#but I like that ribcage armor thingy

[timethehobo]

Wanted to draw him in that new outfit from the trailer cos damn.

[myhappylittlesideblog]

Max?

A/N: Black Sails has taken over my life so here you go

Pairing: Max x Fem!Reader

Rated Mature 

Beautiful gif!! By dindjariins (from the gif finder thingy in tumblr)

Do you remember me, Max?

Do you remember the first night I came into your house?

I walked through those doors which had previously been shut to me, through the crowd of sneering men I didn’t belong with and women who thought me too arrogant to even look in their direction. I passed members of my crew who snarled and laughed at me, asked if I planned to leave them and ask you for a job instead. As one of your girls. I knew I’d have to face them and everything else when the sun came up, but right then, I didn’t care. I didn’t answer them or the women asking me what it was that I wanted.

I only looked for you.

It didn’t take long to find you.

Though your house was always chaotic and loud, full of people grinding and hooting and cackling or running around to find someone cheaper or shorter or wider, the chaos was always controlled. The customers turned to leaves in the wind and it all revolved around you. You were the eye of the storm.

When I laid my eyes on you, saw you sitting at that table in the back of the room, the one in the corner by the fireplace with your legs crossed and your dainty little arm strewn across the back of your chair, you were already looking at me. Watching me as if you’d kept your eyes on me from the moment my boot hit the sand of the island. Like you could see through the people, the walls and doors, the buildings and the trees and had been watching me since I arrived.

Had I interested you from the beginning?

I only ask because all I had to do was look at you and you stood from your chair and came to me. You made your way through the leaves in the wind, whispering to some, adjusting others, but keeping your gaze on me with every step. Your hips swiveled as you slid past chairs and tables, your chin floated with pure confidence. You knew who you were, what you had and what you were about to have. One would think you were dripping with knives from the way everyone stepped out of your way. Even the drunks didn’t dare touch you.

But it wasn’t weapons you were flaunting. 

It was power.

You passed that power onto me the moment you took my hand and led me up those stairs. Whoever built that house of yours must have erected that staircase for that exact reason- to make every trip up or down them a performance. This was the most revered overture to ever grace your stage, but it was also the shortest. It ceased the moment you led me into the bedroom.

The remaining acts were meant for us two alone. 

Do you recall how it began? Once you closed the door? I do. I think about it often when I’m at sea. Alone.

I reminisce about one of your hands tugging at your corset strings while the other made the lock on the door click. When I moved to untie my tunic, or unlatch my belt, or remove my boot, you stopped me. 

“Just watch,” you said.

These were the first words you’d ever said that were directed at me and only me. Just watch.

So I did.

I watched your delicate fingers pull at the strings of your dress with such precision, it was as if you were plucking at a violin instead. The sound of the outfit’s heavy outer boning fell to the floor, acting as a musical reward, as did the skirting and bodice that followed. Soon after, there was a last point of percussion made by the clip that once held your hair neatly on the back of your head.

There the music stopped.

The only applause allowed was the sound of your bare footsteps as you crossed the floor to me. I can still feel you tucking yourself against me, wrapping your arms around my waist and pressing your breasts against mine, brushing the tip of your nose up my neck and against my chin. No man had ever moved so tenderly against me before, equipping me with a uniform of armor rather than a stifling cage.

When I returned the embrace, you asked me.

“Have you ever loved another woman before?”

I remember trying to think of something to say, some answer that wouldn’t lead to something drawn out and pitiful. 

Then you kissed my neck.

Then you tugged my tunic out of my trousers and pulled it all over my head, leaving me half bare before you.

Then you looked into my eyes before you looked down at my body, as if you wanted all of me and not just my breasts or my ass or my cunt. I wasn’t just something to squeeze or a place to keep your hands warm.

Is that true?

“She’s the reason you are here,” you said.

“Who?”

“The woman you loved. She led you here or pushed you here, no?” Your fingers found a spot on my neck, then one above my left breast, on the middle of my ribcage, on my belly and hip just above the line of my trousers. 

You said, “People like you don’t come to this island of their own accord. They’re sent into piracy for a reason.” You touched the bone of my brow, finding the last one. “These scars are new, received in these last weeks. I’ve seen enough of them to know that.”

“It’s not a mystery I’m new to Nassau. I could have satisfied your curiosity if you had simply asked me. No need to get me naked for that.”

In reply, you shoved my trousers down my legs and your hands fell from my waist to my bottom. You squeezed the flesh as you said, “I had many reasons to get you naked. First and foremost, I wanted you in my bed.”

They used to tell me of your beauty. Besides your body and skills, they talked of your soft curls, your all-knowing hands, and most popularly, your eyes. More specifically the golden flecks of glitter hiding under feathery lashes. But as you looked up at me with your body pressed to mine and your hands where no mere acquaintance should ever have them, I saw no lightness in your eyes. No sparkling like sunlight on the water. Just black.

