#i love lanky sword-wielding boys

[chufff]

characters from my game! (note: game does not exist)

#1 is a pianist & his dolphinghostsword can turn into a keytar; 2 is a king with an eyeball obsession (and a sword)

[theia-aithre]

This is my Gift for Myra @admyrable as a part of the Claudleth gift exchange hosted by @evilbunnyking. 

Chapter 1 will also be posted here in full, but the remaining ones will be on Ao3!

I hope you like it! I struggled to come up with something for a bit as I had so many ideas... Then this happened!

Oh yeah the first chapter turned out to be a huge poem, but don't worry it's just the first chapter! Normalcy will continue afterwards!

Beloved

Rating: T

Chapter 1: Something Beloved

Ever since he was a small child, Khalid of Almyra had only one wish…

He was born a moon too early, with not even a cry in his chest. The court doctor wrote him off as another loss, and turned a blind eye to his struggling breath. His mother was strong and his mother was fierce, but she had long gotten used to the sound of the death song.

But no matter how short, a life was still precious, so she said goodbye with a kiss because she wasn't heartless.

Two days later on a particularly bright and starry night, a powerful wind swept through the palace from the east. It was warm and pleasant, and brought the color into his cheeks.

A sea of glittering stars sat welcoming and bright when he opened his eyes to his first light.

.

The years that followed proved to be a challenge. He often fell ill, and was lanky and thin. A trait that made others look down on him.

At the ripe age of three, he came to recognize the look of disgust that filled the eyes of the servants. A look that was meant and reserved for him alone, tied tightly together with a needle and thread that read:  half-bred.

His mother had a temper and he was always scared to upset her. Whenever his heart was particularly broken he would go to her searching for comfort, only to find that her arms were never open.

  You must defend yourself my beloved. The world is dark, and the world is cruel. You will never survive if you cannot best anyone in a duel.

 So he learned to wield a bow before he could properly speak, and swing a sword before he could write. By the time he was five he was slowly winning his own fights.

But the children his age wouldn't always fight with a blade, they often used rocks or pieces of sticks. As time passed the pain would fade, but no matter how many times they knocked him off his feet, what fell from their lips would always scar impossibly deep.

Through many trials and errors and bouts of desperation he made a discovery. The threats they would pose would crumble with a single drop of desert rose.

.

Almyra was a kingdom run on power, though he lived far away from an ivory tower. As long as you won it didn't matter if you came out black and blue. After all, you were not fit to rule if a commoner could best you.

His family had secured the title of King for seven generations. An achievement that many believed would end after his father, whose might was feared across many nations.

The foreign queen was an exception, she was gifted in battle but not with giving life, both requirements to make a good wife.

Yet she was tolerated because the people's love for their king was expansive, and their respect for his wishes were massive. But the town's folk would whisper, and the servants would snicker that nothing could protect the boy once his weapons were no longer blunt toys.

.

But now, Khalid was six, and tired of all of it. So he strapped his sword to his side and his bow to his shoulder, and decided he'd leave, and suffer no longer.

He wondered if his mother would notice he left or if his absence would cause her any distress.

But he'd made up his mind, and started to run, wondering if the stars would gift her a better son.

He thought of his father, and the last time he saw him.

  Get up son, you must get stronger. How do you expect to lead if you can't stand any longer?

 Shaking his head he hurried down through the town. His father wouldn't miss him, there was no doubt in his mind. He would be grateful for the hole he was leaving behind.

He weaved through the streets, looking for a way to hasten his travel. He used his size to his advantage, and hid beneath a carriage. When the sun whispered it's final goodnight he disguised himself with the children who slept on the gravel.

Before he got too far a pair of shadowy figures cornered him in an alley. Each armed with blades curved like fangs, and faces that mimicked a caracle’s grin, and they started to laugh when they began to close in.

They beat him till he could no longer speak, and kicked him till his body was bloody and weak.

.

There were stories that the people believed in. Tales that were often used as a form of discipline for children. When you breathed your last, where you would awaken again would be determined by your past. He knew he had participated in his fair share of violence, but his heart screamed, and cried out to the silence.

 Though he was only six, young Khalid only ever had one wish.

His favorite star was particularly bright, and he wondered if it would grant him a  friend  in his new life.

As his vision began to fade, something started to whisper, to the darkness it beckoned.

 Closer, and closer.

 From a corner of the night, leapt a small girl with hair of shimmering starlight. Armed with only two stones she made quick work of his attacker’s bones.

When everything settled, and the rogues were no more, she turned to him slowly, lifting him gently as if he were holy.

He looked up to lock eyes with iridescent green, a strange color he'd never before seen.

A girl with wild hair, and dirt on her face had saved his life without thought about his mixed race.

He looked at her without any fear, all the while he kept waiting for her to disappear.

She smiled at him, and leaned in close, her voice a whisper, like a ghost.

When she spoke his eyes went wide and he held his breath.

“Hello boy, I am Byleth.”

[fancifulscrawl]

I've been considering recently who I envision the Ascendance Trilogy boys most resemble as far as actors go, though not necessarily a dream cast given that my choices are of them in their 20s. Anyways, thought I would share!

Jaron Artolius Eckbert III, my love, clever, bold, and with unmatched smart-assery. I imagined he wasn't the tallest fellow at around 5'9, but he was beefy enough to scale walls and wield a sword, and he has the most expressive eyes, often with a glimmer of mischief in them. My choice is Jannis Niewöhner:

Roden Harlowe, fearless, loyal, and one who never hesitates to break a sweat over learning something new, be it reading or battle strategy. I imagined him to be a tall, stout young fellow who occasionally wore an austere expression, yet not out of unfriendliness but purely out of unease or awkwardness. My choice is Max Irons:

And lastly, Tobias Branch, intelligent, ambitious, with a heart of gold and a tireless tongue, who would rather fight to save lives than take them. I imagined Tobias and Roden were pretty close in height at around 6'2 or so, yet Tobias is a rather lanky fellow, and had slender, dexterous fingers perfect for flipping pages or tending to wounds. My choice is Colin Morgan:

And there you have it, my visions for Jaron, Roden, and Tobias!

[shamera]

If you are still wanting prompts, how about hope and lightning fluff? Like big sis Light teaching Hope how to wield a sword or gunblade! Or just general fluff? Hope you feel better soon!!

Sure I’m still down for prompts! My responses just might be random because I have days where I can’t focus and then days where…. I’ll write all the responses in a few hours. XD; They might not be great, but hopefully as I get my attention span back, they’ll get better! ….also this ended up longer than I thought because… I love them too much. XD

“…It’s a bit heavy.”

Lightning couldn’t help the smile at the reluctant tone, if only because she was right. Of course she was right. 

“You’ll adjust.” She said, and moved behind Hope to place her hands on his shoulders, nudging them lower and poking where he was unnecessarily tense. “Gunblades are finely tuned— adjusted for a balance in both strength and speed. Once you get stronger, it won’t feel as heavy. For right now, I just want you to feel the movements. We’re going to go slow. You won’t be using this in battle this year, or the next.”

“Then why even let me start this early?” Hope asked, voice half a whine. He was very determined to keep his gaze forward, so Lightning allowed her smile to widen. “I thought you said—” 

“That it was a bit heavy for you?” Lightning said. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

“…Yeah, sure,” Hope admitted a bit sullenly, and Lightning smoothed her expression and raised an eyebrow as he finally turned his head to look at her. “If I can’t use it, then what’s the point?”

She poked him in the head hard enough for him to respond with a quiet ‘ow’. “Did I say you can’t use it?”

“Not this year, or next year.” Yes, that was definitely a pout. 

“If possible, I’d put you far away from both guns and sharp objects.” Lightning told him flatly, and then moved his head to make him look forward again, where his grip on the gunblade was just starting to shake slightly as he held it out in front of him. “Focus. Or it’s back to blunt toys for you.”

“Nue isn’t a toy!”

“Nue is an accumulation of everything you’ve learned,” Lightning agreed. “Which took many years of training, I’m sure, and more than a handful of life-threatening situations. You wouldn’t have been able to wield it when we first met, and I’d still rather you not use it now.” He turned his head again, likely to protest, and Lightning nudged him to look forward again. “Focus, Hope.”

She likely wouldn’t be able to manhandle him around like this in a few more years. As it was, the top of his head was already hitting chin level for her, and she was sure he had been shorter just a few months ago. 

Gods, they grew up so fast. She remembered when Serah just shot up like a weed as well. All gangly limbs and uneven steps, although Serah managed to make every almost-fall look graceful. Hope, in his own way, looked… like a teenage boy, really. Lightning had no real reference. 

“Keep it steady,” she said, holding him now by the biceps, his arms still thin and lanky, with the faintest tremors despite the strength he gained the last year. “You’re gripping too hard. Your wrists are too stiff. You’ll end up injuring yourself like this if you hit something.”

