#but just as much I am a maker of jokes and a drawer of pictures at heart

[austarus]

HR Wells x Reader Scars Across Time

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to @acewest360

Word Count: 6245

*Hey everyone! Please remember to hit that reblog button as well as liking and following! Sharing the content makes the world spin~ This is probably going to be the last fic I post until winter break. Things have not been going too well for me, I rarely have time to sit down for myself and write or play pokemon at all. But I promise I’ll be back with more fics and series parts with the winter season

“I can’t feel my fingers.”

“And this is why we keep our gloves on,” you emphasized, taking your gloves off and handing it to him to wear as the two of you walked to your apartment, “especially during a snowball fight.”

“But you’ve got to admit, I nailed BA pretty hard.”

“You did,” you giggled and pecked his rosy-cold cheek. “And I’m proud that you did. Knock some sense into him and Harry while you’re at it.” You mumbled the latter part to yourself. The other Wells doppelganger was still having trouble with his daughter, who’s back on Earth-2. She had ‘kicked him off his own Earth’.

“It’s too bad Jesse wasn’t here; I think she would have liked it.”

“She’s still upset with Harry, HR.”

HR did a half shrug, side-glancing at you as he took your hand in his, “She missed all the failed igloos and speedy snow angels, the laughs and arguments we all ended up having on who cheated or not.”

“She’s busy on her Earth being the Flash, though. That must be taking priority over everything else.”

“I know,” he sighed, taking your hand into his. You felt how frigid they were through the knitted gloves you had given him. His eyes met yours are the two of you walked, the chilly air piercing the layers you have on. The novelist hoped that his doppelgangers daughter has been taking care of herself as she takes care of her city. “Harry shouldn’t have avoided her and the issue between them though, that’ll only create a greater rift between them. I know he’s not good with emotions, but… Something doesn’t feel right, like… it just doesn’t add up.”

You only offered the novelist a half-shrug, not really knowing what to say. “I think they’ll end up talking it out, whatever it is that happened between them. They’ll eventually get through it together.” You unlocked the door to your apartment and pushed it open. The door creaked nastily from its hinges; you’ve been meaning to fix that. “Now, let’s first get you inside and thawed out, I’m pretty sure I have some cold sludge stuck down the back of my shirt.”

The two of you entered your cozy apartment, kicking off any spare snow remnant that had clung onto your boots and clothes. Both you and HR left your boots by the door. A shiver ran down your spine, the ice-water mix shifted in your shirt as you moved uncomfortably through your home. You attempted to not track any water on the hardwood floors, eagerly locating some dry towels while HR brought a laundry basket from one of the rooms. The taller man returned with one as you handed him a fluffy towel. You and HR stripped off the winter-y layers of clothes, placing them into the basket. Your long-sleeve shirt clung to your skin, the cool damp cloth making you a bit antsy to get out of it. The Earth-19 being took the basket to throw in the washer, adding in the appropriate amount of detergent and softener. He whistled throughout completing his task, towel around his neck. HR started drying his hair off as he walked back to the living room.

You turned on the weather channel, overhearing Iris mention something about a serious storm going to hit. Flipping through the channels, you finally landed on the Central City News station and just in time for the weather spokesperson to come on screen. The woman fully articulated the severity the storm could cause as well as how many inches of snow to expect with an estimated time. HR’s ears had perked up, eyeing you from behind the couch as you watched the news. You ran a hand through your damp-ish hair before deciding to set it in a towel turban. Well, it’s a good thing I went grocery shopping yesterday. I should still have the portable heater that Cisco made just in case. The candles and matches should be in a spare drawer somewhere.

You glanced over your shoulder to see HR with chaotically messy hair and the collar of his shirt soaked. You nibbled on your bottom lip while setting down the TV remote. “Hey, um… HR do you want to stay over the night? There’s a winter storm coming and stuff,” You sheepishly wrung your fingers for wanting to ask him to stay the night when you knew he probably had an upcoming deadline to meet. Am I being selfish? I’m mean… we’ve been together for almost a little bit over a year now. Gah, fuck, I’m overthinking again. Stupid past relationship trauma and emotional distress. You just didn’t want to inconvenience him.

You will never deny how safe you felt around him, how you didn’t need to be careful of how to act. You can be you. And HR can be the dorkily cute novelist that he is with no filter in regard to his ideas and thoughts and expressions. The two of you complimented each other, two wounded souls just fixing and adoring each other. It took a couple of weeks for you to open up about your past relationships to the novelist, which he listened with understanding and concern taking hold in his eyes. He had done the same thing you had done. HR had proposed to ask three questions and you would need to answer fully and honestly with the reward in return. A reward of something you had long forgotten because having HR understand your past like you had done with him caused your heart to swell to a grand scale.

HR’s gaze softened at you, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “I don’t mind staying the night.” It’s so much better than sharing space with one grumpy scientist back at the labs who’ll probably hurl objects at me if I do anything out of line in his eyes. He saw that bit of insecurity eating at you, and he would do all he can to brush it away. Your insecurities had lessened over time, but every now and then it pops back up. But it’s understandable, you were trying your best to be a good and considerate girlfriend.

HR’s heart melted when you perked up, a bright smile crossing your face as if your sullen thoughts had washed away in an instant. “That means we can even make s’mores tonight!”

“How-“

“-I bought this handy dandy electric s’mores maker-”

“-Birdy, we’ve talked about this. You can’t buy every single thing from Amazon.”

“But… but the s’mores.”

“Do I need to take your debit card from you?” HR joked at the pout you had given him, the both of you knowing he would actually do no such thing. But he worried of these little impulse buys you get yourself into. Especially when prompted by Cisco, Iris, and Caitlin.

“I will fucking fight you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re right, I love you too much.”

“Was it really necessary though?”

“… Yes, the state of my survival depends on it.”

“Liar,” HR sighed to himself. “I’m guessing Cisco and Iris happened to be browsing through Amazon again when they got bored? And you happened to be with them? Browsing from page to page, especially the bargains section.”

“… Maybe~”

“…”

“Don’t worry, I made sure I paid my rent and taken care of the apartment before deciding to buy the s’mores maker.”

“Good.”

“Plus, I really bought it for you.” HR felt the tips of his ears warm a bit. “You said it was one of the things you used to make with your mom, but now you just don’t have the time to camp or be by a fire to make them. So… I got this for when you’d come over and stuff…”

“How did I ever get so lucky to have someone as precious as you in my life, my little birdy?”

Your giggle allowed his heart to jump through hoops. Hail started pounding on the windows of your apartment catching both your attentions. “We should probably go wash up. I think I still have some clothes you left when you slept over a few times.” An idea lit up brilliantly in your mind, your brain already gathering the necessary materials.

A smile graced HR’s face, feeling his heart flutter as you shuffled to gather his clothes. I would do anything for you. The taller man looked out the window, observing the outside world ravaging in the heaviness of white fluff. The power might go out soon. If we’re lucky, then it doesn’t. But mother nature doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. “Which drawer are they in?” He questioned, padding off to your bedroom but throwing a glance at you.

“I think they might be in the top left drawer,” you lied to him, needing to buy some time. “I’m not really sure. But if not, you’ll have to look around for them in my closet or something.”

You hurried to the bathroom once he was out of sight, stepping closer to the closet. Twisting the handle, you were greeted with towels on one shelf and scented candles on another. Now, what to choose. You opted for the scents of Balsam-Cedar and Autumn Leaves from Yankee Candle. Scattering the small candle containers around the tub, you made sure they were positioned in a place to avoid any fires. This is going to look simply divine. You mused a cheery hum from your lips as you worked fast. The electric lighter was in a drawer along with the bath bombs for relaxation. You contemplated whether the tiny flower petals were a bit overkill, then figured that it would be. I’m extra as fuck anyway, so why the hell not. You pulled out the mason jar filled with pastel pink-blue hydrangea and hibiscus petals. With everything set up, you just had to fill up the tub with water and work your magic. Shutting off the bathroom lights, you shuffled over to your room right as HR let out an ‘aha!’ when he found his checkered cotton pajama bottoms.

“Come take a bath with me,” you started, taking his hand and squeezing it meaningfully with jubilant warmth within your eyes. “We can warm up faster in less time before the storm cuts out the power.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to…” He trailed off; his other arm held his clothes to his chest. You knew what he meant and nodded assumingly. An ex many years ago had tried to drown you once, but… Your ex isn’t HR. The man in front of you is considerate, kind, dorky, and quirky. The man in front of you is more wholesome and beautiful inside and out than any other man you had been with. You knew the novelist would never dream of hurting you. We’ve proven that much to each other in the past year, we wouldn’t hurt each other no matter what.

“I trust you, HR.” You leaned up and kissed his nose gingerly, “You know I feel safer around you.”

“And I, you,” the taller man allowed you to tug him to the bathroom once you had pulled out your own pajamas and undergarments.

“Before we go inside, I’m going to need to you wait out here for a few moments.”

“Interesting. What are you planning, little birdy?”

“Who? Lil ol’ me? Nothing really!” You responded with a cheeky grin before entering the bathroom. HR just kept that boyish smirk on his face then sneezed. God, he loves you, but he needed to get out of these clothes soon. Another sneeze left him when the sound of water graced the silence in the apartment. The hail had stopped, but heavier clumps of packing snow fell onto the city.

“Done~” you mused with childish delight, opening the bathroom door and ushering him inside. HR held his breath as the scents of the forest greeted him. The candles were beautifully lit around the tub, flickering and wavering as it cradled the bathroom with a dim glow. The bathroom lights were off to allow the candles to work their magic in the darkness. Neither of you would deny the warmth the candles brought as the flames danced happily in their respective glass communities. Scents of cedar oak, maple trees, and autumn leaves flourished in the air, but it wasn’t overbearing. The running water moved gently as you had begun to strip down and out of your clothes. Your movements shook HR out of his trance, tugging his own clothes off, but stopped short of shrugging his pants off when he saw all of you. Your eyes caught his intense gaze. A tight knot formed in the pit of your stomach.

“HR?”

“You’re…” He couldn’t find the right words. Any word couldn’t justify the beauty in front of him. “You’re elegantly divine.” Is what he settled for as he felt hot oil splash onto his cheeks.

“It’s not something you haven’t seen before.”

“It’s something that I hope I don’t have the misfortune to never see.”

You screamed on the inside as your mind started spinning at his desire. A smug grin grew on his face as you looked away, stumbling over to a jar on the sink counter. HR fully stripped, coming up behind you with his arms encasing you and strong hands resting on your hips as he watched. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned back into him, dropping a good two handfuls of flower petals into the water. His body, while chilled from your earlier winter-y activities still provided your own with a spectacle of warmth. Goosebumps gradually ran over every in of your skin. The taller man watched you with tired eyes.

“You know you’re going to have to let me go so we can wash up, right?”

HR pouted, to which you leaned up on your tippy toes to try to kiss his pout away. “Fine, but I think we both deserve some time to cuddle.”

“I was going to trap you in bed, regardless.”

A quiet laugh left his lips. Breaking away from his sturdy limbs and wonderfully sculpted body, you rifled through a drawer for a bath bomb. Milk and Honey~ Unwrapping it and disposing of its bindings into the trash, you set it down into the water as it instantly fizzed.

“Wait, you like bath bombs?” HR questioned with an arched eyebrow.

“Yeah, but only the organically made ones- that way it doesn’t irritate my skin.” You shut off the hot water and pulled out the necessary towels for the both of you.  “Also, they smell phenomenal!”

“They do.”

“What’s wrong?”

“One year on this Earth and I hadn’t even noticed that you had bath bombs too. Do yours also release an underwater firecracker?”

“An underwater firecracker??”

“Yeah, little ocean sparks underwater that also stimulate the water to move like the waves as if pulled from the effects of the moon.”

You just stared down at the slowly fizzing bath bomb in disappoint. “Why don’t you do that? Rude.” The novelist craned his head down to kiss your cheek with a snicker at your evident disappointment.

You stuck one foot in, the warmth enticing you as a hum left your lips before going all in. A wave of relief washed over your muscles as a tired groan left your lips while shutting your eyes. Leaning back, your skin touched the cool marble of the tub as the water drifted in multiple directions. The water rose to just above the top of your cleavage. HR had followed suit once you fully entered, sitting across from you with his legs crossed. A sigh had left him as he felt the tension in his body break away, the scents also helping him ease into relaxation. After a moment he pulled you in between his legs and you humored him because his were so long that they needed the space. Your eyes finally adjusted to the brightness set by the candles from your position.