“One night in my bed,” you told me. “One night in my bed and you’ll never think of her again.”

You were right.

Though it’s never the smartest idea to skimp on precious sleep the night before your ship departs, that is exactly what I did. I left you at dawn with a kiss and a note and miraculously, despite my concern, not a crew member let even a peep loose about my night with you. In fact, I was treated with a new silent respect. I was given someone new, someone who deserved my attentions, to think of during the day and dream about at night. A woman to live for, to steal for, to return to this wretched island for.

So here I am.

Do you remember me now, Max?

[shinobicyrus]

Hungry Like the Wulf

@logicalghost requested that their Christmas Truce gift be “Some content of Wulf and Danni together being pals.”Friend, you came to the right place. 

Dani spots the ghost-cops first, over a dozen of them flying in formation, armored in riot gear and faces hidden behind visors like the ghosts of police brutalities past. She steers clear, backing into some midnight shadows against a brick wall, but it’s not necessary. They’re completed focused on something else; calling out to each other, harassing and circling and firing beams from their nightsticks at something she can’t see. 

This all seems very familiar, somehow. 

Whatever, ecto-memory déjà vu is something Dani is used to at this point. She pulls out her phone from her pants - because jumpsuits don’t have pockets and Danny is stupid - to check the time. Sees not only is it late, but she has four unread messages from her clone-bro and six more from Jazz. Probably wondering where she is. 

Duh, making great decisions, obviously. 

Turning invisible and trailing them cautiously, Dani catches up to them near the warehouse district, because everything great at one in the morning always happens near a bunch of old warehouses. She hears the tail end of a scuffle as she approaches one building painted with tagger handles and ghost graffiti and peeks her head through the wall. 

There are definitely less riot-cop ghosts in here than she had spotted in the air- the smears of lightly glowing ectoplasm splattered on the floor and walls are pretty strong evidence what probably happened to them. 

Even with only half of them left, it’s still enough to dogpile on the single hulking shape on the floor. The dusty concrete floor is scratched with huge gouges and the thing is all muscles and fur, snarling and struggling to shake off the Ghost-Zone Five-O while they affix glowing, high-tech looking manacles to its wrists.  

It snaps out with a wolf-like muzzle full of sharp teeth, growling obscenities in an eerily familiar language that flips a switch in the back of Danielle’s head. Her lips move without her thinking.

“...Wulf?”

No one else in the warehouse seems to hear her, but the pointed ears of the werewolf-looking ghost (Wulf, why does she know his name is Wulf?) twitch before the ghost-cops shove his face into the ground. 

One ghost is semi-standing a few feet away overseeing the spectacle, shirtless except for the long, douchey red cape. He’s got an eyepatch and an even douchier goatee. There’s some kind of blaster belted on his hip, but he’s still just standing there watching the other ghosts do all the work, holding up a fist-sized cube that has a warbling, glowing aura coming off of it. 

“Walker’s gonna be glad to hear that this little toy ended up doing the job,” Eyepatch tosses it up and down lazily,, savoring the whole situation. “This new mayor’s got a lot more goin’ for him that the last duly-elected meatsuit.” 

“Mi eskapis iam antaŭe,” Wulf snarls into the ground. One of the cops prods the sparking end of its baton into his neck and he flitches. “Mi...mi povas fari ĝin denove.”

“Not this time, mutt,” Eyepatch gives the cube another toss. “So long as we’ve got this, you can’t use those claws of yours to cut through the fabric between dimensions and...and...”

About this time he notices that the cube never came down. 

“See, I thought this looked like one of dad’s evil doohickeys! Nice to see he’s making friends with someone besides his cat.”

Eyepatch whips around to find Dani floating visibly overhead, turning over the cube and studying at it closely. 

(Yep, definitely looks like a box-thingie. Hmm, yes, fascinating)

Eyepatch wastes a few seconds staring at Dani, then back at his empty hand still hanging expectantly open. “Wha- who- where did you- give that back!”

“But I’m looking at it.” She keeps fiddling with it like it’s a stubborn Rubik’s cube. “Is this twisty bit here important? This seems important.” 

“I don’t know where the black hells you came from,” Eyepatch raises a two-pronged blaster that charges up with a high-pitched whine. “But you have three seconds to turn over Walker’s property before I-”

Dani licks the cube.

It tastes like metal, ozone, and that buzzy weird taste she’s come to associate with ectoplasm. Like someone put formaldehyde and grave dirt in a blender with old lime jello. Blegh.

