#if anyone could make one of them uncomfortable its ruth

[heart-aflame]

The ghosts of Ruth and Richie playing twenty questions with the Lords in Black, after the lords decided they were weird and more fun to interact with listening to their weirdness instead of torturing them. It's gotten past the point of twenty questions at this point, there really is no limit here.

Wiggly and Pokey are the only ones unhappy with this, not because they want to torture them, but because they would rather not interact with these specific weird kids at all. They at least dont need to be truthful or at all helpful, answering questions.

The other three, and Ruth and Richie themselves, are having a fun time with it at least, even if the humans ghosts were scared at the beginning and still kind of are. They're learning cool things!

[anythingbutmar]

That’s my girl

Diego Hargreeves x reader

Summary: As a karate teacher, you never thought your life would get more extraordinary after being a teen champion, but when you find yourself in the 60′s looking for your boyfriend, you realize just how wrong you were.

A/N: Ooff this was hard! So much to fit into a one-shot, i hope I didn’t miss anything! I used a chinese name for the mentor but I don’t know if I misspelled or something, so let me know if I did something wrong!

Warnings: swearing, mental hospital.

October, 1963

“Diego? Five? Anyone?” You yelled on the dark alley, unaware that your boyfriend had been there a few weeks before.

You strolled around the block and found a rude old man who informed you of how bold your clothes were “even for this crazy 60′s” he had exclaimed and you had felt the urge to kick him in the face. Great, thanks Five.

You had no idea what to do next but one thing was certain: you needed to find Diego.

December, 2018

You struggled with the keys as you tried to close the dojo’s door with your gloves on. Winter was at its strongest, which meant you had to wear uncomfortable clothes until you reached home. You hated it, it made you feel a little helpless in case someone attacked you, and just as you were thinking about that scenario, you felt someone coming from behind and you kicked back, right on the crotch area.

“HO-ly shiiiit!” A man exclaimed, and when you turned around you realized it was just the guy who cleaned the gym next door. You two had never talked before, but you sure had seen him walking around. You might have thought he was attractive if not for his way of living, gym’s were no place to live in.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry! I thought you were going to steal from me.” You apologized, covering your face with your hands.

“I was trying to help you!” He gasped for breath

You nearly laughed. He looked adorable with his eyes closed and his nose red from the cold. “I think I could handle that by myself. What was your name again?”

“Diego.” He pushed, recovering from the pain. “And you must be Miss Huiliang.” He extended his hand and you took it with a smile.

“No, I’m just Y/N, Mister Huiliang was my mentor and my friend.”

“Oh I’m sorry.” He frowned.

“Don’t be, he taught me everything he could. How about I buy you a coffee to make up for that?” You gestured towards his lower area.

“How about I buy you a coffee to make up for scaring you?” He gave you a flirtatious smile and you just laughed, heading for the shop.

November, 1963

“Babe...” You whispered towards the small TV in your living room, which you shared with your roommate, a 76 year old woman with severe arthritis.

“That’s your man? The one you talk about everyday?” She laughed out loud. “Then why don’t you go get him sweets? He’s right there on the loony bin!”

“You know what Ruth? You’re absolutely right, I’ll be back by dinner! Keep an eye on my lasagna!” You exclaimed as you ran to your destination.

Once you got there you realized you had no plan, just a third degree black belt and that would have to do the job.

Thankfully, the guards weren’t expecting a sweet girl with an apron to knock them out with two swift chops right on the carotid artery. Now you just had to avoid other people and find your love, easy, right? You checked the cameras and the sight made you sob; he was sedated out of his mind and they had him on a straitjacket. “Motherfuckers.” You whispered to yourself.

You ran inside and found a few unlucky nurses who were knocked out easily as well. It cost you a few minutes but finally you heard him struggling inside a door and knew exactly what to do. You took a bobby pin from your hair and started picking the lock, when the door finally opened you realized he was doing the exact same thing, which immediately brought you to tears as you hugged him, holding him close in case he would fall.

“Did you punch people to get to me?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s my girl.” He praised and you enjoyed that small moment so very much.

That was, until you heard gunshots.

“Come on! I just want one peaceful reunion with my lover!” You cursed the universe before you started running, again.

March, 2019

“Yeah, she’s a twice under 18 champion, no less.” Diego bragged to his brothers with his arm around your shoulders.

“That is pretty cool, how did you end up with a sucker like him then?” Allison asked jokingly.

“I’ve always thought he put me on a love spell with those weird abilities of his.”

“Honey!” He exclaimed in shock.

“What? You thought I just fell for the knives? Oh no baby, that’s just a plus.” You winked at him, making his siblings cringe.