You eyed the scar on his chest, teeth raking over your bottom lip. The one where Savitar had left his mark. Those thoughts came back. Your throat dried instantly. Swallowing thickly, your mouth moved on its own accord. “I almost lost you.” HR froze as he leaned his broad back against the tub, an arm on the rim of the cool marble. You reached out a hand to trace over the scarred skin. The closer you had gotten- the more you looked at his upper body- was the more you mentally berated yourself under the soft glow of the candlelight. Scared paths and crossroads of tinged undertones on his skin, some faint- others dark and deep. A few were clean and a few others were messy. Even the scar, perfectly hidden by his left eyebrow seemed to be clearer to your eyes now. Your heart sank in your chest, frustration and anger and hurt welling up inside you at the pain HR must have endured over the years. But mostly, anger and hatred towards yourself. How have I been so blind? How many times have my eyes overlooked these? How pathetic and ignorant have I become? HR shivered under your touch, under your gaze over the ugly reminders on his body. “We’ve been together for a year,” you started, “a little bit over a year- and I’m a damned fool for never truly seeing how hurt you’ve been.”

“I…” The words died in HR’s mouth. The sullen look in your glassy eyes, the pained expression on your face. His heart felt heavy, yet it oddly thrummed loudly in his chest. The warmth of the water didn’t help how you were feeling.

“And for that, I’m sorry.”

“Just being by my side and seeing who I am- how I’m worth something, exceeds any grim reminder of my past.”

“But, I didn’t-”

HR took your hand and intertwined your fingers together, “You’re the light of my life, you allowed me to forget my past and accepted me, all of me. I don’t hold it against you that you didn’t notice, we’ve been going through one hoop after another with these crazed villains. Hell, I forget the scars are even there when you’re with me… I feel whole when you’re with me.” The novelist strained emphasis on the last sentence. You felt the tears start to riot in your eyes before streaming down your face. HR gently cupped your face, wiping the tears away with a dry hand. “I’m happy that you overlooked them. I’m happy that I could shed them when I’m around you.”

You were silent for a few seconds. “I’m still mad at Iris,” you whispered with a sharp sniffle, your fingers finding the scar over his heart once more. “No, I’m pissed that she didn’t the willpower and guts to speak up when she had a chance. We… we could have prevented… both of you could have-”

“-We could have gone through a million different avenues, but the results would have led to the same road.”

“Wouldn’t it? You, at least, couldn’t have been hurt if we had done something differently.”

“Iris could have been hurt.”

“You were hurt!” You snapped as your voice wavered. “You were going to die, had it not been for Julian and Cisco and Barry. I… I can’t lose you. Every night, a dark thought slips into my mind. You could have died- You could have died right there when you were just starting to live a life of your own. All because of Barry and Iris.” Your cheeks felt wet and only then did you realize that the tears had pooled up and escaped. His gaze softened at you, nonetheless, the tears didn’t take away from any frustration that you had presented.

HR recognized the bitterness in your voice. The fiery anger within your eyes as you looked up at him with desperation. The same anger that he had long disciplined himself to distance from. Anger blinds all gates of logic within the mind. Because in a way, you were right. Iris could have easily said something when she was disguised as his persona. Instead the queen of the castle seemed reluctant in sacrificing herself, instead allowing the pawn to take the fall. HR had thrown it all away to save someone who didn’t really care to know him and treated him with disdain at first. All to prove to the others that he was worth being on their side. To prove to Savitar that he wasn’t a coward like the projected future had revealed. But most importantly, to prove to himself that he’s capable of more than just standing on the sidelines as backup. The anger and distraught and hate. HR worked tirelessly to move past them. You were his future now. You and the fact that in the end he seemed to earn his spot. Sadly, even at the expense of his own life. At the end of the day those were the cold, hard facts. Ones he willingly chooses to not give in to.

“But I’m here.” HR wrapped his long arms around you, pulling you closer to him. You choked back on a sob. Your anger waned at his gentle touch. “I’m here and I’m alive,” he let out roughly, letting you cry it all out as he rubbed your back soothingly. HR knew everything you had said had been true. And even if it did work out in the end, he didn’t want to imagine a reversal of the situation. If it had been you who had traded places with Iris instead of him. The novelist can only hope that the team wouldn’t have to put anyone else in a situation like that. That Barry and Iris wouldn’t have to play close to this dangerous game of chess again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you sniffled, calming down with a stutter. You knew that anger blinds judgment. You didn’t hate Iris, but you resented her inability to save both her live and HR’s. HR wet his hands and cleared your face from any remnant of tears. kissing your eyelids sweetly.

“Interesting that you put hydrangeas and hibiscus petals.”

“How so? And how did you know?” you raised a questioning eyebrow at HR.

“The jar’s labeled.” You facepalmed at yourself. Of course, the jar’s fucking labeled, I’m such a dumbass. “But also, I studied the language of the flowers as well as the language of the colors for my writing.”

“So, what do hibiscus plants stand for?”

“From what I recall,” HR scratched the back of his neck in recollection, “they stand for love and affection between family members, friends, and others. A perfect statement of gentle feelings towards the others. It can even symbolize passionate relationships.” You had placed both hands on his shoulders as he spoke, mesmerized by his knowledge of the flower. He wiggled his eyebrows at his later statement, causing you to giggle with flushed cheeks.

“What about the hydrangeas?”

“Ironically, heartfelt emotions,” he kissed your cheek, rubbing the skin of your lower back as he continued. “Gratitude for being understood.”

“I would call it more of a fateful coincidence,” you mumbled, pressing your lips to his for a chaste kiss. But truthfully, he just wanted to roll around in bed with you and kiss you silly to his heart’s content… amongst other certainly heart-fluttering bedroom activities. When you pulled away, your eyes drifted over his figure. “Can- Can I ask you about them?”

Them. HR knew what you were referring too. That curiosity of yours is one day going to land you in trouble, birdy. HR mused to himself with a little noise of thought. He was well past the mental pain, taking up meditation and various things to acknowledge and push past it. But the idea of you feeling the need to know didn’t rub him the wrong way like it should have. Rather, it stirred something deep in his heart, a playful glint hidden in his eyes. “Depends on what’s in it for me, little birdy?”

You thought deeply for a minute and HR remained silent, running patterns over the skin of your arm. You felt warmth build up on your skin with every contact. “One night.”

“One night…?”

“One night, you can do anything to me- within reasonable bounds. You decide when the night can be.”

The Wells doppelganger immediately licked his lips and felt his blood rush at the notion. “Is that your final condition?” Because if it is, this big bad wolf’s going to make sure to devour his little red riding hood all night long. HR tilted your head back, a hooked finger under your chin as his lips skimmed over yours. There’s much planning that needs to be done.

“Y-yeah.”

“‘Yeah’ isn’t a word of confirmation.” Learned that one from a law buddy back on Earth-19.

“Yes,” you won’t deny the anticipation in your voice. The murky white waters retaliated with every movement from the two of you. “One question, one scar.”

“One question, one scar, one night.” The novelist smirked down at you, a cocky look on his face.

“Fair enough.” I essentially ordered one love romp of a night… I’m so fucked, literally and figuratively. I just hope I don’t have to come into the Labs the next day, neither of us.

HR watched you closely, grabbing the body wash as you decided with a focused look on what scar to choose. Your eyes roamed his body. You already knew of his mental scars, and he knew of yours. The novelist waited patiently as you quietly processed the image of them on his skin. Some scars on his body were from hitmen, bullies, or muggers- mainly during his young adult life or when he was creating STAR Labs with Randolph. That bastard probably sent some after me, wouldn’t be surprised since he knew I would be executed if I crossed dimensions. Bath sponge in hand, he lathered your body wash on the sponge with every intention that he would help wash you while he reiterated a scarred tale.

“What’s the story behind the one on your eyebrow?”

That one took HR by surprise; usually human nature would be intrigued with the most noticeable of things- big things. Instead, you pinpointed the one that was easily concealable in plain sight. Settling for the smaller scar in comparison to the others. The novelist took your arm, scrubbing your skin with lips pressed thinly. You opened your lips to ask if he’d rather you choose a different one, but HR cut you off in a matter of milliseconds.

“I got it back during my university years. I was an English Arts major,” he paused for a moment, switching to your other arm to give it the same treatment. “My father obviously didn’t approve, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to keep going with my literary studies, taking up photography in my spare time. One day, I was just walking through the city in the late evening. Dismal and dark, with fog everywhere.” HR rinsed off your arms, gesturing for you to turn around between his legs so he can start on your back. He plucked off the PanOxyl Foaming Wash bottle from beside a candle, using a different sponge specifically for the backwash. You had told him that sometimes you unfortunately get acne on your back and shoulders, so you use this backwash to keep it clean and acne-free. To your surprise he wasn’t revolted in any way, instead he admired your constant diligence with wanting to keep good hygiene, especially since so many factors can trigger different responses from the human body. You silently waited, listening intently as he continued. “I heard whimpers. Cries coming from down the alley. There was this… this small puppy- I-I can’t really recall what breed it was, but it looked hunger and tired and scared.” You looked back at him, heart aching as you saw his eyes show the pain in his heart too. “I thought to myself. How could someone leave a helpless baby animal to starve in the city’s alleyways? Why couldn’t someone have the heart to nurture it?”

“What did you do?”

HR ran the water over your back to remove any bubbles or foaming wash from your skin. “I saw myself in the puppy. Lost. Abandoned. Alone.” he whispered as he raised his chin, eyes finally meeting yours as you fully turned to observe him. Your gaze softened; your wet hand reached out to cup his jaw. Droplets of water fell from your skin into the colored water as he nuzzled into your touch. “I approached it, I wanted to keep it safe and warm. It didn’t object when I picked it up, cradling it like it the baby that it is. It trembled and shivered in my arms.” His heart dipped remembering the way the puppy felt in his arms. One of his larger hands held onto yours, the one cupping his chiseled jaw. “I had to do something, couldn’t just leave it there.” I couldn’t abandon it.

“There’s a ‘but’, isn’t there?”

“There always is…” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Things went south when a couple of drunk guys found me and the puppy. Turns out these were the same guys that had been harassing the little one through the alleys. They had been trying to use the puppy in illegal cage fights.” HR bowed his head slightly. “One thing led to the other, there was a knife and I was running like hell with the puppy. Until they cornered me, hence…” He trailed off, gesturing to his eyebrow scar with a free hand.

“HR,” you whispered, but he squeezed your hand as he took it off his face. Your other hand tightened into a fist in the water. HR’s eyes caught the movement but didn’t say anything.

“They roughed me up pretty good- I’m wasn’t- I’m not a fighter, but I would have been damned if that little puppy had been hurt. I ended up finding the little guy a home where he can be looked after and well-fed and safe.” You unclenched your fist, gently listing it to stroke his stubbly cheek as he concluded. HR ran his fingers down the length of your arm.

“You’re safe.”

“I know. You’re safe too, my little birdy.”

“I know.”

You twisted your body, stretching an arm out as you reached for his Old Spice body wash. It was your turn to help wash him. You started working away at his sturdy chest, obviously doing your best to not ogle at his abs and his entirely toned framework. But he caught your eyes drifting off more than once.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always listening to me.”

“I love you, HR. And I would do anything in the multiverse to keep you safe and loved. You’re my one one one after all.” You winked at him, eliciting a deep chuckle from his lips. Music to your eyes, smiling as the corners of his lips lifted upwards. “There’s that radiant smile I love so much.” The man blushed but continued to grin.

HR ran a hand through his hair before catching a glimpse of his hair in the mirror. He squinted a bit as he held a lock between two fingers. “Looks to be about that time of year again.” Your fingers threaded through his hair once he released the strand.

“I’m assuming a haircut is needed.”

“Yup”

“I will never understand how men ask for their hair to be done.”

“It’s honestly really easy, with the provided visuals of course. I should take you with me once.”

“I’d be okay with that.”

“Probably going to need to dye my hair black again.”

“I think I have some leftover dye in a cabinet somewhere. You know… I wouldn’t mind seeing silver streaks on you. Makes you look like a sly silver fox to me.”

“… I’ll keep that in mind for next time as long as you allow me to learn how to do those intricate braids in your hair.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Wells.” You leaned up to kiss his lips.” The novelist smirked against your lips as he ran a hand over your bum. Neither of you had noticed that the water was starting to become lukewarm, the candles and warmth of each other distracted the two of you. “It’s a done deal.”

Taking his Old Spice Shampoo in hand, you squeezed a good amount out meanwhile he tilted his head down closer for you to reach. HR’s hands settled on your hips, steadying you on his lap to have your legs wrap around his waist. You scrubbed and massaged his scalp, creating a bubbly hairdo for him. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips. But once your bright eyes met his baby blue ones, you felt your heart skip in your chest.