The arm holding up the blaster wavers, then lowers as the ghost gapes at her. “Did you- did you just-”

“I licked it it’s mine now,” Dani tells him. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

“That’s NOT a ru-” He grinds his teeth. With a snap of his fingers, the entire posse of ghost-cops rush off of fully chained-up Wulf and flank Eyepatch in a loose cordon. Shields up and batons all pointed at Dani like a firing squad. “I don’t know who you think you are, interfering wi-”

“Dani Phantom.”

“-official poli- wait what?”

“Dani Phantom,” she repeats. “You asked who I am. That’s me.”

“You’re not Danny Phantom.”

“Uh, yeah I am. Look!” She points at the symbol on her hoodie. “See! I have the ‘D’! And I am clearly talking about the logo, not my chest, for the record.” 

“You’re not Danny Phantom! We’ve all met Danny Phantom and he’s a-”

“Oh yeah, he’s like my...cousin? Twin brother? We’re related, but it’s like, really complicated.”

A few of the cop-ghosts lift up their helmet visors and exchange puzzled looks. 

“You’re both named Danny Phantom?” One of them speaks up.

Eypatch spins around to face him, furious. “Shut up, Gerald!”

Dani says to Gerland, “Yeah, but I’m Dani with an ‘i’.” 

“That must get really confusing,” the same ghost-cop nods sympathetically. 

“Thank you, yeah it really is! Everyone else is like, ‘oh we can just call you ‘elle’ and yeah Danny had the name first but I still don’t see why I have to change my-”

Eyepatch lifts up his blast and fires, making the upper body of the ghost-cop that spoke up disappear in a rush of ruby energy. What’s left of his lower half loses all consistently and melts into a puddle on the floor. 

“Fraternizing with lawbreakers is. Against. The. RULES!” Eyepatch roars at the puddle. The other cops float back a few nervous feet. 

Dani’s gasps. “Gerald, no! He was like, my best friend and everything! What the hell, dude?”

“Now imagine what I’m going to do to you, you little punk.” He levels the blaster up at her again. “If you don’t that box over right the fu-”

“Kay.” Dani tosses the cube at him. He actually drops his gun, fumbling with both hands before he finally gets a solid enough hold on it.

“Uh...right. That’s...good.” He looks down at the cube at his hands as if he can’t quite believe that it’s actually there. “Well...don’t think this means we’re going to be lenient on you, especially since you just gave up your only bargaining chip! Heh.”

He chuckles with a grin of crooked teeth and nasty promises. The rest of his crew join in, if a bit more nervously. 

Dani flaps her hand. “Meh, it’s okay, I didn’t really need it anyway. I just needed to district you for a bit while the other-me got Wulf outta those chains.”

Eyepatch and the ghost-cops stop laughing.

“....come again.”

“Saluton.” 

Warily, they all turn in unison and see Wulf, free and towering over them, teeth bared. Peeking over his shoulder is another Danielle, who waves at them. 

Wulf growls out in stilted English: “Run.”

The ghost-cops all scatter in different directions, leaving Eyepatch rooted to the spot, still holding the cube. 

Ever-so slowly, Eyepatch lifts up the cube up to Wulf, who plucks it delicately out of his hand with two claws and crushes it in his massive paw. 

“I think I’ll just...uh....” Eyepatch cocks his thumb over his shoulder. “I think I’ll just go...now...?”

Wulf’s grimace turns into a grin. “Lasu min helpi vin.”

With one paw, he grabs Eyepatch by the throat and lifts him clear off the ground. The other paw reaches out and slashes at the empty air next to them. 

It reminds Dani of a green screen, like he’d ripped away a piece of the fake background and revealed another world beneath it. Through the jagged hole Dani can see the writhing black expanse of the Ghost Zone, but no place she’s ever seen before. Skeletal trees of jagged crystal fractals, pits of crackling ectoplasmic fire, and somewhere- echoing distantly but still incredibly loud- a hungry roar shakes the rusted guts of the warehouse all the way down to Dani’s ribcage. 

“Waitwaitwaitwheredoesthatportallead-AGGHHH!”

Wulf throws him through. The air snags and the hole seal itself up with a little pop of air, cutting off Eyepatch’s scream instantly. 

“THAT WAS FOR GERALD!” both Danis roar simultaneously.

The warehouse is suddenly very quiet. Wulf’s heavy panting echoes very loudly on hollow concrete. His hoodie is filthy and torn in places and his hackles are raised. 

“Hey man, you okay?” Dani asks. 

“Yeah, you were kind of in a bad way,” her duplicate adds. 

Wulf steadies his breathing. “Mi estas...mi estos bone.”

“Really?” Dani says skeptically. “’Cause you do not look okay.”

He stands up a little straighter, ears perking with interest. “Vi...komprenas min?”

The duplicate Dani (Dupli? Dupli-Dani? Yeah! Dupli-Dani) shrugs. “I mean...more or less? We know a couple of languages including Spanish or Portuguese.” 

“So we can get the gist of it,” Dani finishes. 