“I’ll end up cutting something,” Hope corrected, although he did try to relax his grip, moving under her guidance. “Sharp edge toward the enemy and all.”

“I’d be worried if the sharp edge was facing you, yes,” Lightning told him dryly, “but you won’t be able to slice through all enemies. What happens when you swing and the enemy ends up with a harder exoskeleton than you anticipated? The reverberations would end up going here,” she walked around and knocked her knuckles against his wrist, and Hope winced before attempting to adjust his posture again, “and then up to your shoulder. Hold it incorrectly in battle, and you could end up doing more damage to yourself than your enemy. No, no ‘but’s. This is why you won’t be ready for another two years at least.”

“Why am I using your gunblade, then?” Hope wondered aloud, although he did go willingly wherever Lightning tapped on a joint, making her wonder if she could somehow do that to make him pose for photos as well. Maybe she could teach both Hope and Serah to respond like that since Serah did seem strangely enthusiastic about getting new pictures. If she could teach Serah and Hope to respond like that, maybe… 

No, it would be too high hopes for Snow to actually listen for once. 

“You don’t want to?”

“I do!” After making sure he was standing with his feet shoulder’s width apart and with a lowered center of gravity, Lightning nodded to let him take a swing, holding his forearms to show just how slowly she wanted him to move— slow enough to train his muscles, really, because he would have to adjust to the weight of the weapon in every moment of movement. “I just… I guess they way you put everything, I thought I’d be using, like… something else. Something blunt in this shape. Made out of wood?”

“You think training weapons are made out of wood?” Lightning asked incredulously, watching as he repeated her movements several more times. He shrugged, almost embarrassed, before Lightning remembered the books (real books) she had seen in his home. Of course he did. 

“I just don’t understand why you’re letting me practice with your gunblade,” Hope admitted quietly, finally lowering the weapon to turn to her fully. He was still so young and so expressive that it wasn’t hard to see the frustration and uncertainty written on his face. “I mean, you yelled at Snow just for touching it last week.”

Ahh. 

“I trust you to be more responsible than Snow,” she said, and Hope made a face to agree with that. It scrunched up his nose, and Lightning felt a corner of her lips lifting despite being watched. He was growing so fast, and she would miss him being so small. She already missed when Serah had been smaller, before she met Snow. “Mastery of anything takes time and dedication. It may be too heavy for you now, but if you work at it…”

Eventually, like Serah, Hope would grow up and then… not need her anymore. He didn’t really need her even now, but Lightning found she liked the attention and his beaming smile. 

“In a few years,” she told him, “you’ll be able to do it.”

She tapped at her gunblade within his grasp, and they watched as it switched from the heavy sword back into a form that was easier to carry without accidentally cutting anyone or shooting anymore. Hope still looked fascinated by the changes, and she suspected that if given the chance, he was more likely to take it apart just to see how it worked, than to use it carelessly. 

“One day, this might be yours.” She told him. Might because she was fairly certain that would not be the direction he went, if only because she would be happy to guide him away from that path, but she also wouldn’t mind gifting it to him should he one day need it. Hope turned to stare at her with rounded eyes, and Lightning nodded to herself in affirmation. Yes. If she were to give her gunblade to anyone, it would be to Hope. “So you will practice on it to adjust to the weight.”

“M-me?” He squeaked, nearly dropping the weapon in his shock before his grip on it tightened again. 

“Who else?” Lightning asked with amusement. “There’s no one I trust more with it.”

That was it, she thought as she watched his reaction. That was the smile.

[suicidalalarmclock]

Prompt: Emma is a rebellious princess whose nighttime patrolling adventures bring her face to face with the probable love of her life.

Emma Elizabeth Charming was dramatically beautiful as most princesses are assumed to be, but rarely ever are. She was slightly above average height with a delicate slender build. Her complexion held a milky white irradiance that gave lead into the monotonous sheltered life style of palace living. The more pale the complexion, the more royal the subject. Another way of saying that she was never allowed outside without at least a parasol and elbow length gloves. Her blonde hair was thick and so long that many of the popular braided styles took hours to complete. She’d threatened her mother to cut it off on more than one occasion, though it may have been the only empty threat she’d ever repeated. Emma’s slanted green eyes balanced evenly upon high cheeks bones and her fine lips were colored the most feminine shade of pink.

For all her apparent femininity, and her mother’s insistence on extensive etiquette and decorum training, Princess Swan (a nick name given to her by her father for his daughter's obsession with the animals as a child) cared little about being a princess. In fact, she resented the title completely. The tedious lessons in embroidery. The arduous classes in arranging cut flowers. The boring balls she was forced to attend in order to find a proper suitor before her age became undesirable, made her feel as if she was being held captive in a world founded on traditions of which she was an alien.

She was educated well over all of her female peers and had taken to reading at a very early age. She was most beguiled with mystery novels, ever entertained with ascertaining hidden clues and piecing them together. It was an honest gift that she began training with her readings. She started striving to solve the mystery before the novels end. Emma had gotten so good that she’d soon surpassed the most cunning of authors. With that her rebellious side could no longer be fulfilled living upon the pages of fantasy. She needed some real action.

She’d started solving petty disputes amongst the palace staff. Who took what from whom and who did what with what. Her parents were never ones to stifle gifts, but to include their daughter’s gifts in their day to day lives would mean to put her in more danger than they would ever allow.

Sitting up high on her vantage point atop her four poster bed Emma could see that the chamber maidens had retired for the night. She stealthily slid out of bed pulling her unruly locks into a high ponytail and dressed quickly in an all-black riding ensemble that was borrowed from the stable boy and her good friend Daniel the night prior. She finished the look with a dark hooded cape before sneaking out under the cover of night.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” Daniel chastised after listening to Emma’s latest plan for adventure.

“Geez Daniel. Lighten up.”

“You do remember what happened last time?”

Emma cut her eyes up from the blade of hay she’d been worrying between her fingers.

“Don’t look at me like that! You broke your arm! Who knows what would have happened if the Blue Fairy hadn’t been in residence.”

“I would have healed like a normal person.”

“You think this will play out like one of your books Swan? These are real people with real secrets and real weapons. What happens if you get caught? You’re the princess!”

“I am more than proficient with a bow and arrow thanks to my mother and I can wield a sword as gracefully as a knight thanks to good old dad. No one will guess that I am the princess.” Emma made a stern face as to stress her point. She was a woman desperate to be useful and this mission required her specific skill set.

“But Emma! It’s not as if you can do magic!”

Daniel’s instance irritated her. Of course she couldn’t do magic. Her parents would never allow it. The Enchanted forest was more of a misnomer at this day an age.

“Look will you stop? I don’t care about that.What I do care about are the children that keep disappearing from Ginger village!”

“Why not tell your father and have the knights investigate?”

If Daniel only knew that she’d in fact overheard the information from a Knight as she eavesdropped on a round table briefing. Her father’s plan had them doing everything honorably or, more accurately, his plan had them doing everything obviously.

“Because they’ll do everything by the “code of ethics” and give themselves up before they even start!”

“Fine, since you insist.” He begrudgingly acquiesced, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Daniel had prepared her most trusted steed for the excursion. A jet black stallion she affectionately called, Twilight.

“Good evening Twilight.” Emma greeted the horse in a hushed voice and Twilight huffed back mutely. He was just as excited as Emma and smart enough to know that they were on a clandestine mission so he was trying his best to be quite.

The ride was made clear by the fullness of the moon. The journey wouldn’t have been possible without its light. As she finally made it past the palace walls to the outskirts of the Enchanted forest she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. A figure hid behind the first row of trees, the moon casting the person’s lanky shadow across the ground. Emma’s heart skipped a beat and her hand reached back over her shoulder for her bow.

“Pst. Put that down! Come on, before the guards see you.” Emma relaxed instantly. It was only Daniel. “Don’t tell me you thought I was going to let you go off alone?”

Emma smiled from ear to ear very pleased by this. She would never admit to anything as pedestrian as nerves, but it was obvious that she had been having second thoughts. Daniel ascended Twilight with the trained ease of an equestrian while still allowing Emma to hold the reigns.

“So Swan, how would you feel about tackling two good deeds in one night?”

Emma was more than keen to add onto their roster. This was the first time she’d ridden cross saddle in months and the first time she’d been in the Enchanted forest without an entourage in over a year.

“Duh, what did you have in mind?

“I’ve been seeing someone.”

“Hun?”

“I’ve been seeing someone.” He repeated with a bit more volume.

“Do you hear this Twilight? He’s finally admitting to it!” Twilight made a neighing sound that was eerily close to a chuckle.

“You knew?” Daniel seemed genuinely shocked.

“You’re my best friend Daniel. Of course I knew something was going on. You never miss our rides and this month alone you missed three.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. She is very private . . . a royal.”

