#ants go marching fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dangans-ur-ronpas · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 25

sorry this one took so long. unfortunately no sloppy homoeroticism this chapter, it was getting too long so i broke it up

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

can you kids get on with the next trial yet

my computer crashed like three different occasions while writing this so i fear it may be time to retire this google doc

@digitaldollsworld i owe u my life

Content warning tags: more issues with shaving and a shaving razor, canon-typical Monokuma cartoon violence, gun mention for aforementioned Monokuma antics, Monokuma-typical bullying (Monokuma as the bully, not the bully-ee)

< previous - from start - next >

Contrary to popular belief; Byakuya does know what defeat is like.

And if asked about it, he would, of course, declare it all as part of a grander plan. A blip in the greater scheme of his life, a tactical retreat, losing a battle to gloriously win a war. And it wouldn’t be wholly untrue, for most of them; for every time he had had to back down, it always culminated in an opportunity to lower his opponents’ defenses, to bide his time before striking back fiercer, sharper, more decisive. The fact of his status now is proof of that.

So no, he’s never lost, never even truly tasted failure. How could he, Byakuya Togami, possibly even know the meaning of the word?

But the truth that he might only ever admit to himself - on days when his reflection looks a little too fragile, and the commoners around him are a little too near, too human for comfort - was that he was well aware of what defeat felt like. Like a cloying, oily sensation that clings to his skin, stubborn and agitating, refusing to be dislodged no matter how hard he scratches, like trying to quell some stubborn itch. Suffocating and irritating all at once, like ants marching in his loose-fitting skin. A constant uneasiness. Paranoia.

He had felt it often when he was younger, more stupid, more naive. Back when he foolishly thought it was the natural order of things for children to be shielded from unpleasant things, those strange and frightening concepts of death and betrayal, and would get so torn up in the aftermath of every little trauma that even Pennyworth would grow exasperated, ceasing his coddling and shoving him onward insteads.

He thought he’d forgotten it, but now he finds himself overly familiar with that feeling. Now, it was almost tedious - he’d be bored of it, if it wasn’t absolutely and hair-tearingly frustrating.

He slams the mirrored door of his bathroom cabinet shut, and hears its contents rattle and fall over. It was going to be hell when he opened it again, had to find or identify any of those tiny bottles by smell, but he didn’t care. The other alternative would have been to throw the razor, now sitting innocently and safely folded on the sink counter, and there are a whole slew of reasons why he shouldn’t do that, with the most fleeting, irrational one being that Pennyworth would click his tongue.

(God, Pennyworth. All servants had to be considered disposable, but he never thought he would miss that old man and his meddling so much.)

The cuts on his jaw sting as he splashes water over his face again, furiously scrubbing his hands down his cheeks. It was another failure again today; he had a feeling he was beginning to look rather shabby, given the unfamiliar prickling he can feel when he runs his fingers over his chin and upper lip, contrasting the stinging, sticky smoothness of his cheeks. The thought of being seen like this made him want to hide, and the thought of hiding himself away forever felt like shameful surrender, with no reassuringly great scheme to fall back on.

This is ridiculous. He reprimands himself, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. That now-familiar, still-infuriating mass of fuzzy yellow hovers back. It’s just one simple task. I still have my hands, and I can do this much.

As if mocking him, a thin, blurred line of blood immediately begins to track down his face, from near where his reflection’s ear should be. He slaps a hand to it, digs his fingers into the cut, and lets out a hiss between his teeth, more out of anger than the actual pain.

But the pain does its job in steadying him, focusing his thoughts. Enough! He needs to make up his mind, either to keep trying or go do something else. He’s spent too long holed up in his room, and he needs to eat and do something without relying on the unwanted, well-meaning pity of stupid individuals, and maybe show his face enough so the others don’t identify him as some strange, pathetic little hermit. He needs to get some new books from the library, having already read and reread a number of the old ones. He should do any number of things, instead of acting so paralyzed, so-

“Stuck, ain’tcha?”

He spins so fast he almost slips on the tile, hands slamming against the sink behind him to steady himself, wincing as his hip collides with the porcelain. Monokuma, that hateful little bastard, is standing in the doorway of his bathroom, head tilted in a mockery of concern. “Gosh, you look like-”

“Shut up,” He snaps, immediately, reflexively. A stupid move maybe, but the bear made it so easy to forget he was dangerous by sheer effort of being insufferable.

“Whaat? Such words you’re saying to your headmaster!” It gasps, and shakes its head. “Can’t a bear be a little concerned for its lil’ cubs? I do all this for ya, and this is how you talk to me! ...Oh, but I guess I never did respect my momma either at your age, I really oughta give her a call…”

It’s almost comical, the way it goes from shock, to stomping its feet is exaggerated anger, to immediately wilting with gloom. Distantly, Byakuya thinks that whatever technology is responsible for puppeting the thing must be very advanced, but that’s hardly his biggest concern. “Get out,” He says instead, voice clipped and rasping out of his throat. He hasn’t been taking as many fluids as he should, and the water from the bathroom tap always tastes a little too sulfuric for him.

“And now he’s in his rebellious phase! Oh momma, I knew I should’ve treated you better!” Monokuma wails, almost convincingly distraught. “Oh…but, I guess I’ll do as she did and treat you sweet anyways. It sure ain’t easy raising all you little whippersnappers, y’know?

“Anyways,” And it perks up, cheery again. “I just wanted to give you a lil’ heads up on today’s itinerary! I noticed that all of you’ve been a liiiitle stressed lately, so I wanted to treat all of you to something nice!” The words immediately set the hairs on the back of Byakuya’s neck on end. Something ‘nice’ from Monokuma could never mean something good. “Puhu…now, I did send out the message in the form of paper notes, y’know, go all retro to mix things up a bit - but then I remembered that that just wouldn’t be fair to all of us, and we just can’t have the meeting until we’re all present! So I came all the way over here, just for you, to deliver the message face-to-face!”

It’s an oddly considerate action on Monokuma’s part. So considerate, in fact, that Byakuya immediately hears alarm bells begin to ring in his head. “...When and where is this meeting,” He says, slowly.

“Well, in the gymnasium! Figured there was no need to break out the velvet carpet for just the ten of ya. And as for when, ah…” It looks at its wrist, taps at it. “Ten minutes ago!”

He reaches behind him and grabs the nearest object - the razor - and hurls it. It bounces off the tile with a loud crack, the silver blade flying open, but Monokuma dances backwards, out of range. “Whoa, careful! I’d hate to punish you for doin’ property damage! Someone might get hurt!”

“Out.” He all but roars, while at the same time scrambling. He nearly trips as he goes, narrowly avoiding stepping on the razor, hands scrabbling at the door frame to keep himself upright. He’s still dressed in his pajamas, and he digs through his drawers for a clean change - he can hear Monokuma cackling, delighted, but he hardly has time to pay the bear any mind as he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, haste turning his fingers clumsy.

“Better hurry! They’ve been waiting awhile, and I made sure they couldn’t leave ‘til you showed up!” Monokuma taunts from behind him, somewhere near the entrance. He turns over his shoulder to spit something, some insult, but-

He blinks, pausing. The backdrop of his room greets him, yellow and green and mahogany and maroon, but no jarring black-white. The bear is gone, as suddenly as it had appeared, and he actually glances around, as if expecting to see it hiding somewhere ridiculous. Under his bed, maybe, or in his wastebasket? Waiting for an opportunity to jump out at him again.

He’s so distracted by this for a moment he almost forgets the more pressing issue at hand, which was trying to retain some of his ruined dignity, as best as he could possibly manage. He dresses as quickly as possible, no time for his tie, suspenders, or jacket; he’s slipping on his shoes while smoothing down his shirtfront at the same time, trying to make sure his buttons were properly matched, and is halfway down the hall before he realizes he hadn’t even heard Monokuma leave.

—

He makes it to gymnasium in record time, taking only a few seconds to calm his breathing and try and work his hair into something presentable, and to wait for his face to stop feeling so warm. There’s something large, rectangular and olive-gray pointed towards the doors, set up on a tripod, and for a moment it reminds Byakuya of a telescope - and then he nears it, and reflects that it might actually be a turret, aimed directly at the exit doors.

‘Made sure they couldn’t leave’, was it? He thinks, remembering Monokuma’s words, though he gives the thing a wide berth as he steps around it.

The others are already there, and they turn to him as he pushes the door open. They all look-

…Well, more or less the same as usual. Shapes and colors. Though Fukawa is sprawled flat and cross-armed on the ground like a child in a tantrum, and has her tongue lolling, so she’s probably Syo at the moment; that suspicion is confirmed when she sits up and spouts a stream of crude nonsense at him in greeting, which he immediately tunes out. And Asahina and Ogami are pressed shoulder to shoulder, or as much as they can be, with their height difference. Owada stands stiffly at a parade’s rest, hands clasped behind his back, facing dead ahead. His biker jacket is gone, as is his pompadour; his hair is limp and tied behind his head, and he’d somehow colored it black. It also looks much shorter than it should be.

“You’re late!” Owada barks as he enters, which he also ignores, though it’s much harder than with Syo. He doesn’t like looking at Owada, or hearing him for that matter, but his loudness and size made both things rather difficult.

Kirigiri looks utterly unchanged. Standing a little distanced from the rest of them, arms crossed. She’s not facing him, but he has the feeling she’s watching anyways, peering from the corner of her eyes. Besides her is Makoto, standing maybe a little meter away, and much less subtle in his watching. He jumps up as Byakuya nears, making a half-aborted sound like he wants to say something, but then stifling it at the last moment.

Byakuya hesitates for an instant, caught by the inexplicable urge to go up to him, when-

“To- dude!” Someone calls from behind him, and he almost jumps, whipping behind him to scowl. At least Hagakure had hesitated before finishing whatever stupid nickname he was about to bestow on him, on top of Monokuma’s public humiliation. “Where were you? We were buzzing your doorbell and everything!”

Were they? He hadn’t heard a thing; he glares up towards the stage, to the only possible reason why that may be. Monokuma was already perched at his podium, rocking side to side and looking as innocent as can be.

“What’s the meaning of this,” He demands, ignoring Hagakure entirely. His throat still feels reedy, his voice a little too hoarse for his liking, but it carries loud and clipped in the hollow ceiling of the gymnasium, making it sound much more steady than he feels.

“Didn’t you get the memo, Mr. Togami? I delivered it myself ‘n everything, you know!” Monokuma puts its hands on its hips, shaking its head. “Really, just ‘cuz you’re in the prime of your life, doesn’t mean you oughta slack off, y’hear!”

Byakuya sorely wishes he had another object at hand to throw. As it is, he clenches his hands tight to keep from trembling too obviously; somehow, Monokuma had the ability to make him lose all rationality by sheer rage alone. Or maybe that was the stress, fraying all his sensibilities. Or maybe just his eyes again, the damnable source of it all.

He doesn’t get to say anything in rebuke, however. No sooner did he open his mouth, was Makoto already jumping to his defense: “You’re the one who’s singling him out!” He shouts, all fury and bluster. “You used written letters specifically to harass him!”

“Why, why, Mister Makoto, what is this j’accuse!” Monokuma gasps, as if the idea of tormenting any one student was unthinkable. “Why on earth would you think I was targeting him?”

“Because-” And then he stops, throttling himself halfway through the sentence with a choked-off sound. And Byakuya knows perfectly well why, and could almost picture the horrified, guilty look that the other boy must be throwing at him right now.

It’s a ridiculous sentiment. The damage had already been done during the trial, and avoiding any mention of it now couldn’t undo those actions; if anything, it makes him look even more fragile than before, ego teetering on his miserable condition.

“Er…” Yamada says timidly, breaking the quiet. “I’d rather not see this kind of subplot development right now, it’s kind of out of place with the current tone…”

“What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, ya uncultured chestnut! I’m eatin’ this up!” Syo snaps at him, rocking back and forth with her hands on her ankles. “This is better than my American TV-action-drama dramas!”

“Enough of this,” Ogami cuts in, firm and composed. “Monokuma. You called us here for a reason. But know whatever it is you’re planning, we will not break.”

There’s a small chorus of agreement that follows that. Asahina in particular, pipes up with a fervent “that’s right!”, and even Kirigiri nods her head, just once.

The bear giggles, hiding its stark grin behind its paws. “Now, now, no need to get all defensive, puhu! I've decided to change things up a bit this time. Up till now, I've been using sticks and the whoosh of the North Wind to get you all moving…but I think it’s the carrot’s time to shine! …Though, I’d much rather have a nice, fat salmon, but whatever!”