HR felt your hands slow as you retracted them but made no effort in submerging them in the water to get rid of the bubbles. Instead your smaller hands rested on his broad shoulders with the tips of your fingers doing a sort of feather-light dance against his skin. The novelist found himself mesmerized by your radiance, never mind the candlelight that continued to flicker around the both of you. You felt hypnotized by his baby blue eyes, pulling you into an ocean of wonder. HR licked his lips with half-lidded eyes as you moved to kiss him deeply, your lips slowly moved against his with a sensual kind of dance to it. The doppelganger breathed you in slowly and he pressed forward. His palm rested on your cheek while his other hand took one of yours to hold onto. The kiss broke but was soon reconnected. Over and over again. The moment wasn’t rushed. There was no hurry to get to the finish line. It was just you and him and the wisps of fire around the two of you. HR nibbled on your lower lip before you reluctantly pulled away. Your tongue ran over your swollen bottom lip.

“We should probably finish up before the power decides to run out,” you started in a low-ish voice. HR noted the slight jitter in it and his heart swelled at the effect of his kisses on you.

“I don’t think it might get to that point. We’d probably end up snowed in, but there’s a chance that the power might not go out.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I know. If we must, then by all means,” The novelist murmured, nuzzling his nose with yours before the two of you finished washing up.

HR stepped out first from the foamy waters of the tub, stretching a fine limb over for some dry towels. He handed one to you when you had stepped out after him unfortunately a little less graceful as you almost slipped on the tiled floor. HR’s hand reached out to steady you. Giving him a sheepish smile, you whispered a thank you to which he returned with a wink. He knew you could be clumsy at times, but nevertheless he’s grown to love that about you. HR had come to realize that him being able to catch you from tripping over your feet or stopping you from running into things would give him a sense of ‘being your hero’ or ‘saving you’. It was just a small thing that made him happy. A ‘your hero in-the-moment’ kind of thing.

You wrapped the towel around you to rid your body of the water and bubbles. The two of you had cleaned each other well which made you sigh in contentment because feeling clean and being clean made you feel satisfied and relieved after a long day. You couldn’t help the stare you had fallen into as your eyes roamed over your boyfriends’ body as he dried himself off. Subconsciously, you licked your lips at every dip of skin, every inch of muscle. Wrapping another towel around your hair, your eyes never left HR until he turned towards you. You blinked for a split second and hastily busied yourself with pulling your undergarments from your clothes pile. HR walked back past you with his pajama’s on. The novelist had every intention in extinguishing the candles that were left only to land a soft smack on your ass. You let out a little yelp in surprise at the impact.

“See something you like?” He teased as he blew the fire out. He knew. There was a large mirror in the bathroom after all. A smirk finally settled on his face, one that he had been repressing until he smacked your ass. The heat had stayed on your cheeks from the bath and getting caught.

“Maaaaaaaaybeeeeeeee.” To be honest, it was a nice ass.

HR chuckled, “Well, since you’re done why don’t you get that cute ass of yours in bed while I go and get the smores maker?”

“How can I ever refuse such a generous offer?” You hummed, leaning up to kiss him. The Wells doppelganger nipped at your lips in return then broke away from you. He stepped towards the door. “HR?”

“Hm?” He turned back to you with curious eyes. There was a soft glow that had settled within your eyes. The sight made his body tingle.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[alexander-turners]

Roger’s Little Family

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader (Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor x Reader)

Summary: Roger returns home at 3am and finds you and the kids sleeping together. He spends some quality dad time with his children in the bed. Also a puppy named Sprinkles makes an appearance.

Wordcount: 2224

Warnings: fluff, dad Roger (is that a warning?), implied smut

A/N: I’m so sorry if there are any mistakes. English is not my first language.

I hope you guys like this one. It’s like a prequel to my other fic Home Is Where the Heart Is but it’s a sequel to Skin-to-Skin Contact. But they can be read in different order too. Tell me what do you think ;)

Gif credit goes to owner/maker.

Roger unlocked the front door as quietly as possible. You and the kids were probably sleeping; after all, it was 3 in the morning.

Finally, he managed to carry his huge suitcase inside the house. He let out a deep breath, eyes roaming around the dark hall and the stairs. “Home Sweet Home,” he whispered before making his way to the kitchen.

As he reached the kitchen Roger turned on the lights, but immediately regretted it. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness outside and the lights only hurt his eyes.

Reaching over his head, he grabbed a glass and filled it with water. He lifted the glass towards his lips but something on the fridge caught his eyes.

Roger left the glass on the counter and walked to the fridge. Usually, it was covered with magnets all around the world – New York, Sydney, Rome, Paris; polaroids of Roger holding baby Ben and Sophie, silly family pictures. Also, you would put some of Ben and Sophie’s drawings and new photos which Roger hadn’t seen because of the touring. You would pin them using the magnets.

He grabbed the first new photo and squinted at it. It was Sophie’s. Her face was covered with chocolate ice cream but her smiling face was enough to make him happy. The next photo was you and Ben making kissy faces to each other. Roger let out a chuckle and pinned them back.

You weren’t Linda McCartney but your photography skills were as good as hers.

Roger drank his water, washed the glass and left it on the drying rack. He turned off the light and grabbed his suitcase, walking up the stairs.

He passed the kids’ bedroom, knowing where they were. As he reached the bedroom you and he shared, the drummer opened the door very quietly. And there we you and the kids, asleep in the king-sized bed. His son was sprawled on his side of the bed. You loved to joke that Ben was sleeping exactly like him, which meant like a dead person, nothing could wake him up.

You were snuggled with Sophie but your left hand was touching Ben’s chest too, just to be sure he was there.

As much as he loved recording, touring he was most happy with you, Ben and Sophie, with his little family. Damn him when he said to John ‘Your “Best Friend” song sucks” almost ten years ago, because he was wrong.

Roger left his suitcase next to the door and took off his jacket. The sound made Sophie shift in your arms, Roger stopped moving and his daughter fell asleep.

Throwing the jacket over his suitcase, the drummer made his way to the bed. He sat quietly on the bed. Ben was not only sprawled on the bed but also he kicked the covers. There was no need for a DNA test, Ben was his son. Roger himself would kick off the covers when he’s sleeping alone.

The blond drummer tucked him in, then leaned down and kissed Ben and Sophie’s foreheads. To kiss you Roger got up and went to your side of the bed because he didn’t want to squish Ben and Sophie.

The bed sank down when he sat. First, he removed a piece of hair which has fallen over your eyes, then he kissed your forehead and lips.

That woke you up. You slightly jumped and stared at the person next to you. You were ready to scream but when he spoke and you calmed down.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry I woke you up, love.”

Roger grabbed your outstretched hand and kissed it, “Rog, you scared me.”

“It wasn’t my intention,” he whispered, kissing your lips. “I will take a quick shower. You go back to sleep.”

You sighed sleepily but nodded, pulling him by his shirt to kiss him one more time.

Roger broke the kiss and pushed you back towards the pillow, you both chuckled, “Go back to sleep, love, it’s late.” he mumbled.

You lied back; Roger covered you with the blanket then went to Ben’s side, who had pushed the blanket again. After tucking him in, the drummer undressed silently, grabbed a white t-shirt and black boxers from the drawer and got inside the bathroom.

The shower helped a lot; the hot water calmed his sore muscles and increased his desire for sleep. Nothing could replace sleeping in bed than sleeping on the plane. Nothing could replace sleeping in his own bed with you and of course sometimes with the kids too.

Roger got out of the shower with a towel in his hand, drying his wet hair but something in the bed has changed. This time Ben was sleeping next to you and Sophie on his side of the bed. The drummer blinked a few times, still trying to figure out how this happened. But he let it go, threw the towel to his suitcase and got in the bed.

You let out a tiny sigh and hugged Ben closer to you, probably thinking it was Sophie. Before closing his eyes he kissed both of his children’s foreheads and your lips.

Sophie clutched herself to her dad like a koala; Ben did the same thing to Sophie. Roger smiled and closed his eyes. Sleepily his hand reached for yours and squeezed it.

Before drifting off he felt your hand squeezing his.

***

Ben opened his eyes and rubbed them, trying to wake up. He watched you sleeping, a mischievous smile appeared on his beautiful face. He raised his hand and booped your nose. You shifted in your sleep but didn’t wake up. Ben chuckled, he wanted to do it again but withheld himself. Instead, he peeked over your head at the clock. It was 9:15.

He still remembered how Grandma Winnie taught him the clock and how to recognize what time it was.

Ben turned to Sophie, he was ready to wake her up as well but when the boy saw his dad sleeping next to his sister his blue eyes widened.

He started shaking Sophie, at first gently but a few moments later more forcefully, he started whisper yelling too.

“Sophie, wake up!” the blonde girl opened her eyes reluctantly, “Daddy’s home!”

Sophie blinked, still sleepy, “What?”

Ben pointed at Roger, whisper yelling once again, “Daddy’s home! Look!”

The three-years-old girl turned around and her eyes almost fell from their sockets.

Ben helped her to up and both of them started jumping up and down, yelling “DADDY’S HOME!” as loudly as they can, neighbors were probably awake now.

Which woke you and Roger as well.

When the siblings saw that their dad was up they threw themselves over his body.

Roger grunted loudly as his kids’ bodies landed over his. You, on the other hand, were laughing, it was the funniest but also the most heartwarming sight.

“Daddy, you are home!” Ben and Sophie said at the same time.

“Yes, I am.” he smiled as his kids sat between him and you.

“When did you come?” asked Sophie, as she held his right hand in her tiny ones. She’d help him later put some cream over his blisters on his hands.

“Last night, you were sleeping.” they nodded, “So tell me what did you and mommy do when I was away.”

Ben and Sophie started speaking together; their arms outstretched gesticulating like crazy. No one could figure out what they were saying, even the best lip-reading expert would fail in his job.

Roger held out his hands laughing, oh god he had missed this, yes he had seen you and the kids three weeks ago when he returned home for a few days for Sophie’s birthday, but he still missed it. The craziness, the never-ending questions from them, how they talked together when they were excited.

“I can’t understand what you are saying,” you laughed and moved next to your husband.

“Daddy wants you to speak in turns, can both of you do that, please?”

“Thank you, mommy.”

Sophie looked at Ben and whispered something in his ear, your son nodded and jumped out of the bed dragging his little sister behind.

“What was that?” Roger chuckled.

You kissed his cheek, “You will see. They want your approval to keep something.”

He hummed, pulling you to his body; you chuckled breathlessly as he pressed his lips over yours. But for his taste, the kiss lasted less than two seconds.

“Roger, the kids are in the house and they will return any second,” you warned him.

“That didn’t stop you three weeks ago.” he reminded you.

Your cheeks turned red, god he loved making you blush, “Shut up, the door was locked then and it was middle of the night.” you looked over your shoulder, as you heard your children’s voices, “They’re coming.”

First Sophie entered the room, she jumped on the bed and asked with her sweet voice, “Mommy can you tell daddy the story how we got Sprinkles?”

“Sprinkles?”

“Of course, sweetie.” Ben entered the room too; he was clearly hiding something under his t-shirt, the thing was moving and squirming.

Roger’s gaze moved from you to Ben and back to you.

“Rog, you know Mrs. Eastman, right?”

Mrs. Eastman was your neighbor, she is in her 70s, a very nice old lady who would look after Ben and Sophie for a few hours when you and Roger are working at the same time.

“Yes,” he answered but didn’t quite catch where this conversation was going.

“So you know Mrs. Eastman has a golden retriever named Lucy right?” he nodded finally figuring out what Ben was probably hiding under his t-shirt. “A few days after you left Lucy had 5 puppies,” Sophie held out five fingers, which made Roger smile, “and she gave us one of the puppies as a gift.”

As a cue, Ben jumped on the bed and pulled the small golden retriever puppy under his t-shirt. “Please, daddy can we keep it?”

“Pretty please!” Sophie wrapped his arms around his neck, it always worked, she knew it and damn it Roger knew it too.

You and the drummer exchanged a look, you smiled and shrugging.

“Mommy agreed on keeping Sprinkles but she said you have to agree too,” Ben explained, petting the puppy. “And Sprinkles is a boy, like you and me, daddy.” Ben gave his dad a toothy smile.

Roger looked at the distance, like he was thinking, “I would agree on two conditions. First, he won’t be sleeping on this bed or yours, okay?” his children nodded, “Second, what kind of name this that? Sprinkles? We better change it if he will be staying with us.”

“No!” the children yelled.

“His name is Sprinkles!” Sophie yelled.

“But we didn’t hear daddy’s answer,” you interjected which made your kids stop talking and looking at Roger with hopeful eyes, “can Sprinkles stay with us?”

