepped into them; her hand planted against his shoulder for stability as she swayed, legs ready to give out underneath her. Once she released him, he stood and stepped back, letting out a breath as he rolled his shoulders. 

“Are you ready?” He suddenly asked. 

She silently nodded. 

A thought dawned on him, his eyes going to the bed and holding up a finger to her as if to signal one moment — he moved to brush past her, bent over the bed and observing it; she internally cringed at the sight of the blood stain where she had been moments prior, but Benjicot seemed unfazed as he quickly made work to strip the sheet from the bed. She watched him lazily fold it up, balling it and holding it against him as though that would do anything to conceal what it was he was carrying — his cloak half hid it as he returned to her side, taking her hand in his free one and sliding his fingers through hers.

The walk back towards the great hall was a long one, silent as she felt all the eyes of Raventree on her; servants and other house staff bowing their heads whilst uttering blessings to them as they passed — she hated to admit it, but the only thing that grounded her at that moment was Benjicot’s hand, his shoulder bumping hers as they walked, his pace slow to accommodate hers; and every so often, his gaze occasionally drifted to find hers, his eyebrows raising when she made eye contact as if he was checking that she was okay. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Benjicot summoned Ser Eryn towards them and muttered something to him. 

“Can you summon the council and maester?” His voice was low enough that she could hardly make out his words, her ears ringing as she briefly looked into the room that was still bustling with celebrations; the room still buzzing with men and women who were drunk, stumbling over themselves and dancing as music filled every corner. She could vaguely see her father had remained at his seat, joyfully laughing as he spoke to a Lord who she recognized from House Piper — Ser Eryn quietly replied with a question, “Yes, the Lord Tully as well— and my father.” 

“Your father is…preoccupied, my lord.” 

“Where is he?” 

“I’m not too sure, unfortunately. He stepped out shortly after you, but he should return soon.” Ser Eryn replied. 

Serra looked towards the two men finally, Benjicot’s expression one of confusion as he reluctantly nodded and dismissed his sworn protector. The guard bowed his head before he retreated into the room before she was pulled out of sight from the room, around the corner towards the wall. They were silent, hand-in-hand, the sound of laughter and shouting from the room; listening to the drunken lords and ladies who excitedly whispered as the council crossed the room, the Lord Elmo in tow as Ser Eryn had been instructed to do. Benjicot’s gaze fixed on the side of her face, her eyes up towards the ceiling as he trailed a thumb across her knuckles in a soothing gesture. She briefly turned to look up at him, a small smile on his face as she gave his hand a reluctant squeeze. 

“My dove,” Elmo sighed as he entered the hallway, shoving past the men of his council to get to her. 

Serra’s eyes tore from Benjicot’s, looking to her father as he immediately reached out to grab her by her shoulders with a gentle hold and looking her over — he cupped her cheek, “Are you alright, my dear?” 

She shyly nodded. 

Her gaze darted over his shoulder, watching as the maester was handed the bed linens by her husband — the exchange was quiet, Maester Edric unfolding the sheet and assessing them, as everyone seemed to wait in silence for his response. Serra felt the need to curl up and die, mortified by the display in front of her father, while her brothers were hidden amongst the councilmen. 

“The union has been successful— I can confirm the marriage has been consummated,” Maester Eric stated after a long pause, looking at Elmo. His old, wisened eyes looked then towards Serra, his voice softening, “You have both done well.” 

Elmo clapped his hands together, startling his daughter, a relieved mutter breaking out amongst the men who surrounded them; the enthusiastic congratulations being extended immediately to the young boy lord, “Oh, the Gods shine down on us today— Serra, my dear, you make our house proud.” He excitedly said, his attention turning to Benjicot as he approached her side, “Benjicot— you too.” He rambled, reaching to shake his hand. 

“I should make the announcement,” Her father suddenly announced, eyes widening as he brushed past them in a hurry. 

Serra’s mouth opened to protest, embarrassed enough by the bows of heads and congratulations that now surrounded her; feeling as though there was a hand at her arm or grabbing her hand every second — she found it overwhelming as she leaned into Benjicot, who steadied her against his chest. His hands rested on her shoulders, holding her against him as she let out a breath, forcing a smile in the direction of Robbard Mooton as he begrudgingly offered his congratulations with a mutter before shuffling away with a scowl.  She could hear her father clinking his chalice with a utensil, drawing all eyes to him as his drink was held high. 

“This sacred bond between our houses is now complete, sealed in the eyes of gods and men. The honour of House Tully and House Blackwood stands strong, and this marriage shall fortify the ties between our families for generations to come.

May this union bring prosperity and strength to our houses, and may the love between Benjicot and Serra grow as deep as the rivers that nourish our lands. Tonight, we celebrate not just a marriage, but the forging of an alliance that will endure through the ages."

“Congratulations on your union, sister,” Kermit spoke from behind him as Robbard excused himself quickly.  He stepped forward, hands clasped at the hilt of his sword and visibly tense as he spoke from behind gritted teeth. 

Serra could tell he was avoiding Benjicot’s eyes and had no desire to be there — she could see the tension in his shoulders, forcibly squared and trying to appear as large as he could, stiff as a board as he stood upright, looking down his nose at her, “Thank you, Kermit.” She softly replied. 

He hummed, not yet leaving as he stared at her, his expression tense with annoyance as though being there in that moment was a burden forced upon him. To see him so withdrawn from her, denying her of any genuine warmth and kindness that she had always known him for caused her heart to ache, fidgeting with her hands for a moment before she stepped forward to reach for one of his hands and took it between hers, “I should hope that soon enough you will be married too— happily and blessed by the Gods.” She nervously said, offering him a timid smile. 

Benjicot’s hands squeezed around her shoulders, as though he was trying to soothe her from the anxiety that washed over her in that moment, staring at her brother with intense focus. 

“I suppose I will be,” He replied, the answer cold and distant as he glanced at her husband behind her. She could faintly see the twitch of his eye as he found Benjicot, hardly suppressing the scowl of disgust that crept across his face, “Thank you, sister.” He said, pulling his hand from hers. 

Benjicot fought the urge to scoff aloud, his eyes rolling in response to his friend’s attitude and the comment -- it took everything in him not to lunge at him and violently shake him like his father had done to him several times as a boy, hoping to shake some sense into him. Kermit wasn’t stupid, Benjicot had grown fully aware of that after years of friendship, but his behaviour was childish and ridiculous in his eyes -- that despite the bond he had with his sister, he was willing and quick to resent her for a mistake that was not hers to bear the consequences of. His jaw clenched, withdrawing his hands to his sides and watching as his sister attempted to reach again for him. 

“Kermit, I—“ 

“I should let you get back to your celebrations,” Kermit snapped. “I’d hate to ruin your night.” He muttered, looking back down at his sister who let out a quiet ‘oh’, small like a child and blinking rapidly a couple of times whilst his gaze darted one last time towards Benjicot. The way he toyed with his wife enraged him, letting out a low growl of annoyance that came from deep within his throat -- how could he torture his sister over some petty feud that had nothing to do with her? 

His eyes turned back to his sister. Benjicot witnessed the way a look crossed his features -- a look he could only describe as a moment of remorse as she looked down, his features subtly softening like he wanted to take it all back -- Benjicot wanted him to. He wanted him to regret it and take back his attitude; for him to apologise and beg for her forgiveness, prove to them both that it was a mistake and insist he was happy for her.  Benjicot could bear the thought of him being angry with him -- he had grown used to it after several squabbles as boys that led to Kermit being angry with him for days and avoiding him like he was the human embodiment of illness; Benjicot was used to that silence and knew he would come crawling back with some subtle hint he had forgiven him with some excuse of training together, or whatever he could muster. But he knew his sweet wife could not. 

Kermit visibly hesitated, his shoulders slouching with a breath, reaching forward to gather one of her hands with one of his own and lifting it. He kissed her knuckles, his head bowing as he lowered her hand, her head whipping up to look at him as her hand fell back to her side. 

Serra timidly nodded, too worried she would worsen things if she pressed further — she longed to reach out, to bridge the widening chasm between them, but the words tangled on her tongue.  Her eyes followed him as he turned on the ball of his foot and descended back into the hall that still roared with festivities, disappearing among the crowd and straining her eyes to catch one last glimpse of him. She hardly noticed as Benjicot stepped closer, his head lowering until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, “It’s not you that he is angry with,” Benjicot assured with a whisper. 

She instinctively sought his hand as the familiar, soothing weight of it rested again on her shoulder, her hand lifting across her chest to entangle their fingers at her left shoulder, “It does not make this any easier,” She admitted. 

His lips pressed to her temple in a comforting kiss, “I know,” Benjicot hummed, her cheek leaning into their hands as he stood upright, “But he will come to see reason eventually— he could never stray too long from you. You are two halves of the same soul if I ever saw one.” 

Her head turned, looking up at him — he offered a small smile, his hand pulling from hers to brush some hair behind her ear and neatly tucking it away from her face, “Come now,” he instructed, finally pulling from her and finding her hand in his once more. “You only get one wedding night, we mustn’t squander it worrying about things we cannot control.” 

Benjicot waited, looking at her expectantly as he gently tugged on her hand, encouraging her to move — her eyes had turned to stare after where her brother had gone, hesitating still to join him, “Please,” He said, forcing her forward a step as she looked back at him, “Do not let your brother sour the mood tonight. I will make amends with him in time, he will forgive us both. He will always care for you, no matter how he feels now— this does not reflect his true feelings.” He reasoned. 

“I just want my brother,” she sighed, relenting and allowing him to lead her back into the hall as she found rest against his side; nestled under his arm that held her against him, seeking respite in his warmth and calm demeanour among the overwhelming chaos of the celebrations that were not yet close to dying down still. The room remained loud, the lights too bright for her eyes as she closed them, trusting him to lead them both through the crowd.  

His hand found her waist as they walked, the moment brief and intimate, “You do have him.” 

She was reminded of Oscar’s presence as he greeted them at the doors, his smile one of pride and warmth as he stood just inside the hall; her father was too distracted by a conversation with two men as he rambled excitedly to notice her arrival and acknowledge her further. 

She felt guilty that she seemingly had forgotten he too was there, in all the chaos of getting ready, exhausted from a sleepless night of tossing and turning in bed; when her youngest brother was present and participating in the celebration of her new union, unable to conceal his giddiness, his hands clenching around the hilt of his sword as though it would somehow hide in plain sight that he was itching to approach her. 

Oscar, in his wisdom and knowledge despite his youth, had always been skilled at reading a room and understanding the importance of timing -- he also knew Serra and knew that she would be overwhelmed amidst everything happening and had restrained himself from unintentionally contributing to things. 

She realised that he was correct — despite Kermit’s current tantrum, she still had a brother — boyishly smiling at her like she had hung every star in the sky, proud and eager for her arrival that he was borderline bouncing on his feet as she entered; she was relieved to see a face that did not overwhelm her with thoughts of duty and expectation, nor guilt for experiencing even the smallest amount of bliss on her wedding night. Her youngest brother, proper and pristine as ever, turned to face her and Serra could only feel relief. She relaxed against Benjicot’s side, pulling from him to hurry towards her brother, her hands extending for him before she had even reached him — Benjicot was right that she at least had Oscar at that moment. It had dawned on her that she had hardly seen him all day, even after the wedding ceremony, only having caught brief glimpses of his hair in the crowd. 

His hands found hers, bringing one to his mouth to place a kiss across her knuckles quickly, “You look radiant,” He commented as she stopped in front of him, “just like our mother, you know.” He commented, his compliment flowing with such ease she knew he was sincere. She could never doubt Oscar, because he was truthful and did not make it a habit to say anything that he did not mean. 

Embarrassed, Serra felt herself become choked up at his words, emotion crawling up the back of her throat and tearing up as she blinked to rid herself of the tears that threatened to spill. She could not pinpoint the exact root cause for the tears as she let out a sad, melancholic laugh that was strangled; but she was painfully aware that in the weeks since her arrival of loneliness and isolation that she had carried since she had stepped foot into Raventree, that childish need for her mother gnawing at the back of her mind, “Are you not happy?” Her brother asked, concerned by her tears. 