Seeing Wulf’s head dart confused between two different Danis, she floats up to her duplicate and holds out a fist. “Nice work on the chains, Dani.”

“Thanks, Dani!” Dupli-Dani returns the fist bump. “You weren’t so bad of a distraction.”

“Aw, shucks, now you’re making us blush.”

“You know we can’t resist making cute girls blush,” Dupli-Dani winks. 

“Mi tre konfuzas nun,” Wulf confesses. 

“Sorry,” they say in unison. Both Danis glow, and then Dupli-Dani’s form wavers like a reflection on water and shifts back into Danielle’s body. “Sorry about that, just unlocked that little trick last week and it takes some getting used to. Is it weird that I always end up hitting on myself when I do that? No reason, asking for a friend.”

Wulf is suddenly in her face- she’s floating only a few feet off the ground, and she almost recoils at such something so huge and toothy in her personal space, but starts giggling when his noises starts sniffling all over her. 

“Ahhh! Hahahaha, quit it!” She giggles and squirms when his cold wet nose snuffles over her bare midriff. 

“Oh! So-ry,” He rears back, brow scrunching adorably up in confusion. “Amiko Danny?”

“Uh...sorta?”

“Vi odoras kiel li, sed vi estas...malsama.”

“It’s a long story, but...you can call me Danielle, if it helps?” 

He thinks about it for a few moments, then shakes his big, furry head. “Ne, vi estas Amiko Dani.”

“Aw, I heard the ‘i’ in there. Thanks big guy.” She rubs the back of her head and looks helplessly around the warehouse. “So uh...were you like...doing anything tonight before the Green Meanies tried to throw you in the slammer?”

“Ne vere,” He shrugs. “Eble vi povas diri al mi vian tre longan rakonto?”

“I’d...I’d like that? Yeah! You hungry?”

Even someone without any understanding of Esperanto couldn’t misinterpret the sudden lolling tongue. “Ĉiam.“

Wulf glances nervously up and down the street. This late there aren’t even buses or a stray car going down the road. Nothing but the traditional creatures of the night: ghostwolves, half-ghosts, goths, and service industry workers on the skeleton shift. 

The shop window next to them was dark. Wulf adjusts his baseball cap in the reflection of the glass. “Ĉi tio estas stulta.” 

“Is not.” Thinking it would be unfair that he’d be the only visible ghost in the place, Dani stayed in her ghost form as well. When she stood next to him, she could see both of their eyes glowing back at them in the window. 

“Ĝi ne funkcios.”

“It’ll totally work, trust me.”

“Bone. Sed estos via kulpo, se ili panikos.”

“Midnight breakfast or a coffee shop full of panicking goths. I’m fine with either one.”

She walks across the street towards the diner, completely undisguised save the her spare hoodie covering her noticeable costume. 

Perfect. No one will suspect at thing. 

Wulf sighs loudly before following her. 

They elected to take the long route there, Dani flying along Wulf while he loped on all fours across rooftops. She doesn’t think he can actually fly, which is weird because the only other ghost she’s met that doesn’t is Sidney, and he claims it’s because he gets vertigo when he floats.

Still, at least Wulf has the claw-portal thing. That’s pretty cool. 

At the door, Wulf hunches low, ears flat against his head while he wrings his giant paw-hands nervously. 

“Relax, Duran-Druan,” Dani reaches up and pats his arm. “I have it on good authority that freaking out over a ghost is an instant loss in goth-cred. It’ll be fine.”

He only nods quietly and hunches lower, trying to appear as small as possible. 

The diner is exactly like she remembers: skulls everywhere, memorabilia of vintage movie monsters, some occult imagery that would make Sam’s mom faint, a wall turned into a crowded collage of dozens of punk-rockers from unknown local bands to Violent Pacifist and Dumpty Humpty.

“Hi there!” Dani walks up to a bored looking waitress whose dark mascara is hiding the tired bags under her eyes pretty well. She’s cute, all piercings, short pink hair, and a skirt that is mostly impractical buckles. 

“Hey,” she returns, bored and sleep deprived. 

“Can we get a table for three, please?”

“Three? But there’s only tw-” she freezes, finally noticing the seven foot tall shaggy wolfman ghost behind what she’d probably originally assumed to be a white-haired goth girl.

Dani smiles pleasantly at her, fully aware that her eyes are glowy ghostly bright. “I think he counts as two on his own, yanno?”

Wulf waves at her shyly. 

“Uh. Right. Yeah. Sure.” She actually recovers admirably, blinking a few extra times at Wulf like she’s trying to reset her eyes before gathering up two menus. “This way, please.”

She leads them through the diner, past couples, trios, and small booths of various goths, punks, the occasional emo, and a few ghost-groupies in Ember merchandise. 

Most look at Wulf for no more than few seconds before returning to their black coffees, phones, and conversations. 