Except for Klaus, of course, who just clapped. “I like this one!”

November, 1963

“I just want you to know that I missed you all very much!” You grunted as you helped lift the weight from Diego’s leg.

“See Diego? You should learn some manners from Y/N.” Answered Luther when you could finally pull him away from the bulldozer.

“Shut up, team zero! Unstoppable!” Diego and Luther awkwardly fist bumped and you smiled at the sight.

Vanya gave you a small nod. “We missed you too.”

“Alright so what’s the deal with Lila? She moves like she’s been doing karate all her life.” You wondered, starting a discussion on her apparent powers.

After hearing voices inside the barn you left the Hargreeves to discuss while you went to actually do something about the newfound information. You stepped in and you saw Lila stepping on Five’s throat.

“Not on my watch, bitch.” You sneaked around until you were right behind her. “Oi! Why don’t you fight someone your size?!” You exclaimed before sending a high kick to her face, which she caught flawlessly, spinning you and throwing you away.

You landed with a loud thud and then everything went black.

April, 2019

“Not this again.” You grunted as you were sucked on a blue void, worsening your headache.

You suddenly were in the entrance of the umbrella academy, together and unharmed. Diego let you down from the bridal position he was carrying you on and embraced you tightly. “You’re alright.”

“I am.” You whispered into the hug. “Now please tell me you didn’t have sex with that mad woman.”

“Don’t worry about that, angel, I’m all yours, always have been and always will be.” He kissed you and you silently promised not to lose him ever again.

[doctors-star]

Can you stay still for the next 20 min? (If this was meant as a prompt ask 😅)

“Okay - have you got it?”

“Yeah, you can - shift it to the left a bit, yeah - is that right your end?”

“Looks good to me.” Peter leans back very carefully, eyeballing along the length of the beam with half of his face scrunched up in a squint. Alex resists the urge to fidget the cold, heavy wood between his hands; there is a strong likelihood that, in seeking a better grip on the slippery, paper-like bark of the skinny silver birch trunk they are using as a rafter, he will in fact fumble with numb fingers and drop it through their half-built structure. Peter straightens up and grins at him. “Right. Now, you just hold that there, perfectly still, while I drill and fix this end - shouldn’t take too long, anywhere between-” he tilts his hands mock-thoughtfully, “-two minutes and three days. All right?”

Alex sends him a withering look, somewhat weakened by the smile he is valiantly attempting to fight from his face. “You may have twenty minutes, maximum,” he says sternly.

“Why twenty?” Peter asks, casting about him for the auger they’re using to bore holes in the rafters and peg them together. “And - I mean you no offence, mate, but you keep shifting the beam - can you stay still for the next twenty minutes?”

Peter starts to descend his ladder to hunt down the drill and Alex takes pity. “You tucked it in your belt.”

“Ah! And you told me it was a bad idea,” Peter acknowledges with the point of a finger, scrambling back up and fidgeting the large, curling length of very sharp iron out from the small of his back.

Alex tilts his head slightly. “I meant because you might fall on it and die, but yes, fine, also because you have no object permanence and would lose it.”

Peter snorts and aligns the auger carefully over the crossed beams, perpendicular to their length, before beginning to twist the handles that form the T-shape of the drill. They’re down to their loose white shirts, despite the biting cold, what with the hauling and lifting and boring and pegging. Alex can see the muscles across Peter’s shoulders shift and pull under the thin linen.

“Anyway,” he says, dragging his eyes away and fixing them on the birch between his palms. The wood is scarred and knotted by the vagaries of Welsh weather but straight and sturdy; the bark is peeling in tight coils of ghostly parchment. It judders in his hands with every wrench of the auger, so he focusses on simply holding it still. “You can only have twenty minutes, because lunch is at one and that’s in about twenty minutes - whereupon I will abandon this whole project, because I’m hungry.”

Peter huffs a laugh, silver in the winter air. “Oh, right,” he says, as though this is quite reasonable, “I understand. Twenty minutes it is, then - although you’ll have to count it out in your head, what with us being Stuart farmers in rural Wales and therefore not having access to such newfangled things as watches.”

Peter looks at him out of the corner of his eye, biting his lip. Alex assumes a suitably innocent expression in the face of this challenge. “Mm,” he agrees.

“After all, I assume that’s how you know it’s twenty to one - you’ve been counting the minutes since dawn.”