She shook her head quickly, “No, it’s not that,” she assured. “I am…I am happy.” 

“Then why do you cry?” 

She hesitated, “I just wish she could have been here.” Serra admitted, pulling a hand from his and cupping his cheek affectionately, “She would have been proud of the man you have grown to be.”

Her brother stilled as a look crossed his features, unreadable and unblinking as he stared at her the weight of her words rested heavy over them and visibly swallowed. He let out a small noise that resembled a forced laugh from his nose, “Is this what marriage does to one?” He quietly teased, touching her hand on his face. 

She laughed, leaning forward and pressing a tender kiss to his forehead and brushing over his head, smoothing out the stray curls that she knew to be unruly since he was a babe. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Benjicot did not feel the need to intrude on the tender moment between the two siblings, watching as his wife soon became distracted by a conversation with her younger brother -- he had stayed a majority of the interaction but felt it necessary to give them a moment of privacy. As a boy, he envied what it must have been like to have siblings that ran about the castle, filling its halls with noise as they laughed, played, and fought -- he had watched them a majority of their childhood; and witnessed the unconditional love and bond they shared, expressed through defending one another, loyal to one another even when the others were not present. 

He was fortunate enough to have his three first-cousins who grew up only down the hall from him, the sons his Uncle Willem’s pride and joy, and becoming something of his playmates -- but he yearned for what it would have been like to have had brothers and sisters of his own, who shared his blood entirely. 

He had tugged at his sleeves, fixing them and looking away as Serra leaned in to press a kiss to Oscar’s forehead, his gaze scanning the room and averting anywhere else they could. The room had begun to stink of wine and old food that had been left to go cold, their guests too distracted in dance and song to pay it any mind, too drunk to even stay on their feet as he witnessed several men stumble over their own feet and scarcely catch themselves. His thoughts were distracted by his disgust at the sight, never quite understanding the appeal for impairing the mind of its ability to think clearly and act in better judgement -- even at his wedding, he felt no desire to join in and follow their lead. Even as Emrys and Henry approached him, breathless from laughter and red-faced as Henry slung an arm around his younger cousin’s shoulders and pulled him into his armpit to ruffle his hair, “There’s the man of the hour,” Henry remarked, a laugh in his voice as Benjicot strained to pull himself from his grasp, “Way to do us all proud, Benji.” 

Benjicot fought the urge to wretch at the nickname, finally freeing himself from his grasp with an exasperated sigh, “How’s it feel to be a man now?” Emrys snickered, being shoved by the young heir who rolled his eyes, face reddening in embarrassment. 

“A husband no less, aye,” Henry added. 

Benjicot straightened his tunic, casting a wary glance around the room before turning back to his cousins with a strained smile. “Well, it feels like I’ve been handed a rather heavy set of responsibilities,” he said, trying to sound lighthearted. “And as for being a husband, I suppose I’ll have to adjust to this new role, just as you two seem to be adjusting to your wine-soaked festivities.”

He cast a sidelong glance at the revellers, his voice lowering slightly. “I’ll leave the grand display of ‘manhood’ to you, Emrys, and you too, Henry. For now, I’m more inclined to focus on not making a fool of myself.”

Emrys feigned an insulted pout as a hand pressed to his chest, mimicking a wound, whilst the eldest of the three laughed with his head thrown back, “So he’s too good for us now, you hear that?” Henry teased. 

“Always was,” Benjicot taunted, teasing him as he shoved his cousin back a step. He paused, allowing for the sound of the festivities to fill the silence as his two cousins snickered, looking around again -- he suddenly noticed his father’s absence, despite looking around twice before he settled on the realisation he was nowhere to be found. His brows furrowed, mouth ajar, “Henry, do you, uh…happen to know where my father went?” He asked, looking at his cousin who took a sip from his chalice. 

He appeared visibly confused, looking at Emrys who swayed absentmindedly, drunk as he seemed to be oblivious to the fact, “I don’t actually. Oi-- Emrys,” He called, drawing his brother’s attention back to the conversation, “Where did our uncle go?” Emrys snorted suddenly, “He went to the Redfork, you know this.” He said, his tone suggesting it was the most obvious thing. 

Both men snapped upright, tense and confused as Henry lowered his head, frowning, “What?” The two men asked in unison. 

Emrys let out a small laugh, grinning as he looked around, his eyes slowly returning to face them -- his smile dropped when he faced them again, “The Redfork…Davos and a few men went out to patrol this afternoon, there was some spat at the borders with some Bracken boys, Aeron Bracken among them,” He said, his tone again suggesting it was a widely known fact as he looked between his brother and Benjicot but instead met by silence, “It escalated into a full-blown battle, Samwell and Alysanne left a half hour ago with Robb and some of his men at the borders. More are to join them within the hour.”

“What the fuck do you mean they left?” Benjicot spluttered angrily. 

Emrys attempted to force a laugh to lighten the mood, but the sound was cut short as Benjicot’s eyes narrowed, shaking his head, “You…” He started to say but stopped himself, “You truly didn’t know?” 

He twitched, fist coming up quickly and ready to grab him by the shirt but stopping himself, and forcing out a frustrated sigh, “Obviously not, you dumb…” He growled, once again having to stop himself, his cousin’s eyebrows raising, “And what of your father?” 

Emrys glanced around again, slow to process and blinking in shock as he stuttered for a moment. He frowned, “He, uh…he has stayed behind by instruction of your father, I believe.” 

“Where is he?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Figure it out then,” He snapped, grabbing his tunic by the shoulder and forcing him to move a couple of stumbling steps as he began to seek his uncle. His head turned, scanning the room and trying to look through every face that his eyes could find, coming up empty. 

“Get your bloody hand off…” Emrys began to argue, trying to pull from him. Benjicot shoved him, his anger bubbling over, releasing his shirt to allow him to tumble forward. 

“Benjicot!” Serra exclaimed, catching his cousin as he merely missed falling into her and Oscar, wide-eyed and helping him up to his feet, “Are you alright, Emrys?” She asked hurriedly, her tone panicked as she looked at him, visibly concerned. 

The blonde straightened his clothing, scowling as he brushed off her hand from his shoulder, “Yeah, your husband is just being a moody cunt.” He replied. 

Benjicot’s head whipped towards him, pausing his search just long enough to scoff, “You fail to tell me my father has gone off to battle and I’m moody?” He spat. 

“I’m sorry,” Emrys sarcastically shot back, “what would you have had me do? Barge into your room while you were fucking your wife? Yeah, I bet you would have listened to me then.” 

Benjicot lunged forward, being caught by Henry as his arm wrapped around his shoulders to force himself between the two men; the youngest Blackwood being dragged back and out of the way of his grasp by Oscar and Serra. Her body acted as a barrier, forcing Emrys behind her as she flinched away from Benjicot’s hand. 

Benjicot’s gaze was forced upon her by the action, a look of hurt crossing his features as he looked at her, “What the hell is going on here?” 

His gaze tore from hers to the sound of Willem’s voice, stood behind Oscar with Kermit and Lord Elmo, who appeared visibly annoyed by the disruption -- the music had since ceased and all eyes were now on the group who was all heavy breathing and oblivious to the attention their argument had drawn to themselves. Serra quickly stepped away from Emrys, whose hand had instinctively found her elbow, her gaze down as Willem’s eyes focused on the simple gesture with a confused frown. 

“Did you have any intention of telling me my father had taken it upon himself to go off to battle?” Benjicot curtly questioned. 

His uncle hesitated, “Yes, we were going to tell you in the morning. Though I was not expecting you to return tonight, nephew,” He slowly explained. “You were expected to be busy with your… new wife.” 

He tensed, jaw clenching as he roughly shoved Henry’s arm off of him, “And yet here I am.” 

“It appears so,” Willem responded, his tone firmer now. 

“Why did you not join him, then?” He asked. 

“I was given strict instruction to remain here.” 

Benjicot let out a bitter laugh, “For what reason?” 

“To ensure you remain here, should you be stupid enough try to ride out and join your father.” 

Benjicot stared at him, stunned by the admittance as they stood in silence. He shifted his stance uncomfortably, looking around at the crowd that watched, looking down suddenly before he looked up after a long pause, “Why would he do that?” 

Willem sighed, “Because he knows you, Benjicot.” He said, slowly stepping past the young Tully’s and towards his nephew, “As do I. We cannot afford to possibly lose more than is already at stake, especially when that involves the heir, should he be slain in battle.”

He felt like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum over not getting whatever it was they wanted, swallowing thickly as his face burned with shame and clenching his fists at his sides, “We cannot guarantee Serra is with child yet, even if the marriage was successfully consummated-- you remain the apparent heir until that happens. You are where you need to be, Benjicot,” He quietly explained, stepping closer until he was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him, “Safe and alive, as we need you. So please…do not make any more of a scene than you already have. Enjoy your wedding. Behave.” 

Benjicot felt the need to look down to avoid his gaze that was pinned to his face, looking down at him and speaking to him with that familiar edge his father possessed whenever he did something that was out of line like a petulant child, his voice calm and low enough that only he could hear it. He hated it with his father, but he hated it more coming from his uncle. He nodded after a moment. 

Willem mirrored his actions by nodding and forcing a strained smile as he muttered, “Good,” he said, turning to face the crowd and clasping a hand on his shoulder, “My apologies, honoured guests. There was just a misunderstanding, but it has been resolved. Please! Continue, enjoy yourselves!” 

His hand dropped from his shoulder, stepping past him to return to wherever he had come from, leaving him frozen in place -- Benjicot felt nauseous again, his heart pounding as he stared at his feet, unwilling to face his family and that of his wife’s that he knew had yet to move on from him; even the room hesitated to move past the scene. His uncle clapped his hands loudly, barking an order at the orchestra, causing the slow resumption of music that could not alleviate the tension within the room. 

There was a slow shuffle of feet, the crowd dispersing around him, “Benjicot?” Serra called out to him, her voice soft and quiet among the whispers. 

He watched as her feet appeared in front of him, visibly pausing before she reached out to him and pressed a hand to his chest, “Benjicot.” She repeated, attempting to gain his attention. 

He could feel every violent thrum of his heart against his ribs, feeling as though his head was trapped underwater while his eyes fixated on the hem of her dress. Her other hand came up to his cheek, her head ducking to find his eyes, “Look at me, Benjicot.” His eyes finally snapped up to hers, teeth and jaw clenched tightly, “It’s okay.” She softly said, her thumb brushing his cheek as his expression softened, leaning into her as if his life depended on it as his body gave out from beneath him. She wrapped an arm around him, her hand moving from his cheek to his nape and bearing his weight against her own.

“It’s okay.” She repeated.

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Thanks to the Dare

gif credit goes to thepalmofyourfreezinghand

James Beaufort x Reader

Synopsis: The group starts the night of a party by playing truth or dare. Someone dares James and Y/N to kiss, knowing that the two had feelings for each other but didn't want to act on them. Later on, after the group gets bored and stop playing truth or dare, they go down the line admitting confessions. Y/N admits that she has never had an orgasm. James wants to be the one that gives her, her first. Happy ending. Fluff.

Sorry if this is poorly written. I might come back to it in a few days and touch it up. Finished it at 3:30 am in the morning and feeling a bit burnt out.

Warning: 18+ SUBJECT. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT. SEXUAL ACTIVITIES ARE DESCRIBED. other mentions include alcohol. probably some swear words

The party continued to bustle around the group of seven. Cyril, Wren, Y/N, the Ellington siblings and the Beaufort twins currently sat in the living room of Cyril’s house. Wren, Alistair and Elaine sat together, with Lydia and Y/N sitting together, and Finally James and Cyril. Some of them filled the furniture while others sat on other chairs or even the floor, in the midst of the game of truth of dare. 

Y/N was slightly buzzed, a glass of wine currently in her hands. A bottle of water belonging to her sat forgotten somewhere. She had attempted to keep herself hydrated while drinking throughout the night to alleviate the effects of the hangover in the morning, but that didn’t seem likely at this moment. 