“Yes, he can.” Ben and Sophie jumped on him, kissing his cheeks. “Okay, okay, now go wash your faces and play with Sprinkles until mommy and I make breakfast.”

They stormed out of the room, the last thing you heard was Sophie’s muffled voice and Sprinkles’ tiny bark.

“Fuck Y/N, I just allowed them to have a dog,” he laughed.

“Technically it’s a puppy, Rog.” you kissed his lips, making him sure that what he did was right, “It’s good for them to have a dog at home, it’s good for their self-confidence and can reduce their anxiety and depression.”

“Babe, you sound just like Brian.”

You hit him playfully, “Oh, shut up. We gotta get up,” Roger’s eyes landed on your exposed stomach as you stretched, “make breakfast.”

Roger hummed, eyes still on your exposed tummy, “Do you think we have some time for a quickie?”

“Rog, the kids are probably in their room…”

“Playing with Sprinkles. How did he get that name?” he asked casually when his hand went under your t-shirt but he only caressed your stomach.

“He ate the sprinkles Sophie gave him.”

The drummer let out a snort and shook his head, “Those kids will be the dead of me.” he murmured, before asking, “Do you know that they’re switching their places while they’re sleeping?”

You pointed a finger at Roger, “I knew something was off, because a few days ago I found Ben sleeping at the other side of the bed,”

“Why am I not surprised,” Roger admitted, “last night when I came home you were hugging Sophie and after I showered and entered the room you were hugging Ben,” the drummer nodded to confirm because you were shocked, “I still don’t know how it happened.”

You shook your head, “Wow, I’m shocked…”

“Yeah, me too.” The drummer took a deep breath, as his fingers made their way to your boobs, “So, do you think we have time for a quickie?”

“No, I don’t think so, Rog,” You kissed Roger’s pouty lips, “I promise to give you the most unforgettable blowjob after we put the kids to sleep.”

His eyes widened in shock and desire, “More unforgettable than the one you gave me on my 30th birthday?”

“We will see, but you have to wait, Rog.” you left the room after winking at him.

Roger lied down on the bed, chucking to himself, “It’s good to be back.” he whispered and got up.

Tagged: @rogmeddows @ohtheseboysilove​ @witchbloodsworld @liamarietayor @benders-diamond-earring

[minnuet-archive]

Boring

Rating: G

Trigger Warnings: None (that I can think of- let me know if you find anything)

Word Count: 1,632 

Fan-fiction or Original Work? Original Work

Story Type: Short Story

Notes: I wrote this in response to the required prompt— ‘write about someone that’s opposite of you in any way’— that I needed to have along with my portfolio to get into an art high school for creative writing. I got in, so that’s good! Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Bill doesn’t do much. Every day, at 6:30 AM, his alarm goes off and he gets out of bed. He puts on slacks, a white button-up, a colorful tie, and a blazer to match his slacks. 

He then uses his beloved coffee maker to make instant Nescafe coffee, which isn’t good but does the job. He pulls open a drawer and takes a spoon out so he can add a spoonful of artificial sugar before throwing the used utensil in the sink.

Finally, he puts on his socks and Ecco dress shoes before grabbing his ‘#1 Employee’ mug (which he bought for himself) and walking out the door. 

Today is no different than any other day for simple Bill. As he walks into his office, he waves at his coworkers with a bright smile. Not a single one of them seems nearly as happy as he does.

Sitting down at his desk, he opens an excel spreadsheet. Numbers are written and deleted, emails are sent and received, and he doesn’t mind a single second of it. When he looks up from his computer to take a sip of his coffee, he sees a woman standing outside his cubicle.

“Hi, Marianne! How’s your day treating you?”

She grins at him although he’s not quite sure why. “It’s treating me pretty well. How’s your day going?”

“Good as always!” Bill laughs lightly as he raises his coffee mug to show her how much coffee is helping his day. He wonders if she got the joke.

“That’s nice. Actually, I wanted to ask you something. A few friends of mine are going out to get a few drinks and some food after work. You want to come along?” Bill’s eyebrows furrow for a moment as he contemplates why she would ask him to come along. Suddenly, he remembers that he was planning on eating a microwave dinner of chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes, and corn. 

He can’t help but sigh in content. “I wish I could. I’ve been looking forward to heating up my favorite frozen meal all day!”

Her face drops and she nods her head. “Have a good rest of your day, Bill.” When she left, she had looked a little bit disappointed, but Bill can’t put his finger on why.

Shrugging his shoulders, he looks back to his screen. Around the bottom of his computer, he sees a glowing purple light. Luminescent, it intrigues him. As he goes to move his computer, he hears the familiar chime of an email appearing in his inbox. His attention turns to the home page of his Gmail account once again and he dismisses the purple light without a second thought.

Emails later, he stands up to stretch, getting ready for his lunch break. He feels a vibration coming from his front pocket. 

Bill pulls out his phone to get a better look at who’s calling. In place of a phone number, there’s a single word.

ADVENTURE

He squints at the letters, confused as to why ‘Adventure’ is listed as the phone number. After five whole seconds of careful consideration, he decides that it must be a spam call and presses the button to decline it.

Slipping his pen and pad of paper into his bag, he takes a few steps out of his cubicle. As the confidence he shows would suggest, this is his routine.

Heading to the break room, he whistles to the tune of It’s A Small World.

Eugene stands in the break room, making himself a cup of coffee. Bill grins widely at him and Eugene waves at him. “Hey, Bill,” Before Bill can respond, he adds on. “Oh! I have something for you if you want it.”

Walking over to Eugene, Bill tries to peek and see what he has for him. “I made muffins with my wife the other day and we didn’t finish them. They’re a little bit old, but I think they’re still good. Do you want one?”

His eyes are practically glowing as he stares at the muffin. “It looks amazing! I’d love to take it!” He looks up at him.

As Eugene holds his hand out for Bill to take the muffin, Bill smiles gently at him and looks into his eyes. They stop for a moment and Eugene’s eyes contain a sense of longing (not that Bill notices). Bill takes the muffin and stands up straight again.

“Thanks, Eugene!” He spins around to the table and sits down, peeling the saran wrap off the muffin. 

Eugene looks like he has mixed feelings, but hides it well with a grin and walks out of the room. “Have a good day, Bill.” 

As Bill continues to eat his (most likely several) day-old muffin, he remembers his cat at home and becomes visibly excited to see him later.

Is Earl missing me? I hope he isn’t too worried! Thinking of Earl, he pulls out his phone to check the kitty cam he had installed. When he opens the app, he finds Earl lying lazily atop a grey couch covered in white cat hair (Earl had claimed it as his own and there was no going back).

He smiles lightly at Earl before putting away his phone and grabbing an apple and a slice of leftover pizza from his bag. The pizza is cold, dry, and hard, but Bill doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seems to enjoy it.

After eating the rest of his lunch, he sits back down at his desk, ready to work and do as much as he can.

Around 6:30 pm, as he exits the building, he begins to think once again of his microwave dinner at home. 

A wondrous sunset of yellow, orange, pink, and purple is painted across the sky and Bill stops to appreciate it for a second. When he looks back to the street in front of him, he adjusts himself and starts walking towards the side of the street. 

Despite not being built in any way, he has no trouble walking down narrow alleyways and waving at people surrounded by plumes of smoke. 

As he marches down the sidewalk of Maple Street, approaching his house, something brushes against his leg. He turns to see what it was, but finds nothing. Confused, he turns back around and catches a glimpse of a small creature scampering around the corner. 

The creature looked like it had been sparkling. It must have been the little guy’s collar. “Poor animal. I hope it finds a home!” He smiles sadly and begins to unlock the big glass door in front of his apartment complex. 

He spots the clerk sitting at the front desk and acknowledges him with a wave before entering the elevator. He presses the number five and whistles to himself as the floor moves below him. The red carpet muffles the sound of his footsteps and he unlocks the last door he’ll need to for the rest of the day. 

After heating up his microwave dinner and opening it up, he walks to his couch and plops himself down next to Earl. 

He eats in silence, but not in sadness, as he scratches Earl’s neck and ears. Without warning, he hears a voice. “We’re supposed to leave you alone, but I just can’t. I need to know why.” Her (he assumes she’s a her) voice is velvety and smooth, but also has a whimsical sort of feeling. 

For whatever reason, he sees a picture in his head of a quaint cottage made of soft light. Bill cranes his neck to see who could possibly be the owner of the voice and finds a woman with auburn hair down to her thighs. 

Her eyes look as if they’re made of melted gold— and they very well may be— and her freckles are stunning. But Bill isn’t phased. “Why what?”

She rolls her eyes in annoyance. “We’ve spent all day giving you ways to get away from reality. We went through a lot of work to give someone with a boring life a chance to have fun. But you didn’t even try to cooperate! You literally declined a call to adventure. I just need to know why.”

He nods his head slightly, finally understanding why today had been so off. “My life not being your ideal life doesn’t make it boring.”

She looks taken aback. “What?”

“You called my life boring and said you tried to help give me a chance to have fun. The thing is, whether or not you agree, I don’t think my life is boring. I love my life. I don’t need help or a call to adventure.”

“I don’t understand.” She looks sincerely lost as she looks at him. In comparison, he seems sure of himself.

His eyes are soft and caring as he speaks. “I don’t hate my job. I love numbers so it’s great to be able to work with them all day. My microwave dinner might look gross to you, but I enjoy it.”

Her face is flooded with understanding and she makes an ‘oh’ shape with her mouth. “I think I get it now.”

“I’m not oblivious to Marianne and Eugene— I just don’t think I need love in my life. At least not that kind of love and at least not right now. It might not be your definition of a good life, but it’s mine and that’s all that matters.”

She puts her hand on his shoulder for a few seconds before taking it off again. “Okay. I think I understand. I hope you keep doing what makes you happy. I’ll make sure to come back and visit sometime.”

He nods his head. “I’m looking forward to it.” With that, she dissipates and the apartment is once more wrapped in silence.

Tag List: @just-perhaps @ettawritesnstudies @abalonetea @rhycantspell @sssifonix @antisocialdragonenby @holdup-pause @sunandshinee @writingamongthecoloredroses @monstrouswrites @gaydemiboy @uptown-worm 

Let me know if you want to be added (or permanently added) or removed to the tag list! I just added a lot of close friends and people I would love to read my writing. =)

[diamondcamefromhell]

Timeless love

Jaskier x female reader series part 3

[PART 1] ; [PART  2]

Summary: This is an AU, where Y/N is a young woman, trying to make ends meet with her freelancing writing job. She lives in her small Nottingham studio apartment along with her cat Apollo. Things change when one evening as she is waiting for her taxi, she meets what she thinks is Joey Batey, but the man in front of her is convinced he’s Jaskier, a character from her current favorite show. Y/N now has to figure out what to do.

Warnings: Swearing, vomit, alcoholism and alcohol-related borderline abuse

Word count: 2,251

NOTE:

This part has some heavier stuff than any other work Ive written, so please, proceed with caution for your own sake. nothing too graphic happens, but still want to make sure you know that it does have a certain character that could be triggering to some. he wont be a dominant feature in all parts, but i feel it’s important for Jaskier to interact with people like that, as he continues to learn about our world. 

hope you enjoy this part nonetheless. feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated <3 [im really nervous to see what yall think]

I don’t know when, but I managed to get some sleep. Not much, as it was just 7 am when Apollo started meowing and jumping on me, asking to be fed. I sit up, my gaze immediately going to the coach, where Jaskier seemed to be sleeping soundly.

I crawl out of the bed, going to the kitchen, where I see lute back by the fridge. He eventually put it down last night. I wonder how long did it take for him to fall asleep. I sigh, as quietly as possible pouring some food for my cat, who purrs as a thank you.

I stare out the window, as cars start going up and down the street. The town is waking up. I tiptoe around my apartment to go get my laptop from the coffee table. I am surprised Jaskier didn’t ask about it last night. But then again, he didn’t know most of the things in my apartment, he probably was overwhelmed.

I go back to my bed, opening and booting up my old friend. As I enter the password, I am greeted with a picture of him and Geralt on that rock, at the end of episode 6. I loved that whole scene so much. I stare at it, not believing the same bard is sleeping on my coach. I know better, so I change the picture to one of the default ones.

I open chrome, exiting the youtube page that has his song on it. He is not ready for that.

Or maybe I wasn’t. But it didn’t matter.

I go to email, checking for work. I have a few requests, and I decide it’s best to get some work done before Jaskier wakes up and we have to have more awkward conversations. I manage to write two articles, and then he awakens.

His face, for a second, is full of confusion, but then he seems to remember where he is. Now, his expression grows sad. I know he probably wished this were just a nightmare. I know he wished to wake up, back home. With Geralt and even Yennefer. But instead he got me and Apollo, who was already jumping on the coach, greeting Jaskier.