“Oh, no, I can read the time in the sky.” Peter looks sceptically at the thick duvet of cloud overhead - the light has remained the same weak greyness since the sun technically rose, though they’ve not seen it. Alex shuffles the log into one hand, moving his foot up one ladder rung to support its weight on his thigh, and fumbles the other hand in the small leather pouch attached to his belt. He lifts the modern stainless steel watch up to the sky and makes a show of squinting at it against the clouds, and then puts it away. “Twelve forty-five,” he says decisively, slowly creasing into a smile when Peter abandons the auger to put his face in his hands and laugh.

“The director’ll have your head for that,” Peter points out, amused, as he goes back to the drill with a fond shake of his head.

Alex shrugs. He can, it turns out, do without most modern conveniences: he’s become used to candlelight and going to bed early, he likes the food, he honestly hasn’t thought about television for about three months. They’re allowed enough bits of their old lives to keep them all healthy and sane, like toothpaste and regular phone calls to friends and family, but other than that they’ve been keeping to the period fairly religiously and Alex wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s just - it turns out that, like how an explorer might like to keep a compass on them to know which way is north, Alex likes to know what time it is. Not for any particularly rational reason. There’s just a sort of comfort in knowing where he stands, temporally.

“Should have got you a pocket sundial for Christmas,” Peter says wryly, jimmying the auger back out of the wood with effort.

“A sundial? In Wales?” Alex objects mildly. “Peter, be serious.”

“Hah. Well, Stuart Welshmen managed somehow,” Peter points out, trotting swiftly down the ladder and fishing about in a basket for a peg long enough to pin the beam to the apex.

Before Alex can respond, there is a call from the farmhouse, and Ruth is waving at them as she picks her way through the frosted garden towards them. “Hello, boys - oh, this is going up well.”

Peter smiles shyly at her and pats the nearest upright of the latrine. “It’s good, yeah,” he says, turning the peg in his fingers with the other hand. It’s terribly sweet, this nervous adoration Ruth seems to inspire in him when she catches Peter off-guard. Sweet, and slightly embarrassing on Peter’s behalf, and very slightly inspiring of jealousy, as though Alex were five years old and sulky over Ruth stealing his best friend. He doesn’t like to examine that much.

“Slightly roofless,” Alex points out.

Ruth smiles, tilting her head back to look up the ladder at him, and the niggling, uncomfortable envy fades somewhat. “It’s al fresco,” she corrects cheerfully, and he grins. “It’s got walls, anyway, and this looks like your last roof beam, so it’s only slightly roofless.”

“You won’t say that when it rains,” Alex foretells, and she laughs.

“All right. I came out to tell you lunch will be in a minute, so if it’s at a point where you can leave it-”

“I’m letting go of this beam,” Alex tells Peter firmly. “I’m doing it.”

“You said twenty minutes,” Peter corrects, scrambling up the ladder.

“I said until lunch,” he says, steadying the beam carefully so that Peter can jam the peg in and shove at it with the heel of his palm. “It is now lunch, and I am no longer holding this beam for you.”

“Two minutes,” Peter pleads, shoving at the peg and then looking around him, patting his belt and where pockets might be on jeans but definitely are not on breeches. “Where’s the - thank you, Ruth.”

Ruth’s eyes slide sideways to Alex in amusement as she passes Peter a sturdy wooden mallet. She’s always pleasingly entertained by their antics, even if Alex and Peter are being more than slightly unhelpful, and it absolutely encourages them to further bouts of silliness. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says warmly, folding her arms and looking delighted around the edges of a stern expression. Alex basks in her indulgence.

“Alex wouldn’t really abandon me for lunch,” Peter says, deliberately overwrought and self-pitying, as he secures the peg. “He wouldn’t destroy all our hard work just to eat, not after the hours we spent working on it - and the years we’ve been friends, and all the nice things I’ve done for him.” Ruth laughs and Peter, beam now secured, leans on it slightly to look plaintively in Alex’s direction. “You wouldn’t leave me just for food, would you?” he says, with his best puppyish eyes.

Alex looks back at him. He’s given up a lot to be here with Peter for this year - they’ve not been out of uni that long, all things considered, and are definitely in that stage of academia in which a person is supposed to work extremely hard and get all the funding available to become very specialised and useful - essentially, they are not supposed to be going on a year’s sabbatical to wrestle pigs and plough fields and become bizarrely knowledgeable about early seventeenth century agriculture, which is something neither of them are aiming to specialise in at all. He has no idea if this is a good career move, or a sure-fire way to never be taken seriously again. On top of that, he’s given up on all the comforts and joys of modern life, and on seeing his friends and family particularly often, and on starting or maintaining relationships with anyone other than Peter and Ruth and the rest of the cast and crew. He had been worried, when he and Peter had been discussing whether or not to go for this opportunity, that he would be constantly miserably cold and lonely - but Peter had promised him good company and all of Peter’s spare layers and blankets, and had reminded him of all of the things they would get the opportunity to do and try, and all the experiences they could have out in the valley that they might never have again. And Alex had allowed himself to be convinced, and had followed Peter onto the farm and into Stuart life. He is yet to have cause to regret it; he has loved it, and Peter and Ruth and all his new friends, to excesses.