Cyril and Wren were definitely well on their way to getting drunk, while the rest of them were being conservative about what they were drinking and how much of it. 

“Okay. Y/N. Your turn.” All faces turned to her at the sound of Cyril’s voice. She raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Truth or dare.” The last one she did was a dare, in which she had been told to sensually dance in the middle of the group. She knew for a fact that Cyril and Wren had taken a very specific delight in watching her. Alistair, Lydia and Elaine could have cared less, but she definitely didn’t miss the hint of a certain look in James’ face. He watched her, a small smirk on his face, as he watched her move and sway her hips. His reaction to it had definitely caused Elaine to be salty towards her ever since. 

Her eyes turned back to Cyril, her mind made up. 

“Let’s do truth.” 

“Ok. Is it true…” Cyril trailed off, likely trying to think of a good one to ask her. He always wanted to know the juicy bits of a person’s life. It didn’t matter who you were. “You fancy someone, specifically within this group of seven?” Y/N rolled her eyes, not surprised in the slightest that this was the question that he would ask. 

“It’s true.” She responded. 

“Who?” Wren piped up, leaning forward to match the same posture that Cyril was also in. The two focused their attention on Y/N, obviously very keen on finding out who she had the hots for. 

“That’s more than one question. You can ask it if I allow it the next time through.” She teased, taking a sip of her wine. Her gaze trailed over to James, who watched her with curious eyes. The smirk from several minutes ago was still pulling at his lips. Y/N put her glass of wine down as Cyril and Wren continued to whine. 

“Come on. You can’t tease a man like that.” Cyril said. With the way he was acting, Y/N wouldn’t have been surprised if he suddenly got on his knees and started begging for an answer. It would be embarrassing for sure, but Y/N figured that Cyril wouldn’t have wanted to be subjected to that kind of embarrassment, and Y/N wasn’t a monster. 

“I can and I will.” Y/N smirked at them. Elaine had only rolled her eyes from where she sat next to Wren and Alistair. 

It had taken several moments to get Wren and Cyril to drop the subject and allow them to continue. James and Alistair had actually had to step in, pulling their attention away from Y/N and to Lydia’s, whose turn it was now, and as they continued the game, Y/N had wondered if she was safe from the potential question that was likely to be asked, and for a little bit, she was safe. Both Cyril and Wren had seemed to have forgotten about the question, and pestered the others when it was their turn to do so, asking for truths and forcing dares. 

However, a certain Beaufort twin herself was a little curious on who Y/N liked,albeit she had an idea, and had therefore come to be the reason that Y/N’s peace and quiet was short lived. The Beaufort twin turned to her brother, a sweet smile on her face. 

“James.” A soft hum left her brother’s throat, his attention now solely on her. He sat forward in his chair his elbows settled on his knees, awaiting the infamous question. 

“Truth or Dare?” she asked. James looked around the room, giving his answer some thought. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tilting his head back and forth. 

“Putting alot of serious thought into this, aren’t you?” Y/N teased, a smile hidden behind her wine glass as she took another drink. His eyes moved to hers, a look of amusement on his face before James finally looked back at his sister, and thinking that no harm would come of it, gave her his answer. 

“Dare.” Her sweet smile had then turned into a devilish one and for the first time, James had wondered whether or not he should fear his sister. 

“I dare you to kiss Y/N.” The jaws of Cyril, Wren, and Alistair dropped open. Of all people to have asked that dare, they did not expect it to be Lydia. Elaine looked like she could have smoke coming out of her ears. Her arms were crossed and she looked upset. Everyone knew why, which is why it would be funnier if James actually followed through with it. 

Y/N hid herself, looking everywhere around the room but at the six people that were around her. It was her goal to avoid eye contact, especially with Elaine. 

James stared at Y/N, taking in her appearance. He knew Elaine was burning eye holes into him at that moment, but he never did care for her. James knew that she was watching and waiting to see what would happen, but had also known better to know that she wouldn’t make much of a scene. Sure, she would probably make a snide comment or two, and maybe even try the whole cliche “oops sorry, I didn’t see you there” and spill her drink. It was a classic and a go to for every jealous silver spoon female out there. 

Lydia was smirking, watching and waiting, just as Elaine was, but for a different reason. Cyril, Wren, and Alistair looked back and forth between the two, their eyes wide, but also waiting. 

James' eyes had bounced between the five before he turned his attention back to Y/N. She continued to stare at anything else but them. He knew that she was only attempting to avoid the wrath of Elaine, but he had already told himself that he would prevent anything from happening should Elaine try anything. 

He stood up, casting a look towards his sister, who only widened her smirk. With only a few strides, he had crossed over to stand in front of Y/N, eventually getting down on his knees to be more her height. 

She finally looked at him then. His eyes searched her face, looking for any telltale sign that she didn’t want this. Yea, it was a dare, but it didn’t mean that he was going to do anything first without making sure that he had her consent. So far, she showed him nothing. 

“If you don’t want to do this Y/N, we don’t have to.” Elaine snorted from somewhere beside them, and James had only rolled his eyes. Y/N stifled an amused laugh, the corner of her mouth quirking up. 

“No one is saying no.” She whispered, only loud enough for the two of them to hear. “Do your best Beaufort.” James stared at her for several seconds, before surging forward and capturing her lips into a kiss. His hands cupped her cheeks, pulling her into him, feeling relieved when Y/N leaned into it. One of her hands rested on his bicep, while the other came up to tangle itself in his hair.

Catcalls and whistles could be heard coming from Wren and Cyril. Lydia and Alistair had watched as Elaine stood up and walked away, obviously not liking the display in front of her. No one cared, except Alistair, who knew that Elaine liked James, but he himself wasn’t sure if she actually liked James or had just liked him for his name and the riches that came with it. 

“Alright you two, get a room.” 

James and Y/N finally pulled apart, breathing heavily as they looked at each other for several minutes before turning around to face the others. James remained seated next to her and the group, minus Elaine, had continued their game of Truth or Dare. 

However, eventually the group had grown tired of playing truth or dare and had resorted to making confessions that either no one or most people didn’t know about them. 

Y/N listened to most of the confessions that were being said. Cyril was held back in his earlier years of school, prior to coming to Maxton and meeting them. Lydia went a deeper route, confessing something about their parents and the family business. James had nodded along slightly with that, as if he understood where she was coming from. Of course he did. He lived the same life, and Y/N knew all about it.

Her eyes trailed down to their thighs, brushing up against each other ever so slightly. She listened to James' confession.

"I've never loved anyone I've been with. It's just been for pleasure. Especially Elaine." He looked at Alistair and apologized. "No offense." Alistair raised his hands in understand, having taken no offense from it. He knew how his sister could be. Alistair experienced it more than the others. "Although, there is one that I have my sights on." He admitted. Wren and Alistair went on to do their own confessions, Cyril jumping in to admit some more.

But Y/N had turned her attention to James. She looked up at him, her eyes tracing his jawline, the scar on his cheek, the way his hair fall in a soft manner around his face. She watched as his eyes moved to look at her out of the corner of his eyes, and Y/N watched as a soft smile pulled at his lips.

She ran the image of the kiss back through her head, glad that she was sitting, as she grew weak in the legs.

"Hey, Y/N." She finally turned her attention to the others, who all were now staring at her, James also included.

"It's your turn to confess." Wren stated. "You haven't made a confession yet.

"Goodness. You guys are acting like we are in church, and I just committed a sin." Some of them stifled a laugh while the other cracked a smile.

"Who knows. Maybe you did." Cyril added, wriggling his eyebrows. Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to think of something to confess.

Then she paused, her eyes trailing across the group. Many would see this as surprise, as she has sexually interacted with ex boyfriends or one-night stands. But they were never good enough.

"I've never had an orgasm." Jaws dropped open as she looked around the group, thankful that Elaine had walked away earlier in the night.

"What?" Cyril asked.

"I've never had an-"

"It was a rhetorical question, no need to answer it."

James looked down at her in question.

"Haven't you had-"

"I have. But none of the ones I did it with were ever good enough to get me to that point." She explained. "The sex was really poor." Lydia stifled a laugh, in which Y/N smiled in response. "Your sister may know more than she lets on." James glanced between the two, a twinkle appearing in his eye, a smirk upon his lips.

He then turned his attention back to the rest of the group, as they lost their minds at Y/N's confession. She found it amusing in fact, as both Cyril and Wren both refused to believe that her confession was the truth.

It was known that she slept with a few, mostly old boyfriends, but those boyfriends were boys, and didn't know exactly how to actually treat a lady.

--- SMUT BEYOND THIS POINT. MINORS, PLEASE DON'T INTERACT

After a little bit more time had passed, Y/N had stood up addressing that she needed to use the bathroom really quick. James watched her go, downed the rest of his drink, and claimed he was going for a refill. The others watched the two leave, suspecting that neither of them would be back anytime soon.

Upon walking out of the bathroom, Y/N had been pushed against the wall, looking up to see James. The stance he had over her made her weak in the knees.

"James?"

He leaned forward, keeping eye contact with her. James maintained eye contact with her for several moments, before he leaned forward some more, until his lips brushed gently against her eye. She shivered, and she could feel the smirk form on his lips.

"You want to know what an orgasm feels like?" He asked, his breath fanning hotly against the side of her face. And just like that, arousal filled her entire body. A low whine escaped her lips and James pulled back to look her in her face.

"Words, sweetheart. I don't know what you want unless you tell me."

"Are You making a promise, Beaufort?" His blue eyes grew darker with arousal.

"It's not a promise, love. It's a guarantee." After a few more seconds of the two staring at each other, they pulled each other in for a kiss. It was sloppy, and definitely spoke true to the moment and their desires. James looped his arms around her thighs, hoisting her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist. He made his way towards a guest bedroom, one that he dubbed as his whenever he stayed over.

James made easy work of opening the door and closing it behind him. He wasn't wasting any time. He wanted to spend as much time as he could, showing Y/N how she should be treated.

Y/N fell backward onto the bed with a soft 'oof', staring up at James as he stared down at her. She grew self-conscious, her cheeks growing red as she grew flustered.

"Absolutely gorgeous." He crawled onto the bed, pressing kisses up her neck and along her jaw. When he finally reached her lips, he pressed his hands against her body, slipping underneath her shirt and trailing softly across the expanse of her stomach. She gasped at the touch and James reveled in, moving his hands and helping her take the shirt off.

He sat back, taking in her appearance. She stared at him with hooded eyes, drunk with arousal. Y/N was an angel. A bright light in the shadows of darkness that he had hidden himself inside. She was a positive and happy thing in the life that his father had forced on him.

James brought his hands up to his shirt, unbuttoning it until he was able to slip it off and tossed it towards the floor, joining her own shirt. He watched as her eyes immediately moved down to his chest and stomach, taking in the appearance. She raised a hand, reaching out for him.

Taking her hand, she pulled him back on top of her, pulling him back into a kiss. His hands moved up her waist, one wrapping around her back and unclasping her bra. It joined their shirts on the floor. His hands grabbed her boobs, his thumbs rubbing her nipples.

She gasped into his mouth, arching her back as he grinded against her.

"If we are going too fast, we can slow down."

"What if I like it fast?" A low groan rumbled in his chest. He felt her smirk against his mouth, and grinded into her again, instantly turning the smirk into a whine.

Her hands went down and started messing with the buttons to his pants. When it proved a bit difficult, and she couldn't get it undone, she stopped.

"Help, please." James huffed out a soft chuckle, before sitting upright and doing it for her, shucking his pants down his legs as Y/N took the time to take hers off as well. He leaned back down to kiss her again. The kiss was sloppy and heated. James grabbed her thighs, looping them around his waist as he started to grind against her again. Y/N's head fell back against the bed, a low whine falling from her throat as James watched her, taking in her reactions and drowning in him. He wanted to absolutely ravish her.

His head fell into the crook of her neck, enjoying the noises that fell from her throat as he pressed lingering and bruising kisses to her neck and shoulder.

"James." She gasped out. He let out a hum.