Dani elbows Wulf and stage-whispers. “Told ya.”

The waitress sits them down at a corner table next to a rainbow flag that’s decorated with spooky bats. It’s a bit of work with the tail, but Wulf manages to situate himself on the study metal chair without any problems. 

“Can I uh...start you off with anything?” She asks. 

“Kafo, bonvolu.” 

“Two coffees, please,” Dani translates.

“Got it,” her black sneakers make next to no sound as she goes to fetch the pot.

“Bone, vi estis korekta,” Wulf admits. He looks around all the diner, tail thumping against the legs of his chair as he takes in the atmosphere. ”Ĉu vi multe venas ĉi tien?”

“Yep, come here all the time after patrol. It used to be just goths but after a while it kinda became this...safe-spot for anyone that was out late at night that needed someplace safe. Plus, the coffee’s not bad.”

As if to prove her point, the waitress returns with a fresh pot and fills their cups to the brim. 

“Dankon, sinjorino.” Wulf says, still reading the menu. The menu looks cartoonishly small in his paws.

“No prob. You two want anything to eat?” 

Dani looks up from her menu. “Oven still on?” 

“‘course.”

“I’ll have the Black Dahlia.”

“Tri...’March of Pigs,’” Wulf manages.

“You want three whole-” She looks at him again. “Uh, sure yeah, okay. Take about half an hour.”

“That works,” Danny hands back her menu. Wulf carefully does the same.

The waitress (the name tag on her chest says Abigail, Danielle finally notices) hesitates a moment at the sight of Wulf’s claws, but just as carefully takes the menu and says, “Just holler if you need anything,” before she leaves again.

Neither Dani or Wulf say anything. Somewhere, old speakers static out deceptively cheery Voltaire songs to serenade the witching-hour crowd with.

“Do..” Wulf starts awkwardly. “Vi diris ke vi havas longan rakonto-”

“I’m a clone.”

Wulf’s mouth snaps shut.

Dani noisily sips her coffee. 

Thing is, Danny, Sam, and Tuck already knew. Danny had told Jazz, Valerie had found out in the worse way possible, and when the time came to finally out himself - and her- to Maddie and Jack, he’d done most of the talking while she sat next to him on the couch, squeezing Jazz’s hand hard.

She’s never actually said it. Especially not the ‘C’ word. 

“I mean, I know I said it was a long story and it definitely is but when you boil it down that’s sort of the major part. We call each other ‘cousins’ to make it less weird but technically Danny’s more like my twin brother and the guy who made me was evil and couldn’t decide whether to throw me away or dissect me for evil science and it’s not like I can like, go to a therapist or a non-Jazz professional about this 'cause I think being the unwanted byproduct of an evil plot to replace a deranged billionaire’s teenaged archnemesis because I was a girl and had health problems from botched cloning techniques might have given me a few...issues.”

Wulf never once takes his eyes off of her. He blinks at her slow, gaze steady and pupil-less, but strangely not at all unnerving. His big wolf ears are perked and attentive. 

“Also I can’t be 100% sure but I think I’m gay.”

Holding up the coffee cup with precise, dainty care in his claw, Wulf took a polite sip with a big, slooping green tongue, then set it down with a clink. 

Finally, clearing his throat, Wulf says, slow and heavily accented: “That iz ruff, buddy.” 

Dani stares at him. 

He nods at her sagely, a giant, furry philosopher wearing a filthy hoodie and a stolen ‘Axion Labs’ baseball cap. Then, with a twinkle in his eyes, he grins at her. 

Dani can’t hold it in anymore and bursts out laughing, keeling over and slapping the table as her sides start to ache. 

When Abigail comes back to their table with two trays loaded with food, she’s even more confused than she had been before.    

[nathans-tales]

Ok so I was scrolling though your blog (no shame in my game) and the cliché angsty prompts thingy caught my eye! SOOOOO maybe when you have the time you could do a fic about one of them charging into battle after their love is hurt OR maybe the one is mind controlled and the other has to fight them! With Erathan or Aspen and their lovers! ( I tired to give the others some love cause they’re amazing too)

Lmfao it only took me like 2 months to finally write this, but here you go! I chose the first prompt for Erathan & Leliana, because it already tied into a fic idea I had in mind. This fic kind of got away from me while writing it, so it actually only focuses on your prompt for like a hot second and then it just keeps going lmao. Hope you like it though!

Pairing: Leliana x Female Warden (my oc)

“Hey, my cooking isn’t that bad,” Alistair argued, turning back to face the accusing party and nearly stumbling over a tree root.

“First of all, yes it is. Second, please don’t kill yourself before we reach Redcliffe, okay? We’re hardly an hour out of camp and I don’t wanna drag your arse the rest of the way,” Erathan teased. Leliana stifled a laugh as Alistair’s cheeks flooded red.