“So that wasn’t a dream,” he murmurs, but I catch it. I close my laptop.

“I’m afraid not.” I respond, as he looks at me, his expression still cold. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, what can you do.” He forces a smile, which I don’t really like, but I decide it’s best not to comment on that. Instead, I nod.

“I wish I could do something. Anyway,” I clear my throat. “Are you up to trying something new?”

“Depends on what it is.” Jaskier perks up, his clouded gaze clearing a little.

“Dirty beans.” I say, jumping out of my bed, I smirk at him. “Or as people call it – coffee.”

“I think I will pass on dirty beans.” He frowns and I giggle.

“You will not.” I say, as he smiles, just a little. And I know it’s genuine. A little hope in these dark times.

I go turn on my coffee maker, putting in the capsule. I decide to make him a latte, nothing too strong. I make myself giggle, when I realize he may be lactose intolerant. I guess we will find out. I stare at him, and decide to add two sugars.

For myself, however, I go black, with one sugar. I need the energy, as I feel absolutely exhausted. I take the drinks, giving him his cup. He sniffs the drink, taking a sip. I don’t sit down, closely watching his reaction.

He doesn’t frown, and actually looks pleasantly surprised. Smile curls his lips, and I catch myself smiling too.

“Glad you like my dirty beans.” I say, finally sitting down, sipping my own. The bitter taste hits my taste buds, waking me up in an instant.

“It’s nice. Thank you.” I smile.

“You are welcome, Jaskier.” I say, leaning back on the couch. “Let me know if you are hungry, I will cook something.”

“I will, thanks.” I glance at him, realizing how surreal it is. Yet we both seem calm.

“Then we might need to go out. Try to see if we can find something around here.” I feel anxiety rush over me. “It’s best if we do it in a day too. Safer.”

“What will we look for?” I shrug, closing my eyes.

“We’ll see it when we find it.” I look at his attire now. “However, you will have to change.”

“Sorry, I didn’t pack anything.” He says, smirking, and I feel a wave of ease wash over me. I am glad he is making jokes.

“I have some clothes that should fit you. I think.” He looks confused, nearly scared, so I continue. “Not my clothes, but I buy some for Dave, he sometimes needs them, because well… he doesn’t have that much.”

“Dave?” I cant read Jaskier’s tone, but he seems confused.

“He lives in the apartment in front of mine. We are… acquaintances at best.” Jaskier nods, as I place my coffee down.

I rush to my small wardrobe, going to the second drawer, where I keep clothes for Dave. Poor guy vomits on himself so often, and he doesn’t know how to wash clothes exactly. If they’re not too disgusting, I wash them, but I keep fresh ones at hand.

I get them at a thrift store, so most of them aren’t to fancy or anything.

I pull a pair of old black jeans, trying to imagine if Jaskier could fit in them. I think he should, but then again, I didn’t exactly examine how he looks that much. I’ve seen it for hours on tv. Dave is not a big man, and I thank my angels for that, as I pull a white shirt that should fit Jaskier too. I dig around to find a pink hoodie.

For a moment I think he wouldn’t wear it, but then I remember what he is wearing now and realize he probably would be fine with a bit of pink. I turn around, revealing his outfit, but Jaskier looks confused.

“Please tell me you know how to dress yourself.” I tease, and he laughs.

“I do, if you can’t tell, I dress nicely.” I chuckle, but don’t respond. “This is weird.”

“Just change.” I throw the clothes to him, and he starts undressing before my very own eyes. It takes me a moment for shock to pass away, before the blush rushes to my face. “In the bathroom for Christs sake!”

I point to the only other room in my apartment as the bard looks very confused. But one look at me, flustered and red sends the message, as he smirks, gathering his clothes and leaving the room. I fan my face with my hands.

Now I don’t meant to act like such a loser and fear seeing a man’s nipple. It’s just that I know I might have to stay with him for a couple more days, so it might make things weird. Also, I already had a crush on him, kinda, and I didn’t want to deepen it even more.

When he comes out, I am already seated, calmed down and drinking my coffee. I turn my face and immediately feel a wave of something rush over me. He looks so different. The pants are a bit big, I notice, but nothing a belt cant fix. The shirt, however, fits perfect, hugging his body. And the zip up hoodie ads a familiar pop of colour.

I feel my face become hot again.

“Verdict?” He asks, twirling around.

“You need a belt.” I say in one breath, rushing to get him the damn thing, before his pants fall off. Which, they nearly did already. When they are secure, I give one final look. “You look normal, so you’re good, I guess.”

“I don’t feel normal.” He says bitterly, and I sigh.

“I know, Jaskier. Not your usual attire, but this way, you will stand out less.” I stare at him, knowing there is a way bigger problem at hand.

He now literally looks like Joey Batey. An exact replica. And if someone, who has seen the hit show, sees him, it will be bad. I suddenly get a headache.

“We have a different problem. You look exactly like someone well known. That’s why I mistook you when I saw you last night.” I say, rubbing my temples.

“Who?” I sigh again.

“Joey. Joey Batey.” I grunt, closing my eyes. “If people recognize you as him, there might be… trouble.”

“Do townsfolk know him that well?” I glare at the man, but then I remember he seemingly knows nothing about my world. So I ease up.

“Yes. He’s like Geralt.” I compare. “The world just knows him. I guess we will have to stay close to home. And wear your hood up.”

I ignore my headache, chugging down my coffee, as Jaskier puts his hood up. He looks adorable, but I don’t say that, instead I nod, approving. I decide to go without breakfast, as the more I think about having to go outside, the more anxious I get.

And I am out of my medication, since I don’t like going to a doctor.  I silently curse myself out, as we make our leave. The corridor still stinks, so I give Jaskier an apologetic glance, who in return gives me a soft smile. I feel a chill rush down my spine, when the door behind our backs open. I drop my keys, thankfully after I already locked the door.

I quickly pick them up, turning around to face my neighbour. Dave is staring at Jaskier, his eyes wide with surprise. He has never seen me bring a man home.

Dave is wearing grey joggers, with various stains on it. I notice some blood, but realize it’s best not to ask, not with Jaskier in the earshot. His shirt also clearly has dried vomit on it, and he oozes of vodka and something else. It makes me dizzy and sick.

I try to imagine what the bard is seeing. A frail, tiny white male. Bald, but with a black creepstache. Shaking uncontrollably. It must be so confusing. I want for us to get away, only then I notice Jaskier shielding me ever so slightly. My heart beats faster.

“Hello Dave.” I say through my teeth, stepping in front of Jaskier, so now I would shield him from the curious stare.

“Y/N, sweetheart. Didn’t know you had company.” He says, holding on his door frame, stabilizing himself. I force a smile.

“Yes, well. He’s a friend.” I say, stepping in front of ‘my friend’ more. Dave wasn’t generally violent, but he could get jealous and insecure from every male person who ever walked this earth. Let’s say he has a fragile ego.

“Introduce us, then!” He smiles, and I notice he’s missing his front tooth now. Poor man.

“I’d rather not, Dave.” I say, firmly, as he takes a step forward, using me as a stabilizer now. I want to step away, but I know it would cause a scene. And he wasn’t generally violent, but there instances.

“C’mon sweetheart.” He leans in, whispering. “Your friends are my friends.”

“I said no.” My voice comes out weak as the stench from his is making me feel dizzy. I feel like I am about to throw up.

“She has said no, Dave.” Jaskier speaks, startling me. I almost forgot he was there. He steadies me, as I didn’t even realize I was drifting back. Then I notice my hands shaking. I’m beginning to panic. Fuck.

“We are in a rush, Dave.” I deescalate the situation, as my neighbor was shooting daggers at Jaskier. “Next time, I will introduce you two.”

“Where are you going?” Dave steps back, but he grabs my upper hand. I get startled, squirming a little. That seems to tip off Jaskier.

“Let go.” He steps in front of me now, his voice firm. Dave, to my surprise, listens, letting me go immediately.

“You got yourself a good man, Y/N.” He says, laughing. He steps in his apartment, slamming the door. I lean on the wall, taking a couple deep breaths, which don’t help as it stinks in here.

“Are you okay?” I shake my head.

“I need fresh air.”

I practically jump down the stairs, and when I reach outside, I go around the corner to throw up. My stomach hurts.

Dave is usually kind. He rarely ever lays his hands on me, but whenever he does, it’s never nice. I wish Jaskier wasn’t there to witness this. I glance over my shoulder, to see his worried look, I straighten up, wiping my mouth.

“I’m fine.” I grunt, ignoring the fact that his gaze doesn’t change.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that, a lady like you…” I lift my hand, annoyed. He get’s the hint, shutting up.

“In this world, Jaskier, I’m no lady.” I put my hair behind the ear, anxiously looking around. “Get used to that.”

“It’s not fair.” He argues, worry not leaving his face. I sigh, walking past him.

“The world isn’t fair.” I bitterly say, before taking a deep breath. I face Jaskier again. “Now let’s look for something that could help you.”

He knows this conversation is over, as I feel anxiety come back. I have no idea what to look for or where to even begin.