"Yes, sweetheart." He spoke between kisses.

"I-fuck" she let out a noise mixed between a gasp and whine when he grinded particularly hard against her. "Need you." He pressed another kiss to her lips before he moved down her body, taking in the sigh she released. James kissed down her body, maintaining eye contact with her as he did so. His lips pressed softly against her stomach, trailing down to her thighs. James let his fingers run over her body, trailing softly and causing her to shiver beneath him, goosebumps forming on her skin.

"I got you sweetheart." He murmured softly against her thigh. His hands looped gently into her panties, pulling them down her legs and tossing them onto the floor as well. James looked up at her, making sure that she was okay to continue, and if the look of pure bliss and arousal on her face wasn't enough to tell him to continue, he wasn't sure what would.

Y/N pulled him back up to her as he slipped two fingers inside of her. He started slowly, thrusting his fingers in and out, letting her adjust to the sensation. She had pulled him into another kiss, this time slower than the first ones. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulders.

One of his hands had one of her legs folded and pushed towards her chest. His thumb rubbed her clit, drinking in the gasps that she let out as they kissed. He leaned into the kiss, putting a bit more force into it as he quickened the pace with his fingers.

When his chest starting to burn, telling him that he needed to breathe, he pulled away and looked down at where his fingers disappeared inside of her. Her own eyes followed his, soft whines and whimpers falling from her lips.

James dipped his fingers down to where his fingers disappeared inside of her pussy, replacing his thumb with his lips. A gasped escaped her chest, and her back arched, a whine getting stuck in her throat and her breathing picked up. James was drowning in her, flicking his tongue against her clit, watching as she slowly became unraveled beneath him.

"That's it sweetheart. Such a good girl." He murmured quietly. After a few more seconds, he pulled his fingers out of her. James scooted up, listening as she whined at the loss. He knew she was close to an orgasm and that he had denied it to her.

"You still want to do this?" he asked. Y/N nodded, and James used his mouth to rip open a condom, sliding it on. He pressed the tip to her pussy, giving her a few seconds before he started to slowly push inside of her. She let out a gasp and he stopped, allowing her to adjust before he continued again, until he was finally all the way inside.

James proceeded to give her some more time to adjust, before he started to thrust in and out. Immediately, he had gotten her to the point where she was before he withdrew his fingers. Soft whines and whimpers escaped her throat and mixed with the grunts and groan that he let fall from between his lips. Her arms wrapped back around his shoulders, and he had looped her legs around his waist.

His head fell into the crook of her neck, groaning at the feeling of her around his cock. James never wanted to leave this moment, especially after he had been thinking about this moment for so long, and it had turned out better than he had previously expected.

"Fuck, Y/N." He captured one of her boobs in his mouth, his tongue flicking over the nipple while his other hand fondled the other. His free hand come down and vigorously rubbed against her clit.

She let out a sharp gasp, her head falling back against the bed, her back arching, and nails digging into his back. He let out a grunt, pulling his face away from her boob to watch as his cock disappeared in and out of her. Her breathing had begun to quicken, her whimpers and whines had turned into soft gasps.

James turned his attention to her.

"That's it sweetheart. You're almost there aren't you? You feel it building up." He spoke softly to her, watching as she nodded, and quickened the pace of his thrusts. He watched her every reaction. The way her eyes clenched shut, her thighs clamped around him. He felt her nails dig into his back, and even if it might hurt in the morning, he didn't care.

And then suddenly she let out a sharp gasp, her eye lids fluttered and then her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She let out high pitched whine, before it was as if she forgot how to breathe. Her body shook and as her pussy clenched around his cock, it threw him over the edge as well. Pleasure filled their bodies as they reached orgasm, their noises filled the air before they finally quieted down, and soft sighs and heavy breathing filled the room.

James threw the used condom into the bathroom trash, and came out with a warm wet washcloth, with the intention to clean Y/N, and after doing so, he crawled into the bed with her.

She immediately scooted closer to him, nestled close to his chest. James wrapped his arms around her, pressing a gently kiss to the crown of her heads. And just like that, the two of them laid in silence, taking in the post coital bliss.

Y/N drew lazy patterns against his chest, when she finally spoke.

"I don't want this to be a onetime thing." James took in what she said, a smile forming on his face as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. His hand rubbed lazily up and down her back, taking in the feeling of her being pressed up against him.

After several moments, he lifted Y/N's face so that she was staring at him. His eyes searched for any signs of a lie in her own, and when he saw none, he pulled her in for a soft and gentle kiss.

"Me too. It was always going to be you, Y/N. I want you, and no one else."

----

@sillyfreakfanparty @honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @wheredidmyeyesgo @imasimptoowth @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @benbarnesprettygurl

[hextechmaturgy]

lucanis' romance is disappointing because like many other aspects of this game you can practically smell all the wasted potential

spoilers below!

we know from the stories that came before veilguard that cousins lucanis and illario grow up knowing caterina has a favorite grandson she intends to make first talon one day. it's implied and sometimes outwardly said that lucanis is indeed a better assassin than illario, and being a better assassin in a FAMILY OF ASSASSINS is a big deal. at the same time, we find out that illario is the more personable between the two. lucanis says he can charm just about anyone and zara calls him 'amatus' right before illario fucking kills her, so we know that's true. we find out through banter that lucanis had a crush on viago and failed miserably to show him because his only idea was to get him a knife, and, should you have an active romance with him, he will also admit to your companions that you are his first relationship

lucanis spends his entire romance backing away from you. he barely reacts to your flirting, he ducks away from a first kiss to 'clear his head', he won't shut up about coffee, and the moment you commit to him is just a quick scene where he SAYS he made you dessert, meanwhile, pretty much every other character is kissing you and declaring how much they care for you, emmerich's first kiss happens relatively early into the second act and it's such a sweet scene.

all this tells me is the writers were going for 'fail boy's first romance', packed with the slow burn of someone who has no idea how to show you how much he cares for you. it's sweet! i romance alistair every time for pretty much the same reasons. there's something very disarming about a strong, capable man who turns to mush around you because you're just that precious to him, because he's afraid you'll cringe and run away at his inexperience/awkwardness/eagerness.

but while i think that idea was perfectly executed with alistair, i think what we got for lucanis is extremely weak, to a point where i started wondering if my game was bugged and i had missed a romance flag somehow, or soft locked myself into someone else's romance. that's when it becomes a problem for me. when i flirt with him and he DOESN'T REPLY, it's not even him looking awkward, it's him not looking interested. he certainly sounds cute and awkward around neve, why does he show her that side and not rook? it felt like they were meant to be together, especially with the whole 'pick between treviso and minrathous' storyline, but i checked out neve's romance and that one is really good, one of my favorites in fact, SO WHAT GIVES? it's not that lucanis is reserved as a character, it's more like the game wasn't programmed with his reserved nature in mind. so he shows you he's committed by making you desert... couldn't we have had a scene where we watch him baking, instead of hearing him say he did it? we run into him preparing a surprise and he's out of sorts, or he asks us to go on another grocery run and you piece together what he's planning from peeping the ingredients. SHOW DON'T TELL IS THE MOST BASIC OF WRITING ADVICE, SO PLEASE ???? they did it with kaiden in ME3, he cooks for you and burns the garlic because you're just so distracting. there were multiple opportunities for cute and unsure, neve's romance is surprisingly tender and this one could've been too.

as it is right now, lucanis' romantic interactions feel like game bugs, his pet demon seems to be far more entertaining than him/is generally mega underutilized (can you imagine a scene of spite getting done with lucanis' bullshit and sleep walking some more to tell you he's smitten), and if you are planning to have lucanis as your romance, you should go into it knowing that after your first good, dare i say EXCELLENT first romantic chat at that coffee shop ("like a kiss goodbye" charmed me there and then) you'll be waiting until literally the end of the game for any sort of pay off. there's a good romance to explore here, the complete opposite of zevran as far as crow romances go, but sadly these fun dynamics will only get decently explored in fanfiction i fear

[mosquego359]

𖤐One Kiss and A Quidditch Match — Chapter 4: Beauxbatons and Durmstrang𖤐

Prologue (recommended to read)

Chapter 3 (previous)

Pair: Cedric Diggory x Male Slytherin Reader

Word count: 2.7K words

Summary of the book: You and Cedric Diggory hate each other. It has always been this way. But everything changes one night when you kiss each other at a party. Now, it seems you can’t escape each other — from being partnered up in Herbology for an important project to having to help Cedric during the Triwizard Tournament.

Summary of the chapter: Two weeks after you became partners with Cedric, Hogwart's Rival Schools arrive.

Notes: Please comment anything I should change to improve this. Also, I am not British so I am not 100% sure how to correctly write people from the UK. Also, Wix is the gender neutral term for witch and wizard and, like in the books Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are a school with mixed genders. This is the video I'm basing for the guests' introduction.

Content warning: One curse word. It's also a bit fruity.

!PLEASE DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION OR CREDITS TO ME!

...

Around a week or two later, you decided to hang out more with Alistair. Your judgy grudge against him had dimmed to a slight annoyance, and the two of you agreed to not bring it up.

It was now the 30th of October, and Hogwarts’ rival schools, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were to arrive in the evening. You personally hadn’t given the Triwizard Tournament much though for you were too young to participate and not keen on putting your life in dangerous situations.

The rest of your friends, however — particularly Alistair and Ziggy — were buzzing with anticipation.

And that was how you, Brian and Ziggy’s friend — whom you found out was named Roman Conyngham — silently watched Ziggy and Alistair passionately fantasise about the Triwizard Tournament.

Their conversation buzzed around the air of the grand Dining Hall, a complex and complicated interaction that caused you to zone out from boredom. Your eyes strayed from any of the boys you were with and to Elsie, Winnie and Destiny, sitting together at the Hufflepuff table.

Your mind shifted to the day you and Cedric became partners. 

After class, you watched as Elsie rapidly marched away from the classroom, Destiny by her side. You swore you saw her glance back at you before finally disappearing into the corridor.

At lunchtime, you swiftly devoured your meal, curious yet concerned for Elsie. She was often serious, and that meant what she would tell you was something important. It was probably rather personal since, if it wasn’t, she would have informed you on the spot.

You craned your neck to see if she was still in the great hall — which she was not — before heading to the library with a goodbye from Brian and Winnie. 

It wasn’t hard finding Elsie; she was pacing by a window at the corner of the library — your usual studying spot.

“Elsie?” You said softly to grab her attention.

Her head snapped up, and — with a furrow in your brow — you noticed a stressed look in her golden eyes. She gestured for you to come closer, simultaneously looking around for any snooping students.

“(Name),” she paused, nervously playing with her hair, “It’s about the party…”

You nodded carefully as curious thoughts circled your mind. Was this about Alistair?

“You see, after the whole…fiasco with Campbell,” Elsie cringed, “I went to the drink table since I was looking for Winnie. And I may have taken a couple too many shots. So I was drunk when I finally found Winnie. Stay with me on this, alright?”

You arched a brow. This was about her? Was there drama between them you didn’t know of? If so, why had they been so friendly with one another since the party? Sure, they seemed a bit off at some points, but you didn’t think too much of it.

Elsie glanced nervously to the side, “Winnie agreed to tell you. Please don’t say anything to Alistair, (Name). We’re telling Brian later.”

“You can trust me.” You promised, “Take your time.”

Tugging her brown curls, Elsie stayed silent momentarily, staring at your eyes. You saw how hesitant she was about the conversation and mentally applauded her for opening up to you. She inhaled a big breath, “I kissed Winnie.”

“So, Alistair, how do you feel with your little sis getting along with your ex?” Ziggy asked, snapping you out of your daze.

Alistair shrugged but looked visibly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat as he replied, “Eh, don’t care much for it. I mean, Winnie can do whatever; I don’t control her life.” He puffed his fringe out of his face.

Ziggy and Roman shared a look, and the former responded in mild disbelief, “Yeah, of course.”