He fixes Peter with an unimpressed look. “I would leave you in the mud for an unripe tomato.”

[sie-werden-nie-vergessen]

a reunion - ethel & ephraim

Angstember Prompt No. 1 - “They Told Me You Were Dead”

(this turned out to be way more fluff than angst, but ehh oh well)

{spoilers for The Bellows Book}

Ephraim swallows at the thought of Harold, the sadness welling in his throat. A tear slips down his cheek, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t try to hide it. As Ethel silently watches him, she realizes that she is looking at the same man that she left at Pennhurst; the one who is so full of self-hatred and grief and doubt that it’s a wonder that he’s even still standing.

“They told me you were dead”

Ephraim stands at the bottom of the stairs, his hat crumpled in his hands. He shifts from side to side, waiting for a response.

Ethel pulls the shawl tighter around herself. She’s smaller now than she was at Pennhurst, and her eyes are sunken. Still, her complexion is warm and her eyes are bright.

She’s getting better, he thinks.

Ethel shakes her head. Her hair floats around her face, the bun at the nape of her neck doing little to contain the soft curls. “No,” she says softly. “Did Ruthie tell you that?”

Ephraim takes a tentative step forward. The light snow crunches under his feet, and as he steps forward, he notices Ethel shivering. “No, she didn’t. The doctors at Pennhurst...they said….”

He trails off. He can’t bring himself to say it.

They stand in silence for a moment, Ephraim shifting back and forth while Ethel shivers quietly. She bites her lip, unsure of what to say.

“Diphtheria,” she says finally. “They thought it was TB at first, because of Violet.”

Her eyes well at the thought of Violet. Poor, poor sweet Violet...

And Harold too....

Ephraim swallows at the thought of Harold, the sadness welling in his throat. A tear slips down his cheek, and for the first time in his life, he doesn’t try to hide it. As Ethel silently watches him, she realizes that she is looking at the same man that she left at Pennhurst; the one who is so full of self-hatred and grief and doubt that it’s a wonder that he’s even still standing. 

The man who realized too late that he wanted to do good with his life.

The old Ephraim is gone, and Ethel is delighted.

She descends the stairs slowly, partly because of her weakness and partly due to the fact that she wants to be gentle. Ephraim has never been gentle; it isn’t his forte. However, he needed gentleness. He had needed gentleness his whole life and had been denied it at every turn, and that denial had bred a dangerous hatred in him, but that hatred was gone now. Ethel could see that plainly.

Reaching out, she places a hand on his arm, just below his shoulder. She pulls him closer to her, and he obliges. He still doesn’t look at her, however. He stares ahead as hot tears roll down his face, his jaw set tightly and his teeth clenched. 

Ethel slides her hand up his arm, allowing it to rest on his shoulder. She rests her other hand on his forearm and gently turns him to face more towards her. When he still doesn’t look at her, she moves her hand to his face, her thumb tracing over his cheek. 

Finally, he looks at her, and for once his eyes are soft. “Come inside,” she says softly. “You’ll get sick out here in the cold.”

He nods silently, and Ethel hooks her arm through his as she leads him up the steps and to the large oak door. Ephraim thinks of how silly it is that he - a doctor - is being led by a sick woman, but he says nothing. For once in his life, he doesn’t protest.

The stairs are icy and slick, and for a moment Ethel falters. Ephraim snaps out of his stupor and steadies her before she falls. When she regains her balance, she glances over her shoulder at him, her brown eyes gazing into his. It goes unsaid, but Ephraim understands completely.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

They’ve never stood so close before, but Ephraim has little time to process this before the door swings open. Warm air rushes onto the doorstep as Ethel quickly pulls him inside. She shuts the door behind herself and laughs softly as she brushes snow from his shoulders. “You’re so red!” she cries, and Ephraim can’t decide if it’s because of the cold, or because of her. As he glances around the room, he notices Ruth emerging from what must be the kitchen. She’s wiping her hands on an apron, and the hem of her gingham skirt is speckled with flour. They lock eyes for a moment, and Ruth pretends to not notice the fact that he is as red as a beet.

Ethel laughs softly again, and Ruth smiles.