And it spreads its little arms, and in the next moment, something large and red falls from the ceiling and thwaps loudly onto the table.

There are gasps, some yelps, and a surprised squeal from Syo as the red flutters away to reveal…well, a mound of pale yellowy-green. Even without being able to discern any more details besides that, Byakuya can guess what it is.

“Here it is! A nice, hot sun to light a fire under your butts, in the form of a cool, ten mill-lee-on buckaroos!” Monokuma crows, barely even visible behind the stacks of bills. “A graduation gift for the lucky student that makes it out alive! Like, wowie zowie, amiright??”

So this was the next motive, was it? Byakuya feels his lip curling. “That’s hardly anything,” He says, disgustedly.

“Holey moley! S’that all real!?” Syo shrieks, completely drowning him out. “I mean, s’not like I can use it when I’m the Waldo to every cop’s where, but damn!”

“When it comes to motives, money certainly is the gold standard.” Kirigiri muses. “As is the case in most mystery novels, and the real world.”

“B-but,” Asahina speaks up hesitantly. “There’s…there’s no way we’d kill each other for money! …Right?”

It seems that some part of her was still shaken, since the last trial. Or maybe she couldn’t help being meek before Monokuma, who had killed several of their classmates in a rather violent manner at this point. In a different life he might have sneered and called that pathetic, but in the present moment he couldn’t help but feel like he understood.

It’s still pathetic though, he thinks to himself regardless. “Don’t forget what happened last time. We can’t judge others by our personal standards.” He says instead, harshly, and he doesn’t miss the way Owada flinches, composure flickering.

“Um. Well…that amount’s nothing, anyways!” Hagakure shouts, with a nervous edge in his words. “Ten million, hundred million, I don’t give a crap! Seriously!”

“That’s right,” Ogami says, voice measured. “You can’t put a price on a person’s life.”

There are a few more similar platitudes uttered, as everyone tries to convince themselves that such an amount wouldn’t sway them. Yamada boasts something about ‘comiket’ and his subscriber count. Celeste chuckles as she describes the accumulation of her personal winnings. Syo…declares that she has no need for it, given that ‘Gloomy makes enough outta her little scribblings to keep us both in velvet if she really wanted! ‘Sides, if that ever tanks I could always just find some handsome fellas and bleed ‘em dry!’ which reassures no one.

Byakuya hardly pays them any mind, instead focusing on how Makoto and Kirigiri have stayed silent this whole time. The latter is to be expected, but the former…

Surely he’s not considering it. He’d refused Byakuya when he first offered him whatever wealth he wanted, back when they were initially agreeing upon the deal. There couldn’t have been anything that would’ve changed his mind since then-

No. There would’ve been. Byakuya feels his blood running cold. Hadn’t he rescinded his initial promise to ensure the safety of Makoto’s family, immediately following the second trial? Despite whatever good intentions there had been behind Makoto’s actions, hadn’t they gone punished instead of rewarded? Would that be enough to break his resolve about killing?

No, he still has Kirigiri. And he still has some kind of regard for me, if he’s so insistent on his meddling. The bread at his doorway, and Hagakure’s intervention was proof of that. He wouldn’t cast us aside so readily…would he?

“Wow, really~?” Monokuma giggles, drawing him out of his thoughts. “It’s sooo cute watching y’all try to act tough…well, good luck then! Have fun with your pure and communal lives!” It cackles, hops off the platform, and waddles off to disappear backstage. The money stays where it is, gaudy with the sheer amount of it. Byakuya has the irrational temptation to walk up and shove it all off the table.

The others are beginning to talk amongst themselves again, exchanging uneasy reassurances and nervous accusations. Owada is loudly declaring how ‘money is the root of all evil’ to an uncomfortable Hagakure. Syo is demanding proof that Ogami doesn’t have some debt racked up over illegal doping, with Asahina having to be held back. Yamada is being dragged off by Celeste, his protests going unheard.

None of it is of the utmost importance however, as he turns towards the door. Kirigiri and Makoto are already making their exit, so he follows them, just a few meters behind.

< previous - from start - next >

#thpff #thpff chapters #danganronpa fanfic #danganronpa fanfiction #monokuma designed to specifically trigger that one primal instinct in everyone to drop an anvil on him #while he giggles and runs through a painted hole in the wall #next chapter in like. idk. two weeks? who even knows anymore

17 notes · View notes

partystoragechest · 4 months ago

Text

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting invites four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this epilogue, Giles finds her way home.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Touledy's Epilogue. Erridge's Epilogue. End. Words: 2,400. Rating: all audiences.)

Epilogue: Giles

Inquisition troops marched through field and farmland, nothing more than a movement north, bound for the Waking Sea and Free Marches beyond.

That was the story Jader had been told, and that was the story Jader had believed. With the assent of its rulers, such movement was permitted. But they had no idea that, amongst those simple-looking soldiers, the missing daughter of Samient walked.

The site of her ‘disappearance’ would have been discovered, by now. The Duke’s guard would be crawling all over it, like so many ants upon a fresh carcass. The Inquisition would be all apology, offering whatever help they could—but the blame would ultimately lie with her father. He hadn’t sent her with a guard, the other nobles would say. What could he expect?

Giles felt the guilt of it strongly. Every step she took, she questioned whether this was the right path. But she reminded herself, of what waited at its end. This would be worth it.

“Almost there,” Loranil told her. “If the others have already arrived, then we’ll be meeting at the docks. All right?”

Giles nodded. “Thank you. Thank you for doing this.”

Loranil smiled. “Not the sort of mission I expected when I joined the Inquisition—but I don’t mind it. I think it’s more pleasant than most of the soldiers have had, anyway.”

That much was true. They’d exchanged stories with Giles on the way, usually whilst bedding down for the night. She only believed half of them. No way had Troubridge fought a giant and lived to tell the tale, let alone done so without being raised in rank!

Though it did put her own situation in comparison. There had been no giant-killing on their journey, thank the Maker. In fact, their greatest danger was this. Jader. The last of Orlais she would see, the most likely place for her to be recognised. Best keep the helmet on tight.

But it served its purpose well enough. They walked the streets of the city with no resistance. Guards nodded them through, residents stopped to watch them walk by. A child stared with such wonder, it was as if the Inquisitor was the one striding past instead.

Unhindered, they made it to the docks—a bustling shipyard, adorned with grand vessels, ready to sail the Waking Sea. The abundance of Orlesian heard throughout the city melted away, and left instead were a mixture of tongues, flying between sailors of varying origin.

With a quiet word of confirmation to the dockmaster, the Captain of Giles’ retinue led them where they needed to go. A ship, moored on the third dock to the right. That was where the other Inquisition had gathered.

Giles’ heart pounded against her chest. They rounded a corner, and saw a group of soldiers scattered across crates and barrels, leaning and sitting and talking and relaxing. She halted in her tracks. Her eyes scanned the face of each and every single one. Until—

All went quiet. A soldier stood.

“Giles?”

He took the helm from his head, and revealed the man beneath. Vichy. Her Vichy.

She had feared this moment greatly. That the war might’ve changed him, that he might be beyond recognition. But every fear fell away when she saw him.

It was the smiling face she knew; the deep brown skin and muscled arms; the same rich black hair—though his curls and coils had been cut shorter than she recalled. It didn’t matter. It was him.

“Vichy,” she breathed.

Her feet took off running before she had even realised it. He was ready for her, arms open. She collided with him, embrace so powerful that her helm was knocked from her head, to skitter across the ground.

It didn’t matter. It was him.

“I’m so sorry,” she wept, clutching him tighter than she ever had before. “This was my fault.”

“Don’t you worry,” he whispered, “it’s my fault, really.”

“How? How could any of this be your fault?”

“Well, a bastard son of an elf can’t really meddle with the Duke’s daughter and expect to get away with it, can he? You’re trouble, Giles. Beautiful trouble.”

She smiled. If there was any undeniable proof that this was her Vichy, it was this—for he never could take a single situation seriously. She was glad that that had not been taken from him. It was that very attitude that had her broken in the first place.

“My father should never have done this to you,” she told him. For, as much as she adored it, this was no time for his jokes.

“I chose to go,” he replied, kissing the tears from her cheek. “Besides, with what the Inquisition lot have told me about the Commander, I think you got the worse end of the deal. I have every respect for the man, given what he’s done for us—but Creators, he sounds boring.”

Giles chuckled. “His presence made me miss yours all the more. We should have run.”

Vichy held her close, serious for the first time in his life: “No. I would have agreed to anything your father offered, to keep you safe.”

“But every moment without you I have been in danger of myself.”

She felt his head shake, against hers. “Come now, none of that. I’m here. I’m here.”

He was. If only to prove it, if only to know it was real, if only to make it complete—she kissed him. Any lingering doubts fled, in the wake of that kiss. She had made the right decision.

An unfortunately public one, for a cheer went up—from a few of the soldiers, who were swiftly reprimanded by their Captain—and Giles was suddenly reminded that they were not alone.

Vichy laughed at them. “All right, pay up!” he called. “Whoever said she wouldn’t show, you owe me a crown!”

Giles chuckled. With the distraction, she could part to find her helm—though she did not have to look for long. It was already discovered, in the hands of Loranil, who’d prevented it from rolling away.

“Best get this back on,” he said, handing it over, “we’re not in the Free Marches yet.”

***

They arrived in the Marches days later, to rendezvous with the Inquisition base in Kirkwall. The majority of the retinue would sequester themselves within, for few were permitted to travel on to Sumara.

The Clan was last traced to Planascene Forest, where it had shrouded itself since the troubles of the Breach. Inquisition scouts had confirmed its location, and offered the Clan a warning: more Inquisition were bound, seeking to return a lost daughter.

The Clan had given no reply—except to say that they were waiting.

That sense of anticipation was felt throughout Planascene. Ancient trees shadowed the path, so that daylight could barely break through. Swaying leaves atop the canopy never quite settled into silence. Giles felt watched. As if the Creators themselves now weighed her worth. What if they rejected her?

But such concern was halted, by the touch of a hand slipping into her own. Vichy.

“Chanter to E-4,” he whispered, with a smile.

Oh. Not a valid opening move. Unless…

“Are you referring to our game from the boat?” asked Giles.

They’d had to pass the time over the Waking Sea somehow, and they always did their best talking over a game of chess. Lucky for them, the skipper had a board.

“I am,” said Vichy. “I was about to win, and the fact of our journey’s end was quite convenient for you, I’d say.”

“Empress to E-4, capture,” Giles replied, quite in disagreement.

Vichy chuckled anyway. Giles did not truly think that he had restarted the game for his own glory. No, it made for a perfect distraction, and she was grateful for it.

It also served as a reminder. No matter what happened in the next few hours, she had him. They had each other. That was enough. That was more than enough.

Trees gave way to boulder-like stone, too purposefully-carved to be merely natural—likely some kind of ruins. The largest of its old columns towered over them, defiant in its continued existence. Loranil, treading carefully, raised his hands. To the stones, he called out, in Elven:

“Hold! We are friends!”

Movement, atop the ruins. A pair of elves, dressed in the leather of hunters, and carrying bows as tall as their bodies, made themselves known. They asked something of Loranil, to which he gave a hasty answer. Though they seemed unsure, one withdrew, and disappeared beyond the ruins.

“I’ve asked for their Keeper,” Loranil explained to Giles, before sweeping his eyes across the soldiers behind her. “Keep your weapons sheathed,” he warned.

The soldiers nodded, stepping a pace back. The hunter who’d remained watched them, carefully.

It was some time—a half-hour at least—before the other finally returned to their perch. Yet, more movement came with them. Out, from betwixt the ruins, emerged an elven man. He was of middle age, at least, with pale skin and paler hair. The robes he wore were unmistakably elaborate, the staff he bore thrumming with magic. The attire of a Keeper.

Though Giles did not understand it, he asked something of her. Loranil stepped in:

“Yes, this is the woman. Her mother was of your Clan.”

The Keeper switched to common tongue. “And what is your name?” he asked.

“Giles. Giles Samient,” she told him. “It was my mother’s wish that I would one day return to her Clan.”

“Have you any proof?”

Giles stammmered, “What?”

The Keeper gestured to his hunters. “I understand your hopes—but I must exercise caution. I cannot allow outsiders into the Clan without proof that you are, indeed, of Sumara.”

Giles hurried to unclasp the pendant from her neck. “This,” she said, holding the halla-horn out, “this was my mother’s.”

The Keeper, with a nod, permitted Loranil to retrieve the pendant from her—though he seemed as reluctant to take it as she was to let it go. Every step it retreated from her felt like another claw piercing her heart, threatening to tear it out.