Personally, you were glad that they were all finally getting along, but a small pang of jealousy shot into your heart when you recalled barely talking to them for the entire day. In DADA, they had moved their seats to the back where Destiny sat, and you barely saw them in Herbology because of your project with Cedric Diggory.

Professor Sprout had given you a different room to work in, and when you came out covered in cuts and bruises from the Snargaluff, your class would joke that you were physically fighting.

For example, earlier that day, the Snargaluff was particularly peeved and somehow tangled you and Cedric in its bulky vines. You felt embarrassed to say that Professor Sprout had to rescue you from its grasp.

Needless to say, you felt triumphant when Cedric had to hobble to the nurse to get his scratches checked. Apparently, the Snargaluff’s vines had squeezed his leg so hard it turned blue, thus causing him to get healed. You, on the other hand, felt fine despite an ache in your core and a few scrapes from being compressed by the plant.

You admitted that you felt an odd pang of pity seeing your usually all-powerful rival limp out of the class like a fragile bird. You weren't used to seeing his vulnerable side.

Hands-on your cheek, you glanced over to where he was sitting with his friends. He was laughing, his perfect pearly smile gleaming charmingly. You felt as if some of the girls you knew thought of him as a fairy prince with those gorgeous grey eyes and soft-looking brown hair.

The last time you saw him was in the hallway, walking to his next class, which you believed to be his Transfiguration class. His leg was still in a cast, but he looked to be trying to apply some weight to it with the help of his mates and a mutual friend of yours — Chunhua Chang, also known as Cho.

A wave of warmth subconsciously flooded your heart at the thought of him recovering from the incident. You were honestly glad of his healing and smiled when you noticed he was recounting something to his friends. He was so…

Wait, what were you thinking? 

You shook your head, and despite no one being able to hear your thoughts, your neck grew warm in embarrassment. Sure, you were mildly aware of your attraction to boys, but there was no way you liked Cedric Diggory of all people.

You felt a nudge from your right, “You doing okay, man? Your face looks a bit red,” Roman asked in concern. Sometimes, you were glad most of the other students were ignorant of your odd condition.

“I’m alright, thank you for your worry, Roman,” You smiled calmly at him, and he shrugged.

“Did you see the chariot outside?” you heard a 4th Year student to your left ask her friend with excitement, “Today is the day the foreign students arrive!”

Her friend giggled, “Ahh! Do you think there’ll be any cute boys?”

“Obviously,” the first girl huffed, “French boys are hot.”

“What about those at Durmstrang?”

“Don’t even think about it, Emily! I heard they are troublemakers. Apparently they’ve been cheating at the Triwizard Tournament for years. I doubt any good guys go to that dreadful place.”

You turn away from their conversation, feeling rather awkward listening to a bunch of children for information regarding Hogwarts’ rival schools. Luckily for you, Ziggy and Alistair were now gushing about the games. 

“Hey, Brains, do you think the new schools will arrive soon, I’m starting to get hella impatient,” Alistair huffed and nudged Brian, who was snoozing off. You stifled a laugh at his confused expression.

“Huh?” He asked, and you swore you saw drool trickling down his chin.

“When will we get introduced to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?” You rephrased Alistair’s question, leading forward curiously.

“So you were listening!” Ziggy jumped in.

Brian ignored him and frowned, “Well, I expect Dumbledore to give us a speech any minute now. I believe he is waiting for the rest of the students to settle in their seats. Surely he won’t make us sit here impatiently for long.”

You craned your neck to the entrances of the Great Hall, noting not a single student in sight seemed to be trickling in. Everyone was here so why wasn’t Dumbledore doing anything.

As if your thoughts were a trigger, the old headmaster stood up from his chair, and, like a magnet, attracted the attention of all the students. Despite your dislike for him because of how he favoured Gryffindor and detested Slytherin, you admitted he was rather excellent at drawing everyone’s eyes to him.

“Well now that we’re all settled in and sorted, I’d like to make an announcement.” Dumbledore commenced. The door to the main entrance cracked open and Filch scrambled over to the headmaster as he continued, causing a few students — including yourself — to chuckle at his silly run, “This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well.”

The old man paused to listen to what Filch had to say. He nodded carefully, whispering something in his ear before continuing his speech. “You see, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event: The Triwizard Tournament.” You glanced at the Hufflepuff table, seeing how Cedric’s friends were teasing him and the way he smiled in mild embarrassment. A pang of jealousy shot through your heart. It wasn’t fair that he got to compete, and you weren’t. You were just as powerful, perhaps even more. 

“Now, for those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. For each school, a single student is chosen to compete. Now, let me be clear, if chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint-hearted, but more on that later. For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies and men of the Beauxbatons academy of magic and their headmistress: Madame Maxime!”

The doors of the main entrance slid open, and a bunch of students your age strutted in, perfectly in sync and classical music played as they walked.

They were all dressed in a similar fashion: a silky, baby blue uniform with an elegant poncho and small hat. The girls wore skirts over lights while the few boys wore tight-fitting pants that totally did not make you stare at their asses. 

You heard Alistair whistle when they passed. The girl's repressed smiles at his flirtatious move. 

At some point in the song, they extended their arms with a very flowy movement, making you realise they were dancing. They then separated themselves into two groups and lined up in a v formation in front of the students.

A tall woman dressed in furs and leopard prints walked after her students. She had to be at least 2.5 meters if not more. You assumed she was the headmistress, Madam Maxime, as you and many others gaped at her. 

Ziggy and you shared a look, and he mouthed, “She’s humongous.”

In front of her, two students performed a gymnastic choreography, elegantly bowed to their headmistress and finally stepped into the lines their fellow students were placed in. 

Hogwarts erupted into applause, and a few wix even stood up. However, you spotted many girls in the room with disapproving looks on their faces.

Dumbledore carefully took Madame Maxime’s hand and placed a respectful kiss on it. He then walked a bit higher up on the steps and quickly silenced the crowd with his hands.

Alistair whispered to your group with a smirk, “Did you see the pretty blonde one?”  But he was quickly hushed by a few people to his left.

Your eyes scanned the Beauxbaton girls until you spotted one of the girls who bowed to Madame Maxime next to the Hufflepuff table. Her hair was a golden blonde, wrapped in a ponytail, and the front curled around her jaw like a perfect ribbon, framing her glowing face. Even at a distance, you could tell she was stunning.

“And now, our friends from the north!” Dumbledore boomed, grabbing your attention, “Please great proud sons and daughters of Durmstrang and their headmaster Igor Karkaroff.”

A more sombre music started playing along with drums. A band of mostly boys marched in, occasionally hitting their staff on the group and shouting on time with the music. They stuck their staffs forward and twirled them, performing a simple yet powerful choreography as they neared the front with the Beauxbaton students, who had moved to the sides next to the wall.

Suddenly, they rushed forward, and two of them executed a series of somersaults and gymnastics, breakdancing their way where the Beauxbatons students once were while the others placed themselves in a v shape.

Two men entered the Great Hall, and you heard Ziggy and Alistair gasp, and Roman whispering, “Is it really him?”. This caused you to recognise one of those faces as the famous Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum. 

You assumed the mean-looking man in white behind him was the headmaster Igor Karkaroff. You finally noticed a smaller man trailing them, dressed in grey.

The two students who breakdanced blew fire from their wands like dragons, controlling it to make it resemble a phoenix, giving the other students a little spectacle.

When the fire disappeared, they rapidly lined themselves up with the others, making way for Karkaroff and Hogwarts erupted in applause. The Beauxbatons students clapped respectfully.

The headmaster of Durmstrang walked up to Dumbledore, who spread his arms wide in greeting, and they both hugged each other, patting each other on the back in a friendly manner.

Once Karkaroff had moved to the side, Dumbledore cleared his throat to grab the student’s attention from the attractive Beauxbaton candidates, the gymnasts from Durmstrang and Krum.

“Please, please, take a seat, you all, make yourselves at home,” Dumbledore smiled at the crowd of guests. The students shared a look before ultimately choosing their tables. Luckily for you, Durmstrang had chosen the Slytherin one and had settled into their seats. Krum sat next to Alistair and across from Ziggy, who both started shifting in their seats in excitement.

But before they could say anything, Dumbledore spoke.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and — most particularly — guests. I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.” You heard a snicker from the Ravenclaw table and rolled your eyes at the disrespect.

“The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” Dumbledore continued, “I now invite you all to eat, drink and make yourselves at home!”

Through the meal, Viktor Krum, Ziggy and Alistair started having a conversation while you and your two other friends talked quietly amongst yourself.

Brian and Roman were rather alike: calm and collected, introverted and you found out Roman was a top student in most of his classes. At first, it confused you since you never saw him until he mentioned being in Year 7.

“You gotta have someone to control that energetic idiot,” he shrugged when you asked him about being friends with Ziggy.

Speaking of him, he and Alistair were gushing over Krum, whom you noticed was rather unresponsive. It wasn’t until the Quidditch player glanced at his peers and shifted in his seat that you realised he didn’t like the attention. You felt pity; he was worldwide famous and yet never enjoyed the attention.

At the end of the meal, Dumbledore brought in something called the Goblet of Fire and when he started speaking of signing up for the Triwizard Tournament, you tuned out, a jealous hole forming in your heart. 

Like Alistair, you wanted to participate, but in contrast, you were too young. You recalled the Weasley twins complaining about it in the hallway earlier that day, and despite your indifference to them, you couldn’t help but relate.

Your eyes drifted away from the headmaster to the Hufflepuff table, first to your girl friends, then to Cedric Diggory. To your surprise, he was already staring. Since you were competitive, you instinctively kept your eyes on him until he turned away.

Slowly, you faced the front again. You felt heat rushing to your cheeks and neck for the second time tonight. Your hands were cold, so you pressed them to where your skin felt warm.

Merlin’s Beard, what was happening to you?

...

Chapter 5

[athena-xox]

Changing the characters featured in each special without doing any research (it’s been like 2 weeks since I’ve proper watched eah).

True hearts day - chefs kiss it’s perfect

Thronecoming - I like the characters with their side plots but specifically for those going into the storybook of legends I would change blondie and cedar. Blondie would be at the game, it makes no sense why she was there (unless she followed them but she would have to be covering the game anyways so??) and cedar because I feel like they either should have focused more on her being able to lie or just cut her. I would replace them with 1 kitty because she could cover both the plot points that blondie n cedar bring (aka finding out where to go and how to get in) because I think definitely smth could be worked out with her going into the in between. And then I’m in between Ginger and Holly for the 8th girl. I feel like Ginger just because she’s important for spring unsprung so it would make sense to meet her earlier, but also then the focus would be less on raven + briars horrible destinies and on gingers. And I think that Hollys destiny makes a lot of sense for a quick little montage but then that brings the question on if it should be poppy instead or if the sbol they go into is a fake or not.

Spring unsprung - for the girls who get outfits from Lizzie I’m not going to switch them for Maddie and Kitty even tho it would make sense for Lizzie to make the outfits for them (but then again I’m pretty sure the og queen of hearts doesn’t even know who the Cheshire Cat + Mad Hatter r) so the only one I’ll switch is Holly. Just because I didn’t commit to her for the thronecoming arc and so I feel like she doesn’t really need to be there. I would switch her for Farrah (ik she didn’t exist yet but do I look like I give a fuck?) because in the diaries her cedar and Lizzie design together. And briar and cerise can stay because they’re featured and they are like main characters. The others in this special make sense tbh

Way Too Wonderland - ok yeah it makes sense for the 6 girls. The 3 wonderlandians who left pre curse that makes sense. Briar who is literally the catalyst for all these events. And the two main characters. If I could add someone I’d add cerise because her parents got married in wonderland, which could create an interesting plotline, and after spring unsprung her character was kinda discarded which is too bad. The others (the charmings + bunny and Alistair can stay too). Mm honestly I’d remove faybelle. It makes sense for her to be there just to establish her character before dragon games + epic winter but she wasn’t needed. Honestly could switch cerise with her.