She hasn’t heard Ethel laugh in months, and despite her hatred for Ephraim Bellows, she can’t help but be happy to hear her cousin’s laughter. Ethel turns to her in excitement.

“He’s come back!” she exclaims, and Ruth nods in acknowledgment.

When Ethel turns her back, however, Ruth locks eyes with Ephraim once again. A silent threat passes between the two of them before Ruth quickly turns back to the kitchen, leaving them all alone. Ephraim wants to explain everything to her. He wants to assure her that he’s changed now, but he knows she wouldn’t believe him, not after what happened to Sarah.

Sarah.

Tears prick at his eyes at the thought of her, but this time he fights them. There’s no sense in upsetting Ethel. Not now, at least. He wonders half-heartedly if she’s seen Sarah’s files yet. Surely she has, after Ruth nearly broke into his office to berate him. Despite that, he isn’t sure. He doesn’t have much time to contemplate it, however, because Ethel soon ushers him into the parlor.

It’s a cozy room, with plush sofas and armchairs scattered around the room. A large fireplace sits against the far right wall, a plush pink armchair sitting in front of it. The chair is out of place with the rest of the furniture, and Ephraim decides that it must be Ethel’s. A side table sits beside it, its top covered in novels, further confirming Ephraim’s suspicions. They sit together on the sofa closest to the door. It’s a soft cream color, and it reminds Ephraim of home. 

He hates to be reminded of that place.

Just as they begin to settle themselves, Charles walks into the room and seats himself in the armchair opposite the pair. He stares at Ephraim for a moment before picking up a nearby newspaper and flipping it open.

Ethel shifts uncomfortably in her seat, feeling awkward now that her cousin is watching her. She knows what Ruth thinks of Ephraim, and therefore what Charles thinks by extension. She fiddles with the edge of a nearby pillow, her eyes trained steadily on the ground.

Ephraim, meanwhile, taps his foot nervously on the Persian rug that sits under their feet. It’s a pale green color, and it produces a soft thud, thud every time his shoe taps its surface. The only sounds now are the crackling of the fireplace, the whoosh of a turning paper, and the soft thud, thud of Ephraim’s shoe.

Ethel clears her throat, her voice still weak from the effects of diphtheria. “I missed you,” she whispers, her voice cracking a bit as she does so. Ephraim nods. “So did I.”

She nods in return, the remaining hair tumbling from the loose bun as she does so. Normally, it would be improper for a woman to wear her hair loose around anyone but the closest of family members, but considering the circumstances, neither she nor Ephraim is bothered. She’s sick, of course, and sometimes allowances must be made.

Ephraim swallows as his mind once again darts to Sarah.

You should have made allowances for her, too.

He shakes his head slightly, pushing the thoughts away. Now is not the time to upset himself, or Ethel. Instead, he focuses on her. Her hair is long, and it curls softly, but whether it’s by nature or by human manipulation, Ephraim isn’t sure. Either way, he decides, it suits her.

Suddenly Ruth calls from the kitchen for Charles, and he sets aside his paper with a look of annoyance. “I’m coming!” he calls, throwing a glare in Ephraim’s direction before striding out of sight.

When he’s out of their line of sight, Ethel smiles clumsily at Ephraim. She turns more towards him, her knees now pointed in his direction. She reaches out and grasps his hand, all the while keeping her eyes trained on his. She leans her head back onto the sofa while she watches him. It's as if she's unsure of what to say - and she isn't sure, especially not after what happened in Mill Valley.

Finally, she decides on the truth.

“I’m glad that you’re better.”

Ephraim nods, his eyes locked on hers.

“So am I.”

After a moment, she moves closer to him, leaning her head against his chest. He stiffens at the contact, unsure of what to do. Finally, he intertwines his fingers with hers, his free arm resting on her shoulder. Ethel places her other hand on top of their intertwined hands, nestling herself further against him. She sighs lightly, her thumb drawing across his. She smiles against his chest.

“Ruthie will kill us if she sees us like this.”

Ephraim smiles, his chin resting against her head. 

“I guess we’ll just have to make sure that she doesn’t.”

[maleficar-writes]

Of Unicorns, Virgins, and Other Such Things

Pairing: Female Lavellan/Solas

Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition

Rating: Explicit

Additional Tags: Only partially crack

Summary: A noble attempting to curry favor with the Inquisition gives Inquisitor Lavellan a unicorn. It gets in the way. A lot.

On AO3: Link

“But what is it?” the Inquisitor asked, ears flicking with annoyance as she peered at the massive white beast stomping around her courtyard, nickering nastily at everyone who wasn’t Cole. It was quite pretty, with a flowing mane and tail that shimmered like starlight. Its hooves and horn glimmered gold in the brilliant light of early afternoon.