[PART 4]

~~~~~~~~

TAG LIST [if you wish to be added or removed from the tag list, lmk]

@ultracolorfulnerdcollection ; @viyamystic ; @sleepyblossom ; @killjoy-acid-crash

[trek-tracks]

Tony-winning actress, writer, and humanitarian Phyllis Newman passed away today.

I worked - almost lived, basically - in Phyllis’ astonishing apartment in the Beresford, which shared a floor with Jerry Seinfeld’s and overlooked Central Park West, for a year in 2009-2010, doing an internship to accompany my MFA thesis at Columbia. The internship was a dream come true - they needed someone with archival experience and a passion for musical theatre to organize half a century of notes, photos, cards, and memorabilia, stuffed into every crack of the two floors. I remember essentially telling everyone else in my year to “back off” - this was mine.

Phyllis was married to the late Adolph Green, of The Revuers (with Judy Holliday) and Comden and Green, for decades. If Green sounds familiar, it’s because of the book to Singin’ in the Rain, and the lyrics/books for shows like On the Town (with its famous tune about the Bronx being up and the Battery down), Wonderful Town, The Will Rogers Follies, On the Twentieth Century, and many more. About the understudy role for Holliday in Bells are Ringing, Phyllis used to joke that it was the only time sleeping with the writer made it harder to get the part. She won the 1962 Tony for her featured actress turn in Comden and Green’s Subways Are For Sleeping as Martha Vail, with her memorable song “I Was a Shoo-In.” Apparently she was, because she beat Barbara Streisand that year.

Phyllis was a regular guest on talk shows, such as the Tonight Show (she told me she was the first woman to guest host it), and game shows like What’s My Line, due to her sparkling wit and sunny personality. She beat breast cancer and wrote a fantastic book about it, called Just in Time. She worked on all sorts of fascinating shows, including a vehicle called The Madwoman of Central Park West. Just about every star from the 1940s-1970s and beyond was her friend; they all sent cards and telegrams, and attended parties at her apartment. And it was my job to organize it all. (She was still giving those when I worked there - if I had known there was going to be a party with Alec Baldwin for The Actors Fund one day, I would have done better than wearing my casual, dusty archivist clothes to work. I think I was more presentable the day Glenn Close showed up.)

I went through hilarious cards from Stephen Sondheim (one, a Peanuts card featuring Snoopy, had “Happy Birthday” crossed out and “Fuck Off!” penciled in its place), and telegrams from Frank Sinatra, and photo after photo after photo of Carson and Comden, Bernstein and Bacall. My favourite thing was a picture of Groucho Marx, signed “To Phyllis - NOT Betty or Adolph.” My biggest shock was an original composition by Leonard Bernstein - in his own writing - possibly never copied, given as a gift to Phyllis and Adolph for their wedding, just sitting in a desk drawer. I almost had a heart attack carrying one of their original wedding photos, taken by Richard Avedon, to Kinko's to make a scan.

“There’s something about working in an apartment that’s suffused in glamour that makes even the most mundane tasks seem magical,” I wrote, back in 2009. “Knowing that probably half the stars of the past 50 years (and probably a larger percentage of theatre-makers) have partied here, worked here, generated ideas here for the classics of the stage makes every ride up in the elevator, every interaction, every rummage through dusty drawers contain some measure of awe…The apartment preserves a time when celebrity had that mid-century golden sheen of class. Its drawers are filled with original memorabilia of the coolest things imaginable, that its occupants haven’t seen in decades.”

“There’s a wonderful telegram, for the opening of Subways Are For Sleeping, or maybe Moonbirds, where a young Stephen Sondheim tells Phyllis that he’s more excited for her than she is. In a way, that’s what I’m doing - going through this world of my dreams that will never exist again; being more excited for Phyllis than she is, because she’s lived it. Though she is clearly super excited when I find things like photos from a forty-year-old production she hasn’t seen since they were taken, or her birth announcement (I love talking with her), she is still busy all the time - the Tony people call, or she’s organizing another evening of exciting benefit performances to fund health care for uninsured female artists. I am making files of Important Things, cataloging lives of wonder, lives more exciting that mine will ever be, with datebooks filled with soirees and names and numbers of modern gods…Maybe the golden veneer that shimmers all around this place will rub off on me one day. It could happen.”

I created file after file, and enormous finding guides of these treasure troves. She once told me that I was more than earning any of the credits Columbia was giving me for the internship. I definitely saw it the other way around - I was getting more out of my time spent in her world than any sort of school credit or monetary remuneration could possibly encompass. I was finding material for the publication of The Comden and Green Songbook. I was scanning photos and sending them to James Lapine for Sondheim on Sondheim, and finding the very best headshots to be approved by her to accompany press releases. I was helping her with her new websites, and her guest-blogging for Playbill, in which she was very kind to me:

“I have never thrown away anything in my entire life. Have you?” she wrote.

“I mean nothing….menus, invitations, notes, tickets, programs, (PLAYBILLS, of course). Clippings, diaries, notebooks, photos by the thousands, lists and more lists, clothes I’ll fit back into when I lose 542 pounds, hats, scarves, multi-colored boas, crayolas, old arrangements from nightclub days….I just stuffed everything into any available opening. But into this madness came a skilled archivist who is changing my life. She comes in four days a week. She has organized and unearthed amid the boas and rhinestones, some pretty interesting memorabilia of two lives whose passion was every aspect of The Arts.”

I was thrilled when she won the inaugural humanitarian Tony, the Isabelle Stevenson Award, for her work with the Phyllis Newman Women’s Health Initiative (or PNWHI - Pin-Wee, she'd say), which sought to provide funds for female actresses and artists who did not have health coverage, due to the precarious nature of the industry. I was enraged when her award was not shown on the Tony broadcast - what, after all, was more important than this?

Most of all, I got to spend time with the woman herself - never as much as I wanted, as her health was not ideal, but she was still a powerhouse. She was brilliant and self-deprecating at the same time. She would pin you with the sharpest look and say something wickedly funny. One day, for the life of me, I had no idea who some person in a picture was (I think it wound up being Andre Gregory, but I hadn’t seen My Dinner With Andre), and she didn’t either. “Sidney will know,” she said. “Oh?” I responded, uncomprehendingly. “I’ll call him, you describe it…Hi, Sidney,” she said, and suddenly, as she explained our predicament and handed the phone to me, I realized that I was on the phone with legendary director Sidney Lumet, a long-time family friend who lived just upstairs, with absolutely no preparation as to how to handle it. I think Phyllis found my reaction very funny; I just lived through it. “Sidney” died in 2011.

She told me to speak up for what I believed in, and to continue to write and follow my passions. She was incredibly supportive of female artists. I hope what I do today continues to honour her.

One day, a life-sized leg made of chocolate, saying “break a leg!” to celebrate her Isabelle Stevenson Tony win, appeared at the apartment. I thought it was a piece of statuary until it started to melt in the sun, and until a fellow staffer in the kitchen took a cleaver to it and handed me the foot to take home.

Never say that Phyllis didn’t let me get a foot in the door.

Working for Phyllis was like a dream. She was a legend, not only for her many, many amazing achievements, but for the era she represented. She was one of the last from that era, having been so young when she married Adolph - whom she always spoke about with so much love it was physically palpable. I was absolutely blessed to spend a moment in time - just in time - with her, and I’m so sorry that she’s gone. She changed my life a lot, and I can only hope that I helped her life a little.

Thank you, Phyllis. Rest in Peace.

[elusetta]

Dedicated to my loving ex-mother @sharky-broshaw and my beloved musketeers.

Read here on ao3.

My Leliana:

Life at Vigil’s Keep has been demanding, and I am loath to deliver to you the news that I cannot yet return home. There are matters here that still require me. If you could, I would beg you to come here, to cut short our separation, but I will understand if you cannot; this place is dreary as the Fade, and the sun never seems to shine. It is hardly the place for you, my love.

But it is not all bad. The rain is one thing; my companions are another. I am happy to report to you that here, I have found companionship I did not think possible outside of those I had known during the Blight. Sigrun, although distrustful of my actions with the Architect, is the most delightful dwarf I have known since Dagna; I think you would get along with her. Velanna- who I am sure you will remember from the letters I sent you during my time in the Wending Wood- has grown on me, and I believe I have grown on her, even if she would never admit it until the day she dies, shem that I am. Anders is quite like Alistair, full of jokes and lively banter. As for Justice, the spirit who possessed a corpse, I do not quite know what I can say of him- of it?- but, regardless, he is part of us. Oghren, of course, you already know.

And then there is Nathaniel Howe. I will admit that I was not prepared to forgive him for the crimes of his family, but he has made it impossible not to. I have grown exceptionally fond of him, despite the dark circumstances that I met him in, and I certainly hope that I will remain friends with him until the Calling takes us both.

The only thing missing from this keep is you, Leliana, and your absence is dearly felt. I cannot expect you to give up whatever it is you’ve been doing these past months, but if you have the chance and the will- if your Grand Cleric business is entirely completed- come be with me. Schmooples can sleep in our room. (And I’m certain that my companions would adore your stories, if you would tell them.) I hope I do not sound too pathetic, but it is still hard to be without you. I fear I rely on you- you and Alistair- too much for my own good. It is undeniable that I have not been at my best, even with all these people who I care for, and it has been… difficult to sleep.

And in case you forget it while I am away: I love you.

With all my heart,

Iseult Cousland.

The last lines of ink dried on the paper, turning from glossy to matte under the insistent warmth of her firelit bedchamber, just as footsteps faded into Iseult’s awareness. She turned, a smile already encroaching at the edges of her lips.

Nathaniel. A presence she’d once been cold around, but as time had worn on, had become a comfort. His blue eyes took in the room with only an archer’s, a ranger’s, alert interest, before landing on her letter. “Am I intruding, Commander?” Her smile grew. She turned in her chair, the movement so much lighter than what she was used to, her body for once bereft of the silverite armor that weighed down every step. “No, I had just finished. And Nathaniel,” she added, meeting his eyes gently, “we’ve been over this. You can just call me Iseult.”

“If you insist.” He walked closer, his height towering over Iseult- already small, and even smaller seated- and glanced at the letter. “Who are you writing to? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Iseult rolled up the letter, sealing it with wax imprinted by the Cousland heraldry. “My wife.” Wife; the word was still pleasantly unwieldy, perhaps not official but full of everything she couldn’t say.

He smiled, a subtle thing that would have seemed insincere to anyone who did not know him. “Will we ever get to meet that woman, I wonder?” Iseult let out a small laugh. “Oh, I do hope so.” Examining him again, something called to her in his stance, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “Did you come to see me? Or is this a patrol?” He’d taken to pacing the keep; whether from habit or as a way to combat his thoughts, she couldn’t tell. This seemed different, but then again, despite her attempts at understanding him… he was not exactly the easiest person to read.

“I meant to ask you something,” he said almost nervously, sitting down on her bed with eyes that darted everywhere.

She folded her hands in her lap. “Of course, Nathaniel. Anything.”

He let out a sharp breath- of relief? Of preparation?- before opening his mouth and letting out a stream of words much too fast for Iseult to understand.

She blinked at him. “I’m sorry, what was that?” “The elf. I can’t tell if she likes me or not. I want her to like me, I think,” he replied, only slightly slower than before. “How do I make her like me?” Iseult’s eyebrow quirked. “Well…” She trailed off for a second, then stifled a giggle. Of course. All the ‘my lady’, the compliments, the way his eyes followed the woman when he thought no one was looking. She’d been right. “In my experience, you’re usually supposed to tell her that you like her.”

He gave her a look that was something like nerve-wracked exasperation. “But what if she doesn’t like me back?”

Iseult pursed her lips. “Then you give her things until she does.”

“That seems immoral,” he protested.

Iseult shrugged. “Velanna’s prickly. Show her you like her, and- wait.” She suddenly stood up, pacing back and forth in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back. “You did mean you like her in the ‘you want to kiss her’ way, right? Not just as friends?”

He nodded, and Iseult echoed the movement. “I see. Maybe you could tell her that. I think most people like to be kissed, even the prickly ones.”

“But I’m a human. Didn’t you hear her talking to Anders the other day? She said she found most humans physically and morally repulsive.”

“That’s true,” Iseult conceded, “but didn’t you hear her apologize to you?”

He made a noise of consideration. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

“Well, we don’t have to be,” Iseult pointed out. “Just go talk to her.”

“Come on, Iseult,” he sighed. “Was I being too forward? When I called her lovely? You have a wife. You should know this.”

Iseult frowned, slowing to a stop. “Nathaniel, Leliana and I met while attempting to stop an archdemon, and we only became closer because I was forced to kill someone who looked exactly like her while in the Fade. We are hardly an example of a normal couple.” Studying his face, she added, “But I do not think you were being too forward. She told you to stop that time, and you did. I would call you the picture of chivalry, but…”

“But what?” “Well, you did try to kill me once.”

He scoffed and looked away, then sighed. “Thank you. I suppose I should try... something.”

“That is, generally, the better option.”

He got up and left the room, and Iseult followed at his heels, letter in hand.

--

My Leliana,

Most likely I will not send this letter; it has been only a day since I sent my last one, but I feel compelled to write down the events that have transpired since then, and I am unsure of how else to do it. Perhaps, if you do come to the keep, I can give you them then, as a primer on the dynamics I have discovered.