Dragon Games - now here’s where I start to actually dislike the line up not just in a nitpicky way. Okay so off the top of my head the ones who compete in the dragons games are Melody, Lizzie, Poppy, Darling, Holly, Apple, Ashlynn, Maddie and Raven. I’m sorry what?! No briar?! Or cerise?! Immediately cutting Lizzie and Melody for those two. And I feel like Ashlynn could be replaced by Jillian, Cupid, Ramona or Nina. And then for those who go to the forest originally are Raven, Darling, Maddie, Ashlynn, Poppy, and Holly. Definitely adding Briar because that just makes this so much more interesting / briar’s rebel arc could have happened!! I’d either just add her to the existing group or if cut the O’Hair twins and also add cerise because cerise is close friends with raven and is seen with darling lots.

Epic Winter - so if you know me yk were cutting rosabella. I’m very tempted to just add Lizzie but we will resist the temptation. I’ll definitely be changing this one a lot. So the crew is Briar, Faybelle, Ashlynn, Blondie, Rosabella, Daring and Crystal. Cutting Blondie & Daring and adding Poppy and Duchess. Okay that might not look like a big change but im changing who gets which arc. Those with flowers are now Briar, Rosa, Poppy and Crystal. Ashlynn is just there because she’s friends with Crystal not because of the flower. Faybelle is there for the same reason. Rosabella is just there because of her flower, of course she becomes friends and stuff but the whole ‘I can fix him’ thing is gone. Instead this is poppy and duchess. Whether or not it’s seen as a ship or friendship Duchess is the one who needs redemption not Daring. Also I just found the blondie wanting a real story arc to be stupid

Forest Fest - I forgot this is considered a special? Is it considered a special? Anyways I think it’s fine I found it annoying how raven and dex had to be the ones to save the girls it could literally be anyone else. I found Poppy kinda a random choice for blondie to take, like just for the hair?? Maybe Ginger instead because she also has a show and they could be going together.

Tbh I want to make another post with in depth analysis

[rosasvirtualworlds]

I have thoughts about this man and his romance.

Below will be a lot of spoilers and a lot of text:

⚠ Again Spoiler Warning ⚠

When Lucanis was announced i, and so many many others, was like "Yes, give me that mage killer!". I don't read any novels or comics or whatever. I just play the games and i simply don't want to read background stories. I want this stuff in the game. But well, i had no idea who he actually was and what to expect.

But still i was excited and oh my gosh, the first impression didn't disappoint. I mean, the mage killer, the assassin is posessed by a demon? Idk, but i expected some Anders/Zevran vibes from him and i was just hoping Lucanis would not do something drastic, like you know, blow up a church (ok, let's be honest i secretly hoped for something like that 😝).

First time flirting was a little akward, cause he didn't really react. But ok. He's not that easy to get and/or sucks at flirting. I can work with that. I love Alistair, never romanced anyone else in Origins, and nobody sucked more at flirting than him. So now i got my hopes up for a Anders/Zevran/Alistair/maybe Cullen type of guy.

Which actually sounded like the pixel guy mix of my pixel girl's dream!

And then we got the coffee "date". And oh my gosh, i was intrigued! The (not so?) subtle flirting by comparing coffee to kisses? A live for that shit in games! And i felt, if that sets the tone for the whole romance, it's going to be good. Like really good! 🔥

And then we get a whole lot of nothing. And i mean nothing. Rook flirts with him and he doesn't react at all. He's not like Cullen or Alistair, who have no idea how they should react, but at least do react. He's also not like Zevran. I kinda doubted if Lucanis even knew the meaning of the word passion, if it's not about freakin' coffee (it became so annoying over time). And he's also not like Anders. You know, that he might be scared because of Spite and what Spite could do to Rook.

Or maybe he was. But i don't know, cause he doesn't show. No emotion, no reaction. And my Rook felt like an idiot. But i'm willing to suffer, so i went ahead with the very awkward flirting on my part.

And then the almost kiss scene. And i instantly forgave him everything. Because damn, that man is into Rook ❤

Or so i thought. I mean, i didn't know exactly, why he stopped and left before kissing her, but hey i surely will get an explanation from him, right?

Something like, his duties, his trauma, his fear Spite might harm me. Right?

No.

And we're back to a whole lot of nothing. Oh wait. That's not true. I didn't get anything from him. Neve on the other side got a lot of flirting. Also why the fuck was she in his thoughts in his mind fade prison thing and not Rook? Tbh how Neve and Lucanis are, even when you commit to him, is actually pretty disrespectful towards the player. And that was also why she mostly did rot in the lighthouse, because i didn't like to be the third wheel in my maybe, possible pixel relationship 🙄

Which wasn't a relationship at that point. But even at the point, when we got into a relationship, i didn't really think we were? I mean, he didn't act like Rook's boyfriend. And the commitment scene was... Idk, why i didn't back out at that moment. I mean, cake, yay. I love cake. But when you tell me, you want to be with me, you better do something else than just make me cake (which you didn't even make exclusively for me). It wasn't even Rook's scene. You get the exct same thing, when he wants to be with Neve, if you don't romance him 😬 And honestly, i felt so sorry for my Rook. She was so freakin desperate, that she was happy, he at least made her, her favorite drink.

The fucking bar was in hell 😐

And it didn't get out of there until the love scene. We certainly can discuss that the timing of the love scene is questionable in general. But my gosh, i got something again.

The scene was also very sweet, very loving and soft. And i adored it. Also the wings...

Yea, hearts. I needed a little extra romance...

The talk before the final mission, was also sweet. At least from his part. He tells Rook, he loves her. And she doesn't say it back... But although i hoped she would say it, i kinda can't blame her. Lucanis gave Rook nothing for 90% of the time, now it's his turn to suffer from nothing. Spite probably took her over for that conversation. He was probably as frustrated as she and i were 🤷🏻‍♀️

Oh yeah, one thing i forgot to mention (probably because i tried to forget that one) was the scene after finishing his quest. When he tells Rook, he wants to leave his party, cause he has something better to do. With a tone to it... You know, my Rook was so so ready, that he finally might want to rip her clothes off 😏(to be clear: i'm not mad about the lack of nudity, i'm fine with fade to black stuff). And then you get into the lighthouse and he just drinks coffee. And not even with Rook. She just stands there. And that shit was even after they already commited to each other!

So, i still adore that man. But Bioware failed him, his story and his romance so so much. So many unused opportunities and on top such a huge fuck you to the player, because the game makes it kinda clear, you're second choice and Bioware actually ships Neve and Lucanis.

But where is the player romance content?

Like they should have a conversation about why Lucanis is careful around Rook. We know Spite likes her and this could scare Lucanis. Also that man has so much trauma, but he basically never really talks about it. Why not with his girlfriend? We didn't even have a little date. And damn, i saw concept art picture or scetches, where you can see, much more was actually planned!

So why need i make up so many things myself, because Bioware didn't bother to put effort in this romance?

I mean, yes the romances are lacking in general in Veilguard compared to Inquisition or Origins for example. But in my second run i romanced Davrin and honestly i liked his romance. And no not just because the bar was in hell. He gave me something. He showed interest, flirted back, talked about us, our future. And while i found the Lucanis romance was disapointing, i only realized how bad it really is, after romancing the adorable and hot birdcat dad.

In my third run i'm going with Emmrich and so far i also heard a lot of positive things about his romance.

Unfortunately i think Lucanis might be one of the worst romances in all Dragon Age games. And i just can't understand why. Because the potential is there in his story, in his character and some scenes with him were amazing. But when you're so desperate, you're happy about one sentence in the codex in Lucanis diary about you (which actually hints, that the relationship might be pasionate or at least existing), because that is more you got for the last 30 hours from him, then something is very, very wrong.

I just hope, but doubt it, that Bioware might listen and patch his romance.

[lupiinist]

i haven't been able to write a lot recently (since i'm busy studying for college stuff)

but i had a vision. a mirage. a hallucination if you will

so today i present you:

marauders x ever after high

i'd like to start with lily evans as apple white. yeah. I MEAN JUST THINK ABOUT IT OKAY beautiful slightly nerdy popular girl, everybody knows her, everybody loves her, and i could argue that mary would look AMAZING as apple as well, sure, but then we have:

mary as darling charming. she's absolutely perfect, she's a fighter, a rebel, she likes to do things her way, the stubborn princess she is, AND she's lily's true love kiss

dorcas meadowes as raven queen, i don't even have much to say here, BUT i could also argue regulus black as raven queen (and james as apple white) but i think i'm more for the girlies on this one. anyway, dorcas makes the goth, raven type, chic and slightly off-putting. not everyone loves her, but that's just because they don't really know her

which brings us to: pandora rosier as maddelyn hatter. i can't even stress this one enough, pandora is all mad hatter vibes, really

i think maybe marlene would be briar, but i'm not really sure yet

james is daring charming, period, i don't even need to put say a lot about it (although i don't think he'd fit the narcissist type, it's just the general vibes, y'know?), and regulus would be either lizzie heart or rosabella beauty, just because i like the idea of scary/unhingend regulus and mister sunshine james

i'm not really sure who barty and evan would be, but i'm very inclined to say evan would be duchess swan, and barty would be sparrow hood. evil genius x appealingly dumb sidekick, except they're both really smart-

remus is ashlynn ella (i just find it funny him running a shoe store), and sirius is hunter (pretty little goody two shoes x rebel couple, but they're both rebels, really)

if regulus isn't cerise hood, i'd also say remus, actually. the half-wolf thing just seems like it was made for him

rita skeeter is blondie lockes, that's it

also, alice is alistair wonderland, and narcissa is bunny blanc (i actually have an hc that alice calls narcissa bunny, so it fits her like a glove)

and last but not least (i think), bellatrix as faybelle. i just think i'd be funny

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

have you ever made a similar ranking of evidence of john being attracted to men?

Well I made a big compilation post once (which is missing a significant amount of stuff) with all the evidence, but it wasn't organized by strength. Also this newer post by @gardenschedule is a great resource!

I think the case for John being bi is about as strong as it could possibly be (and by that I mean significantly stronger than the case that he was specifically attracted to Paul).

At the very top I would rank the anecdotes directly describing John getting in Situations with men.

So you've got Hunter Davies, Tony Bramwell, and Pete Shotton saying John admitted to them that something happened in Barcelona. There's also Peter Brown's version but I don't remember how he claims to have come about that information. I guess from Brian. I also think Brian's butler said he was told? – Regardless, while we don't have firsthand accounts (although, maybe once Hunter Davies' notes get fully digitized by the British Library, that will change!) we do have a lot of seconhand accounts. (and of course also some people that say nothing happened, like Cynthia, Alistair Taylor, or Yoko)

You've also got two accounts involving John kissing Jesse Ed Davis during the Lost Weekend (and then getting violent), both of which appear in Goldman's book and the sources are May Pang and Jesse Ed Davis himself. (I mean, and Goldman has a bunch more stuff about John and Brian, but those tend to be sourced like third or fourth hand. Shouldn't be entirely dismissed though)

EDIT: And also Icke Braun claiming John kissed him twice in Hamburg. And that Tony Manero story, although nobody seems to know who that guy is outside the fact John allegedly very openly came onto him.

I think it's also of note that these incidents all happened in relatively different periods.

Second tier of evidence would be the times John alluded to his sexuality, though it was usually in a jokey fashion which provided a lot of plausible deniability. That time he said he felt as a teen he'd have to marry a rich old lady or man. That time he said he was trying to put it round that he was gay.

Also, I'm not sure how to rank it, but this shit from Norman's John bio never fails to crack me up:

There was even some discussion, albeit not very serious, of whether he should stick to his own gender. “John said ‘It would hurt you like crazy if I made it with a girl. With a guy, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt, because that’s not competition. But I can’t make it with a guy because I love women too much, and I’d have to fall in love with the guy and I don’t think I can.’”

Third tier is the long history of Yoko talking about John's sexuality and her observations of it. She has publicly been making allusions to this since at least 1981 culminating in her 2015 "John was bi!" interview. (it's crazy how, in any other situation, a widow saying her husband was bi would be at the top of this list, but the timing of the interview and specific phrasing she used made it incredibly easy to mostly dismiss)

I think that's about it.