“A gift,” Josephine said, a bit too cheerfully. “From a noble who seeks to curry your favor. It is a rare, almost mythical unicorn.”

The Inquisitor peered at it. “It doesn’t have a sword through its face like the other one.”

“Because this is a natural unicorn,” Josephine said with infinite patience.

The Inquisitor’s right ear twitched, her expression flattening. “You said mythical.”

“I said almost mythical.”

“And this from you,” Varric interjected, leaning against a wooden post and giving the Inquisitor one of those shit-eating grins. Her ears twitched again. “The woman who does at least ten impossible things before breakfast.”

She pulled her lips back and gave him a snarl. Any normal person would have seen that expression and pissed themselves, but Varric just laughed like this was all good fun. It was infuriating how she was supposed to be the most deadly person in Thedas – though, probably, the Hero of Ferelden was more so – but none of her companions seemed to treat her with the respect deadly people deserved. Actually, now that she thought about it, no one did. It was always Inquisitor, fetch this thing or Inquisitor, take this other thing to the place with the people or even Inquisitor, my wife is dying and my son knows how to cure her so please go to him but, oh, no, he won’t come back with the potion or even given you the recipe he’ll just give you the potion to bring back to me necessitating you making future trips to bolster the Inquisition’s reputation. Not that she had strong feelings about this.

“Also this unicorn is not dead.”

“Fluffy,” the Inquisitor said with sharp enunciating, “is not dead. She is respirationally challenged. More importantly, why doesn’t this one like anyone except Cole?”

Solas, who had been hovering at the edge of the courtyard with a studious expression on his face, swung toward her at the question. “Lore surrounding unicorns posits they prefer the company of virgins and will defend a virgin quite violently.”

The Inquisitor went still. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Oh,” she finally managed.

“Indeed.” Solas slipped closer to her. “Given the unicorn’s nature, it might be best to have—”

He broke off as the unicorn, with a whiny loud enough to burst eardrums, rounded on them and charged. He threw himself to the side, snapping a barrier into place around himself, Josie, the Inquisitor, and Varric, and stumbled. He righted himself only with Josie’s help.

“Oh,” the Inquisitor said as the unicorn paced in a circle around her. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of being a virgin. That didn’t bother her at all. It was just that a four-legged beast with a spike growing out its head was telling everyone in Skyhold that she’d never gotten laid.

Twenty-four years old, leading one of the most powerful political forces in the world, surrounded by men and women who pretty much oozed sex appeal, and she’d never had sex.

This was her life.

She dragged a hand down her face as Varric made a noise of pure delight. “Inquisitor, he seems to like you.”

“I’m going to kill you,” she muttered.

The unicorn’s muzzle rubbed against her face. It lipped her ear. With a shriek, she bolted away from it.

“He really seems to like you!” Varric called after her as she tore across the courtyard, the unicorn prancing happily after her.

She tried hiding in the great hall. She tried hiding in the tavern. She climbed the ladder to Cullen’s Blighted bedroom and crawled under his bed – much to his sputtering horror – and the damn thing somehow managed to follow her everywhere. When she decided to go out on missions, it was waiting in the stables, somehow saddled, looking at her with huge, watery eyes that seemed to say Ride me, beautiful virgin, and she’d go red to her ears.

Passing judgments was next to impossible. The Tevinter shem who had led the Wardens astray had taken one look at the unicorn standing proudly beside her throne and dissolved into giggles. Ser Ruth, who had turned herself in around the same time the Tevinter mage was brought before her, took one look at the unicorn and started choking. Ostensibly on laughter, but the Inquisitor hoped the woman swallowed her tongue.

“You can’t follow me everywhere,” she told the damn beast as it followed her across one of the ramparts. She and Cole kept putting him in the stables. He kept escaping. Somehow.

Vivienne thought he was possessed, and Bull tended to agree, but everything was demons and despair with those two anyway.

“You need to let me do my job.” He stared at her with watery eyes. She attempted to remain unmoved. “You need a name, too.”

He pranced, hopping from hoof to hoof as if he understood. In the back of her head, she heard Solas intoning, Unicorns are widely believed to be incredibly intelligent creatures. Do your best to be polite. That horn isn’t for show.

“Pokey?” she suggested.

The unicorn gave her a look that pretty clearly said, You’re shitting me.

“Fine, fair, I agree, it was a bad idea.” She was bad at naming things, though. The other day, she’d scraped together enough lambswool to make a new set of robes for Solas, and when asked by Dagna and Harritt to give the coat some kind of identifier, she’d just said, “Sheep’s Clothing.” They’d looked at her like she’d grown two heads before declaring it Resisting Magical Something or Another.