“Was my stew really that bad last night?” he asked.

“That was supposed to be stew?” Erathan replied, actually starting to feel bad for her companion. She heard a quiet laugh from the dark-haired witch at the back of the group and cracked a smile of her own. Alistair sighed and turned back to walk ahead. “I’m just teasing you, Alistair! It’s not like any of us are any better, except maybe Wynne. I wasn’t so sure of the bread rolls Leliana made the other night either.”

“Hey!” Leliana protested, poking Erathan’s side. The elf laughed and pushed herself onto the tips of her toes to place a kiss to her lover’s cheek before intertwining their hands together. She heard an annoyed groan from behind her and turned to look back at Morrigan.

“Aw don’t be jealous, Morrigan; you can hold my other hand!” Erathan offered with a grin, holding out her hand.

Morrigan scoffed, “I’m quite alright without all the touching, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Erathan replied, shrugging.

They walked in silence as the trees passed them by, bird calls and snapping twigs the only disruptions. As her mind wandered to what she hoped to accomplish in Redcliffe and the warmth of Leliana’s palm pressed against her own, Erathan almost missed the sudden loss of the bird calls; almost.

Silence settled around them like a cage.

“Ambush!” she called out, reaching for her daggers just as an arrow flew past her face. She ducked to the side of the small forest opening they found themselves in, scanning the area for unfamiliar faces.

Alistair was already slamming his shield into one of the bandits, sending them backwards into a tree. Morrigan sent a strike of lightning into the chest of a bandit who was rushing towards her, Leliana following with an arrow through the heart of another. Erathan spotted an archer aiming for Alistair’s back and quickly moved to dig her blade into their stomach before they could release the arrow.

She picked off another bandit before she heard a sharp cry from across the opening, the voice painfully familiar. Erathan turned and saw Leliana collapse to the forest floor, clutching her side, a bandit standing behind her with a bloody knife in hand.

Erathan froze, her blood running cold. Her eyes locked onto Leliana’s crumpled form and she suddenly felt a wave of horrified rage flood through her. Seeing red, she rushed towards the bandit.

Before the bandit could move to block her strike, Erathan’s blades were buried deep within their chest. She forced the blades outwards, slicing their chest open. As they fell with a strangled cry, Erathan turned to block a hit from an incoming sword. As she pushed back against the imposing blade with one of her own, she swung the other down to connect with the bandit’s stomach and tear through soft flesh.

When the final bandit fell, Erathan dropped to her knees beside Leliana and gently eased her onto her back from her hunched position. “Leliana how bad is it? Let me check,” Erathan frantically asked, reaching for where blood seeped through Leliana’s fingers.

“I’m okay, it’s fine,” Leliana insisted through clenched teeth, but her eyes closed tightly as her shaking hand was pried from her side. Erathan’s own hands quaked as she tried to gauge the damage. The blade had slipped between the panels of Leliana’s armor, entering just beneath her ribcage and pushing up towards her lungs. Alistair dropped to his knees on the other side of Leliana.

“What happened? What should we do?” he asked, hands hovering over her without purpose. Leliana whimpered and tried to grab for her wound again, but gasped and pulled away at the contact.

“I-I don’t know, Morrigan I need you to heal her!” Erathan cried, turning to find the witch. Morrigan stood apart from the group, looking stunned and uncertain.

“I’m not a healer, I only know a few limited spells. You would need Wynne to—”

“Morrigan please! Wynne’s back at camp and you need to heal this wound enough so Leliana can make it back,” Erathan pleaded, the fear in her voice leaving no room for argument.

Leliana groaned suddenly, sucking in a sharp breath as more blood seeped from her side.

“Leliana hold on, you have to hold on,” Erathan begged. Leliana’s breaths grew weaker and more frantic. “Leliana come on, no, please.” Before she could yell for Morrigan again, the mage was at her side and pushing her away to take her place.

“Alistair, reach over and apply pressure to the wound,” Morrigan commanded, her hands already glowing with magic. Alistair did as he was told; the color drained from his face when Leliana cried out in response.

“Leliana this is going to hurt; are you ready?” Morrigan asked, voice softer. Leliana nodded and clenched her fists.

As Morrigan worked, Erathan knelt by her lover’s head to run her fingers through her red locks, murmuring encouraging words and pressing kisses to her forehead. As the minutes passed Erathan lost herself in her own mantra of comforting words, trying to ignore the pained screams.

“This is all I can do,” Morrigan finally stated, resting back on her heels. The bleeding had stopped and drawn out whimpers had replaced the screaming, but Leliana’s wound was still open and threatening.

“You two start carrying her back to camp, I’ll run ahead and alert Wynne,” Erathan directed, only stopping briefly to take one more look at Leliana before turning and running in the direction they had come.