“Royal?” Emma wasn’t sure if she should be offended. “That’s why you waited so long to tell me? Do I know her? Not Anastasia? Oh! Don’t tell me it’s Elsa . . . I know she is very pretty and all, but I promise she’s nuts.”

“Swan stop. You do not know her . . . not really. And I know all about you and Elsa. From where I stand you deserved it.”

Emma’s cheeks became hot and she elbowed Daniel in the ribs indignantly.

“Don’t try to change the subject! Who is she?”

“The daughter of the Former King Henry . . .”

Emma’s eyes went wide and she was happy to not have been facing her friend as she had a moment to compose herself.

“You don’t mean former King Henry’s daughter.”

“Yes , I’ve been seeing the Princess Regina.”

XXX

Princess Regina pulled her traveling cloak tightly around her waist to stave off the cold night air. She was agitated. Looking at the position of the moon she counted just after 1 in the morning and there was still no sign of Daniel.

In the realm of the Enchanted Kingdom the truth of Princess Regina is little known, though the gossip surrounding her title is known all too well. The story of a jealous princess from a foreign land across the great sea, who plotted to overthrow the throne from her mother and failed miserably. The cause of her rebellion was a hot topic for speculation, but it was generally agreed upon that Regina used magic and that was enough to make her undesirable. Many had no clue as to why King Charming and Queen Snow allowed the woman and her father asylum amongst the Enchanted Kingdom. If only they knew the real story.

An oppressed and emotionally abused princess found the strength to right the wrongs of her mother’s evil practices. Regina had been prepared to die for her cause, using a spell that had very high risks. Her mother had anticipated her final moves and instead of killing her she decided to banish her instead. Finding it far more of a punishment to make a mockery of the former King and his treacherous daughter.

Now her father now forbade all magic. So where better a place to make a new life than the Enchanted forest.

Magic was one of the only things Regina and her mother had in common and even with that they both practiced so differently. Regina had been born into magic. It was essential to her being. If they didn’t want her to practice in this land than so be it. But to have had her magic physically ripped from her body was cruel. She felt weak and empty on the inside and was desperate to have them back.

The sound of hooves trotting caught her attention and she fell back into the cover of the brush not sure who was approaching.

"Regina?"

She released a breath. It was Daniel. She quickly uncovered her hiding spot only to come face to face with the most striking pair of green eyes she'd ever seen. It threw her off completely while Daniel slid down off of the back of the same horse obscuring her view.

He then bent to kiss her lips, but she pushed him away toward her cheek.

“You’re late.” She admonished. “I’ve been waiting for over an hour.”

“I am sorry.” Regina watched his blue eyes contort under the stress of having annoyed her. “It was this one’s fault.” He pointed back up to the woman with the striking eyes giving Regina a chance at a second look.

"Regina, this is Emma."

Emma? She took a moment to apply the name to the figure before her as Daniel stepped aside so the two women could properly meet.

The rumors of the princess’ beauty were not exaggerated, but she was wary to admit that. Regina pushed her shoulders back in a show of confidence though she really had none.

"Miss. Swan." She acknowledged with a slight bow of the head.

Emma took her time to look Regina over carefully. Her doll like features were quite impassive and after a painfully long silence she responded.

“You would do well to call me Princess.”

Regina’s cheeks colored. She’d put the Miss to be polite, but of course a princess would be offended by another princess not acknowledging the title.

“I didn't mean to offend you.” She tried her best to sound sincere for she truly was. Regina rarely apologized, but felt her faux pas called for further explanation. “Daniel simply calls you Swan and I did not want to seem familiar, Princess.” This time she added a curtsy.

Daniel was back at her side in an instant.

“Swan hates being called Princess.” Regina watched the other woman’s face, she visibly bristled at Daniel coming to her defense. “What’s gotten into you Swan?”

“Well it’s clear she’s gotten into you.” Emma retorted haughtily. Her face still stone cold while Regina’s face fell in shock. Namely because she and Daniel’s relationship had yet to progress that far, also it was completely none of her business. And here she was trying to be civil.

“Princess, there’s no reason to feel . . .” she searched for the right word. Jealous would be too presumptuous and she’d rather not be gauche. “intimidated by my relationship with Daniel. I know you two are close.”

It gave her great pleasure as she now watched Emma’s mouth drop wide open.

“Intimidated? You and Daniel? No!” Emma quickly defended before jumping down off of the horse to bow her head down in a formal gesture. “I’m being an asshole & I don’t know why . . . I never get to meet new people and another princess nonetheless. You’re beautiful *cough* I-I think I’m in shock. Please call me Emma.”

The sudden change in tone had Regina on alert as it was currently she trusted no one. Though Daniel was very kind to her. He said he loved her, but love was too much to ask of her at the moment. It shouldn’t matter that this woman found her beautiful, but for some reason it did. Steeling herself against the sudden wave of emotion she fixed her face in a look of practiced modesty.

She appraised Emma again. Taking a bit more time to carefully map out her features. Her hair fell out of the side of her hood in a tangle of dense glimmering ringlets slipping free from her bun. She bowed before her at the waist as if she were a gentleman. Regina’s eyes then fell to the ill fitting low male cut of her pants and the ornately expensive sword hooked expertly upon her belt. This princess Emma was a tomboy.

“Princess Emma Swan,” Regina tried again. “Are you always this rude?”

The question caught Emma off guard and she fumbled a little before her smile brightened immensely.

“Me rude?” She exaggerated “Hardly ever.”

Regina managed to smile at that. Her brown eyes softening around the edges. She felt Daniel grip her waist tighter in an encouraging manor. Happy his two favorite people were playing nice. He knew first hand that royalty had a hard time socializing, but never thought that Emma could be classified as real royal.

“Well that could’ve gone better.” Daniel began awkwardly as he let go of Regina and stepped in front of the two women. “But now that everyone knows each other let’s move along. We have very little time before daylight.”

This seemed to put Emma back on track.

“Great. Are you ready to finally tell me why you dragged my ass two hours opposite the direction of Ginger Village? Besides meeting your new girlfriend?”

Regina could barely roll her eyes before Daniel spoke again.

“ Regina knows how to use magic.”

Emma paused in her tracks before turning around again to face the fallen princess. Her lips curled to one side as she spoke.

“That explains your lack of weaponry. I was afraid you’d left Daniel’s sorry ass to defend you.”

“Cool it Swan. I’m trying to impress this one. She’s kidding by the way.”

“Sure I am.” Regina watched as Emma shot Daniel a teasing glance before gracefully mounting her steed. “And little good that will do you here. If you haven’t heard the Enchanted forest isn’t so enchanted.”

“Well, that is where you come in Swan.”

“Not sure I’m following.” Emma uttered a tad distracted. She seemed to be counting something which in turn made Regina realize the same thing.

“Dear, why didn’t you tell me to bring a horse?”

“I was supposed to have Radiance, but the King requested him last minute.”

“Dad asked for Radiance?” Emma looked properly vexed by this for a moment before seeming to drop it completely. Her eyes cut to Regina’s again for the third time that night and still all Regina could think about was how it made her feel something. Good or bad she still wasn’t sure. Her gaze was so heavy it almost felt intrusive.

“I vote Daniel walks, and you princess Regina, would you like to ride with me?”

XXX

[anosmic-sheep]

tell us about your wardens lad

SAM YOU'RE MY FAVORITE PERSON AND I LOVE YOU

Brief Summaries of the Wardens, as of DAO:

Jairden Surana (my most fleshed out character):

Age 20 (born 9:10), cis male (he/him), disaster bisexual. He's 5' tall. Five foot 0. According to Google that's 152 cm. He's a small boy. I'm not good at physical descriptions so I'll just add a drawing or screenshot of him later.

Spirit Healer

Morrigan Romance (Opposites attract, what can I say?)

Too precious for this world. Way too kind and forgiving for Thedas to deserve him. Literally saw a Qunari 2 heads taller than him who was charged with murdering a bunch of people and was like "We're gonna be friends now. Because I said."

A huge pushover until you mess with someone he cares about, and he is very much capable of murder (though you wouldn't think so upon first meeting him).

Overly polite.

Biggest botany nerd ever.

Just a small dork.

"No, Jowan, we can't sacrifice the arless-"

His mom is actually from clan Lavellan! I have an alternate worldstate where he's the Inquisitor.

Will (Irrelevant OC mentioned earlier) is his younger half-brother!

Khoren Brosca:

Age 20, probably (she doesn't know and neither do I), cis female (she/her), a bit on the tall side for a dwarf. Vaguely functional pansexual.

Warrior (no spec yet, probably berserker or something tho)

Completely fucking feral.

Dual wields axes because fuck you.

Seems standoffish and uncaring, cares A Lot™

Trust Issues, daddy issues, just... Issues ™.

Alistair romance (has flirted with Leliana, only because I have no self control)

Very protective over the people closest to her.

Like Jared, 19, she never fucking learned how to read.

She's great and I love her.