But the pendant was safely delivered, and the Keeper regarded it with a curious eye.

“I was First to our previous Keeper, when we settled near Samient. Both your mother and father were friends of mine,” he revealed, meeting Giles’ gaze, “but I do not recognise this trinket.”

Panic struck her face—yet he went on:

“However, there is one who may. Excuse me for a moment.”

The Keeper withdrew into the ruins. The hunters remained, watching. The wait, this time, was even longer. Vichy and Loranil did their best to console Giles’ worry, but with every passing minute, it grew. It felt as though the longer they waited, the lesser her chances became—

Rustling, beyond the ruins. The crack of a twig, underfoot. Someone was coming.

The Keeper re-emerged, accompanied by another. An older woman. Her skin was tan, a little lighter than Samient’s—but her hair was the same shade of reddish-brown, greying at the scalp.

The pendant was in her hand, now, the chain dangling from her tightly-curled fingers. Her frail eyes darted between the gathered visitors—until they settled on Giles.

A string of Elven spilled from the woman’s mouth, as she stumbled forward. There was only one word Giles recognised.

“Terana.”

Giles’ breath caught. Her father had spoken her mother’s name only three times her whole life—each more pained than the last. But this woman’s single utterance bore more pain than all his put together.

The woman came face-to-face with her, eyes searching Giles’. More words she didn’t understand. Giles called to Loranil:

“What did she say?”

Almost speechless, Loranil answered: “She asks if you are Terana. Her daughter.”

Her—? Giles shook her head. “What do you mean?”

Tears welled in the woman’s eyes, as she raised her hands to cradle Giles’ face.

“I think,” Loranil breathed, “this is your grandmother.”

The woman rubbed her thumbs over Giles’ pointed ears, and turned back to the Keeper. She said something to him—sobbed it, screamed it.

“Your companion is correct,” the Keeper said to Giles, a smile forming across his face. “This is Terana’s mother. And she says you are her granddaughter.”

Giles met her grandmother’s gaze. Words she had never expected. Her grandmother.

She saw, in her face, a reflection of her own. In every curve and feature, there was something of her that they shared. She was so beautiful. Even their tears fell the same.

“My granddaughter,” she whispered, “at last, Ghila’nain has guided you home.”

Her hands withdrew, and she threaded the necklace around Giles’ neck, sealing the clasp herself.

“I gave this to your mother, so that one day, she could find home. That is the last you have of her,” she said, wiping a tear from Giles’ cheek, “and you are the last I have of her.”

Crumbling, collapsing, Giles fell into her embrace. She hoped it was something like holding her mother would have been. She hoped her mother knew. She hoped she could feel it too.

But her grandmother noted Vichy beside them, and curiosity drew her to part. She asked of Giles:

“Who is this?”

“This is Vichy,” Giles explained, “we are betrothed.”

Her grandmother took his hands, and squeezed them. “You brought her home. Which Clan are you from?”

“None, I’m afraid,” answered Vichy. “An alienage. But my mother—she was born in a Clan.”

“Good. Good, strong boy.” She patted his hand. “Then you are home.”

“Ma serannas,” he said, before adding to Giles: “I think she likes me.”

Giles gave a little laugh. “Good.”

Her grandmother took her hand once more, and led her toward the Keeper. The hunters above relaxed their bows, standing to attention, rather than to guard.

“I present my granddaughter,” she said.

The Keeper nodded. “Andaran atish’an, Giles. Welcome to your Clan. In fact”—he looked to Vichy, and Loranil, and their little retinue—“let me extend my welcome to you all. You have returned to us a daughter of Sumara. We must celebrate.”

He extended an arm towards the gap in the ruins. The hunters drew back; Loranil and the soldiers took the invitation. Giles, one hand taken by her grandmother, threaded her other through Vichy’s.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Giles smiled. “Better. I am home.”

#unwanted #unwanted fic #look i could not end this story without everyone meeting vichy #he's a bit of a joker but he's a bit poetic too #his personality is a foil to giles'#and it cements why she never actually found cullen at all attractive #vichy makes her laugh and put down her guard #plus he's like a buff stable worker so extra points there

7 notes · View notes

pentuppen · 7 months ago

Text

The Red Right Hand [Rugan & Original Character]

Chapter 1: The Savage Daughter

So I clearly haven't managed to dislodge the Rugan brainworm, and decided that I loved his and Yvie's dynamic enough that they deserved a full blown fic.

Just a heads up that this will be a slow burn start, but I promise I'll make it worth the wait of setting up a half decent narrative!

Oh and this chapters title was inspired by this song....

youtube

He hadn’t noticed her yet, and after performing a silent halt that left her wobbling on one leg for a fraction of a second, she attempted an equally silent backstep. This plan pretty much went tits up the moment the factory’s whistle announced the opening of the main gates, allowing the line of workers to march in like lethargic ants. The big brute turned to the sound and spotted her easily, revealing a grin that was sickly sweet enough to tell her that this ugly bastard really enjoyed getting his hands dirty.

“Ello love, where’s your mummy?”

With the water to her back, Yvie had one of two very bad choices at this point. She could go for trying to get past the slab of beef with more tattoos than teeth, or she could risk jumping into the Chionthar while praying she didn’t emerge with a list of diseases. Quite apart from the fish guts and oil, the docks also had a distinct smell of urine, because most households around here thought that hygiene was opening the window before you emptied the piss bucket.

Neither option offered much in the way of success, but the tail of that thought allowed her eyes to quickly dart to the side of the now splintered doorway, where a second bucket still waited for the night soil cart to collect its contents. Her lack of answer didn’t seem to disturb the thug much, in fact he seemed all too glad to close the distance between them, his eyeballing less than professional. Yvie let him get one step further before she drew her foot back and kicked the bucket hard.

#baldur's gate 3 #fanfic #baldurs gate 3 rugan #rugan / oc #bg3 rugan #rugan fuckers unite #zhentarim #Youtube

16 notes · View notes

karahalloway · 1 year ago

Text

Sex Bomb

Fandom: TRR

Paining: Leo Rys x Adelaide Amaranth

Series: None (this is a one-shot and can be read independently of the rest of my fics)

Word count: 4,000

Warnings: swearing, alcoholic tendencies, smut, outrage, crack ship (you have been warned)

Theme song:

A/N1: This is my long-awaited (and very much demanded) follow-up to the part I wrote for One Night in Cordinia; however, you should be able to read the current fic as a standalone.

A/N2: Since I love killing two birds with one stone, this is also my submission for this year's Smutember event hosted by @choicesprompts. The prompts that this fits into is 'Caught in the act' and 'We shouldn't be doing this...'

A/N3: Certain parts of this fic were somewhat inspired by the scene between Finch and Stiffler's Mom from American Pie. The clip, for anyone who hasn't seen the movie, is below the cut.

youtube

Sex Bomb

"Bloody hell..."

Leo dropped the edge of the heavy brocade curtain he was holding, letting it fall back into place behind the dais to conceal his presence once again.

The ballroom was heaving. And the evening had barely even kicked off. Lord knew how many more people were still battling the traffic to get a coveted front-row seat for the royal event of the century.

The Coronation.

...or, as Leo liked to call it, the Royal Nail in the Coffin.

Because in his mind, that's what it was. The final, inescapable blow that would seal his fate for good, and maroon him forever on the desolate island that was kingship... shackled in life-long matrimony to Madeleine Amaranth.

Leo shuddered at the thought. Especially when he recalled his fiancée's naked form getting skewered loudly by that Justin What's-His-Face PR pansy on the steps of Beaumont House mere days ago.

Not because of the fact that she'd had sex with someone else. Hell, he'd tapped more ass than he could count! So, he couldn't exactly begrudge his soon-to-be wife's promiscuity. Especially when she couldn't remember any of it...

No, it was the fact that here he was, on the eve of his engagement to his future Queen, and all he could think about was her mother.

That sexy vixen of a woman, Adelaide. The Duchess That Had Got Away.

Very literally.

Because in the chaos of the Shagging Smog-infused assassination-attempt-gone-wrong — aka the Beaumont Bash — Leo had lost his one chance to notch that coveted mark on his bedpost... especially considering that she would've actually been game for it, given the mind-altering effects of the aerosol-based dispersant.

Talk about fucking irony...

Leo heaved a breath.

Maybe it wasn't meant to be. Maybe there was a reason why—

"Quite the crowd out there, huh, son?"

Leo clenched his eyes shut. "Yes, Father."

Constantine clapped a hand onto his eldest son's shoulder. "It's going to be quite the night!"

"Yes, Father," Leo intoned, forcing himself to swallow down the bile that suddenly threatened to bubble up his gullet.

The King's fingers tightened on his jacket. "All eyes will be on you, lad. Do not cock this up."

Leo felt himself gag. "'Scuse me...!"

Slapping a hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep the scotch-laden contents of his stomach under wraps, he lurched past his father.

Stumbling across the ante-room, he barely made it to the nearest ficus plant before the 20-year old single malt regurgitated itself into the perfectly hydrated potting mix in front of him.

"Christ, you are a royal disgrace..." muttered Constantine as he marched past him. "If God would've had any sense, he would've made Liam my heir instead of you. But here I am, stuck with your worthless hide instead..."

The slam of the mahogany door reverberated around the room.

"The feeling's mutual, old man," muttered Leo, shooting a wad of spittle into the planter to cleanse his mouth.

Lifting his head, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

A drink. He needed a drink.

Mostly because he'd just thrown up the five fingers worth of Dutch courage he'd consumed less than an hour ago, and there was no way he was subjecting himself to the shitshow on the other side of that curtain even remotely sober.

And if Constantine had an epileptic fit...? Well, he deserved it.

The old tosser had given Leo enough hell during his 30-odd years on Earth, trying to mould him into something that the wayward prince wasn't, and never would be.

Making his way to the other side of the room, Leo located the hidden door that led to the service corridors and slipped inside.

A few twists and well-worn turns through the rabbit warren, and he emerged out into the smoking room, a plushly decorated space filled with heavy brocade curtains, velvet armchairs, a billiards table, and — most importantly — a well-stocked liquor cabinet.

Making a straight line towards the blessed promise of inebriation, he grabbed the nearest decanter of scotch, and pulled the heavy crystal stopper out.

He was about to pour himself a healthy serving when he heard the rustle of heavy taffeta behind him.

Glancing around, he nearly dropped the priceless Swarovski crystal on the floor.

"Pinching a cheeky tipple?" asked Adelaide Amaranth, surveying him over the rim of her own glass.

"Shit, Maddy's mum...!" Leo quickly composed himself. "Erm... Thought I'd get a head start on the party."

"Mmm..." purred the Duchess of Krona, perching herself on the edge of the billiards table. "Man after my own heart..."

Leo swallowed loudly as the skirt of her dress slid apart to reveal the length of her toned legs.

After the unmitigated disaster that had been the Bash, she'd appeared to him again, luscious and alone — like a siren rising from the dark depths of his previous failure — tempting him with a second chance...

...or goading him with the unattainability of his crusade.

Either way, Leo felt his guts tighten at her unexpected presence.

"So..." Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are you all set? To become King and all?" she asked, swirling the remnants of her drink around in the crystal tumbler.

"Furthest thing from," Leo admitted, sloshing himself a drink with shaky hands.

Whether it was nerves or anticipation, he wasn't sure. Either way, he was now doubly, triply in need of the hard stuff... in part because he could feel some other stuff becoming hard as well.

"Hence why you're looking for something to take the edge off," she mused, running her aqua-coloured gaze over him. "Smart thinking."

"Tell that to my father..." scoffed Leo, dropping the decanter back on the cabinet top, trying to maintain his cool in the face of her intoxicating closeness.

"Or my daughter," agreed Adelaide with a roll of her eyes. "If anyone needs a bevvy, it's her! Speaking of... have you see her? She's quite disappeared on me..."

"Nope. Can't say I have," admitted Leo, throwing the scotch back greedily.

Adelaide surveyed him for a long moment before shrugging. "Probably for the best, really. She can't stand me on the best of days. She's under some misguided impression that I'll say or do something that will embarrass her..."

"Welcome to my world," muttered Leo, reaching for the decanter again. "I am the living embodiment of my father's resentment. You know, he even told me tonight that I am — quote-unquote — a 'royal disgrace' and Liam should've been his heir instead."

"Hmm..." murmured Adelaide, sliding off the billiards table yo shimmy up to him. "I don't know about any of that... I think you'll look fantastic in a crown..."

Leo snorted. "That is hardly a qualification for kingship..."

"Isn't it?" pressed Adelaide, leaning her empty glass against her cheek as she cocked her head at him.