                                                           * * *

As Erathan forced her legs to go faster, pushing through the fire in her lungs, she couldn’t stop picturing Leliana hunched over, blood covering her side. She could still hear Leliana’s labored breathing and shook her head to push it away. Leliana would be okay. She had to be.

                                                           * * *

Erathan finally arrived at camp, crashing through the tree line just beside Morrigan’s tent. “Wynne!” She cried, still sprinting towards the elderly mage’s tent. “Wynne!”

Wynne emerged from her tent just as Erathan stumbled to a stop in front of it. “What are you doing back here?” she asked, brow furrowed. She looked around and realized Erathan was alone. “Where are the others? Has something happened?”

“Yes,” the elf answered, stopping briefly to catch her breath, “we were ambushed nearly an hour into our journey. Leliana is severely wounded; Alistair and Morrigan are bringing her back right now. I wanted to get here ahead of them so you could prepare. You have to help Leliana!”

“Goodness, that is terrible. Of course I’ll help her; can you describe her wound?”

Time seemed to crawl by as Erathan described where the blade had entered and how much Morrigan had been able to heal it, and helped Wynne prepare her tent for the healing process. Wynne seemed silently surprised that Morrigan had helped Leliana; she knew how cold the other mage often was to the girl. Just when Erathan thought she would go mad with worry, Morrigan entered the camp clearing, Alistair a few steps behind with Leliana in his arms. Leliana’s body hung slack, her head rocking with Alistair’s steps.

“Finally!” Erathan sighed, running over to meet them. She felt ill as she saw that Leliana had fallen unconscious.

“Bring her here, to my tent,” Wynne ordered, opening the flaps of her tent for Alistair. He carried her in and gently laid her onto the bedroll. When he came back out, his whole body was shaking; from exhaustion or nerves, Erathan couldn’t tell—likely both. She rushed past him towards the tent, but Wynne held out a hand to stop her.

“Stay out here,” she directed.

“But—no, I need to help,” Erathan stammered.

“I know you’re concerned, but I need space to work and it won’t help to have you worrying over her the entire time,” Wynne explained. “She’ll be okay,” she said gently. She turned and entered the tent then, leaving Erathan standing outside baffled.

The warden contemplated entering the tent anyways, but knew it would only distract Wynne from helping Leliana. When she finally managed to collect herself she walked over to where Alistair sat, hunched over with his head in his hands, and sat beside him.

Almost immediately, Alistair sat upright and began to apologize. “I tried to move faster, I’m so sorry, she lost consciousness about halfway here, I’m so sorr—”

“Alistair stop,” Erathan interrupted. “I came to thank you; you helped save her.”

Alistair stared back for a moment, as if in disbelief. “You really think so? I just carried her, I couldn’t keep it from hurting her.”

“But you helped, you really did. Thank you so much,” Erathan reassured him, her voice starting to break. She surprised herself and leaned in for a hug, wrapping her arms around his broad frame. Alistair hesitantly returned the embrace, stunned by this act of friendship. They stayed like that for a few moments before Erathan pardoned herself and walked over to the tent her dearest friend kept on the edge of the camp, so far from everyone else.

She found Morrigan sitting inside her tent, frustratedly flipping through one of her many grimoires. She stepped inside to no protest, so she sat beside the witch.

“What’re you doing?” she asked.

Morrigan continued to flip through the book, muttering to herself. When she finally found what she was looking for, she sat back with a sigh. “There, finally. It should be considerably easier to find healing spells, don’t you think?”

Erathan looked at her, confused. “Um, yes, I suppose. Why are you looking up healing spells now? Wynne has Leliana.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m well aware. But what happened reminded me that I must broaden my knowledge of healing magic. ‘Twas foolish of me to rely on Wynne to be the sole competent healer, and I won’t make the mistake of being caught off guard again.”

“That’s nice Morrigan, but you don’t have to—” Erathan was cut off by Morrigan’s muttering as she began to read the spells before her. “Morrigan,” she tried again. “Morrigan,” she said once more, reaching forward to still her friend’s hand as it skimmed down the page. Morrigan stopped and looked at her, eyes edging on anger.

“What? What could you possibly need that would require you to interrupt my work? I need to learn this; I need to be able to help you!” the mage snapped.

Erathan hesitated, at a momentary loss for words. “Morrigan, you did help us. I came here to thank you; you saved Leliana.”

When Erathan met Morrigan’s gaze, she saw uncertainty in her eyes.

“Just barely,” Morrigan said. “I could only manage to stop the bleeding, what good will that do us in more dire circumstances? No, I must learn this, I must improve. What if someone else becomes wounded too far from camp and I can’t help them? What if I can’t help you?” Morrigan asked, her voice becoming frantic.