"Son of a sodding nugshit."

Eran Tabris:

MY CHILD-

Age: 21 (born 9:09), nonbinary (they/them), asexual. Kinda bulky in build for an elf, average height.

Born Erana Tabris, and yeeted the "a" at the end off upon being conscripted into the Wardens.

Also feral, but is capable of being chill. Unlike Khoren.

"I WON'T HESITATE, BITCH."

Dual wield rogue

Will literally butcher a man if their patience is tested (example: the noble guy from their Origin)

Chaotic Bastard

No romance

Jairden is their cousin (Will isn't though, by blood at least)

Valori Amell:

Age 21 (born 9:09), cis female (she/her), average height. Sexuality? Who knows, definitely not straight though.

Pyromaniac with a bit of Entropy (may be a blood mage, have yet to decide)

If she were a Hawke she'd be purple.

"I'm just gonna stand back, and let the chaos unfold. Is it my business? No. Is my nose in it? Definitely."

Cullen's crush was a mutual thing, let's put it that way.

No decided romance. (Unless you count flirting with Cullen)

Ran STRAIGHT to Irving when Jowan told her shit.

Chaotic neutral.

Here come the Cousland Twins!

Wyle Cousland:

Age: 22 (born 9:08), cis male (he/him), gay as fuck. Kinda lanky.

Dual wield rogue part 2

Big dumbass energy

Third born child, baby of the family, dramatic as all hell.

"I am GOING to flirt with the pretty assassin, and NO, Wade, you can't stop me!"

"The closet?? Who is she, never heard of her!"

Full of jokes and pranks.

Favorite game is "how many times can I steal Alistair's coinpurse and put it back before he notices anything's happened."

A part of the joking is him deflecting how hard his parents' death is hitting him (gotta love that sweet sweet angst).

He and Wade make fun of each other constantly. Come on, they're siblings, what did you expect?

Very high-energy and extroverted, social and talkative.

Wade Cousland:

Age: 22 (born 9:08), cis male (he/him), straight. Bulky compared to Wyle.

Has not slept since 9:07 Dragon (aka the womb).

Sword and shield warrior.

Was initially going to be my obligatory asshole character, but I didn't have the heart to be mean to anyone.

Seems kinda cold and anti-social, but is a kind and considerate guy.

Very introverted, not a fan of small talk. Would rather go hit a training dummy, personally.

"Wyle, no."

Is basically Wyle's impulse control, and the certified Responsible Sibling.

People have judged his brother in the past. Each of them were at least punched by Wade at some point. 0 exceptions.

Has a crush on Leliana, is very much teased by Wyle about it.

Dry humor.

Has thrown Wyle into a lake when said twin brother would not leave him alone.

Spends the first part of the game mostly keeping to himself, quietly grieving his parents, as well as those lost at Ostagar (used much healthier coping mechanisms than Wyle)

Okay! I think that's pretty much everyone?? I love them all. I probably missed some things. Feel free to ask pretty much anything about any of them! Thank you Sam for asking about my children- I mean my OCs!

[thebrotherswholoved]

Day Two: “Secret Santa”

“How much homework d’you got?”

Sam’s sitting there, staring at the eraser of a number two pencil, trying to make it implode. Maybe if he has no pencil he won’t have to take the exam?

“Sam?”

Oh, yeah. Jessica’s sitting cross legged on the table beside him, legs knocking into the nearby bookcase just filled to the brim with knowledge: useless and obsolete knowledge, at least. That section of the library is history. Oh, shit, will Gottesman put Assyrian culture on the test?!

“Samuel Winchester, what is going on inside that big head of yours?” Jess flirts in that shameless, up-in-the-clouds air about her that made the entire junior varsity football team fall for her.

Sam thinks she’s cute. That said, he doesn’t think she’s hot and she’s definitely not his type, but she’s sweet and bakes delicious pastries for the environmental awareness club’s bake sale. She’s the type of girl any guy, girl, or anybody in between would be lucky to have—just not him. Jess would be his type if she had short hair. And a more phallic pubic area.

He’d usually make conversation and let his dimples do the talking to protect her from eminent rejection on his part, but he’s too fucking stressed right now to do anything but dissociate and stare at the damn pencil he’s holding.

“Mostly elephants,” he mutters, flicking at the wood like a syringe. He just came from his anatomy course, so he’s in a doctor-y mood.

The blonde snorts a bit, covers her nose, and tries to cover up her ‘crudeness’ with a dainty chuckle. “Elephants? Why the hell are you thinking of elephants, beautiful mind?”

“I’m trying to remember who they trampled in that one damn war, I think it’s the Persian one?” He blows air through his teeth and rolls the writing utensil away until it hits his pre-calculus book. “And I’m wondering if they can trample me.”

“You’ll do fine, Sam,” she slides off the table, tiny plaid skirt pleating with her in the motion. That just reminds him of how scratchy his own plaid tie is against his throat. Damn uniforms. “It’s Reid you need to worry about. He’s gonna kill my grade.”

This draws a chuckle from the lanky freshman, long hair—that just barely abides by the dress code—dangling in his face.

“Like, with the test or wielding a sword?”

“Yes,” Jess sighs and prepares to leave to her next period. “Alright, nerd. Good luck with your elephants, or whatever.”

Sam lets out a breathy laugh and turns to look out the window at the snow falling into the bleak mid morning air. He wishes he could go and frolic out there—maybe even practice his physics by zigzagging around an open area to prove his hypothesis.

“You Sam Winchester?”

Jumping out of his skin, he turns around and is met with the sight of Benny, a boy in his English class he’s never spoken to.

“Uh...yes?” He stutters. This boy is intimidating: he’s a sophomore in remedial English, a jock, and a total dickhead to freshmen. Especially nerdy freshmen on the robotics team—great, this is exactly what he needs right now.

Before he can offer any explanation up for why this guy is even in a library, a tiny package is being tossed into his hands and Benny is trudging away to go beat up a mathlete or something.

The small box is wrapped in what appears to be the Sunday comics from the newspaper, and judging by the date on one of the sides, it was yesterday’s paper. The job is poor, but the haste the person who wrapped it was in seems to be kind-of endearing. There’s a dollar store bow taped onto the top of the gift, and Sam feels an impulse to be as delicate as possible.

Unwrapping the thin pages covering the present and opens the box, he feels his heart drop into his lungs at what he finds. It’s a necklace with thin black thread and a golden pendant in the shape of some ancient figure’s head. Whoever this is, they know his style—it’s absolutely beautiful.

When he takes it into his hands like a wounded dove, a note falls out as well. It’s written with erasable ink on loose leaf notebook paper and folded into uneven quarter squares. The handwriting betrays the presentation, however: beautiful cursive glides across the page in narrow strokes of the shitty blue-inked pen used. In shock, he holds the note in both hands while still thumbing over the blunt edges of the pendant.

“Sam—

God, that’s a pretty name. It suits you, you know: you’re totally a Sam. A pretty name for a pretty boy.

Sorry, I know I suck at this. I’m only writing because I’m too fucking scared to talk to you. I know I’ll blush and make a fool of myself, and that’s not attractive.

We’ve met twice before. Once in September when you worked as a library aide and helped me find a barcode on a Stephen King novel, and again last week when I picked up your pencil for you. Each of those times I had to walk away and breathe for a minute because you just stole my suaveness and tore it to shreds.

I want you to wear this necklace all week, okay? My uncle gave it to me, and I don’t do jewelry, but I thought it’d look good on you. It’s supposed to bring good luck to the wearer, not like you’ll need it. You just seemed stressed.

If I have the balls, I’ll try to talk to ‘ya soon in person.

Awkwardly,

Your Secret Santa”

Sam’s hands are trembling with excitement and trepidation at the note. Someone likes him—and it’s a boy! He’s never had another guy like him, ever. Then again, who the hell is this boy with beautiful handwriting?

He helped a lot of people check out books in September, and lots of Stephen King novels were read. Plus, he’s fucking clumsy. Literally everyone has had to pick up his pencil for him!

It’s gonna be a long week.

•••

For the love of god, let his suffering end!

Sam wants to bang his head against his locker until he passes out. This secret santa gig coupled with the seven midterms he’s taken this week have successfully steeped his brain in anxiety. His last exam period just got let out and yes, elephants were included; but now, he has no distraction from the whole crush scenario.

The brunette fumbles with his amulet in stressed anticipation as his steps quicken, eager to escape the hallway and get to his locker. Over the course of the last five days, he’s received four more notes in the same penmanship, each one making his heart melt. Sure, it’s no Shakespeare but it’s unique and genuine.

His fingers tremble as he twists the number dial lock: 11-02-83. Expecting a note, he begins scanning the blue walls of the metal rectangle but finds nothing but that same handwriting in erasable marker on the door:

“Turn around.”