"I have it on rather good authority that there's a bit more to it than that..." murmured Leo ruefully, unable to stop his gaze from sliding down her neck to the bare skin of her cleavage that sat exposed between the lines of her dress.

"Don't listen to them," chided Adelaide, reaching up to run a finger through his thick, blonde hair. "A king needs only three things — a royal bloodline and an iconic profile. Everything else will be taken care of for you."

Leo felt an uncharacteristic shudder course through him as her fingertip brushed over the sensitive skin of his temple. "Apart from the actual ruling..."

"You'd be surprised..." she smiled. "I haven't set foot in Krona in months! The equerries take care of all the pesky details."

"Running a kingdom's a tad more involved than running a duchy..."

"Pfft!" she scoffed. "Duchy? Kingdom? What's the difference? You sign the odd piece of paper, and throw the occasional ball. That's it!"

"And lead Council meetings, host foreign dignitaries, review petitions, attend—"

"Leo, darling, you are terribly overthinking this!" chided Adelaide with a laugh, reaching for the decanter to pour herself another glass. "You think the kings and queens of old bored themselves with all the minutiae? No! They delegated, so they could have fun fighting battles and posing for portraits."

"Not sure fighting battles was exactly fun..."

"My Prince," she said, leaning in, as if imparting a secret. "All I'm saying is you have nothing to worry about. You could conquer nations with that jaw-line..."

Leo's heart stopped in it's tracks as he swore he felt the tip of her tongue flick over his skin.

"...your sense of duty is just a bonus."

"And... and the third thing?" he stammered.

"The Crown Jewels," she declared, pulling back to fix him with a knowing look.

Leo frowned. "You mean the Apple and th—"

"I mean these jewels," she corrected, grabbing the front of his trousers without warning.

Leo nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt her manicured nails close emphatically around his meat and two veg.

"Holy f—!"

"Mmm," purred Adelaide, tightening her hold on him. "Seems to be present and accounted for..."

Leo merely squeaked in response. He had no idea what was happening, or how he'd even gotten to having Adelaide's hands wrapped around his sex pistol in the first place, but he sure as bloody hell wasn't going to tell her to stop!

"...but one cannot be sure without a proper inspection."

Leo froze. "Inspection?"

Adelaide lifted her gaze to met his square on. "Darling, you are marrying my daughter. I cannot — in good conscience — let you bed her without ensuring that all the royal parts are in working order... and capable of producing grandchildren."

"Trust me..." wheezed Leo as he felt Adelaide's hands reach for his belt. "The lads have never let me down."

"Oh, yes," smiled Adelaide, undoing his buckle and letting the ornate belt drop the floor. "I am well aware of your many... conquests. But I also know the papers like to exaggerate. So, surely you cannot begrudge a mother for wanting to obtain independent confirmation."

"How 'bout a live demonstration?" blurted Leo, grasping at the edge of the drinks cabinet for support as Adelaide wrestled with the buttons of his trousers.

Hell, if this was happening, then he was gonna make damned sure that it was happening!

"Don't jump the gun, darling," Adelaide tutted, ripping the fronts of his pants open. "You need to pass muster first."

Leo gasped audibly as his sexcalibur sprang — finally, blessedly! — free of its confines.

"Not one for briefs, I see..." she observed, running her fingers critically over him.

"I threw them all out years ago," he panted in response to the feel of her silken touch on his heated gherkin.

"Another thing we have in common," she smirked, reaching for his hand to guide it over the back of her dress.

A desperate groan escaped him as his palm skated over the smooth, unencumbered expanse of her backside as she continued to fondle him. "So, what's the verdict?"

"A package worthy of a king," Adelaide assured him, rolling his plums together in her palm.

Leo felt his eyes tip back into his head at the overwhelming sensation...

...before it stopped just as quickly as it had started.

Creaking his eyes open, he saw Adelaide throw him a cheeky smirk over her shoulder as she glided sinuously towards the billiards table.

"Aren't you coming, darling?" she whispered back at him.

Leo nearly tripped over his own trousers in his haste to get to her. He was going to get the chance to live out his dirtiest, most depraved fantasy, after all! He was not wasting one more second!

"Lord, you have no idea how long I've waited for this..." he gasped, stumbling across the room towards her.

"Oh, I know very well," she assured him, leaning back to spread her arms out over the polished walnut. "I've seen you looking at me, Leo."

He faltered. "You have?"

"Of course, my darling," she assured him, cocking her leg seductively. "You were hardly subtle in your attentions. A woman notices these things..."

"You know this is highly improper..." he pointed out as he finally made it to her.

"Oh, sweet boy!" she laughed. "This would be the scandal of the century!"

"Then we better give them something to talk about," he grinned, grabbing her by her toned derrière to lift her onto the edge of the billiards table.

"Mmm... I can think of a few things..." she breathed, planting her hands on his shoulders to push him down towards her nether region.

"I'm sure you can, m'lady," he grinned, shifting his hands to the back of her knees to yank her towards him, the sudden momentum sending the top half of her body falling back onto the felt. "But allow me to put even your wildest dreams to shame."

"Bold words..." purred Adelaide with a coy smile as he lifted her legs up to anchor her Valentino Gavarani-clad feet on his shoulders, causing the skirt of her dress to cascade down towards her hips.

"I've yet to receive anything other than a stellar review," he winked at her, grabbing her waist to invert her almost fully as he lifted her sacred centre up to his face.

"That may be so, darling, but unlike some ladies, I have high standards..." murmured Adelaide, lifting her arms above her head in anticipation. "I don't dish out gold stars to just anybody..."

"I don't intend to disappoint," Leo assured her with a cocky smirk as he bent his head towards her.

"...why must I do everything myself!" seethed Madeleine, stomping down the otherwise empty corridor in her Valentino sling-backs.

She'd known Leo was an immature and unreliable cad who was more interested in finding the next skirt to lift than paying any semblance of attention to actual matters of state.

And while she would've definitely preferred a more dedicated and biddable prospect — such as his younger brother — to share the rigours of governance with, she ultimately wasn't marrying the Playboy Prince because she liked him.

In all honesty, the man could've had warts and halitosis and she still would've gone through with the union!

Because this was a political match, pure and simple. The House of Rys allying itself with the House of Amaranth, the richest and most influential noble family in Cordonia in order to keep Queen Kenna's line alive...

...with the added benefit of elevating Madeleine's own status to that of Queen. A role that she'd been training for since before she could even walk, given her father's unrelenting pursuit of power by any and all means — an endeavour that she very much shared, much to her mother's disgruntlement.

But she couldn't exactly get engaged if her intended was missing! Tonight, of all nights!

Who, in their right mind, disappears on their own coronation?!

Of course, she was well aware of Leo's infamous tendency to pull vanishing acts, but what the blasted hell was the man thinking? To leave an entire country in the lurch?

Certainly not on her watch!

She'd already dispatched Bastien and all available members of the King's Guard to search high and low for the errant prince. But the Palace and its grounds were massive, and given the sheer number of people that had descended on the Rys stronghold for tonight's event, trying to find anyone was an exercise akin to weeding a needle out of a haystack.

So, she'd been forced to join the search herself. Even though it was insulting beyond measure and much below her station.

But, desperate times called for desperate measures, and she'd rather sweat into her ballgown running up and down the corridors now, than stand like a hapless bimbo in front of all the dignitaries and news crews trying to explain why her future king and fiancé had skipped out on an entire nation on one of the most important nights of its recent history.

No. She most certainly did not need those headlines running in the morning... or ever.

Best that she focused her efforts on helping locate the wayward heir, and hope that he wasn't halfway out of the country already... because by God, she'd send the Cordonian Secret Service after him if she had to!

Arriving at the next set of doors on her mental task-list, she wasted no time in pushing the handle down...

"Leopold?" she called, stepping into the room.

...only to freeze in shock at the sight in front of her.

There he was — the next in line to the Cordinian throne — head thrown back, trousers around his ankles, thrusting like an animal into—

"MOTHER?!"

Adelaide raised her disheveled head from the billiards table at the sound of her daughter's distraught shriek. "Oh, sweet pea! There you are!"

Leo raised his hand in a wave. "Hi, Mads!"

Madeleine's rouged lips jerked soundlessly, trying to formulate some kind of response, but nothing was forthcoming.

Never — in all her life! — had she imagined that she'd ever witness such sordid... brazen... obscenity!

She was literally lost for words. Her! The person who has been giving televised interviews since the age of four!

"Darling," soothed Adelaide, propping herself up onto her elbows to reveal the tautness of her age-defying, silicone-enhanced breasts, "I know this looks frightfully ghastly, but I can assure that—"

"Shut up..." she finally managed to croak.

Adelaide frowned. "Darling, are you—?"

"I SAID, SHUT UP!" Madeleine screeched.

Both Leo and her mother's eyes widened in the face of the uncharacteristically deranged outburst... but they nevertheless managed to refrain from commenting.

"I don't know how this..." She gestured derisively in the couple's general direction. "...colossal cock-up happened. Nor do I care. But what I do know — and most certainly care about — is that the coronation ceremony is starting. And I will not let you, Leopold—"

Leo groaned at the sound of his full, Christian name. "Jesus, Mads! I told you I—"

"Do not interrupt me!" snapped Madeleine. Sucking in a breath to collect herself, she continued, "I will not let you fuck this up for me, or the kingdom. So, if you want to keep your royal bratwurst, then I suggest that you pull it out of my mother and get your fatuous arse to the ballroom before I have the Guard drag you there."

Leo glanced down at Adelaide. "You sure she wasn't adopted or—?"

"NOW!!!" thundered Madeleine.

"Okay, okay, sheesh!" huffed Leo, grabbing for his trousers, given that he was already very much deflated, his fiancée having managed to suck the literal joy out of his joystick with her mere appearance .

"And you, Mother..." hissed Madeleine, turning her attention to her disheveled parent. "You have undermined me for the last time."

Adelaide scoffed. "Darling, all I have ever done is—"

"Which is why my first act as Queen will be to banish you to Krona," finished Madeleine with a haughty air of finality.

Adelaide's eyes widened. "You wouldn't dare!"

Her daughter's demeanour was icy. "You're lucky I'm not banishing you to Siberia. But if you test me—"

"Siberia at least has decent vodka..." chimed in Leo, sauntering past her out the room.

Adelaide tipped her head contemplatively. “He's got a point, you know…”

"Argh!!" screamed Madeleine, slamming the door behind her with such vehemence that it rattled the bottles in the liquor cabinet.

Vile cretins! The whole bloody lot of them!

Grabbing her intended by the arm, she hauled him all the way back to the ball, ignoring the profanity-filled protests.

Stopping in front of the pair of footmen that were manning the ballroom doors, she snapped, "Inform the King that Prince Leopold is ready for his coronation."

"Actu— Ow!!"

She brutally silenced the forthcoming objection with a heel to Leo’s foot.

As the servants rushed away to do her bidding, she manhandled Leo back into the same ante-chamber that he'd disappeared from earlier.

"Mads, stop!" he pleaded as she pulled him across the Persian carpet like a stubborn mule. "Can you please just—?"

"No," she declared, shoved him through the velvet curtains and onto the gilded dais without ceremony. "You will do your duty, even if it kills you, you ungrateful oaf!"

The hubbub of the crowd instantly ceased as Leo stumbled to a stop.

"There you are!" snap Constantine into his ear. "You have some nerve—"

"Just get on with it..." sighed Leo, the weight of finality crashing down on him as he caught his brother's the eye from across the room. Liam always hated it when his brother and father argued, and Leo didn't want to subject him to a public spectacle.

Constantine looked like he wanted to say more, but quickly decided against it. Turning to the congregation, he spread his arms and launched into his pre-prepared speech.

"Good evening, one and all! It is a great honour to have so many of you come out tonight to show your support not only for—"

"Pay attention!"

Glancing down, Leo caught Madeleine's disproving glower from the foot of the dais.

He suppressed a groan.

How they were going to sire royal babies, he had no idea...

...probably with copious amounts of drugs and alcohol...and possibly even a paper bag.

Because he already knew that there was no way that he wouldn't be able to not think about Adelaide while doing it with her daughter.

As even now, in the midst of his own coronation, his mind kept drifting back to the passionate coitus they'd shared on that billiards table before it had gotten oh, so rudely interrupted.

The way she'd moved... The sounds she'd made... That thing with her tongue... It sent shivers down his spine all over again.

And suddenly he had a stark realisation.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't go through with the coronation.

Not if it meant never being able to see her again.

"...and, now..." his father was saying, holding upon the ancient Rys signet ring, "with the bestowal of this ring, I—"

"I abdicate!"