Erathan grew quiet and laid her hand on Morrigan’s arm. “You already can help us. You did help us. You did what you could to heal Leliana, and I would trust you in the field to heal me as well. Yes it would be good to learn more healing spells, but you are already more helpful than you’re giving yourself credit for. I trust you, Morrigan. I owe you more than I can express, for saving Leliana. Please don’t worry about not being able to save us… to save me. I know you could.”

They sat in silence until Erathan realized Morrigan didn’t have a response, so she left her to her studies.

She paced anxiously around the camp, eyes locked on her feet as they sank into the muddy ground. Eventually Wynne emerged from the tent and beckoned her over.

“The wound is healed and I gave her some potions to ease the pain. She’ll make a full recovery,” Wynne stated. Erathan bent over and braced herself against her knees as a wave of relief hit her. She thanked Wynne and entered the tent, quickly making her way to Leliana’s side. She kneeled beside her lover and gently grabbed her hand. Leliana opened her eyes and cracked a smile when she saw who it was.

“Birdie,” Erathan whispered, tears flooding into her voice. “How do you feel?”

“I’ve felt better, but I’ve also felt worse,” Leliana answered with a sigh. “The pain has subsided. Mostly,” she said, grimacing.

Erathan squeezed her hand and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I was so worried. The wound was so deep.”

Leliana gave a short laugh. “It was, but I’ve been through worse. I need to thank Alistair and Morrigan.”

“I just thanked them; they’re both a bit shaken, I should let them know you’re okay.”

Leliana raised an eyebrow. “Morrigan is shaken? At my expense? That’s quite the twist,” she said with a smirk.

Erathan smiled. “She likes to pretend she doesn’t care, but I know she does. She just has her own ways of showing it.” Leliana hummed her agreement and Erathan ran a hand through her red locks. Leliana leaned into the comforting touch, closing her eyes. Before Erathan realized it, tears were streaming down her cheeks and she had to stifle a sob.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Leliana asked, opening her eyes.

“Leliana, I… I was so scared,” Erathan whispered. “I thought I might lose you.”

“Oh mon cher,” Leliana started, trying to sit up but falling back onto the bedroll with a pained gasp.

“No, no don’t sit up,” Erathan murmured, wiping her face and moving to lay down beside her lover. “I just, I don’t know what I would do without you, birdie. We’ve come so far, and I never thought—” she stopped and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

Leliana reached over and caressed Erathan’s cheek, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m here, love. I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

Erathan leaned in and kissed her softly before carefully wrapping her arms around her. She stayed there, focusing on the rise and fall of Leliana’s chest as daylight faded to an end.

[prodigal-ezreal]

[ So I’ve been analyzing Pulsefire Ezreal’s new model + old plash and semi animatic and the headcanons I have about the suit are: 

 It’s a mix between clothes and armor, though the latter may be upgraded a needed, depending on the danger of the situation. The full armor makes it harder to move, but it’s perfect for long battles and exchanges vs short lived encounters where thinking quick on your feet might save your life. Ezreal rarely uses it, and usually goes about the first two options, the third if things get hairy.

The armor part of the suit is powered by a magical time crystal Ezreal has as his core (think of Camille’s heart). It’s what connects the armor permanently to him, but not to a point that it’s a full on augmentation. 

The crystal energy has a symbiotic relationship with Ezreal’s own mana and magic affinity, amplifying it and using it as an energy source. If he dies, it will collapse and go on overdrive before crashing and poofing him out of existence in the timeline. He will go back to his last ‘save point’ (Chronology protection point. He has a limited few that he can take and put again) It’s not a... pleasant experience, though, since he actually gets to feel the overdrive on his nerves and brain before he “dies”. The way to kill him for good is either crushing the crystal or shootting him with Cait’s gun right out of existence. And ince the crystal is well onto his ribcage and below the armor, the latter is the most likely one.

 Talking about augmentations!: Both legs from the knee down (Necessary for the upgrade, stronger legs means less problems with the heavier armor, not to mention it makes landing a bit easier since he doesn’t seem to be equiped with Cait’ portals for Pulsefire Jumps). Core (explained in the past point) Left arm (accident, pre-upgrade) and right eye (Cait’s bullet grazed him before the Grand Escape, went back to a timeline where he hadn’t yet fucked up to get it fixed).

Now down to the armor: It’ connected to his organic body in three points: On his neck (the collar thingie you see, he has scars from the cirgury creeping up), on his core and on his spine. The latter is a way to connect the armor to his nervous system and brain, connecting the bionic eye too. The powercore is housed in this hybrid between augmentation and piece of armor, since it’ not really part of his system but he can’t exactly take it off, from here, emerges the Pulsefire Cannon and the rest of the armor at will. 

The things on his ears are for protection, since you don’t exactly want tore eardrums while jumping from timeline to timeline or fighting, and both of those things might get you exactly that. ]