[seigephoenix]

Welcome to DADWC!! How about “Knowing someone else can hear” from the smut prompts for anyone you’d like?

Happy Friday!! For @dadrunkwriting I chose Briar Amell and Cullen for this one. It also got away from me a lot. XD I simply can't seem to write smut without feeling or some buildup.

Content Warning: dirty talk, face sitting, p in v, fingering, old feelings come up again Length: ~2.6k words

The first thing she saw upon entering Skyhold was a familiar head of curly hair.  Her lips dropped open in a perfect O as she spotted him, older than the last time they’d met.  She couldn’t help but note how well he carried himself but was he still a Templar?  She remembered seeing him get so flustered when she flirted with him.  He’d turn such a brilliant shade of red and stumble over himself with excuses.  Then that one passionate night where he’d caught her reading all alone after midnight.  Words were exchanged as were deep, drugging kisses that led to fumbling around in the dark to prevent anyone else from overhearing them.

Briar had left the Circle not long after that.  She’d been heartbroken to see the hatred in his eyes when she’d returned and saved them from Uldren.  The ice in his eyes had cut her like a physical injury when he’d turned away from her.  She hoped he’d gotten somewhat less bitter towards mages in the last ten years.  Especially if she was going to help this Inquisition.  She’d even gotten a letter from Alistair and Zevran about the organization.  Morrigan had written that she was advising them, and Leliana was always in contact with her.

“Briar?” She paused at the familiar voice.  Leliana seemed stunned to see her standing in front of her.  “I didn’t think my letter reached you!  It’s so good to see you again!” She rushed forward and embraced Briar, pulling her tight.  Briar laughed and returned the hug just as fiercely.

“I wasn’t sure if my response would get here before I did, so I chose to come instead.”  Leliana agreed it would be a toss up given how correspondence went these days.  “Is Morrigan here?”

“Oh yes!  She’s in the garden.  Come, let’s go see her.”  Briar followed along behind Leliana, ignoring the eyes boring a hole in her back.  She’d find him later.

In the Gardens

“By the stars, it truly is you.” Morrigan whispered as the two women approached.  “It is good to see you old friend.”

“Likewise Morrigan.  I’m happy to see you’ve remained safe in these troubled times.” Morrigan nodded and motioned for Kieran to come out.  “Oh my!  You’ve grown up so much!  The last time I saw you, you were just a wee baby.”  Kieran bowed and greeted Briar.  “He looks so much like you Morrigan.  Thank the Maker for that right?” Morrigan choked on her laugh at Briar’s quip.  They knew Alistair was likely sneezing at that point in time as well.

“Let’s get you settled in a room Briar.  I’m sure you’ll be meeting a lot of people soon.”

“I can’t begin to fathom why anyone would want to meet me.  I’m no one special,” Briar said with a twinkle in her eyes as Leliana sent her a warning glare.  Briar simply tucked her hands behind her head and followed Leliana to the guest quarters.  Once she saw her room she set her travel bag down and then went to explore Skyhold.

Battlements

“I thought I recognized you.” Briar turned at his voice and grinned broadly at him.  “You’re still making waves.”

“Ten years later I still remain a thorn in the side of the Chantry.” Briar grinned as he joined her side watching the courtyard.

“Thankfully they’ve more pressing matters to deal with than the woman who threatened to shake their entire existence.”  Briar laughed at the cutting remark.

“I didn’t have quite that much influence.  Though, I will say, whoever said the Wardens don’t involve themselves with politics needs to be shot.”  Briar propped her hands on her hips as she looked up at him.  “What’s this really about Commander?”

“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?” Briar grinned and shook her head.  “I didn’t think so.”  Cullen paused as he felt the weight of his next words on his tongue.  “I’m sorry.”

“For?” Briar asked as he hesitated.  Cullen was stunned.

“For my words to you back at the Circle.”  She turned her head back towards the courtyard, and he studied her profile.  Briar Amell was always beautiful, he’d long thought that.  Since the first day he’d met her when they’d both been new to the Circle.  Her face held a serene beauty that reminded Cullen of the moon at times.

“Oh.  I was hurt but I couldn’t find it in my heart to really resent you for them.  Not after what you’d been through.”  His eyes widened at the quiet words.  “Do you still think that about me?”  They both left the words he spoke to her years ago hang between them.  Maleficarum.

“No.  I didn’t really think that in my heart either.  I lashed out due to fear.”  Briar nodded; she understood that feeling too well.  She dug her fingers in her upper arms as she fought the longing in her heart.  He’d often been on her mind the past ten years, but she hadn’t been able to spare any time to reach out.  Not after the Circle incident.  Briar dared glance up at him and saw he was looking at her.  Heat flushed her cheeks, and she turned her attention back to the courtyard.

“I’m.  I’m glad you didn’t think that about me.  I’d never turn to blood magic myself.”  Briar tensed for a fraction of a second when he stepped closer to her, she suppressed the shudder.  Just being next to him was excoriating, her body craved his touch even after ten years.  They were both vastly different people than they were in the Circle.  No more an apprentice and a recruit sneaking away for secret rendezvous.  There was much more at stake in their lives now.  His fingers brushed the back of her hand and Briar swore she felt the touch in the very core of her.  Her heart was beating so hard she was worried it would come out of her chest.  Yet anticipation tingled along her nerves, the air was heavy with the tension between them.

They jolted at the raucous from the tavern shattered the tension.  Briar wanted to laugh at how she was acting, like that first time she flirted with Cullen.  She glanced down and saw Hawke stepping out of the tavern, holding the Inquisitor in a vise-like grip as she yelled something at the open door.  She heard Cullen groan next to her and couldn’t stop her laugh.

“I take it that is the Lady Trevelyan I’ve heard so much about?” Cullen looked at her in surprise.

“How did?”

“Turns out Hawke and I are distant cousins.  Our mothers were cousins back in Kirkwall.” Cullen was surprised but then he thought about it.  There wasn’t much of a surprise there.  “He wrote to me when he discovered the connection years ago.  I’ve visited him while he was on the run in Ferelden.”

“That’s where Hawke was?”  Briar simply shrugged as if to say her lips were sealed and he heaved an exasperated sigh.  Things were never boring in Skyhold since Hawke joined Alissa Trevelyan’s side, which was for sure.  “I’m sorry.” Briar burst out laughing at his deadpan delivery.  Her hand grasped onto his forearm as she doubled over in amusement.

“Don’t be sorry for me.” She straightened and wiped the tears from her eyes as she wound down.  “Be sorry for Thedas.”  Cullen was about to respond when he truly thought about it.  The Hero of Ferelden and Champion of Kirkwall were family, no matter how distantly connected, and the Inquisitor was related by marriage.  Cullen chuckled to himself at the thought of that tangle of political connections.  The silence followed held weight between them.

Briar looked up at his face and decided to throw everything to the wind.  Why should she resist when there was so much tension between them?  So long as he agreed, there was no harm.  “Cullen.”  He turned to face her fully and she paused at the heat burst low in her belly.  He’d always been taller than her, but he was so much broader now.  Her mouth went dry at how much bigger he was than she was.  “You feel it too, don’t you?”  His eyes widened and she saw the same hunger in his eyes that she knew was in hers.  “Want to throw caution to the wind and be stupid again?”

Briar let out a startled sound when his arms came around her waist and pulled her against him.  His lips settled against her pulse point in a move that had her fingers digging into his shoulders.  His name came out as a moan.  His hands slid down her body, squeezing her ass through the soft armor before lifting her up by her thighs.  She wrapped her arms around his neck as this put them eye to eye.

“Are you certain?”  Briar nodded and leaned in to cover his lips with hers.  Her hands cupped his cheeks as her teeth tugged at his bottom lip.  His fingers tightened on her thighs, and she wanted to moan.

“Cullen, I’ve waited ten years to feel your hands on me again.”  The admission startled them both, but Briar realized she meant it.  There had felt like something was missing, maybe not something vital to her survival as she did that just fine in the past ten years, but something she ached for was missing.  She realized it was him and everything that came with him.  She squealed when he turned towards his office and room.

Briar giggled as the scouts were ordered to leave, she buried her face in his shoulder to quell the amusement, but she’d never forget their expressions of shock.  “We’ll have to climb up the ladder to my bed.”

“Aww, no fun on the desk?”  Briar teased and sucked in a breath when he backed her against it.  He leaned down and brushed his lips across her ear.

“I’d never be able to do any work without thinking about fucking you on this.”  Her knees went weak and she grabbed his forearms to steady herself.  “And I’ve waited too long to see you in my bed to fuck you here.”  His teeth nibbled the shell of her ear and the soft sound she let out had his hands tensing on her hips.  He stepped back and swept his arm towards the ladder and Briar thought he had more confidence in her legs than she did at the moment.

Briar cleared the ladder and her fingers tugged and pulled until her armor pooled at her feet.  She glanced down at her body and grimaced.  She had more scars than she did at the Circle.  Ten years of fighting darkspawn would do that to you.  Briar jumped slightly when his hands slid around her pulling her back against him, and she noticed he wasn’t wearing any clothing either.  His lips trailed over her ear down to her neck.  She moaned when his teeth pressed down on her pulse point and his fingers dipped between her legs to find her wet and aching for him.

“Maker’s breath but you are beautiful.”  The words had her body clenching around his fingers and her hands reached up for him.  She arched her hips against his hand and Cullen pressed his palm against her aching clit.  His fingers toyed with her as more cries fell from her lips.  “People can hear us you know.”

“Haha, as if that’s stopped us before.”  Cullen groaned as he remembered that night they’d done it beside the First Enchanter’s office.  He hadn’t been able to look the man in the face for a solid week after that.

“Minx,” he whispered against her shoulder as he curled his fingers in her body.  He wanted to taste her, to possess her.  He needed her like he needed his next breath.  Cullen eased his way back towards the bed, taking Briar with him.  He wanted to smile when he moved his hand to her hip and the quiet curse as he left her wanting.

“You’re being a tease.” Briar huffed as she turned to face him.  Cullen merely gave her a warm smile before he sat down on the bed and grasped her fingers.  He tugged her until her stomach was flush with his lips.  Her fingers dove into his hair when his teeth nibbled along her skin.

“As much as I want to feel you around my fingers, I’d rather have you on my tongue.”  Heat pulsed between her legs as the image his words brought up.  She was startled when he leaned back and took her with him.  Her knees pressed on both sides of his waist and her palm splayed across his chest.  Briar didn’t have a chance to protest before he easily lifted her and settled her over his face.

Briar hesitated for a second and yelped when his hands wrapped around her thighs and pulled her right against his mouth.  Her fingers dug into his scalp as his tongue pressed right against her clit.  His name spilled from her lips as the heat coiled tight in her belly.  One hand covered her mouth as she heard the door open downstairs.  Cullen paused for only a second before his attention returned to her.

“Have you seen Cullen?”  Briar recognized the voice of Alissa Trevelyan downstairs.  “I have a report for him.”

“Looks like he finally took a night off.”  Cullen dipped his tongue inside of her hot core as he heard Hawke downstairs.

“Well, he deserves one.  I’ll leave this for him then.”  Briar covered her mouth and tightened her fingers in Cullen’s hair as her orgasm broke.  She couldn’t stop the moans completely and she just prayed the two downstairs didn’t come to investigate.  The waves rolled over her languidly, helped along by his tongue and lips.

“Let’s go.  I don’t like leaving Zephyr for too long.”  Briar’s eyes rolled up in her head as the stars practically exploded behind her eyelids.  She heard the door close and dropped her hand to dig her fingers into the bed by Cullen’s head.

“Fuck, fuck.”  Briar hissed out as he shifted until she was on her stomach.  His weight pressed her down into the bed and she wanted to beg.  His cock touched the inside of her thigh and Briar was this close to losing it.  She arched her hips against him, hinting at him to take the hint.  Cullen’s teeth latched onto her shoulder as he slid his cock inside her welcoming heat.  “Maker’s breath.”  Briar whined as he rolled his hips slowly against hers.  Her nails bit into the sheets by her head as she bucked her hips against him.