A collective gasp of disbelief rose from the room.

Glancing up, Leo found his father and step-mother staring at him with open mouths, all semblance of propriety forgotten in the face of the shocking announcement.

But he was not perturbed. He'd made his decision. "I, Leopold Maximilian Fernando Constantine Rys, hereby officially and irrevocably renounce my royal titles as Crown Prince of Cordonia and Duke of Applewood." Turning to Constantine, he added with an apologetic shrug, "Sorry, Dad. Just wasn't feeling it."

The heavy gold band clattered to the floor as the cameras exploded into a frenzy of flashing.

"What the devil are you doing?!" demanded Madeleine, appearing in front of him as he hopped off the stage. "Get back up there and—"

"Better luck next time, Mads!" he shouted over the growing dim as he quickly skirted around the edge of the ballroom.

Reaching the closest set of French doors, he threw them open and — with the practiced ease of a man who'd done this exact manoeuvre a hundred times before — vaulted over the edge of the balcony.

Landing on the gravel, he caught sight of the lone pair of headlights idling in front of the Palace steps, and the figure that was in the process of getting behind the wheel.

A knowing smile spread over his face.

Loping across the drive, he managed to intercept the Aston Martin Vantage convertible before it had a chance to drive off.

The driver raised a brow at him as he approached. "Aren't you supposed to be getting crowned?"

"Realised I had somewhere more important to be," he admitted, coming to a stop by the side of the car. "Room for one more?"

Adelaide's lips curved into a smile. "Always, darling."

"Excellent!" exclaimed Leo, hopping into the passenger seat.

She cast him a sidelong glance. "You know this is never going to work out..."

"And?" he grinned, kicking his feet up onto the dash.

Throwing her head back with a laugh, Adelaide pressed the pedal down, kicking the tail of the Aston as they left the ball to dust.

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fangirling12566 @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @alj4890

#sex bomb #leo rys #adelaide amaranth #crack ship #choicesprompts #smutember 2023 #Spotify

32 notes · View notes

seeker-of-stories19 · 1 year ago

Text

Safelight 🌊 🎞 📷 🤟🏼

Okay you guys have spoken! The Childhood best friends to lovers is a nonlinear story set in Monterey with each chapter following a different part of Robby and Miguel’s childhood and teenage years growing up together. The images are a part of a social media au I made to go with it so there will be a whole Instagram page for each of them featuring a ton of cute posts as the second part in the series after posting the fic (assuming I can figure out how to post images on AO3) If anyone has questions feel free to ask! I think I’m going to do another one of these polls for the main one shots I’m working on.

Sam is saying something but he stops listening when he sees a boy a little down the beach dropping a starfish into his red plastic bucket. He’s too worried to finish listening to Sam try and get out of boogie boarding.

Instead he runs back to where their towels are sat up, crashing into Johnny’s legs and tugging on his blue shorts. “Hey kiddo are you okay?” He asks softly, it makes him want to cry as his dad scoops him up “Daddy that boy has a starfish in his bucket but he shouldn’t do that- what if it’s scary for the starfish or he doesn’t know he needs to put it back?”

“Well why don’t you try going over to him and telling him that it’s nicer to the starfish to leave them with their friends and help him put it back where he found it?” It sounds scary, talking to strangers is scary, but he thinks he can be brave for the starfish's sake. “Okay Daddy I want to help but what if he’s mad at me for telling him?” Sighing Johnny sets him back down and kisses his hair. “Sometimes people get mad at us for doing the right things but if something really matters to you you can fight for it anyway, if something goes wrong I’ll be right here.”

Trying to take a deep breath he marches over to the other boy, hoping he’s not as mean as the boys at school who make fun of him for playing princesses or wearing his favorite red skirt to school.

Placing him down Johnny pats his shoulders to get him moving as he treks across the beach toward the boy with the red bucket, trying to decide what to say as his heart speeds up. He feels sick and it’s only thoughts of how scared the starfish must be that make him inch toward the boy and his mom.

Before he can say anything the other boy bounces up to him, his curly black hair a tangled mess and “Are you coming to play with me!” He says loudly and eagerly, showing off a missing tooth. “N-no” he whispers, suddenly wishing Sam was here “I saw you put a starfish in your pail.”

“Oh I know! Isn’t it so cool? I’ll show you, I think I’m going to-“ the boy was practically bouncing with excitement and he suddenly felt bad for coming over here and spoiling that, he didn’t seem like the boys at school who burned ants with magnifying glasses just because they could. “Mijo I think your new friend is trying to tell you something” His mom says softly as the boy turns bright brown eyes to him “I think you should put the starfish back, it’s not nice to take animals out of their habitats.”

The beautiful smile slips away and he wonders if this is really worth it when someone was actually being nice to him for once. “I didn’t mean to do a bad thing, I just wanted to look at it for a few minutes” he says sadly and it makes Robby feel really bad “You can look at them in the tide pools where they live and even touch them gently but it’s not nice to pick them up and take them places because it might scare them.”

By the time he’s done talking he expects to find the other boy frowning at him but instead he breaks into another blinding smile “Okay that makes sense, why don’t you come with me? We can walk back to where I found him and put him back!”

Immediately he nods “Okay!” He sounds a bit too excited but there’s nothing he can do to contain the warm feeling, this boy is pretty and nice to him which is rare. “Cool, I’ll show you where I found him!” He says happily, grabbing Robby’s hand and tugging him down the beach. He just stares at his back and tries to ignore the warm feeling talking over his body that seems to be radiating from the other boys palm as he talks animatedly.

@keenest-of-heart @mybeautifulillusion @some-dumb-duderino @yoongi12min2 @pluto-plutonium @ivyace @neoghoulukaku @day-dreamsinthedark @miss-starlight @zamsara56-blog @qualityplaidturkey @supersao @piknyu @what-a-gracious-child @ravenmind2001 @theincredibleprincess19 @sansaofyork @thegoddesscirce @princessxx21 @brihannadiamonds @illustep @landing-amongst-the-planets @bigbluealienlover93 @mickeymousesballsack @megankeene @kierasbawls @phantompoguefangirl @ronaldweasleyhowdareyou @keeneonlovinyou @charlies-candid-corner @colduaire @brihannadiamonds @zomboyofficial @meikodenji

*like this post to be added to my taglist and alerted when the whole fic is published!

#cobra kai #kiaz #robby keene #miguel diaz #robby/miguel #robby x miguel #fan edit #my fanfiction #ao3fic #cobra kai fanfic #childhood best friends to lovers #fic teaser #story teaser

14 notes · View notes

scribhneoirtuirseach · 2 years ago

Text

(A very brief look into the end of a life.)

a solo regarding Cap's death (also on AO3)

featuring: Captain, Pat Butcher, Mary, Humphrey Bone, Fanny Button, Thomas Thorne

wordcount: 530

my other BBC Ghosts fics!

"There truly isn't much to say," the Captain sighs when Pat finally manages to gently pester him one too many times about his story. "I lived well and the circumstances of my death have nothing of note, Patrick."

"But you have to understand, and I say this will all of the love in my heart, Cap— When you say nothing at all, when you avoid it, it seems like a lot did happen." He swallows. "Sir."

"It was as unremarkable as falling asleep, because that's simply what happened, Patrick. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Clicking his heels together, the soldier clears his throat before marching off to whatever his next order of business is; The ants outside, most likely.

He knows it isn't right to go sneaking about to find information… But he knows the older ghosts must have seen something.

"I were there when he passed, yes." Mary admits, fingers stressing her apron as she recalls the event. "All I saw was him sat in his chair before he were shouting at us, claiming us to be intruders."

Robin grunts faintly from where he's sat in front of Fanny, having his hair brushed. "Was here first. Everyone else intruder…"

"The Captain's nothing if not consistent." Stubborn is what Pat means, in the most affectionate way possible. He knows what the man's like at this point. "So, he's being honest, nothing at all actually happened…?"

"Nothing at all," Humphrey agrees from somewhere in the corner. "Had tea with his right hand man, then he was gone."

Fanny clears her throat, somehow seeming to focus even more on the messy mans in front of her.

Pat raises a brow, slowly stepping over. "Fanny?" There's that slightly higher pitch, always comes out when he realises someone else knows something. "Sharing's caring…"

"From, not with." She corrects sharply, though with no real malice towards Humphrey. "He brought it for him. There's a reason soldiers don't let anyone else touch their brew, Patrick, you must know…" The only respectful way to say what happened is without saying it at all.

The Scout Leader takes a while to consider this, eyes slowly widening. "Cap was—" Fanny's quick to cover his mouth, Humphrey's head bumbling rather uselessly into the next room; All to the confusion of the Captain as he enters the room.

"I was what?"

"Look at… butterflies?" Robin chances, scratching behind his ear as he diverts his gaze.

"No butterflies out today, I'm afraid." The Captain chirps, fixing Pat and Fanny with a puzzled look before continuing on his way out. "As you were!"

The room remains silent for a solid before they collectively decide it's safe enough to speak.

"He can't not know—"

"He doesn't, and he won't!" Fanny whisper-hisses, dusting herself off. "Don't you suppose he has enough to deal with?"

"Far too many fennels on that man's plate." Mary pipes up in agreement.

Thomas's head pokes through the door. "Who has fennels now?"

"The Captain."

"Lord, I needn't know about that." Aaand that's him quickly disinterested, the group of ghosts breaking off and Pat silently how to, or rather if he should even, attempt to approach the man with this knowledge.

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fic #my writing #captain #pat butcher #bbc ghosts mary #humphrey bone #fanny button #thomas thorne #yk i had to whip this out on the off chance the Question is Answered in s5 #bit o betrayal goes nicely for the paranoid soldier

12 notes · View notes

aellivi · 10 months ago

Text

New Ants Go Marching chapter!!

The Ants Go Marching (11020 words) by Peripheral_Ambrosian

#cult of the lamb #fanfic #sozo cotl #ants go marching fic #writing #my art #the lamb cotl

6 notes · View notes

sterekfests · 9 months ago

Text

Welcome to our Spring round of Sterek Fests! Sterek Spring Fest will run from March 3rd - April 6th in celebration of Spring, whether you are excited about the renewal of life and spring blooms or traveling for Spring Break, there’s a little something for everyone!

Check out our Rules and FAQs.

We also have a Discord you can join.

How to Participate:

Participating in Sterek Spring Fest is easy and stress-free! This is a no-commitment fest where you can participate as little or as much as you want. Participate in one week and none of the others if you so fancy, or participate in all of them! There is no minimum word count for your fics. We have an AO3 Collection for you to post all of your creations in! This fest is open to both Fic and Art, so create to your heart’s content!

How to post:

You can post your creations to any website that you want, as long as they are viewable to the public, whether that’s Tumblr, LiveJournal, DreamWidth, or our AO3 Collection. @sterekfests so we see your creations to reblog them. We can only reblog on Tumblr and Re-Tweet on Twitter (we are @sterekfests on Twitter also). If you post on another site other than Tumblr, Twitter, or Ao3, you can send us a link and we can post it here on the fest blog for you. Use the tags #sterekfestsspring2024, and #sterekfests for generic tags. For weekly tags: #sterekfestsbreak, #sterekfestsicecream, #sterekfestsbeach, #sterekfestspicnic, #sterekfestsharvest

Late Posting:

Late posting is always welcomed! The collection will stay open for late submissions. You can find our Summer, Fall, and Winter collections also if you’d like to add to those collections.

If you have any questions, feel free to send us an ask!

Liam (@sterekbros) & Dori (@evanesdust)

Keep reading to see all the awesome Spring theme weeks ahead!

March 3 - 9: Spring Break

Spring break mode: activated! Stiles and Derek are ready to make some unforgettable memories. The plan? Maybe a road trip through the scenic routes of California. Or maybe they spend the week in a cabin in the woods, surrounded by nature’s serenity. They could go hiking, take long walks, and at night, gather around a campfire, share stories, or just enjoy the peacefulness. It’s all about stepping away from the usual hustle and bustle and reconnecting with each other and the great outdoors.

March 10 - 16: Ice Cream Crawl

What better way to beat the heat and stress of their supernatural lives than an ice cream crawl? Maybe Derek and Stiles spend their day hitting up different ice cream shops across Beacon Hills as they hunt for the most mouth-watering flavors. Or maybe they venture out of town, finding secret spots and hole-in-the-wall parlors, sampling the eclectic mix of frozen delights from vendors who boast an array of international and exotic ingredients. Either way, they’re sure to map out a route that would make any sweet tooth swoon.