By the time he whips around, brown hair following the action, he’s neglected to notice that everyone has cleared the hallway and is standing with giddy smiles and phones on video. The only person in this vacant zone is a tall, sandy blonde, freckled junior boy.

Holy shit. It’s Dean fucking Smith.

His hand finds the necklace and he tries to breathe but can’t find the willpower to do so. His brain is running into overdrive trying to decide if this is real or not. The footsteps nearing him seem real and so do the calloused, motor-oil-stained fingers wrapping around his hand in a cautious way, Dean being afraid of something Sam can’t quite place.

“Do you like it?” The boy runs his fingers through his spiked hair and bites his lip, cheeks blushing beet red.

“I love it.” Sam blurts out before his sense of reason can muffle his heart. Exhaling, he relaxes a bit. “I really love it.”

Dean lets out a breath and lets his thumb roll over the soft skin on the back of the younger’s hand. “Good. I hoped you would.”

Sam’s heart is beating out of his chest like in one of those wacky cartoons, but he steps forward and rocks back on his heels. Bravery rising, his hand moved from his own to cup under his chin, emerald eyes scanning his lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t need to ask twice. Sam’s head seems to nod before the taller man can even finish his question, and Dean’s eyes flicker with excitement before closing. The gap between them is closed and chapped lips meet peppermint chapstick as their worlds collide. The crowd is cheering but they can’t hear anything. Both boys are far too focused on the taste of each other on their tongues and when they part, Dean drops his bad boy act and wraps him in a hug.

Arms tightening around his neck in response, Sam brings his lips to Dean’s ear and smiles.

“You have beautiful handwriting.”

[lokilickedme]

So actually two: Dia Laisir and The Liar

I don’t even know where to start with Dia Laisir, honestly.  Folklore?  Mythology?  A 3 a.m. rant fueled by too much coffee, way too many Little Debbies, and a seven day run of not enough sleep?  Getting close, I think.

Dia Laisir is a totally made up little minor god that I invented to explain King McClary’s apparently fireproof boots.  Loki battled him in the Scottish Highlands way back in the day before people were the dominant species there, and upon the minor god’s defeat and subsequent banishment, Loki cast him into an inanimate object and bound him there so he couldn’t fuck around with the few heathen humans that had migrated into the land.  The whole casting thing might have been totally on accident, by the way - Loki’s never been terribly accurate with his magic and popular opinion has it that he was actually trying to obliterate the demon.

Shit goes wrong and alcohol’s a hell of a problem, ya know?

Dia Laisir didn’t like that much, as you can probably guess.  First off, Loki wasn’t even supposed to be in Scotland.  Norse god, messing around in the Highlands?  What the hell’s that about?  Second, that wasn’t all the god of mischief and general fuckery did to old Dia.  Before he shoved him into the trunk of a tree to live the rest of his natural-born as a knotty pine, Loki banished Dia’s lover, Souflou, into a nondescript chunk of silver that some axe-wielding lunatic had tucked into his sporran, thus separating the two forever.

Yeah, there was a whole lot of fuck you Loki spinning around in Dia Laisir’s head for the next few decades until some axe-wielding lunatic chopped down the tree he was bound to (probably the same one hauling haunted semi precious metals around in his crotch bag, but history doesn’t verify much) and accidentally set him free.

Stuff started burning.  Forests, villages, pretty much anything with a flammability rating went up in smoke, because Dia was pissed.  Souflou had been shuffled around from place to place in that silver chunk, molded into various bits and bobs as the heathens learned how to turn silver into useful things, and every time Dia got close to finding her the silver that housed her spirit changed hands or was made into something else.  And so Dia Laisir’s rage burned, and so did big chunks of the Highlands.

Eventually Loki caught a whiff of the smoke from wherever he was, I dunno probably getting dicked down by some eleven-legged something or other, and with a dramatic sigh he poofed himself over to Scotland again to find out what the hell was going on.  Dia was supposed to be in a frigging tree trunk, wasn’t he?  Naw, he was running all over the hills and moors and lochs doing his damndest to obliterate the human scourge that kept moving his love around so that he couldn’t find her, and after an epic battle royale in which Loki siphoned off about half of Dia’s firestarting powers (hey, those might come in handy later) he finally managed to send crankybutt’s spirit into a sword strapped to the saddle of a passing local.  May or may not have been a McClary, btw.  Just sayin.

But that sword had a nasty habit of transferring the soul inside it to whoever it killed, which you can imagine was a messy bit of business because the guy who owned it was a bloodthirsty son of a bitch.  Like I said, possibly a McClary, and you know how they are.

So Loki yanked Dia Laisir out of the sword after a few years of hearing stories about the cursed blade and all the lopsided battles its owner kept winning, and while sitting in a dark smoke-filled pub one night half drunk out of his head and obsessing over what the hell to put this thing into where it couldn’t interfere with the natural progression of Scotland’s ruling power, he tried to send it into a shield that was hammered onto the wall over the fireplace - but too much mead and Loki being Loki, he passed out in the middle of the banishment spell and when his head hit the table the soul’s trajectory went south to the floor instead of northeast to the fireplace.

Into the left boot of a big black haired brute of a warrior that was currently wolfing down a leg of lamb while simultaneously groping a leg of barmaid.

Loki woke the following morning laying face down across the table he’d passed out on, and the brute with the cursed boots was gone.  Eh, good riddance, the boots would eventually wear out and be discarded and Dia would go with them into the fire, where his spirit would disperse into the cosmos.  Not Loki’s problem anymore.

Except Dia Laisir was a wily fucker, and figured out a way to slip out of the boots through a hole in the sole.

So Loki dragged his gettin-tired-of-this-shit hiney back to Scotland again, and since putting a fearsome god inside something like a pair of shoes that some lowly human would wear on their feet - stepping in cow shit and stomping on bugs - made Loki giggle like a schoolgirl, he did it again, only this time with a sturdier pair of footwear that wouldn’t be so easy to get out of.

It worked.  Dia was stuck, harmless, incapacitated, forced to watch the decades and then the centuries pass from two inches above the ground.  And each time Loki started to smell the smoke that signaled the end of the lifespan of Dia’s current home and the likelihood of his escape, he would return to Scotland and move the angry spirit into another pair of shoes.

Until finally the modern era erupted around humankind, and with it came good quality, durable, high-lifespan materials and the means by which to turn them into goods that could take a beating without disintegrating quickly.  A man named Klaus Martens was born and started using those materials to make shoes that were damn near indestructible.  And Loki’s problems with the fire god were finally over.

The thick-soled sturdy boots that he sent Dia into would last damn near forever.  But just to be safe, when those boots started to show heavy wear and had changed hands multiple times, he returned to Scotland one more time and acquired them through somewhat nefarious means (we won’t go into that part right now) and, using the illusion of a homeless man, he roamed the streets of Glasgow with them on his own feet in search of someone trustworthy to entrust them to.  Because he was sick of running back and forth to Scotland every couple of decades to keep doing this shit - he was getting old, he had other things to do with his time thanks so much.  He needed someone he could trust to keep the fire god’s spirit safe and secluded and far, far away from his lover...because Souflou had eventually ended up in a child’s silver rattle which was sitting right that moment in the display window of a gift shop in Edinburgh, and Dia Laisir could sense her nearness.  If the two of them ever ended up in close proximity again it would be the end of the world as we know it.  Humankind would burn.

The Trickster had no particular love for humanity, but it provided him with entertainment and he wasn’t big on the idea of taking the blame for yet another genocide.

So Loki, in the guise of a street beggar, waited for someone worthy to acknowledge him.  Tens, hundreds, and then thousands of people passed him by, disinterested in him, ignoring his presence -

- until the day a young boy sat down next to him wearing a brand new pair of boots.

“Nice boots” Loki said.

The boy just nodded.  He didn’t like his new boots.  They were stiff and hurt his ankles.  His grandda had insisted they would break in soon and be comfortable, but the boy felt his nerves going up in flames with every step as the hard leather rubbed his skin.  His eyes, green like Loki’s, kept going to the ratty worn out boots on the beggar’s feet.

And then without a word the boy unlaced his brand new Doc Martens and took them off, then knelt down at the beggar’s feet and unlaced the worn out boots and replaced them with his own, tying the ties slowly before putting the old, dusty, broken down pair on his own feet.

And Loki smiled.

He’d found a human that he knew could handle the cranky fire god.  This boy was quiet but strong, silent but smart, and somehow he knew the child understood the importance of those boots.

He must be one of mine, the trickster god thought proudly.  He’d never visited Scotland without availing himself of the charms of the locals, and as a result the land was fairly crawling with many generations of his offspring.  The boy’s soft green eyes and black hair certainly reminded him of himself.  Hmm.  There was something else too...the line of the kings had come to a lurching halt a couple of generations back as the modern age stripped the people of any desire to hold onto the old ways, but Loki sensed it in the lanky teenager.  He was a king.