She had told Solas about the incident. He hadn’t approved, though she couldn’t fathom why.

Tugging on one of her braids, she gave the unicorn an assessing look. “You kind of look like a Bob to me.”

He blinked at her and that blink somehow managed to convey his dripping disdain.

“Not Pokey. Not Bob.” She chewed on her lower lip, and the unicorn made a sound that might have been horsey delight. It disturbed her. Deeply. She stopped chewing on her lip. “We could go with something noble. Charger?” He shook his head. Or ruffled his mane. Or something. She took it to be a no. “Dasher? Dancer? Prancer?” She paused. “Now that’s just ridiculous. You’re not making this easy, you know.”

He shuffled up to her and rubbed his nose against her shoulder. She, meanwhile, eyed the exceptionally sharp tip of his horn as it bobbed next to her face. Tentatively, she stroked the unicorn’s neck. “What about Hanal’ghilan? You’re not a halla, but it’s a noble name.”

He whickered and caught her ear with his lips. With an indignant shriek, she tore across the parapets.

In a rare moment of unicorn-free time later that afternoon, she slipped into Solas’s room to study the murals he was painting. And possibly to snuggle up to him and make him incredibly uncomfortable. There was something to be said for flustering him, and it was so delightfully easy that even a virgin could do it.

In her defense, she wasn’t much of a virgin. The unicorn might count her as one, but she’d done more than her fair share of playing poke and tickle with some of the other youths in her clan. She’d just never gone far enough to jeopardize her position.

“Solas,” she greeted cheerfully.

His head snapped up, his eyes darting all around her. Then he relaxed. “I see you’re without your stalwart protector.”

She slipped up to him. He wasn’t painting, was standing beside his table with a book in one hand. His fingers, long and lithe and delightfully wicked, were splayed across the pages of a book that lay open on the table before him.

Dancing her fingers up his tunic, she drew closer to him. “Stolen moments are so rare,” she purred, watching with delight as his eyes widened slightly.

“Inquisitor, I—”

“You?” she asked, rising onto her toes to brush her lips against his. It wasn’t even close to a kiss, but it was enough to get her a little tingly and a lot interested in actual kissing. She wanted real kisses, the fiery, passionate, he-shoves-his-hands-in-her-hair kinds of kisses. Kisses that involved tongue, but not Fade tongue. Fade tongue only got a girl so far.

He swallowed and made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t think…”

“Oh, but you do,” she murmured. “Entirely too much.” She canted her head to the side, sliding one arm about his neck. His book tumbled to the ground as his arm went around her waist, tugging her flush against him.

Their mouths were so close, his eyes so intent and filled with burning, desperate wanting.

From above them came a mighty crash.

“Confounded creature!” Dorian shouted. He followed that shout with many more, none of them understandable, all of them Tevene.

Solas all but shoved her away from him, throwing himself at the scaffolding to the side of the room as she heaved a heavy, beleaguered sigh and Hanal’ghilan tore into the room looking like a demon. He snorted, chest heaving, head lowered, and charged straight at Solas.

His horn missed Solas’s butt – and what a tight, sexy butt it was, she thought as he scrambled up the ladder – by inches.

Hanal’ghilan skidded to a stop between her and Solas, scratching the stone floor fiercely with his hooves. He huffed, dragging one hoof over the stone as if readying to charge, and she sighed heavily. “We need to discuss personal boundaries,” she said to him, patting him on the back.

It took her and Cole promising Hana’ghilan the best oats and a stupid amount of sugar cubes to get him to leave Solas’s rotunda. It took even longer to get the unicorn back to the stables, where the Inquisitor assured him up and down that she wouldn’t go anywhere near Solas ever again and he needn’t worry about her losing her virginity in the near to immediate future. He snorted, clearly not believing her, which was pretty much the right response because that night, Solas barged into her dreams with all the subtly of a charging druffalo.

He caught her face in his hands and kissed her, and she threw her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist and forcing him to hold her. They stumbled until her back pressed against a wall, and his tongue was in her mouth, tasting her, and it was so good.

Except for the part where it wasn’t real.

“I’m going to kill that creature,” Solas growled against her mouth, working his hands under her tunic to cup her breasts. That was also good. It was better than good. Heat lanced through her, and she dragged his mouth back to hers for more kisses.

She’d done a lot of kissing in twenty four years. Well, to be fair, it wasn’t as though she’d popped out of the womb and started kissing people. Maybe it was more like twelve years, unless she counted that time she kissed Theron when she was six. It hadn’t been a good kiss. She decided not to count it.