Did you know that Nathaniel Howe likes Velanna, in a kissing way? He came and asked me about what he should do. I’m very flattered, since I am eight years his junior, that he would seek me out for advice, and seeing as I am at least a little bit sure that she likes him back, I have decided that it is my duty to make lovers out of them. Is this what you mean, when you say you serve the Maker?

(I’m joking, my love; I know it isn’t.)

I will update you as developments continue.

Yours,

Iseult Cousland.

With a small snort of withheld amusement, Iseult put down her quill and stood up, quickly maneuvering to hide it behind her when someone kicked through her door. Immediately, a violent urge surged through her. Darkspawn? Or worse, a betrayal from inside the keep? Her hand flew to the sword leaning against her bed, but when her visitor appeared- a brightly-colored, flushed Velanna- she relaxed. The look in those eyes was panic, yes, but Velanna didn’t panic when faced with a fight.

So Iseult could only conclude that Nathaniel had acted, as she had advised him to.

“Walk with me, shem,” Velanna demanded.

Iseult smiled wryly, slipping the letter into the drawer of her desk. “Okay, my lady.”

Velanna froze, her eyes wide and her cheeks quickly coloring, and she grasped Iseult by the sleeve, dragging her through Vigil’s Keep to the bemused stares of many of the soldiers. “How-did-you-know-that!” she hissed under her breath the moment they were alone.

Iseult blinked at her innocently. “Know what?” “You shem are so infuriating,” Velanna growled. “I need to speak with you.”

Iseult smiled, trying not to look too pleased with herself, and nodded.

Velanna sighed, producing a squealing chicken from Maker knew where. “What is the meaning of this?” Iseult choked on a laugh. “What?”

“Nathaniel gave it to me yesterday, then started saying something about how chickens were sort of like me, and then he got distracted and left.” Velanna searched Iseult’s eyes. “What does it mean? Is this some sort of shemlen custom?”

“Oh no,” Iseult mumbled to herself. “Oh, Nathaniel.”

“What does that mean?” Velanna was practically shouting with frustration, and the chicken squawked, flapping away from her and back to the ground. “What does any of this mean?”

It would probably be easier to take the metaphorical bull by the horns, but thinking of Velanna, and thinking of Nathaniel, Iseult quickly determined that this was a matter best left to them. During the Blight, Alistair had been the only one who knew her feelings about Leliana before Leliana did, and Iseult knew she would have killed him if he’d told. “Maybe you should ask him.”

“You- you can’t just-”

Iseult was gone before Velanna could finish her sentence, and judging by the chicken that ran out, terrified, after her, she could only assume it was for the best.

--

My Leliana,

It has been almost two weeks since Velanna’s surprise meeting with me, and I still worry about what has happened between her and Nathaniel. They have been especially cold toward each other whenever I have brought them out together. I think that Velanna may have considered his attempt at an advance an insult, and Nathaniel has taken that as a rejection. I am going to have to wait for another opportunity to attempt to put them together, and as it is, my attentions are better focused elsewhere, at least for the moment.

Vigil’s Keep is currently having its first sunny day since I arrived. While not as warm as some places I could mention, it is undeniably pleasant, and I am at last able to write outdoors. I wonder if your suggestion about roses around the Keep would work. We do need some morale to spare. Our soldiers are hard at work repairing the Keep, and we have taken heavy losses; a flower or two might be just the thing to cheer them up.

Yet, even as the sun shines and I spend my days in no danger, extracting help from various nobles and guarding the Keep, I find it bittersweet. The sun reminds me of you.

Suddenly, a voice cut into her concentration, and Iseult dropped the quill, sending splatters of ink across the page. She cursed softly and looked up to see Anders, his ever-faithful Ser Pounce-a-lot draped sleepily over his shoulders. “Commander!”

She set the letter aside and smiled up at him. “Hello, Anders.”

“What are you doing sitting against the wall? Shouldn’t you be out doing Warden-Commander things? Come on, let’s go find the nearest darkspawn and beat them to death with your sword.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, as they always did, and Iseult only gave him a half-smile in response. “You’re awfully quiet today. Something got you down? Is it Nathaniel? I keep telling him, his whole brooding thing is going to put people off.”

“Nothing in particular,” Iseult replied. “Not Nathaniel. Well- not entirely Nathaniel, anyway.”

Anders must have taken the wistful sigh that she released after that in a way she most certainly did not mean him to, because he gasped comically loudly, his hand flying to his mouth fast enough to startle Ser Pounce-a-lot, whose blue eyes flew open. “Warden-Commander, are you in love with him? I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s handsome. I know I would go for him, if he weren’t so dark and dismal all the time. But didn’t his family kill yours? That’s a little scandalous, don’t you think? A little bit spicy? Just a tad? Ooh, or maybe the forbidden love drives you to him?” He wiped away a fake tear. “Go to him, Commander. Follow your heart.”

Iseult watched his performance with amusement, and when her silence finally caught up to him, he paused, giving her an opportunity to interject. “Anders, I trust that you know I’m married.”

“You’re what?”

“To a woman,” she finished. “And I do not care for men, not in that way.”

He stared at her, then slowly began to nod. “So what is it, then?”

She shook her head, trying not to let too much melancholy show. “Many things, really. Our soldiers flag, our Keep is still damaged. And, on a more personal note-” she pretended not to notice his eyes lighting up at that- “I miss my wife, and despite my efforts, Nathaniel and Velanna seem destined not to be together.”

“Oh, wait. If you’re married, does that mean we might finally have an explanation for the woman no one’s seen before in the courtyard?” Iseult’s heart leaped into her throat. “I’m afraid I have to leave you, Anders.”

“Oh no! I feel so betrayed,” he called after her as she raced to the middle of the Keep. “Never forget me, Commander! I love you!”

Her heart pounded in her ears as she glanced around the dull stone exterior of the Keep. No red hair; she breathed out.

Then a pair of hands covered her eyes, and she shivered in barely-contained joy, the feeling of those fingers so familiar. “Did you miss me, Issie?” Leliana’s beautiful, beautiful voice murmured into her ear, and Iseult could not reply with any method other than whirling around, cupping Leliana’s face in her hands, and kissing her deeply.

The soldiers around her took notice. Some laughed, others cheered. One particularly unruly recruit yelled “Get it, Commander Cousland!” from the back, but was quickly hushed by her peers.

They separated, and Iseult pulled Leliana into a tight embrace. The recruits collectively aww-ed, but she was only aware of the woman in her arms, the texture of her hair, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body. Iseult exhaled deeply, her breath tangling in her wife’s hair. “Oh, my love, I’m so glad you came.”

“How could I not?” Once again, they drew apart. Many of the personalities around them had lost interest by then, a development that left Iseult some measure of relief. “You were so very convincing in your letter. Can Schmooples really sleep in our room?” “Anything to keep you here,” Iseult replied.

Leliana cocked her head with a devious smile. “Now, I believe you had some companions to introduce me to.”

“Oh, I most certainly do.” Iseult smiled back at her, intertwined their hands, and set off for the keep with a new spirit in her step.

--

Dear Fergus,

Thank you for your letter, dear brother, and I trust that you are doing well. As for me, well, you know that your baby sister has been up to her eyes in work ever since that fateful day that I became a Grey Warden; that has not changed with the end of the Blight, nor with the defeat of the Mother. I am not sure what I hoped for. Heroism, I suppose, is a lifelong profession.

I must confess, though, that I am happier now than I have been since the night Rendon Howe the night all this began. I am surrounded by friends, Leliana is here with me and seems to be enjoying herself immensely, and the Keep is finally beginning to become itself again. Perhaps even stronger than it was.

I hope that Highever is prospering, and I do hope to return to it as soon as I can. Do not worry; soon enough, I am sure that you will wish me once again out of your hair.

Love,

Iseult Cousland.

With a last swell of effort, she heaved the stone into place. Sigrun glanced at her approvingly. “Hey, nice job, Commander.”

Iseult grinned at her. “Iseult, Sigrun. Just Iseult. And thank you.”

“You know, you should do this more often. We might actually get somewhere.” The dwarf’s tone indicated that she was only half-joking.

“You’re a skilled rogue, Sigrun,” Iseult responded, putting her weight behind another stone. “I will admit that I don’t quite understand why you’ve taken such an interest in restoring these walls.”

“Eh. Brings me back to my roots, I guess,” Sigrun answered with a shrug. “Anyway, get that last thing in and I bet we can call it done for the day.”

In response, Iseult shoved with all her might, feeling several protests from her body but still managing to place the stone. She stepped back and shook out her arms, admiring her handiwork. “I’ll be feeling that for three days.”

“Just three?” Sigrun laughed. “Some of these noodle-arms still haven’t recovered from their first day.” She slapped Iseult’s bicep appreciatively. “Good to know not all humans are just weak sacks of blood.”

“And what would you consider yourself, Sigrun?” Iseult tapped her chin in false thought. “I seem to remember that you were the one who fell down a flight of stairs and got approximately a hundred bruises.”

“Hey, no fair! I died and didn’t complain about it,” Sigrun protested.

“You died metaphorically,” Iseult answered, ruffling Sigrun’s hair. Despite their differences in race, Iseult stood only a few inches taller than Sigrun, a fact neither of them let the other forget- Iseult because she was, at last, taller than one of her friends, and Sigrun because Iseult was the smallest human she had ever met.

Sigrun sniffed the air around Iseult and made a face. “You need a bath.” “So do you,” Iseult replied. “This isn’t exactly a leisure activity.”

A soldier bounded up to them, and Iseult quickly straightened back into her Warden-Commander’s posture. “Commander, there’s been a darkspawn sighting to the northeast. You may have to head out and take care of it.”

Iseult nodded. It was bound to happen eventually; what few darkspawn there had been, the patrols had taken care of, but they were ordinary soldiers, and they had their limits. Perhaps this larger party would point her toward wherever they were coming from, too. “I’ll take Velanna, Nathaniel, and Leliana.”

Sigrun caught her eye. “Aww, you’re leaving me behind?”

Iseult smiled apologetically. “We do need someone to defend the keep.” She whistled sharply, catching the attention of Nathaniel, who she waved down. “Get Velanna! We’re going hunting.”

He immediately gave her a look of excruciating pain, but did not argue.

Smiling to herself, Iseult tracked down Leliana, and by the time the party left, the air was fraught with a certain sort of tension she had never quite experienced before.

The lands around Vigil’s Keep bustled with activity. Merchants towed their wares toward the Keep in a variety of methods; hunting parties pursued herds of animals through the wilder parts. Still, there was very little sign of darkspawn. The party plunged into the forests around it, deeper and deeper, fast approaching the mark on the map.

Examining the map again, she turned her horse to face Nathaniel’s. “Nathaniel, you’re a tracker. Do you see any signs of darkspawn around here?” “None,” he answered. There was a tightness in his face, his knuckles white around the reins of his steed. “It’s quiet.”

Iseult went still. The only sounds around her were Leliana’s humming and the whickers of the horses. The trees seemed to hold their breath around her.

This was all wrong.

“Ambush,” she found herself saying. “There has to be an ambush.”

“You’re right,” Velanna responded. “The forest is never this quiet.”

Iseult urged her horse into moving, but before it could, it dropped to its knees under her with a pained noise.

A massive hurlock raged toward her. Iseult reached for her sword, only to find that it was gone. Nathaniel leaped off of his horse, taking aim and firing at the monster, but his arrow glanced off of its thick armor, and he fell back, taking aim again.

Leliana darted toward Iseult’s fallen horse as Iseult herself stood frozen, preparing for the impact of the hurlock, and sure enough, it slammed into her within seconds. If anything less than her silverite armor had stood between them, it would have caved in her chest. Breathless, she looked up at its towering height, her nerves steeling, and with all the power in her body, she kicked it in the groin.

“Hey, that’s one of my tricks!” Leliana beamed, slipping Iseult’s sword into her hand in an instant before rushing for the hurlock.

Still staggering from her attack, it roared. Vines whipped around it, crushing its throat, and it fell to the ground. Iseult nodded appreciatively in Velanna’s general direction.

More hurlocks and genlocks poured from the trees. “Fall back!” she called to Leliana. “Protect the support!”

They retreated to the aid of Nathaniel and Velanna, themselves overrun with darkspawn, and remained in tight formation. Leliana’s flashing knives, Iseult’s flaming sword, Nathaniel’s flying arrows, Velanna’s booming fire. It was a thrill she could never forget.

Claws assaulted her armor. One particularly hardy set carved two messy lines through the breastplate, and Iseult swore under her breath, thinking of the look Wade would surely give her when he saw it. In retaliation, she sent her sword plunging into the offending darkspawn’s chest, and it crumpled to the ground with a hiss.

The tide began to thin. “Come, my brethren,” growled an impossibly low voice. “Kill them all.”

“Creators, I thought we were done with these!” Velanna said in a strangled voice from the back.

In the darkness of the trees, a glimpse of sharp teeth and black eyes far too intelligent for its kind.

Iseult turned to Leliana as the wave of enemies broke for a moment. “Can you handle this alone?” “What? Why?”

Iseult glanced at (presumably) the leader. “Let me cut off the dragon’s head.”

Leliana smiled wildly. “Go get him, Issie.”

Iseult breathed out, and in a rush not unlike the one she’d taken toward the Archdemon a year ago, her feet pounding on the soft dirt of the forest floor, she aimed herself toward the darkspawn-shaped shadow in the foliage. Everything she had, everything she was poured into her veins, lighting her nerves on fire. “Come here, you wretch!” she shouted. It barely turned toward her, but in the seconds it had taken her to speak, she had already run her sword entirely through its body.

It hissed and crumbled, reducing to nothing. The darkspawn surrounding the other three of her party fell back with confused sounds, and from the rear of the party, Nathaniel and Velanna picked them off one by one.

Iseult breathed in and out, and in again. It was over.

And something was wrong with her chest.

She hadn’t been paying enough attention.

The pain made itself known. She scraped at her breastplate, managing to get it off despite her shaking hands. Blood seeped through the fabric of her tunic, rapidly staining it red, and when Iseult lifted it to examine the wound, it was deeper than she could have expected. Stretching from her right collarbone to her left hip curved three slashes, clawed into her by one demon or another. She honestly could not remember which one it could have been.