March 17 - 23: Beach

It’s time to ditch the winter blues and bring on the ultimate beach parties. Perhaps Derek and Stiles decide to make the most of their day building sandcastles together, or maybe they go for a swim and try boogie boarding? They could walk along the shore and collect unique seashells or relax on their beach towels and soak up the sun. Wherever you take Stiles and Derek this spring, they’re sure to be excited for their beach adventure, enjoying the sun, sand, and waves.

March 24 - 30: Picnic Anywhere

With Spring comes lush, vibrant landscapes filled with new life…and ants. There’s sun-warmed skin along with sweet fragrant flowers blooming, which means it’s time to have some Spring fun! Perhaps Stiles and Derek are having a picnic at the newly rebuilt Hale house, or are enjoying a meadow speckled with wildflowers in the preserve. It could be perfect or a complete disaster if it’s interrupted by Spring showers. Only you can share with us where Stiles and Derek are having picnics this Spring!

March 31 - April 6: Spring Harvest Festival

Spring has arrived and it’s time to enjoy all the local harvest festivals have to offer! Maybe Stiles and Derek visit a local farmers market to check out the produce for the season, or they run a table or booth there. Perhaps Stiles and Derek are taking Eli to an Easter egg hunt with all the pack kids during a spring festival. There are so many options, including games, food, crafts, and anything else you can imagine that can be enjoyed during a Spring Festival! Show us what Stiles and Derek are doing this Spring!

46 notes · View notes

spoiledleaff · 2 years ago

Text

little snippet of that t4t copiadew fic I’ve been writing that’s becoming way more wholesome then I intended and also my inner copia simp is showing with this I’m sorry— <;33

This whole situation started plaguing Dewdrop — in all the best ways, of course — about three months ago. The fire’s sin thought it strange how both Swiss and even Mountain, the traitorous bastard, would often refer to some of Dewdrop’s stranger habits as insect-like in nature. But now, he thinks, he understands where these analogies might be coming from. Here, in this exact moment, watching Copia prepare his needles, his materials, his medicine, his bare-ass delectable looking graspable goddamn delicious meaty fucking thighs— Well, Dewdrop very suddenly feels like an unsuspecting ant marching right towards that bright, warm sunbeam that seems innocent enough, and definitely not his sweet demise.

(Dewdrop idly realizes that without fail, he always walks into Copia’s bedchambers; fully aware of his beautiful demise waiting just behind the old mahogany doors. But, watching Copia roll the already short pant of his boxers up towards the crease of his crotch, more and more and more of his unholy skin being revealed with the scandalous energy of a Victorian woman revealing the slightest lick of her ankle, Dewdrop thinks, ‘what a fucking way to go’.)

“You still insist on being present for this, eh? Even though you have seen me dozens of time before.” Copia chuckles, drawing the thick liquid out of its container with a carefully prepared needle.

“You still insist on inviting me.” Dewdrop shrugged, adjusting in his insisted upon — rightful and deserved — place on the lush carpeted floor just before Copia’s feet.These aren’t accusations by any means, but there was always Dewdrop’s intimate familiarity with masking his own excitement with venomous words that held no malice at all; just adoration for the man above him, and sheer happiness at his permanent reservation by Copia’s side for times like these.

#I just think they’re neat okay #t4t Copia and dew #I adore them #transmasc dewdrop has my whole heart #and trans Copia will be pried from my cold dead hands #thank you <3 #ghost hc #dewdrop ghoul #papa copia #ao3 #sneak peek #spoiled sprouts #spoiled wips

19 notes · View notes

stageplaymlp · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 3,954 times in 2022

That's 826 more posts than 2021!

74 posts created (2%)

3,880 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@browniefox

@rotten-dan

@chenson-doodles

@nbmudkip

@the-east-hunter

I tagged 2,072 of my posts in 2022

Only 48% of my posts had no tags

#pokemon - 625 posts

#submas - 536 posts

#ingo - 400 posts

#emmet - 310 posts

#pla - 248 posts

#fav - 227 posts

#tmnt - 197 posts

#rottmnt - 197 posts

#elesa - 104 posts

#nimbasa trio - 73 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#like... i also understand if it’s like “oh i’ll stay ‘till you guys have dinner and then i’ll go home” as a sort of benchmark but damn okay

My Top Posts in 2022:

Did a comic based on Chapter 19 of @yautjan‘s fic ‘In Tandem’. It’s a very good fic, I highly reccomend it, and this bit of dialogue made me laugh.

Link to the fic and screenshot of the original dialogue below cut.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37912192/chapters/94675297

See the full post

230 notes - Posted May 27, 2022

See the full post

401 notes - Posted March 18, 2022

I think it’s really sweet when people portray the subway bosses as being affectionate with their Pokemon, because pretty much all of their Pokemon (namely in B&W/B2&W2) aren’t really traditionally “cuddly” Pokemon.

By that I mean, they’re not like, say, Eevee or Pikachu or what have you. Y’know, Pokemon that are seen as “cute” and “cuddly” and aren’t too dissimilar to actual house pets.

Klingklang and Durant are made of metal. Haxorus has an axe for a face and Excadrill has a giant metal spike on its head and pointy claws. Crustle is a crab with a giant rock in its back. Garbador is literally a pile of (albeit nice smelling) rubbish. Chandelure is a living lighting fixture. Etc.

But is that going to stop them? Fuck no. Give that giant spider pets. Hug that eel. Give that little metal ant a kiss on the forehead. Full-body hug that walking health hazard.

Pokemon are just animals and they all deserve love. And shoutout to all the creators in the fan base who portray the trains lads loving their funny dogs, I owe you my life. :)

434 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

Okay so I know we all love the subway masters plushies,

But Nimbasa Trio fans,

Consider...

HER...

669 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

tumblr_video

@pigdemonart Soooo as soon as I saw tiny screaming Ingo, I knew I had to make something

Link the original comic these screenshots are from here: https://pigdemonart.tumblr.com/post/685057606980599808/same-as-it-ever-was-pretty-sure-this-parody-has#notes

1,148 notes - Posted May 25, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #LMAOOOO #All my shit’s pokemon related #Also SCREAMING INGO WINS LET’S GO #stage’s stuff

2 notes · View notes

wolfsbanesbite · 2 years ago

Text

I posted 4,073 times in 2022

114 posts created (3%)

3,959 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@creampuffjiggle

@lxndonorris

@wdcmaxy

@kimiraikkonen

@chloepleasestopdying

I tagged 436 of my posts in 2022

#the quarry - 97 posts

#simi - 38 posts

#sebastian vettel - 29 posts

#sewis - 27 posts

#fic request - 18 posts

#formula one - 12 posts

#lewis hamilton - 11 posts

#f1 fanfic - 8 posts

#kimi räikkönen - 8 posts

#my fic - 7 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#when i was in the virtual audience you got directed what to do when prompted by ant and dec and it was very high energy and nerve wracking

My Top Posts in 2022:

@kimiraikkonen ignore the chip bedding but here's the interview Kimi did for Autosport. If you can't read anything let me know.

See the full post

7 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

Hi I did a thing

11 notes - Posted January 4, 2022

Your omega verse bookstore!Simi AU was so good, I love it so much!

I can so much imagine Kimi wanting to help Seb and take over a reading session once

Thank you! It's actually @f1uckinghell 's virtues verse! She was kind enough to allow me to play in her sandbox. Her fics are amazing 😍

12 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

15 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hello everyone. Here's a new challenge for you....

How about we write stories based on vampire and werecreature myths. Anything goes here. Any type of werecreature/shifter and any type of vampire myth. Have a go and play around with what you want. The only rules are that the story has to be either about a werecreature or a vampire. Any other monster isn't allowed. I am also allowing ABO fanfics!

Rules

Fics must be about either a werecreature/shifter or a vampire.

All Motorsport fandoms are allowed. Crossovers are also welcomed! Any and all pairings included!

Fics must be 2k minimum. No sign ups are required. Just add your fic to this collection before March 17th where it will be revealed.

Any questions please inbox me!

25 notes - Posted January 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

1 note · View note

deloc-deltoca · 7 days ago

Text

12 AM ‘what if Raditz was revived before the android arc’ fic wip

Internally, Raditz was beyond pissed that he couldn't go Super Saiyan. He knew it wasn't an easy thing to do, something that he could simply achieve by working his ass off every day and night, but it still seemed to elude him. Goku described it as an internal well of seemingly every negative emotion; anger, disgust, anguish. Each of these emotions suddenly spilling out in an uncontrollable wave of power, overwhelming you in your own ki. Or something along those lines, Raditz had only been half listening as he watched a small line of ants march by at his feet.

“Well if it was this ‘well of emotions’ as you described, I probably would have immediately launched into Super Saiyan the moment I found out Vegeta and Nappa weren't going to resurrect me.” Raditz remembered mumbling, scowling down at the bugs.

Even in Hell, Raditz had witnessed Vegeta and Nappa’s arrival on Earth, as well as their decision to keep their comrade dead. The betrayal he felt hurt more than the torture he had to endure, and the lack of remorse in Vegetas gaze once he had been revived made the pain all that worse. If that wasn't enough suffering to make him go Super Saiyan, Raditz doubted he even had the ability to.

He had noticed Goku wincing slightly. The topic of his death and resurrection was still a touchy one, even now all this time later. Raditz always just shrugged it off, a small part of him understanding the reason behind it all, the hesitancy, the whole ‘this guy kidnapped my son and tried to kill me’ thing, all that.

“Maybe, maybe a different emotion would trigger it for you!” Goku had quickly spurred back from the awkward silence.

Raditz couldn't help but roll his eyes, always the optimist, his little brother. “Right yeah, I’ll try crying so hard I manage to quadruple my power level. Now enough talking, we're supposed to be preparing for these cyborgs or whatever.”

#dels writing corner #I’m at like 5 k words rn it’s almost done

0 notes

tired-truffle · 3 months ago

Text

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOC fic

Chapter Word Count: 5.8k

Part 40/54

I know my existence is temporary and so is yours But god, please, as much as I love the stars they don't last forever I don't mind being temporary as long as it means I'm temporary with you I would paint a hundred more stars in the sky if it meant you never burnt out” -@ambsthom

Masterlist

The grand hall of Arl Eamon's estate bustled with frenetic energy as the companions prepared to depart Denerim. Servants scurried like ants, their movements purposeful and precise as they packed supplies and readied horses for the journey ahead. Gwen kept to the shadows, carefully inspecting her weapons and gear while avoiding the chaotic commotion around her. She had just finished tightening the straps on her pack when a firm hand grasped her shoulder,

"Gwen, do you have a moment?”

As she spun around, Darcy's face came into focus as he released his hold on her. His usually smooth brow was furrowed, making his expressive eyebrows look like dark caterpillars inching towards each other. Worry lines etched deep creases across his forehead, and when he opened his mouth to speak, she could see the tension in his jaw.

Darcy rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking away. "Supporting Alistair at the Landsmeet wasn't easy for me, Gwen... I just... I wish this had turned out differently." He stepped closer, voice low. " I betrayed your trust and hurt two of my closest friends. If you didn’t want to travel with me anymore, I would understand."

Gwen shook her head, squeezing his arm in a way that she hoped would be reassuring. “I’m not going anywhere.” For now at least. Even though what he’d had to do tore out her soul, Darcy was still her friend and she would follow him for however long he would have her.

Darcy raised his head, his eyes wide and shining. “But I… hurt you, and don’t say I didn’t, Alistair didn’t take it lightly either.”

“It’s fine, Darcy,” Gwen forced a smile, but her fingers twisted together nervously. “Alistair and I… we talked it through.” The knot in her stomach coiled tighter.

"Oh, that’s wonderful!" Darcy cried, clapping his hands together, shoulders dropping as he smiled at her. "I want nothing more than for you both to be happy. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

His voice was filled with a childlike enthusiasm, but it only made her feel worse. She couldn't bear to see the disappointment on his face, not after all he had endured. Her guilt swelled in her chest, threatening to suffocate her. Her heart raced, and she bit her lip, the taste of iron lingering as she fought to suppress the emotions rising like bile. She forced herself to swallow it down, determined to be strong for him. He hadn’t meant to tear her still-beating heart out of her chest.

Gwen hoisted her pack, the weight settling on her shoulders like familiar armour. “Let’s keep pace,” she said, glancing briefly toward where Alistair awaited. “The new king has enough on his plate without us holding him back.”

Darcy's bright, wide grin illuminated his entire face, highlighting the dimples in his cheeks. As they strolled out to join the group, Gwen willed her own smile to appear genuine. She knew she would have to carry this weight on her own, but as long as her dear friends were safe and content, that was all that truly mattered to her.