“Now, now.  Patience is a virtue Briar,” Cullen whispered in her ear as he continued that torturous pace to her growing frustration.  She’d appreciate slow later but her body wanted him to make her forget her own fucking name.

“Of which I don’t possess.”  She reached up and grasped his hair in her hands as she gently tugged on it.  “Fuck me.”  That dark chuckle was all she heard before he angled his hips and had her body clenching tight around him.  He groaned as he slammed against her hips.  “Yes.”  He rose up and pressed a hand between her shoulder blades.  She groaned as she couldn’t move beneath his hand.  She felt herself tightening around his cock with each thrust.

“Damn it.  I’m.” Cullen groaned as she felt his cock spasming inside of her.  Briar almost screamed when his hand reached underneath and gently pinched her clit.  She buried her face in the sheets as she came apart underneath him.

They were both panting heavily as the fog of desire cleared in their heads.  Cullen jerked upright as if just realizing what he’d been doing.  Briar grabbed his shoulder before he could say anything.  She shifted until she was out from under him and pulled him down towards her.  “We’ll talk tomorrow.  I don’t think I can string more than a few words together right now.”  Cullen relaxed and pulled her against him resting his head on the top of her head.  They could talk tomorrow.

[nirikeehan]

Gonna wambo combo you from the Sexual Tension Prompt list for Thalia/Blackwall for "[ BRUSH ] : Character A reaches forward to brush a strand of Character B’s hair from their eyes." and "[ WET ] : The characters find one another in a torrential downpour of rain, both soaking wet." >:]

ALL RIGHT OKAY IT'S THACKWALL HORNY HOURS TONIGHT

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1525

Strap in, I also managed to shove in the following prompts:

sleeve rolling (thanks @theluckywizard)

public touching and pretending to be a couple (thanks @oxygenforthewicked)

pushing against a wall and kissing without warning (thanks @oxygenforthewicked AND @about2dance)

---

She sits beside him on the table he’s set up for woodworking. They talk late into the evening, the air in the stables going cold when the sun goes down. Thalia’s face stays warm, watching the way Blackwall works with his hands. He’s deft and sure in everything he does, each stroke and every nail. She watches his fingers, large and calloused as they are, and wonders. Her stomach flips, not unpleasantly. 

At one point, he rolls his sleeves to the elbow and catches her looking at the naked flesh. 

“Like what you see, my lady?” 

She thinks he might be smirking. She slides off the table, onto her feet. She tries to bring herself back to earth. 

“I’m terribly late for dinner.” She’s stuttering over her words, like a damned schoolgirl. 

She can feel his eyes on her back with every stride through the courtyard she takes. 

—

At a tavern in an unfriendly village, they need information. The commonfolk are hostile toward Grey Wardens, it seems; they feel abandoned by those who came through before, then left in the name of the False Calling. 

“Why do you ask?” says the barkeep, eyes narrowed across the counter. “You one of ‘em?” 

“Me? Never.” Blackwall laughs long and hard, terribly convincing. “It’s just that me and the missus are mighty curious about where they’ve gone. Her brother, you see, joined up a few years ago. She pines for him something fierce, don’t you, love?”

His gaze is upon her, expectant. Thalia hunches over in her barstool, hoping her blush isn’t visible in the dim torchlight. “That’s right,” she says softly. “If anything happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.” 

She can’t conceive of this world, where she would care enough to pursue a lost brother. But then, she can’t fathom being married to Blackwall, either. He reaches over and places a hand on the nape of her neck, laying it on thick for the barkeep, and her heart thumps and thumps. Grey Wardens have relationships sometimes, right? The Hero of Ferelden would have married Good King Alistair, if he hadn’t sacrificed himself ending the last Blight. It’s been known to happen.

She rests her hand on the wrist Blackwall uses to cup his stein of ale. Her fingers tingle. This is an act, of course. Isn’t it? 

The barkeep watches them long and hard. Then he breaks into a toothless smile, accompanied by a salty laugh. “This’s your wife? How’d you manage that, you old dog?” 

“Ah, well, you know. She keeps me young.” Blackwall winks. 

“I bet she does.” The barkeep’s gaze lingers on them a touch too long, and Thalia doesn’t know whether she’s mortified or pleased. Maybe a little of both.

Outside the tavern, after mulling over the leads they’ve been given, Thalia glances upward at Warden Blackwall’s face, so unreadable in the gathering dark. “Is it really so hard to believe?”

“What? You n’ me, my lady?” 

She feels his eyes upon her; it is not, strictly speaking, the look an honorable knight gives a lady. She knows this, and she likes it, to some degree. He is a bit older than her — so what? Girls her age — and below — married men of advanced age all the time. 

“I could—” She grasps for something clever and witty to say. “—Keep you young. Like you said.” 

Blackwall lets out a hearty laugh. “Begging your pardon, but you speak like you don’t know what that means.”

“I know what it means!” Thalia huffs. 

Blackwall stands over her, close enough to touch. “But you’ve never…?”

Now she’s mortified for sure. “That’s not an appropriate question to ask a lady.” She storms past him, toward their camp, before this gets out of hand. 

She thinks she hears him chuckling in the dark behind her. 

—

Thalia never knew it could rain so hard in the desert. The Western Approach’s sky, she thought, would forever be an endless, scorching blue. But the clouds roll in without warning, a dark purplish grey. The rain falls in torrents, turning the sands to mud and drenching her in seconds. She runs for shelter in the awning of an ancient fortress, tumbledown stones persisting for hundreds of years. 

She lets her hair down, pulling fingers through the long, tangled strands, wringing it out like a cloth. There is satisfaction to the lightness that ensues. The air, likewise, possesses a strange, clean scent, as if the landscape itself has been wiped clean by the downpour. 

She hears a throat clearing behind her. Thalia snaps her head up; Blackwall stands in the dark of the archway, similarly soaked. His grey eyes almost seem to glow as their gazes meet. 

Thalia gasps and turns away, her hair long and limp over her shoulders, hanging heavy to her waist. He saw! He isn’t supposed to see! She trembles, suddenly freezing as the wind picks up and hits her clammy skin. 

“F-forgive me, Warden Blackwall,” she says through chattering teeth. “In Ostwick, highborn girls are not to let men — unmarried men — see them with their hair down. It’s beyond scandalous.” 

She feels silly saying this out loud, but it’s true — despite knowing, intellectually, other women do this all the time, she feels as though he caught her with her trousers down and can’t bear to look at him. She scrambles for the rock wall, trying to get out of sight so she can plait her hair again and pin it back up and at last be able to face him. 

His hand grasps her shoulder. Thalia freezes, her heart pounding. Water drips off her nose and chin, and her breath stutters. 

“Strange customs they’ve got in Ostwick,” Blackwall mumbles low in her ear. His fingers trace their way to the nape of her neck. He draws the hair away from her skin, tantalizingly slow. A warm tingling shoots down Thalia’s spine to her toes. “I thought the cheese wheel chase was the height of it.” 

Thalia forces herself to face him. He’s so handsome, painfully so, with hair that shines black and the mighty beard and the distinguished lines of his face. She’s no doubt he’s known many women — she can sense this in his confidence, which comes out when she least expects it. Like now. She swallows hard and tentatively puts her hand on the damp sleeves of his gambeson. 

“I like the cheese wheel chase,” is all she can think to say, like an idiot. 

Blackwall lets out a laugh. “Never said I didn’t like it.” His hand cups her face, and Thalia thinks she might perish. Is she dreaming this? It wouldn’t be the first time. “Tell me, my lady — what happens when an unmarried man spies an Ostwick maid with her hair down?” 

“There’s, ah, varying stories.” 

“Of course there are.”

“In some of them, the girl and offending voyeur must get married on the spot.” 

Blackwall chuckles. “Shame there’s no Chantry mother in this forsaken desert. Makes it difficult to say vows.” 

“In others, the girl is branded a harlot and cast out from her household.” 

Blackwall’s eyebrows shoot upward. “Bit harsh, isn’t it?”

Thalia swallows hard. “I didn’t come up with these tales!” 

“What if there’s no one to see their transgression?” His hands have moved, one to the small of her back, the other to her collarbone, just above her left breast. “What if it’s just him and her, and they can do whatever they like, and no one will be the wiser?” 

Thalia’s heart races. “I— ah, it’s hard — to say—”

He pushes her against the stone wall and kisses her. He tastes of rainwater and smells, faintly, of the woodsmoke that wafted off that morning’s campfire. The weight of him against her through damp fabric feels both exciting and dangerous. She worries he can tell she’s never done this before, but with a groan he deepens the kiss, the hand squeezing her breast, and she realizes that perhaps he doesn’t care. She’s not sure she does either. 

She tangles her fingers in the wet hair at the nape of his neck and tests out leaning into him as they kiss. She feels him respond immediately, and knows with a thrill of trepidation they really could do anything they wanted — who would bear witness? The desolate sand? 

“—Bloody fuck.” Blackwall tears himself away with a violent wrench, leaving Thalia grasping for the wall behind her, dizzy.

“I’m sorry— did I— do something wrong?” She rakes the hair from her eyes, her desire curdling in her belly. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Blackwall growls. 

“That is, I think, what I was trying to say earlier.” Is this a joke? Thalia feels a strange desire to laugh. “But you were going on about cheese wheels…”

“You’ve no idea how enticing you are, do you?” His voice sounds, somehow, both reverent and repulsed. “How bloody enchanting?” 

Thalia does not know how to answer that. 

He cackles again, though the mirth is gone, and turns away, scrubbing the water from his face with his palm. Thalia reaches forward, taking his elbow, and tries to think of what to say that won’t wreck everything. 

[h-eefic]

Would you possibly give us the cliffnotes for what the plan was for the rest of this fic? I've been following early on (like 2015??), it really truly has an important space in my heart. I even have it saved offline in case there was ever a time where it would be removed!! Even if it will never be finished, I still like to re-read it, maladaptive daydream about it, etc. I'd love to know where it would have gone in the end!! Or if you would release any drafts or whatever have you!!

I will write down what I remember! I think I've lost any outlines we had but:

Yes, Alistair was the shitty neighbor the entire time. It was so silly, we were obsessed with it.

After Liv leaves his hospital room, she spends days locked in her house, triggered bc of her parents and just generally shut down.

When she opens her door and sees Alistair standing there, she basically blue screens because he's a) real b) extremely good-looking and c) he's her what? I don't remember much about what comes next but I know they spend a few hours hashing things out, talking, putting together all the context of their friendship (discussing everyone they have in common, lmao).

Liv goes back to running away from her problems, tells him she's had all of her fears about being with him confirmed for her.

Ultimately, he talks her into giving him a chance to at least take her on a date. She walks him to her front door and he asks if he can kiss her. They do, and he's very convincing. :)

They spend a few days(?) flirting through windows at each other. For their date, he sets up a scavenger hunt for her to find the location for the date? And it was going to be so cute, he has her go to Andrastea to find a clue to the next location, which is Druffy's, and so on and so forth, he leaves clues at the places he's recommended to her. The final date I think was going to be at the beach. Liv ultimately realizes that she'd rather be with him and risk losing him than be alone and dreaming of police lights forever. It gets steamy. :)

After that, I mostly remember the two of them doing a tour around to all their friends and giving the update that they're a thing. Happy endings abound!

There was going to be an epilogue where they go on a road trip with Cullen and Lua, and we planned to commission different artists to make polaroids of them having a good time. Thedas Space Program 4 lyfe.

We really were at the finish line, and I'm so sad we didn't get to tell the rest of it. I have some small things like playlists, previously unposted sketches, and snippets that I'll leave in this Google Doc if you still want more. Emrys may have files I don't, so I welcome her to share them if she wants to.

I also welcome anyone who wants to play in the space to go buck wild, and if you do I would love to see them if you message me @bucket-fucker. I'm replaying Liv's canon as we speak, and I hope to write her again, I still had much more to say!

Thank you all for showing interest in my lil OC. And thank you for still caring. It's been a blast, and I appreciate you all.

-A.