“They don’t look like much, but they’ll get you where you’re going,” he told the boy, pointing toward the boots on his feet.  “Fireproof, you know.  And you will be too, when you’re wearing them.”

The boy nodded.  An old woman ducked her head out of the bakery they were sitting against and smiled when her eyes fell to them.

“Get in here boy, I’ve got your sweeties on the table.”

The boy stood, testing the fit of the boots.  They felt good.  Comfortable.  Like they belonged to him.  The barest hint of a smile tugged his lips and he looked at the beggar, holding out one hand to help him up off the sidewalk.

The heavily frosted and ridiculously decorated pastries the boy shared with him as they sat together at a little table in the back of the bakery were the best damn thing Loki thought he’d ever tasted in his long, tiresome, faintly ridiculous life.  And Dia Laisir smoldered, sending a heat into the boy that tempered him like a flame hardens steel.  He would need that strength, Loki knew.  But it would be okay.

The boy was worthy.

[spideyxchelle]

none of you ever ask for the star wars spideychelle au and i just keep giving you more content in that verse. sorry that i’m not sorry. but i’ve been in a slump since i wrote the reincarnation au and this came easily to me. so i had to write it. here is some MJ and Peter sparring as padawan apprentices tension. YAS BATTLES.

Ned’s training lightsaber singed the shoulder of Peter’s robes and he whirled back in pain. “Kriff, Ned,” Peter clutched his shoulder, “Watch it.” Ned pumped his fists in the air, startlingly pleased and equally surprised that he had advanced enough on Peter in training to hit him with his training saber. The blue hue of the practice sword bounced off of Peter’s features, washing him in the warm glow of the light side of the force, “Ned, I mean it.”

His fellow apprentice snorted, “I’m sorry. I just, kriff, I can’t remember the last time that I advanced on you in a spar. Probably like three years ago.” At sixteen, the boys were beginning to grow into men but the throws of awkward youth held onto their limbs and every gesture with fierce claws. However, in spite of all that, Peter was beginning to grow strong in spite of his height. Besides, with the force height and brute strength mattered less.

Yet, Peter still dominated Ned in every spar. He was a keen fighter and wielded the sword like a second weapon, lashing out with cuts of the force in tandem with ever swipe of his saber. Ned being able to land a strike, being able to advance on him at all, was extraordinary.

He could feel his petulant teenage side prickle with displeasure, which he quickly dampened. The force was peace and serenity. There was no room for passion or pride in the light, only duty and honor. Peter extinguished his training saber and bowed curtly to his friend, “Well met, Ned.”

Ned bowed hollowly back, “Well met, Peter.”

“You both are a bunch of ewoks,” a third voice heckled from the doorway. The two boys turned around to see Michelle’s hip bumped up against the doorframe smirking wildly at them. Peter’s stomach squelched in a hot burn. He chalked it up to shame at her witnessing his crushing defeat.

Ned roared a jovial laugh and asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in meditation after that incident on Tatooine?” Michelle had lost her patience on an envoy mission to Tatooine when she saw a slave trade. It was always hard for Michelle on planets in the outer rim territories that still used galactic life like currency. Life forms were not property.

Peter watched her eyes flash. She regained control over her emotions and roughed out, “Master Tony believes in finding inner peace. He didn’t specify how to acquire such peace.”

“So,” Ned drawled, “You snuck off?”

Her grin was razor sharp and Peter pretended not to notice the way that it cut at his consciousness in a desperate cry. She was beautiful. MJ merely shrugged at Ned and reached her hand out wordlessly for a training saber, yanking it into her open palm with the force. She ignited it and the purple hue danced like shadows on her features.

She took two steps on to the mat and pointed the tip of her sword at Peter in an invitation and challenge to fight. The corner of Peter’s lip curled up in a soft smile at the edges. He dipped his back in a bow but did not drop his eyes to the ground. He kept them firmly on her face and accepted her challenge.

Ned slowly backed up against the wall as his two friends took their opening stances for battle.

Peter sunk into Niman form and extended his free hand to wield the force. Michelle put two firm hands on the hilt of her saber and quipped, “I won’t judge you if you forfeit.”

He tilted his saber, “You talk entirely too much.”

“Battle it is,” she said and with a yell, she flung herself at the mercy of his sword. He thrust his blade up and the two lights collided, making a hissing noise as they strained against each other. Purple and green. Green and purple.

Michelle ducked under his arm and drags her saber with her. He fell forward with nothing pushing against him. He whirled around, swinging a wide circle with his lightsaber as he goes, to see MJ pounced on the ground waiting for his next attack. He advances, she parries and on it goes.  

They get caught in a cross and each scramble, with a free hand, to grab the other’s wrists locking each other in place. Michelle squeezed his wrist with her nails, hoping to bite into his skin enough to make it bleed so he will give. He grit his teeth and tried to bend her wrist back.

MJ pulled her wrist loose and cried as she brought down her saber in a hard line toward his neck. She hesitated right before it hit his skin and grinned, “Yield.”

Peter shook his head and drew attention to his own training saber—which was hovering at her waist line. A few inches more and he would have impaled her on his sword. “It seems,” he cocked an eyebrow, “We are at an impasse.”

“Well,” MJ huffed. “I suppose-“ her words trailed off when she realized how close she and Peter actually were. He felt it, too. The two teenagers basked in their proximity for a breath longer and, then, lunged apart extinguishing their weapons.

Ned looked between the two of them nervously and attempted to gracefully dip out of the room, knocking down three rows of staffs before finally managing to trip out the door. Peter brushed his Padawan braid off of his shoulder, “Good…good fight.”

Michelle turned the knob on her saber off of stun, distracting herself from Peter’s overwhelming presence. She turned the dial the wrong way and singed the tip of one of her fingers, cursing. The hilt of her saber clattered on the ground and Peter scrambled forward to help her. He ushered her over to the table in the corner of the room and began to look at the damage she did on her hand.

The warmth and redness sneaking up his neck was a product of the room being too hot, he was sure of it. He squinted at her finger, “Well, you got lucky. Nothing a little bacta bandage won’t fix.”

She grumbled, “Stupid saber.”

“Please,” he hummed good-naturedly, “You love that thing.”

He released her wrist and Michelle brought her fingers to her eyes to inspect them herself. Peter tried not to be too offended at her need to give it a second look. He knew she trusted him, but sometimes he was afraid that she trusted him only as far as she could trust and that threshold was not very far.

As if sensing his thoughts, which was a force specialty that Michelle had always been very adept at—she could read people’s feelings in the force as easily as she could wield a saber—Michelle nudged his foot under the table. There was an unexpected kindness in her eyes when Michelle touched his hand across the table. His eyes darted up and caught hers in surprise to find her looking back. Something surged between then-- a current of static shock, as if to say oh-there-you-are-- and Peter drew his hand away. MJ swallowed thickly and stood up, brushing her robes out of her path.

“I need to,” she rested her hand on the hilt of her saber hanging lazily at her hip, “go practice my forms.”

Peter looked sideways at her lanky, lithe body now contorted and awkward at the aftershocks of whatever passed between them, radiating in the force. “MJ,” Peter sighed, “It’s fine, reall-“

“No,” she said forcibly, “Master Tony is probably already wondering why I blew off meditation.”

He reached his hand out and Michelle’s saber flew to him. He spun the hilt around and offered it to her. She reached for her saber and the tips of their fingers, even her lightly singed one, brushed against each other. The current was there again, rushing between them frantically like the energy did not know where to go or where to end. It went on and on into infinity. The galaxy itself was not big enough to hold in the buzz.

She would rattle the stars one day with the same intensity she looked at him in that moment. Peter reluctantly broke the chain and let go of her saber, relinquishing it to her.

Michelle left without another word but Peter could still feel her force signature choking him and his heart after she had gone. It was then he decided these feelings between them, the passion, could only lead to travesty. He would have to shut them out, take missions to distance himself from her, and get his emotions under control. Only then would he know peace.

(An extravagant lie. He never knows peace from that moment forward.)

[onceuponaoneshotfanfic]

The Bastard of Winterfell

Jon Snow x Reader (second person)

1586 words

Jon Snow is nervous to meet his future wife- and even more nervous to prove himself in front of her.

A/N: My first fanfic in a while! I just watched Game of Thrones and LOVED it, so expect some GoT soon, especially Robb and Jon, my babies.

F/N= first name, L/N= last name

You shifted in your seat, pretending to be asleep as you listened to your parents whisper back and forth.

“A bastard,” you mother muttered, the word like venom on her lips.

“Ned Stark’s bastard,” your father reminded her gently. In your mind’s eye you could see the desperation in his eyes.

“She is a lady!”

Your father sighed. “She is the youngest of nine daughters in a small house. She has limited options. It’s either marry her off to some old lord who is on his seventh wife who will use her for her body, or the son of a good man who will, Gods willing, treat her with compassion.”