Either way, as her hands came away from the wound stained with blood, Iseult’s attention was fixed on them. How long had it been since she’d last bled like this? Her legs weakened, and she sat down, feeling more blood drip from them with every movement.

“Issie? Are you-” Leliana’s eyes caught the gouges, caught Iseult’s bloodstained hands, and immediately, the color drained from her face. “Oh, Maker.”

“Not… that bad,” Iseult said, voice straining. “Just need a… poultice.”

Leliana turned around. “Velanna! She needs healing! Please!” The elf walked over slowly enough that Leliana was nearly crying by the time she finally arrived. Iseult sighed, her breath too shallow. “It’s not that bad.”

Nonetheless, Velanna’s hands glowed green with healing magic, and when the light diffused into Iseult’s body, the bleeding stemmed, and the pain went from a lashing knife to a dull ache. “Don’t die on us now, Commander. We still need you to keep those darkspawn at bay,” the elf offered, her words surly but her voice touched by a hint of worry.

“Yes, I love you too, Velanna,” Iseult responded with as much of a voice as she could muster.

Velanna scoffed and walked away.

As soon as Leliana had checked that the wounds were no longer quite so vicious, she leaned down, kissing Iseult almost ferociously for a lingering moment. The warmth of her, the undeniable softness, grounded Iseult, as it always did. “I am not losing you to something like that,” Leliana whispered when they broke apart.

Iseult laughed weakly. “You won’t.”

Leliana helped her to her feet, and with the strength she had left, Iseult made her way to the other two members of their party, the ruined breastplate dangling by its straps from her hand. It was so inconsequential, the simple ability to have someone to literally lean on, but as Leliana continued to cast gentle, worried looks at her, Iseult could not help but let some of the glowing incandescence in her chest form into a smile.

All this luck… she could hardly comprehend it.

A soft rustle in the trees broke her train of thought, and she glanced around the surroundings just as one last hurlock broke through the greenery, heading straight for her. Before she could even open her mouth to sound a warning, a form separated it from her.

The monster’s claws tore open Nathaniel’s arm. Only a second later, it was dead, strangled by a mass of vines thicker than Iseult had ever seen them. Velanna’s teeth were bared, her hand outstretched, the last vestiges of mana still shimmering around her fingertips.

“Nathaniel!” Iseult immediately cried out. “Are you-”

He nodded as if it were just a scratch, even as the blood poured down his arm. “It’s nothing.”

“It is not nothing,” Velanna snapped. Sweat beaded on her face as she dredged up, somehow, enough power for another healing spell, but nonetheless, the flow of his blood thinned.

“Let’s get back to the keep,” Leliana said, helping Iseult onto her horse before mounting her own. As impersonally as she could, Velanna did the same for Nathaniel, and the half-smile he sent her did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Iseult urged her horse into a run and barely felt the pain in her chest.

--

Dear Alistair,

I was injured today, and it made me think of you. Oh, that doesn’t sound right. I mean that it made me think of the time we had together, during the Blight. Despite everything, I must admit that I miss it sometimes.

Do you remember all of our escapades? Wynne sitting us down and giving us a long talk about the dangers of a man and a woman making love, only to realize that us sleeping together was sleeping and nothing more? The time you made me hide bugs in Zevran’s shoes, and my confession of it mere minutes after the fact? The adventures with the dog?

You make it easy for me to miss you, my dearest friend. I know that I am partially to blame for that, what with putting you on the throne, but not a day goes by that I do not wish you were still here with me, with no other complications.

If you can, come and visit Vigil’s Keep. It will do you some good, I’m sure, to see the rebuilding of the Grey Wardens. Really, though, I am only being selfish: I long to see you again. Besides, I am sure that there is a diplomatic, kingly reason to visit the Keep. Or there will be, if you look hard enough. There are a few people I think you would like to meet.

With love,

Iseult Cousland.

The fire crackled, sending shadows dancing along the walls. Iseult smiled softly to herself, folding and sealing the letter before placing it carefully on the desk.

“Come to bed,” Leliana coaxed.

Iseult slipped out of her everyday clothes and obliged, curling into Leliana’s side, her head resting on her shoulder. “It has been a surprising day.”

Leliana hummed in agreement, running her fingers through Iseult’s hair. “I worry for you, Issie.”

“Why?” Iseult replied, a bubble of laughter in her voice. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yes, of course you can. I just…” She trailed off. “I find myself thinking about the future. Our future. I know we’ve discussed it before, but- what about children? And what about after that? What happens if you get injured, and Maker forbid it, what if you die?” The laughter in Iseult’s voice evaporated, replaced with soft sincerity. “Leliana… we aren’t facing a Blight. Whatever tries to kill me now is almost definitely going to be less dangerous.”

“But swords are swords,” Leliana interjected. “I was a bard. I have seen the nobles and warriors alike killed by simply turning their eyes away at the wrong moment.”

That night ran through Iseult’s head for the hundred thousandth time. Her mother, strong and unyielding. Her father, brave and wise. Both of them dead by a sword in the back. A chill ran down her bones, and she let out a defeated breath. “I know, my love.”

“Just be careful, yes?” Leliana’s voice was softer now. “I don’t want to have to say goodbye. Not ever again.”

Ah, yes. The archdemon fight, when no one knew if they would make it out alive. Iseult’s body tensed just thinking of it. If the Maker had mercy, nothing like that battle would happen again.

But this was here; it was over. She let out a breath and allowed herself to relax. “I promise you won’t have to.”

A moment passed in silence. It was a moment poised elegantly between peace and sleep, covered with the gauze of approaching fatigue, yet still entirely lucid.

Then, Leliana let out a giggle. “So, that boy and his elf friend?” Iseult grinned into her wife’s shoulder. “You noticed?” “He rather reminds me of you, with all those stares.”

“I was never that obvious,” Iseult objected. Or at least, she’d thought so.

Leliana’s smile widened. “Oh, please. You and your poor, pathetic puppy eyes. I swear you turned pink every time I so much as spoke to you. You were anything but subtle.”

Iseult blushed, and ignored how it completely proved Leliana’s point. “And how did you pick up all of that?” “It was part of being a bard, remember?” Leliana pressed a kiss to the top of Iseult’s head, leaving a spreading warmth. “Besides… I loved you too.”

Iseult began to drift, but still caught the “and still do” that Leliana added.

She slept with the warmth of arms defending her from the shadows of the past, and she dreamed of a future full of stars and old friends.

--

Alistair,

I am unsure as to why I am writing this letter at all, because the impetus for my writing it was that I heard you were undertaking a journey here. I will see you soon in person, I am sure, so there is truly no reason for this letter to exist. Still, it calms me to write to you. I can imagine your face, what you would say to me, every time I do.

Leliana likens me to a mabari; she says she can practically see a tail wagging in excitement as I watch for you from the battlements. Nonetheless, I am certain that your journey will take you a while. An insufferably long while, actually. So, in the meantime, I must busy myself with work around the keep, of which there is thankfully more than enough of. Two weeks since my last letter, and every day has been a wait.

Until I see you again,

Iseult Cousland.

The sun shined down upon the keep, catching the silver of Iseult’s armor, stained only slightly with darkspawn blood from the hunting earlier, as she once again stood in front of the ever-challenging Velanna. “All I’m saying is that you two should work something out. If you continue to-”

“Dance around each other,” Leliana interrupted her.

Iseult pushed back a grin. “If you continue to have such heated arguments during our outings, then it does pose a risk of interrupting our dynamic, yes?” “Then perhaps you should not put me in the same company as such an infuriating shem!” Velanna practically bellowed, shooting Leliana, who was still wearing a little teasing smile, with a look that could have cut glass. “If he persists with all of his my lady and his… enraging little compliments I swear on the Creators I’ll-”

“Velanna,” Iseult said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder, “will you at least talk with him? If it truly upsets you so much, I am more than certain that he will back down. He is a good man. He may be just trying to show you respect.”

“It doesn’t upset me! That’s what upsets me about it!” Velanna’s ears immediately turned bright red, and she stormed away without another word.

Leliana tilted her head at Iseult. “That went well, I think.”

“She certainly revealed a few things I think she didn’t mean to,” Iseult agreed.

They nodded at each other. “I say another week,” Iseult added.

“A week? You’re mad. I say it takes them three days.” Leliana’s eyes suddenly drew to the gates. “Oh- Issie! Look who it is!”

Iseult squinted at the gate. A glint of gold, a shimmer of blonde. A thrill immediately pushed itself through her. “Alistair!” As quickly as she could, she began to take off her armor, Leliana’s gaze only growing more amused as her movements became haphazard.

“Do you really have to greet him like that every time you’re apart?” Leliana said, one eyebrow raised.

“Commander, I-” Nathaniel froze upon seeing the scene. “Commander?”

“Yeah, what is she doing?” Anders appeared from behind him.

Leliana smiled enigmatically. “You’ll see.”

“Is he wearing armor?” Iseult asked from the depths of her own.

Leliana took a moment to make it out. “He is. And it’s his fancy King of Ferelden armor, too.”

After one last moment of fumbling with straps and metal, Iseult finally extricated herself from the enormous pile of metal. “Oh, this is going to hurt.”

Three gazes followed her as she took off in a whirlwind sprint across the courtyard: two utterly bewildered, and one extremely amused. “Alistair!” Iseult called to the man across the courtyard.

His head snapped around to see her, and he opened his arms, grinning widely. “Sei!”

With one final sprint and a mighty leap, she jumped into his arms, embracing him tightly. Sure enough, the impact of her body on his massive, superfluous armor- or rather the impact of his armor on her- pushed all of her breath away, and she had to wait a moment to regain it. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you! I’ve missed you so much!”

“And I you. Why did I let you talk me into becoming king, again?” He returned the embrace with as much vigor, until suddenly his grip loosened. “Ooh, people are staring. Do you think it’s acceptable for a king to-”

“Alistair Theirin,” Iseult said, only partially joking, “I haven’t seen you for far too long. Let them stare.”

“Oh, all right.” He sighed heavily. “I suppose that getting to hug my best friend after an eternity away from her isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

She laughed, then caught the eye of a nobleman who was somehow horrified, disgusted, and confused at the same time. “Although if you don’t put me down soon, those rumors will start up again.”

“Ugh.” Reluctantly, he placed her back on the ground, and they both assumed their authoritative postures once more; hers of a Warden-Commander, his of a king. “Commander Cousland, I believe you owe me a tour of the keep?”

She bit her cheek to stop herself from beaming. “I believe I do, your majesty.”

--

“So this is important business, hmm?” Anders asked, arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow significantly above the other. “I’m not complaining, but…”

“Do kings do nothing but sit around and drink?” Velanna snapped.

Iseult raised a finger to hush them. “This is important business. Raising morale.”

Nathaniel laughed from behind a mug of ale, then covered it up with a cough.

Oghren just burped loudly. “You kids don’t know how to have fun.”

“Oh, I think I know something that’ll raise morale.” Alistair, much less imposing without his golden armor, shot Iseult a dangerously playful look. “Want to hear the story of how your Warden-Commander once climbed into a tree and wouldn’t come back down because she had seen a snake? In her full set of armor, by the way. The tree could barely hold her.”

Anders looked at Iseult in disbelief, a slow smile spreading over his face as he took in the fact that she’d turned bright red. “Now this I have to hear.” He sat at the table, chin resting on his fist. “Please, go on.”

“It wasn’t even a snake,” Alistair continued. “It was a rope that her dog had chewed up.”

Velanna scoffed and sat down too, pretending not to be interested. Iseult buried her head in her hands.

“Aww, you were so stupid,” Sigrun cooed, slapping Iseult on the back with surprising force.

Leliana chimed in from the other side of the table. “Ooh, or the time that a nobleman asked you two how long you’d been married.”

Alistair guffawed, ruffling Iseult’s hair. “She had no idea what was going on.” He remembered something else, perking up again. “Or the time Wynne tried to give us the baby-making talk.”

“Or the time she fell asleep standing up in her armor, and no one noticed until she tipped over,” Leliana added.

“Or the time she-”

“Haven’t you damaged my reputation enough by now?” Iseult groaned, half-serious.

Alistair shoved a drink in front of her, stronger-looking than anything she’d seen in weeks. “Here, this should make you feel better. Leliana, do you remember the time you put a fake spider in the corner of her tent, and she broke a sword trying to kill it?” Iseult removed her head from her hands, picked up the drink, and downed it all.

“Woohoo, Commander!” Oghren shouted. “Look at that, she can drink.”

“Speaking of drinking, did she ever tell you about the time she drank too much and cried because, and I quote, ‘snakes don’t have legs’?”

Iseult poured herself another drink and downed that one too. The fuzz of a tipsy stupor began to rapidly descend on her.

“What about the time she sent the mabari to get a stick, and instead, he came back with Sten’s blade?” Leliana giggled.

Nathaniel patted Iseult on the shoulder. “I’m so glad I didn’t kill you, Iseult.”

“If you were really my friend, you would distract them by telling everyone here about your feelings for Velanna,” Iseult responded.

She realized too late that she had said that at full volume. The table fell silent.

“I’m beginning to regret not killing you, Iseult,” Nathaniel said, his jaw tightening.

“Your what?” Velanna squeaked, her voice going suddenly high.

Sigrun began to laugh hysterically, sliding from her chair to underneath the table.

Leliana broke into a broad smile, getting up from her seat to drag both Nathaniel and Velanna out the door. “It sounds like you two have some talking to do.”

The door slammed behind them. For a moment, the room was completely silent. Anders peered through the window. “Give them a minute… and they’re kissing. Well, that was fast.”

Iseult sighed. “He’s never going to forgive me. Now who am I going to ask to be my surrogate?”

“Your what?” Anders yelped.

“What’s a surrogate?” Sigrun mumbled from under the table.

Alistair let out another loud laugh. “That reminds me of the Morrigan incident. Leliana, did I tell you how she-”

Half of Iseult wanted to sink into the ground and never be seen again. The other half of her was too happy, surrounded by friends and firelight, to even consider it.

All this luck…