Gwen's sturdy boots sunk deep into the damp Ferelden soil, the cool earth clinging to her soles with each step she took toward Redcliffe. The air was thick with tension and anticipation as the weary team trudged on, still processing the results of the Landsmeet. Alistair marched alongside her, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as the party discussed their strategy for facing the looming threat of the Archdemon's army.

With confident strides, Darcy led the group a few steps ahead of Gwen, her fingers curled around a map of Ferelden. As they walked, he spoke with large, sweeping gestures about the military strategies they would need to implement to defeat the Archdemon's horde. Gwen merely nodded, her bandana-masked face betraying none of her thoughts as she internally rehearsed every move she would have to make.

Their journey was momentarily paused by an unexpected plea for help- a small cluster of villagers blocked their path, their faces etched with desperation and fear. They spoke in frantic voices of lost sheep, taken during a recent storm that had ravaged the area. The wind still carried the scent of wet earth and charred wood, proof of their tale. The villagers huddled together, clothes tattered and hair dishevelled, as they pleaded for assistance in finding their beloved livestock.

Darcy’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he rolled up his sleeves. “Well, let’s see if we can't lend a hand, shall we?”

Alistair was quick to join him. "Who knew our grand adventure would lead us to the noble art of… sheep wrangling? Next, I expect to see Darcy leading the flock as an esteemed shepherd!"

Morrigan rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh yes, rescuing wayward farm animals, a truly worthy task for the heroes who will defeat the Blight," she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Despite Morrigan's obvious disapproval, the party set out to help the distressed villagers. Gwen couldn't help but feel a sense of relief wash over her at the chance to do something simple and good amidst all the chaos and danger that awaited them.

As the party conversed with the villagers, gathering information or setting off to scout, Gwen found herself standing slightly apart with Leliana.

The bustling scene spread out before them, alive with activity and laughter. Darcy's infectious laugh rang out, filling the air with its bright and clear sound as he enlisted a group of eager children to aid in their search. While Alistair entertained the crowd with exaggerated tales of Darkspawn-slaying prowess.

"See how much light they bring, even in these dark times?" Leliana remarked, her tone gentle but pointed. "Darcy with his heart on his sleeve and Alistair... Well, just look at him. He's always brighter when you're near."

Gwen felt a subtle but sharp prickling sensation along her scarred back, hidden beneath the weight of her armour, in response to Leliana's words. A low chuckle escaped her lips, more a puff of breath than genuine amusement, as she quickly changed the subject and steered the conversation away from dangerous waters. "If only the Darkspawn were as easily amused as these villagers, we'd have nothing to worry about."

Leliana's eyes held a knowing glint, but she refrained from saying more as she turned to join the others in their efforts. Gwen couldn't help but smile as she watched Alistair scoop up a squealing child, hoisting them high onto his shoulders with ease. A warm sensation spread through her chest, like a gentle fire being lit—the feeling was both unfamiliar and deeply comforting.

Taking a deep breath, Gwen stepped forward to join in on the fun, pushing aside any lingering doubts that threatened to dampen their spirits. There was laughter to share and hope to rekindle, even if it was just a brief respite before the inevitable sorrow.

After spending time conversing with the villagers and gathering valuable information on the elusive sheep's habits, Darcy announced that they would embark on a search of the surrounding area. The villagers expressed their endless gratitude while Gwen let out a heavy sigh, but ultimately followed along as Darcy eagerly led the way into the rolling hills. His contagious excitement was palpable and soon even Gwen found herself scanning the rugged terrain for any signs of wooly stragglers.

As the sun sat high in the sky, they decided to take a much-needed break in a peaceful glen. Gwen leaned against a sturdy oak tree, taking in the calming sounds of nature around her. It wasn't long before she noticed a few sprigs of vibrant green elfroot growing at the mouth of a nearby cave. Intrigued by this discovery, she cautiously ventured inside, curious if more of the useful herb could be found within. The damp cave opened up into a larger cavern and Gwen froze as she heard the faint bleating of sheep. Peering deeper into the dark abyss, she spotted the missing flock huddled together in an accidental pen constructed from downed branches.

"Found them!" Gwen called out.

The others quickly joined her, the group forming a makeshift barrier as they guided the skittish sheep back out into the welcoming sunlight. Darcy's joyful whoops echoed through the fields, his fist punching triumphantly in the air while Alistair simply shook his head with a fond chuckle. Gwen couldn't help but smile at the sight, relieved that the farmer would have his precious flock returned unharmed. As they walked alongside the herd on its journey home, she found herself falling into step next to Alistair, their feet crunching in unison on the dry grass. The sun on her skin and the soft bleating of the sheep surrounded them. Though it pulled at her broken heart to be near him, she was determined to spend every possible moment at his side.

"It’s not every day you find yourselves immersed in such glorious work -fighting off the perils of boredom!" he said, peering over at her. "But honestly, there’s a certain charm in running about the countryside in search of sheep instead of, you know, facing Darkspawn."

Gwen nodded, the warmth blossoming in her chest once more. "A welcome break."

Once they had returned the sheep, the villagers insisted on the party staying for a lavish lunch before returning on their way. Never one to say no to food, the party gratefully accepted their kind offer. The table was overflowing with platters of hearty stews, golden roasted vegetables, and crusty loaves of bread. Despite their full stomachs, the party couldn't resist indulging in seconds and thirds. As they sat around the tables, exchanging stories and laughter with the villagers, it became clear that they were welcome to stay for the night. However, pressing matters called for their departure. With much reluctance, they bid farewell to their new friends, Darcy promising to return and visit once he was able. As long as Darcy lived, Gwen was sure he would keep that promise.

Another day of travel under their belts had them stumbling upon the banks of a gurgling river that sliced through the Ferelden landscape like a sparkling ribbon. The sun's rays danced upon the water, transforming it into a glittering golden carpet that seemed to stretch for miles. Every dip and curve of the rippling water created ever-changing patterns of light and shadow, mesmerizing in its complexity. It was Darcy who first spotted the rope swing, dangling from the outstretched limb of an ancient tree. Its frayed ends swayed gently in the breeze, inviting them to leave their worries behind and join in on the fun.

"Would you look at this!" Darcy exclaimed, his voice ringing with the thrill of unexpected delight. With the swift grace inherent to his elvhen lineage, he bounded toward the swing, his black waves turning almost brown in the light and bouncing with each step. "Come on, We can’t pass up a perfect opportunity like this. Everyone, as your leaders I command you strip down to your smalls!”

His invitation hung in the air like a challenge, the light breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers that grew on the banks of the shore, and though Wynne shook her head with fond exasperation, even she could not stop a smile from appearing on her lips at Darcy’s boyish glee.

“I think I shall stay fully clothed, dear, but soaking my tired feet does sound delightful.”

“Do not be ashamed to show off your body, my beautiful enchantress,” Zevran said, already working to remove his armour, a wink shot Wynne’s way.

The elder mage rolled her eyes. “It is not that, but living in the Circle I hardly had the opportunity to learn how to swim. It would do no one any good for me to drown now.”

Alistair's eyes lit up with an idea. "You know, I could offer you a swimming lesson. I promise I won't let you drown... unless, of course, we’re attacked by a fierce fish determined to defend its territory. Then all bets are off!"

Wynne smiled, a warmth in her eyes. "That's very kind of you to offer, Alistair. But these old bones aren't made for frolicking about in rivers anymore." She stretched, joints creaking. "But you should go and enjoy yourself."

Alistair nodded, trying not to look too disappointed. "Well, if you change your mind, I'd be happy to give you your first swimming lesson."

“Anyone else want to take Alistair up on his offer?” Darcy asked with a less than subtle look at Gwen, her gaunt figure a whisper against the robust vitality around her. Her long, wavy hair concealed much, but no strands could hide the marks etched into her flesh or the pain they represented. They had seen her scars before, but it was another thing to willingly show them off like they weren’t marks of shame.

Blinking, Gwen narrowed her eyes. “I know how to swim Darcy.” Upon his raised, unbelieving eyebrow, she corrected herself, “Not well, but I still can.”

She’d had to learn, living in the untamed wilderness for so many years. Hunting and gathering were her daily tasks, and she had mastered them with skill and precision. Catching fish wasn’t too hard if you knew where to stand. However, fear of drowning had driven her to practice floating and subsequently treading water in the shallow parts of the river. It was not a graceful sight, resembling more of a flailing fish than a human, but it served its purpose.

“If you say so,” Darcy acquiesced. Gwen watched as Darcy enthusiastically shucked off his boots and tunic, revealing a lithe and toned physique. Leliana was quick to follow, peeling away layers of leather armour to reveal a simple linen shift.

"Last one in is a rotten nug!" Darcy hollered, sprinting towards the river. He leapt with abandon into the air, tucking his body tightly before plummeting into the water below with a resounding splash. Leliana's laughter bubbled up like a babbling brook as she gracefully skipped her way into the river after him, Zevran hot on her heels.

Morrigan stood off to the side, rolling her eyes at their carefree behaviour. Suddenly, her figure blurred and shifted until she transformed into a massive brown bear. With cautious steps, she ambled toward the water's edge and dipped one of her enormous paws into the cool, rippling surface. Satisfied with its temperature, she waded further in until the water reached her broad shoulders.

Even Sten waded into the river's chilly water. With an uncanny display of dexterity, he speared fish after fish, providing not just entertainment, but sustenance too. Ever the practical Qunari.

Alistair grinned cheekily at Gwen as he stripped down to just his smalls, tossing his clothing haphazardly onto the grass.

"Well I certainly will not be the rotten nug, sounds particularly terrible," he declared before taking a running start at the rope swing and using his momentum to launch himself into the deeper part of the river. He surfaced, hair plastered to his forehead, looking immensely pleased with himself.

"Come on, Gwen, the water's perfect!" He called, waving her over. Darcy and Leliana chorused their encouragement, beckoning enthusiastically. Morrigan huffed out an ursine snort, flicking water at Alistair with a sweep of her paw.

Gwen hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. She knew the call was meant in good nature, yet it pricked like a barb. They'd seen her mottled body, and the monstrous capabilities that lay behind her slitted cheeks and unhingeable jaw. But allowing herself to partake in such an activity seemed a vulnerability too raw, an intimacy too daunting for someone like her.

She shuffled uncertainly, keenly aware of Wynne's patient, nonjudgmental gaze upon her.

Gwen’s fingers tightened around her arms, a lingering hesitation surfacing in her gaze. “You go have fun,” she said after a moment, forcing herself to smile. “I’ll take in the view from here.”

Alistair's face fell, his smile fading into a pout as she declined his invitation. As the others splashed and laughed in the water, he swam back to shore, his hair slicked back from his brow. His brown eyes gazed at her with a softness that made her cheeks flush with warmth.

Alistair ambled over to where Gwen stood, rooted to the spot like an ancient tree resisting an eager wind. His hand found hers, a simple gesture that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken promises. "You know," he began, a playful twinkle in his eyes, "I reckon this river hasn't seen a warrior as fierce as you take on its rope swing."

Leliana joined them, water dripping down her shift and leaving very little to the imagination. She too had her own scars, though not as severe as Gwen’s, and still her blue eyes danced with encouragement. "He's right. I think the river would be honoured by your grace, Gwen." Her words were light, but they carried the strength of belief.

"Besides," Alistair continued, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, "we've got your back. Literally. I promise not even a mischievous siren could sneak up on you with us around."

"Or a dragon," Leliana chimed in with a tilted grin, "well, perhaps a very small one. But we'd certainly fend it off together!"

Their laughter mingled, soothing the sting of Gwen's apprehension. Could she allow herself this moment of lightness? The hand clasping hers was steady, warm - alive, his pulse beating steadily against hers. She had promised herself that she would savour every moment with him, and she was reticent to break it so soon.

"Alright," Gwen murmured, a tentative smile inching across her face as she pulled her bandana down. "Only because I know I will never hear the end of it."

Gwen took a shuddering breath. For once, she wanted to stop overthinking, to act on impulse. Before she could second guess herself, she stripped down to her breast band and smalls.

Her heart thrummed in her chest, a chaotic rhythm that matched the flickering shadows cast by the swaying trees. A deep breath filled her lungs, carrying with it the scents of fresh water and wildflowers, grounding her in the present. With each exhalation, she released a fragment of her fear into the sunlit air.

Gwen's feet led her forward, guided by a force that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. It was the stir of courage, long buried under layers of survival and self-doubt. Her fingers brushed against the coarse rope of the swing.