Your mother hummed, her arms probably crossed across her chest. “He’s still a bastard.”

You knew your father was right. It was good of Ned Stark to arrange your marriage. When he heard your father was desperately trying to find a match for his youngest, favorite daughter, Lord Stark had an unusual proposal. One your father simply couldn’t refuse.

It was even Lord Stark’s idea to have you stay at Winterfell for a few months so you could get to know your future husband; you’d only met once or twice as children when you visited Winterfell. You remembered Jon Snow being quiet and brooding; you wondered what kind of man he’d grown into.

Your eyes opened as Winterfell came into sight. At least you could find comfort in the fact that the beautiful Stark castle would be your home.

Ned Stark stood at the gate, a friendly smile on his face. He embraced you and your parents, offering you a small wink. Your stomach was in absolute knots.

He led you through the gate, where his family lined up to greet you.

Robb Stark, the most charming young man in the North, kissed your hand. He often accompanied his father to visit your home and was always kind to you. At least you would have an ally in your brother by law.

“Lady F/N,” he said with that dashing smile. “Your beauty has grown since we last met. I had assured my brother that his bride-to-be was lovely, but I must admit, my words did you no justice.”

You blushed. “Thank you, Lord Robb.” You continued down the line to the very end where-

“L-Lady F/N.” A pair of nervous brown eyes searched yours. “A pleasure to see you again.” Jon Snow glanced towards his brother, who gave him an encouraging nod. Jon kissed your hand gently. “I, er, look forward to getting better acquainted.” A pause. “With you.” Another pause. “My lady,” he added quietly.

A small smile escaped your lips. Jon Snow had grown to be a handsome young man, with curly black hair you wanted to reach out and touch. Though Robb’s confidence was definitely attractive, there was something sweet to Jon’s nervousness. You liked it.

“I seem to recall a young dark-haired boy who was never without his sword,” you said, noting that he still held your hand. “Do you still practice the whole day long?”

Now Jon smiled, a small, shy grin. “Indeed, I do.”

Down the line, Robb piped up. “Perhaps after lunch you would like to watch us practice, my lady?”

You nodded. “I would like that very much,” you called back. You turned back to Jon. “If that’s fine with you, that is.”

Jon nodded. “Very fine, my lady.”

“Good.” You gave his hand a small squeeze and released it before following Lady Stark to your room.

As you entered the castle, you glanced back. Jon was standing in the same spot, staring after you, as Robb chattered excitedly in his ear.

You sat beside Jon at lunch, noticing that he barely looked at you. Your stomach sank. Across from you, Robb cleared his throat.

“So, my lady, what do you do with your free time?

You looked up at Robb, who stared at Jon pointedly.

“Oh. I read. I ride. Some needlework.” You looked down the table at the eldest Stark sister. “Though I have heard Lady Sansa’s needlework is true art. Perhaps she could help me improve my own?”

Lady Sansa smiled graciously. “I would love to.”

You turned your gaze to the younger sister. “And Lady Arya, I would love to learn to shoot properly, if you have the time. I have been told your skill surpasses that of any of your brothers.”

The girl’s face lit up. “I would love to!”

Good. More allies in your new home.

After lunch, Jon excused himself to grab something from his room, promising to meet you and Robb in the yard.

Robb offered you his arm as you headed out. “I apologize for my brother, Lady F/N. He… well honestly he is a little scared of you.” A small smile played on his lips. “Not that I can blame him. You are, after all, his future wife.”

You nodded. “I must admit, I’m nervous as well. I barely know him.” You smiled at Robb. “But if he’s anywhere near as kind as you and your sisters, I know I will be very happy here.”

Robb nodded. “Aye, he is. A bit… glum, at times. But very kind,” he assured you. “And before lunch he admitted to me that you are the loveliest creature he ever laid eyes on.”

You felt yourself blush. You opened your mouth to reply-

“What’s this I hear the bastard is marrying himself a lady?” a voice called out.

You and Robb turned as a lanky young man approached you. His eyes traveled up and down your body.

Robb sighed. “This is Theon Greyjoy, our ward. Theon, this is Lady F/N L/N. Jon’s intended.”

Theon’s eyes had yet to find your face. “Hello my lady,” he finally said, the kiss he planted on your hand lingering far too long. “I am looking forward to getting to know you.”

You took a step back. “Thank you.” A mop of curly black hair caught your eye. “But if you will excuse me, I believe I see my future husband.” You broke away from Theon and took Jon’s arm. “Jon, I am very excited to see how well you wield a sword.” You smiled sweetly at him.

He looked a bit taken aback. “Really?” You nodded. “Really.” You gave his arm a reassuring squeeze.

Theon spoke up. “I’ve an idea.” You and the brothers turned to look at him. “A duel. You and me, Snow. Winner gets a kiss from your little lady here.”

The color rose in Jon’s cheeks. “I-”

“What the matter?” Theon challenged. “Scared I’ll kiss your bride before you do?”

Jon glanced at you. You could tell he did not want to back down in front of you. “Fine. Grab your sword.”

Robb led you out to the yard, helping you perch yourself on a fence. “Not to worry, my lady. Jon is a fantastic swordsman. Your lips are in safe hands.” He smiled at you and lowered his voice. “And make sure to cheer him on. He’s always wanted a pretty girl cheering him on in a duel.”

You laughed. “I’ll be sure to cheer him on to victory.”

The two young men came out, ready for combat. Jon glanced your way. You smiled and gave a small wave.

“Good luck Jon!” you called out. A smile tugged on your future husband’s lips.

“Nicely done,” Robb murmured beside you. “I do believe my brother is blushing.”

You giggled in response. You could definitely feel yourself falling for the bastard of Winterfell as you watched him wield his sword. He looked confident and strong as he swung his weapon this way and that.

“Go Jon!” you called out, clapping.

He turned his head to look at you, a proud smirk on his handsome face. Theon took the opportunity to take a cheap hit, knocking Jon to the ground. He held his sword to Jon’s throat.

“I do believe I win, Snow,” he claimed smugly. He sauntered over to you. “And now for my prize.”

You grimaced and looked to Robb, who looked at shocked as you felt.

“That was a cheap shot,” Robb finally choked out. “You know in a fair fight Jon would have slaughtered you. He was nervous in front of F/N!”

Theon shrugged. “That’s life, m'lord.” He turned to you. “My prize.”

You looked at Jon, who still lay on the ground, looking utterly defeated. You could feel the embarrassment radiating from him.

“Here’s your damned prize,” you muttered. You barely brushed your lips against Theon’s cheek, then jumped down from your post. You walked over to Jon, who slowly sat up as you approached.

“I-I’m sorry, my lady,” he muttered. “If I hadn’t gotten distracted-”

You smiled as you knelt beside him. "I’m glad you got distracted.” You took his hand in yours as he looked at you, puzzled. “You getting distracted by me was the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.”

A small smile appeared on his lips. “Really?”

You nodded. “You know, I think second place deserves a prize too.”

Jon’s eyebrows rose. “Oh you do?” He glanced behind you at the other boys, who looked just as surprised.

“I do.”

You leaned down and pressed your lips gently against his. You could feel his smile pressing against yours as his hand rose to pull you closer. He finally let you go and pulled back. A large smile spread across his face.

“I think I’m gonna like being married,” he murmured before leaning in for another kiss.

Part 2

[ask-beacons-finest]

Hi, this is one of my OC teams I'd like to submit

Wow!! I really love the thought you put into your team! (Admin put this under a cut just because it is a little long) but for any of those that want to jump right into the fanfiction, you can find it with this link!

It’s a hefty amount of text, so bear with me.

Team TRML (Tourmaline)

            School: Beacon Academy

Teal Ciel

            Human. M. 17

            Semblance: Electricity manipulation

            Weapon: “Vegas Neon.” His weapon of choice is a jet-black guitar capable of turning into a heavy axe, or long sword.  The strings vibrate without even being touched, and glow bright red and blue neon when struck.  The edges gleam different colors when tilted in the light.  Teal’s fighting style is erratic and unpredictable, but also resourceful.

            Teal is the embodiment of an electric current.  He is hyper-energetic and loud when he wants to be.  With adequate adrenaline and energy, he becomes the life of the party.  However, he is easily disappointed when it comes to subjects important to him.  There is little in between with his personality, always changing like the current of a wire.   Despite his sister’s warnings, he’s got a terrible sweet tooth.  He is easily distracted; losing focus around monotonous teachers, vivid colors, and handsome lads that seem to come into view.  He’s a terrible flirt when it comes to guys.

His hair is composed of black, close-shaven sideburns that fade to silvery gray as they reach the top.  He typically wears it slicked back.  His eyes are a fiery red, but glow a bright cyan when he is full of energy.  He is shorter than most, and his skin is a dark bronze.  His outfit consists of a loosely buttoned white shirt, and a brightly colored striped tie.  He dons a signature studded leather jacket, and skinny jeans that he wore tucked into the cuffs of his black high tops.

Roxo Grimmsickle

            Human. M. 17

            Semblance: Seismic Sense and Earth Manipulation

            Weapon: “The Grimmsickle.” Roxo’s weapon is a carefully handcrafted scythe.  The long, titanium alloy staff is slightly taller than he is, and wields two sickles on either side, like a pickaxe.  Each blade is generously equipped with thousands of tiny serrations—like a saw on steroids—and can snap against the staff like a guillotine.  The tip is equipped with a compact harpoon, capable of drawing in enemies from mighty distances.  Roxo’s style is composed of spins and difficult poses.  He incorporates ballet, or capoeira, into his technique, increasing his mobility despite his heavy weapon.

            Roxo grew up as a poor boy on the slums of vale.  His mother was a memorable huntress who lost her life in battle, and the fighting spirit she had was passed onto him.  Among strangers, he is extremely anxious, cautious, and generally shy.  Despite his caution, though, he is always in a smiling mood, and he is utterly loyal to his friends.

            He is built tall and lanky; 6’10” of awkward teenager.  His olive skin is dotted with freckles.  He is also completely blind (think of Toph from Avatar), and relies on his other senses to navigate through daily activities.  His hair is a mop of dark purple tips and black roots, and his eyes a pale lilac.  He is quite reserved, even among his friends, and comes across as very naïve.  He wears a formal outfit even into battle.  A tough fibered lavender button-up cover his torso, as well as a light purple vest.  He wears lilac gloves and penny loafers, and slacks.  His most prized article, however, is his silk black bowtie.

            Magnolia Ciel

            Human. F. 17

            Semblance: Net Force.  Her punches impact the entire mass of her foes; objects with more mass take more damage.

            Weapon: “The Champions Knuckles & Greaves.” Magnolia’s weapon(s) is a pair of vambraces and boots.  Her weapons are composed of a brass, and made to only fit her.  Her knuckles are loaded with all types of dust, and the ends of her weapons (at the elbow and back of the heel) are equipped with small rockets, making for comet-like attacks.  Her fighting style is mainly offensive and strategic; she waits and observes, and attacks full force, even being able to penetrate through shields and armor.

            Magnolia, as you may have guessed, is Teal’s twin sister.  She serves as the more relaxed half, the more responsible sibling despite being younger.  Unfortunately, she takes on Teal’s dull side.  She is vague and often seems like she lacks interest.  However, she has a crude humor; her personality is extremely passive.  She makes many jokes that go unnoticed in conversation, and has brutal silent sarcasm.

Her hair is naturally a vivacious dark pink (Teal’s hair is dyed).  Her features are nearly the same as her brothers; the same fiery red eyes and bronze skin and short stature.  She wears a roughly ruffled combat skirt, and a tight-yet-mobile pea coat.  Her brass gloves and boots are a mere article in her outfit, but still deadly in their own way.  She wears ripped tights, and a gold necklace under her blouse.

            Hikari “Lake” Akiro

            Human. M. 16

            Semblance: Water and Fire Manipulation.

            Weapon: “The Skyfall’s Flame.” Lake’s weapon is a versatile marble hilt and jacket.  The back of his jacket is a revolving wheel of water and fire dust.  His marble hilt is adorned with a ruby and a sapphire, and can turn into a pistol.  He uses his weapon in a variety of ways; a combusting/freezing sword and ice shield, an ice lance, cutlass, and a lasso of fire or water.

            Lake is a complicated human.  He is a calmer version of Teal; happy-go-lucky without the ADHD (not to downtrod ADHD by the way).  He is inexperienced, but carries a determined attitude towards everything he does.  He always believes there’s room for improvement somewhere.  He is patient and reserved like Magnolia, but also somewhat boyish and immature when around certain people (a.k.a Teal). 

He has fair skin and rosy cheeks.  His predominantly eastern heritage (despite being from Vacuo) shows in his dark blue, slanted eyes and black hair.  His average height is balanced by his frame, which is toned well from swimming.  He dyes the locks of his hair a dark turquoise at the tips.  He wears a lake-green motorcycle jacket and jeans ripped at the knees and the cuffs at his ankles.  He wears a plain white shirt underneath his jacket and a silver necklace.

These are just my main characters from my own RWBY-verse, and I was curious to see how other people could use them.  Here’s a link to their story if you wanna check out more: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11654818/1/The-Mis-Adventures-of-Team-TRML-Tourmaline

[anywayhereskirkwall]

So considering how I take 3-500 business days to get anything done I figure I won’t be drawing my DA girls’ kids anytime soon but I could at least talk about them. For the most part if they’re able to have kids they do because I like designing characters by playing mix and match with parent traits and then I’m weak and get attached:

Alistair and Oralie: The pair that has “parent material” written all over them. Their first and only biological child is Adaia (Addy), obviously named after Lee’s mother because I’m unoriginal. She’s got her father’s eyes and her mother’s gold hair and is just covered in freckles. They then adopted orphans Celestine and Adrien from an alienage when Adaia was a little over a year and Celestine and Adrien were 4 and 3 respectively. They also get a couple more mabari. Lee makes a point of making sure they all know how to fight and protect themselves (along with any other kid in the neighborhood that wants to learn) but the girls are the ones to really take to it. Addy duel wields like Lee and Celestine has a sword and shield like Al. Adrien on the other hand grows up to become a baker. After the Blight they convince Anora to grant the Tabris family some land far enough from Denerim to be safer but near enough to easily visit the alienage and the kids stay there for the most part, but both parents come home as much as they possibly can. When Corypheus triggers the calling they realize that Adaia is hearing it too and it’s what leads to Lee going to search for a cure.

I haven’t decided if Ceres and Zev have kids yet. I think they’d both be happy without any but they’d also both be great parents, even if it’s a surprise to themselves. Also Ceres was a goddess of motherhood so I kind of feel like they maybe should? If they do it would probably just be one son with a name like Gaius because I’m fucking trash like that. 

Fenris and Hesper: Easily have my favorite next gen. kids. Carver, their first, is a tall lanky mage with shoulder length black hair, his mother’s nose, and grey eyes. He has a goofy sense of humor and the survival instincts of a golden retriever puppy that ate a whole pan of weed brownies. Bethany acts as his magic teacher. Diana is the younger one and has her mother’s red hair and her father’s eyes. She makes up for Carver’s dopey disposition by having a short temper and being CONSTANTLY READY TO THROW DOWN. Between Fenris, Isabella, and occasionally Merrill she knows how to tell someone to go fuck themselves in no less than five languages. One time when she was like 11 she broke a kid’s arm for calling her big brother a “filthy mage” and when questioned about it by the kid’s parents because we don’t care that you’re the Champion’s daughter you can’t do that she was just like “yeah and if you say anything like that again I know where you sleep Timmy you piece of shit.” Her parents just shrug and say “You’ve heard it here first. Better start sleeping with your eyes open, Tim.” Needless to say they end up in Aveline’s office a lot, usually with Eleanor Cadash, who they dragged along. Varric bails them out when he can.

 Lorain and Blackwall: Only have a daughter named Eleanor. Lorain takes up Varric’s offer of a place in Kirkwall and they raise her there. Tall for a dwarf but short for a human, she’s got her mother’s bright blue eyes and tons of black hair. I honestly didn’t plan to give them a kid but then I realized the comedy potential in Lorain using her Carta connections for weird parenting things like hard to find gifts, background checking dates, and threatening anyone who even so much as considered breaking her daughter’s heart that they might have an “accident.” Thom and Eleanor are both just there like “holy fuck chill, Mom.” Luckily for them she ends up dating and later marrying her childhood friend Diana Hawke. 

Aerin and Cullen: They have four and they all tend to follow a mostly unintentional 3:1 ratio: 3 brown 1 blonde, 3 brown eyes 1 green, 3 mages 1 not, 3 girls 1 boy. If I remember right all that was unintentional except I think there used to be another one with green eyes? I can’t remember but when I realized it I was like screw it let’s go for it. The oldest by about five minutes is Magnolia (Maggie), the only non-mage and warrior. She has brown hair she wears in micro-braids, brown eyes, tall and muscular. The second twin is Poppy. Curly brown hair, green eyes, plump, mage. Next is Victoria, who’s nickname is Sunflower because she’s the only one to get Cullen’s blonde hair. Brown eyes, kind of scrawny, and a mage. She’s also the only one to learn necromancy from her mother. The youngest and only son is William (Will). He’s also a mage (probably knight-enchanter?) but he’s over 6 foot and built like a linebacker. Despite this his sisters are all really protective of their “baby brother.” For the most part he actually loves it. 

Vega and Josephine: Probably adopt at least one but I haven’t really fleshed much out yet. Vega’s entire mercenary family loves them though and spoils them. Like there’s obviously her fathers but everyone else is also like a weird aunt/uncle/etc.