With a deep breath, Gwen's determination solidified. She wrapped her hands tightly around the rough rope, feeling its harsh texture digging into her skin. With a burst of energy, she sprinted forward, her surroundings blurring into a mosaic of vibrant greens and blues. Far below, the river glimmered like a canvas waiting to be touched by her shadow. The rope felt like a lifeline in her grasp, her knuckles turning white with the force of her grip. As she flew through the air, she was torn between terror and exhilaration.

"Go, Gwen, go!" Darcy's voice reached her from the river, vibrating with excitement.

With a powerful leap, Gwen soared out over the sparkling waters, her body suspended in mid-air. The cool wind whipped around her naked face, teasing her hair and sending shivers down her spine. In that fleeting moment, she felt completely free, unbound from the heavy burdens of her past and the weight of the blood that stained her. A silent gasp escaped her parted lips, but it was quickly swallowed by the rush of air and the pounding of her pulse. Her eyes squeezed shut at the last second, bracing for impact with the water below.

Then, at the arc's peak, she let go.

Time stretched as Gwen plummeted, the cool embrace of the river rushing up to meet her. There was a resplendent splash, droplets of water flung skyward like a thousand tiny prisms catching the light. She plunged into the depths, the river enveloping her in its liquid cocoon, a shock of cold that purged her lungs of breath and filled her veins with adrenaline.

Her feet touched the rocky bottom, and with a push of her strong legs, she emerged from the depths, gasping for air, her white hair plastered to her cheeks. Cheers erupted from around her as she pushed the hair out of her eyes, sure she looked ridiculous. It felt silly to be cheered for jumping off a rope swing, that was child’s play. And yet, she had never been allowed such a thing.

"See? Nothing to it!" Alistair's bright smile lit up his face as he waded through the shallow water towards her. She had found a spot where the water only reached her shoulders, and he playfully splashed droplets in her direction with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

A flush of warmth spread across her cheeks, ignited by a tingle of unfamiliar pleasure. With playful defiance, Gwen retaliated, sending a wave of water toward Alistair. His laughter, deep and contagious, reverberated across the river as he playfully pounced on her, plunging them both into the water.

The playfulness spread like wildfire among the group; even the stoic Sten joined in, inadvertently creating tidal waves with his immense strength. Leliana danced through the splashes with grace, her laughter weaving a melody above the chaos. No one dared to involve Morrigan in her bear form, instead leaving the mages to watch over the match.

For a time, the looming threat of the Blight receded from Gwen's mind, replaced by this unexpected reprieve - a battle of water, not steel, where the only casualty was dignity. They were warriors cloaked in mirth, any shot was fair, and there were no rules here.

As the water fight waned and calm returned to the river, Gwen floated on her back, staring up at the sky framed by the treetops.

In that tranquil stretch of time, amidst the ripples of the river and the softness of the afternoon sun, Gwen realized that here, in this motley group of heroes and misfits, she could be both hidden and seen - her true self veiled, yet valued. And perhaps, that was enough, even if only for a short time.

The night wrapped itself tightly around Gwen, suffocating her with its oppressive weight. Inside her tent, she tossed and turned in her bedroll, the fabric clinging to her body like a burial shroud. The distant chirps of nocturnal creatures were barely audible over the incessant pounding of the Calling in her ears - a deafening symphony of whispers that gnashed at the frayed edges of her sanity. And with each passing night, it seemed to grow louder, a sinister presence that Gwen could no longer deny, try as she might. But no amount of denial could drown out the insidious voice inside her mind, robbing her of peace and plunging her deeper into the abyss of madness.

"Join us, child of darkness," the whispers hissed, voices slithering through her consciousness. "Embrace your fate."

Gwen's chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths, each one a struggle to take in enough air. A cold sweat coated her skin, making it gleam under the faint light of the moon. It was a reminder of the darkness that lingered within her, staining her blood and haunting her dreams. Each night brought more vivid and terrifying visions. In them, she saw herself as a monstrous creature, freed from any constraints, tearing flesh from bone with wild abandon. Her jaw stretched impossibly wide in an eternal, silent scream.

Alistair stirred beside her, his eyes fluttering open slowly. The scent of sweat and fear filled the air as he became aware of her trembling against him. Concern flooded through him as he realized she was trapped in the throes of a nightmare, her brow furrowed and her lips pulled back in a grimace.

"Gwen," he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder. She did not respond, continuing to thrash and whimper, her face contorted in anguish. He shook her harder, raising his voice. "Gwen, wake up!"

As the nightmare's grasp tightened around her, she lashed out, rolling on top of him, her legs straddling either side of his waist. Like a steel trap, her hand closed around his throat as she leaned down with bared teeth and wild eyes.

Alistair gasped, his eyes widening in shock as her hand closed around his throat. Reflexively, he raised his hands, not in defense, but in a desperate attempt to ground her, to remind her of his presence. "Gwen?"

She leaned closer, eyes alight with panic. For a moment, they held nothing but the void of her nightmares. But as the remnants of the dream faded, recognition sparked within them.

"Alistair?" Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper, his name breaking the spell of her delirium, her hand twitching where it rested loosely on his neck.

He lay pinned beneath her, warmth radiating from his body as she straddled him, her heart racing. In her chaos, his steady presence became an anchor, attempting to soothe the raw edges of her fractured mind. She had not succumbed to the darkness that whispered so sweetly of power and annihilation.

"Shh, it's okay. You're okay," he murmured, his voice a tether pulling her back from the precipice of her own mind.

Gwen's muscles relaxed incrementally, the tension seeping away as the adrenaline that fueled her violence ebbed. Slowly, she released him, withdrawing her hands as if he were made of glass, afraid that even the slightest pressure might shatter the fragile peace they had built.

"Alistair, I-I’m so sorry," she breathed out, each syllable a shard of ice in her throat.

Alistair lay on his back, rubbing his throat, but his gaze held no reproach, only an understanding that she did not deserve. He knew the depths from which she fought, the ceaseless battle against an enemy that could not be killed with sword or spell - an enemy that was part of her very being. His nightmares of the Blight may be different, but they were no less terrifying to wake from.

"Nightmares are bastards, and not the dashingly handsome kind like me," he said with a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "But you are safe now. It cannot reach you."

His hand reached out, gentle and warm against her cheek, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself sink into the comfort of his touch. But then reality flooded back, and her heart raced inside her chest, a cacophony of fear and confusion. She jerked away from Alistair as if his skin was burning hers, scrambling backwards on all fours. The coarse fabric of the tent floor scraped against her palms, a grounding sensation that snapped her back to the present, far from the darkness of her troubled thoughts. The sounds of the camp outside drifted through the canvas walls, a reminder of the safety and familiarity just beyond reach.

"Sorry," she gasped, the word catching in her throat like a plea. "I didn't— I thought… Oh, Maker." Her breaths came in ragged pants, tripping over each other as she struggled to form coherent sentences. "Alistair, I'm so sorry,” she repeated, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Gwen's vision blurred as the weight of guilt threatened to pull her under. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill over. When she finally forced her gaze to his, it was fleeting, like a scared rabbit darting from a predator's shadow, before she turned away, her heart aching at the sight of his bruised throat.

"Hey, it's okay," Alistair's voice was soothing, laced with concern but devoid of anger - anger that she deserved. He sat up slowly, careful not to startle her further. "You were having a nightmare. It happens to the best of us."

His words were light, but Gwen could hear the undercurrent of earnestness. He reached out tentatively once more, his hand brushing against hers. It was a gesture meant to comfort, not constrain.

"Look at me, Gwen." His tone was gentle, coaxing her eyes to meet his. When she finally did, she saw only warmth there, a deep well of understanding that seemed to pierce through her defences.

"See?" Alistair continued, a half-grin on his face. "Still here. Still breathing."

She allowed herself a closer look, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch the faint red marks her fingers had left on his neck. Guilt surged through her, cold and unyielding. "I could have killed you," she whispered, the enormity of what her uncontrolled strength could do pressing down upon her like a physical weight.

"But you didn’t," he assured her, covering her hand with his own. His skin was warm, he was alive, and she hadn’t killed him. "You're fighting against something most can't even imagine. And yet, here you are, standing your ground."

"Every day, I'm terrified," she admitted, unable to stop herself, her voice trembling in the quiet of the tent. "That I'll wake up one morning… and not be myself. That I'll become something monstrous and hurt everyone I care about."

"You're still you, Gwen. And I will always love you, no matter what. Even if you were turned into the world’s smallest fish, I’d find a way to keep you in the fanciest glass bowl, complete with tiny plants and little treasure chests! Just think of it as an exclusive luxury estate for my love."

Gwen huffed a breathy laugh and sniffled as she wiped at her eyes, trying to compose herself.

"It's just… the fear is always there," she whispered, looking down at their joined hands.

"I know," Alistair replied softly. "And I wish I could take it away for you. But I hope that my being here helps in some way."

"More than I could ever express.” Gwen gave him a watery smile. Her eyes lingered on Alistair as she took a steadying breath, her fingers brushing against his, his presence wrapping around her like a comforting blanket.

"I don’t deserve this… you," she whispered, shaking her head

"Don't say that," Alistair scolded gently. "You deserve all the love in the world."

Her breath caught in on a sob that she refused to release. Gwen’s pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out the quiet rustle of the camp. The shadows of the tent felt close, too close, as if they were reaching out to envelop her. But as Alistair pulled her close, his embrace enveloping her like a shield, the tension slowly ebbed away. She felt safe and secure in his arms, reassured by his love and comfort.

"You're too kind," she murmured, her eyes lowered in shame.

"Nonsense," Alistair scoffed lightly, but his tone was gentle. "I'm just stating the facts. And believe me, as someone who has seen some pretty terrifying things out on the road, I can say without a doubt that I am not even remotely afraid of you."

Gwen felt a lump form in her throat. She had never felt worthy of such praise before. She still didn’t, but she was reluctant to tell him that, knowing he would only double down.

"I don't know what to say," she whispered, feeling vulnerable in front of him.

"You don't have to say anything," Alistair said softly. "Just know that I love you, and I’m not upset with you. It was an accident, and I should have been more careful when waking you up."

“No, it wasn’t anything you did,” Gwen insisted, "but… thank you.”

How had she gotten so lucky to fall in love with a man like Alistair?

"Rest now," he murmured against her hair, his eyelids heavy with the return of sleep.

He pulled her gently towards the worn sleeping rolls, his strong arms wrapped around her as they settled in. She nestled into the curve of his body, feeling his steady heartbeat against her chest like a gentle lullaby.

Guilt gnawed at Gwen's conscience as she watched him drift back into a peaceful slumber. The pale moonlight cast deep shadows over his face, accentuating the red lines on his throat where her fingers had tightened in a moment of uncontrollable rage. She shuddered at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn't snapped her out of it. Andraste’s Grace, Gwen truly was the worst type of monster; one that masqueraded as human.

Hours later, unable to return to sleep for fear of lashing out against Alistair once more, Gwen carefully extricated herself from Alistair's embrace. She slipped out of the tent, leaving behind the comforting cocoon of shared vulnerability and heading into the muted glow of dawn, the air chilled compared to the heat of Alistair’s body.

The camp lay still, its slumbering occupants lost in their own hopefully more peaceful dreams. The soft patter of Gwen's bare feet on the dew-kissed grass was barely audible as she made her way to where Morrigan sat alone, keeping watch over the night. The air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint scent of wood smoke from the campfire's dying embers. Muted stars twinkled overhead as dawn approached on the horizon, casting a gentle glow on the surrounding trees.

"Can't sleep?" Morrigan's voice sliced through the silence, laced with her characteristic acerbic wit. "Or is there trouble in paradise? Our bumbling Grey Warden no longer what you crave?”

Gwen met the witch's harsh gaze, her mouth set in a firm line. "We need to talk," she said, her voice firm.

"Ah, the plot thickens," Morrigan replied, a smirk on her red lips. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I need your help.” Gwen gritted out, her heart racing even as she organized the beginnings of her thoughts.

Morrigan’s smirk widened into a grin. “Do not keep me in suspense, you may proceed with your request.”

Gwen took a deep breath to steady herself, her hands tightly clenched at her sides. The memory of the red lines etched into Alistair's throat flashed through her mind, reminding her of the feral rage she had felt only moments ago. She vowed never to let that happen again, knowing that it would only put them in more danger than they were already in.

With a quiet voice, Gwen explained her request. Morrigan listened with rapt attention, and when Gwen was finished, Morrigan agreed.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for reading! A bit of a calm before the storm, we are starting to gear up for the big conflict, so prepare yourselves!

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #humour #alistair dao #alistair dragon age #alistair theirin #alistair x original character #morrigan dragon age #leliana #dragon age zevran #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #wynne dragon age #sten dragon age

0 notes