“I’m going to kill you,” she growled back, tugging at his clothes, wondering why he bothered with them in the Fade at all.

Probably because they never got much further than kissing shirtless. He always balked at that point.

“What have I done?” he asked as he caught her lower lip in his teeth, tugging gently.

She responded by grinding her hips against his, making him gasp with pleasure and shock and, really, he should be used to her doing this like this by now. “Nothing, hahren,” she replied in a throaty murmur, and he pressed closer to her, his eyes flickering with lust. “And that’s the problem.”

She heard something crash. It was a splintery sound. Rather like what wood might sound like when it shattered. She went stiff in his arms, and he noticed immediately. “Vhenan?” he asked, drawing his hands down her sides.

“Oh, by the Dread Wolf’s hairy ball—” The Fade dream fractured as a very large something pounded up her stairs and neighed loud enough to wake the dead. She bolted upright from her nest on the floor – she still wasn’t used to the concept of shem beds – and hurled her pillow at Hanal’ghilan’s face.

It hit his horn and stuck.

As he shook his head wildly, trying to dislodge the pillow, she threw another one. “It was a dream!” she shouted, hurling a third pillow. “It was just a dream, I was dreaming, and how did you even get in here?”

In the end, her pillow went flying off Hanal’ghilan’s horn and straight out her open window. It soared over her balcony and disappeared into the snowy mountains. Hanal’ghilan had the good sense to bow his head and give her those sad, watery eyes that were almost as guilt-inducing as puppy eyes.

“I’m still mad at you,” she groused as she patted a spot next to her pile of blankets. Hanal’ghilan happily settled there, and, after a moment, she dropped a pillow on his side and curled up against him. It wasn’t so different from sleeping with a halla.

The next morning, she stumbled into the tavern for breakfast with Hanal’ghilan on her heels, and Varric, who was always obscenely cheerful at all hours, saluted her with a mug of that wonderfully bitter, disgustingly perfect drink the shems called coffee. She made grabby hands at it and he surrendered it to her. “Looks like you’ve still got your unicorn chastity belt,” he said and she dragged her hands down her face, pushing the coffee aside and leaning across the table.

“All I want,” she hissed, “is to kiss him.”

“Who, the unicorn or Chuckles?” Varric asked, waving a serving girl over for another cup of coffee.

She pinned Varric with a glare that could probably melt silverite. At the very least, it should have seared the flesh off his bones.

Varric, however, was immune to such looks. She knew this. She still tried to employ them. They always failed. “My hahren—”

“That’s what the kids are calling it these days?” He rubbed his chin. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“That,” she sputtered, “is a term of respect for an elder and not some – some—” She broke off, still sputtering.

“Some salacious pet name?” he supplied.

Dorian dropped into the seat next to her. Aside from Cole, Dorian was the only man Hanal’ghilan let touch her. “Who are we giving salacious pet names to? Can I be next?”

She dropped her head to the table with an audible thunk. “It’s bad enough everyone knows I’ve never had sex with anyone,” she complained into the wood.

“And all you want is for Solas to throw you down and have his wicked way with you, but you have one very large, very white, very horny problem,” Dorian said with far too much cheer for the time of morning.

There was a beat of silence. Then he and Varric broke into laughter so loud it probably reached the Creator’s in the Beyond. She wanted to claw their faces off, but that wasn’t what civilized Inquisitors did.

The door to the tavern banged open, and she turned her head to see a very surly Solas in the doorway. He stopped there. Saw Hanal’ghilan. Hanal’ghilan saw him.

Some kind of energy snapped between the two of them, Hanal’ghilan pawing at the hardwood floor as she hissed at him to behave. Solas spun about on his heel and left. With a cheerful whicker of pleasure, Hanal’ghilan nuzzled against her shoulder.

“I’m going to die a virgin,” she groaned.

“Was this even an issue before our friend showed up?” Dorian asked. He had tried to pronounce Hanal’ghilan’s name once. She had told him if he ever tried again, she would burn all his silky robes and force him to wear cotton. The horror on his face had been priceless.

“No,” she moaned, reaching blindly for her coffee.

One of them, Creators bless them, pushed the mug into her hands. She picked her face off the table and hunkered over the steaming mug, taking small sips of the still too hot drink. It was black and bitter – as bleak as her sex life. She pointed to the mug. “This coffee is my sex life.”

“Hot and steamy?” Varric asked.

“Bitter and black and awful.”

“I thought you liked coffee,” Varric said.

“I don’t. I hate it.” She drank it anyway. “It’s just a good kick in the ass in the morning so I’m awake enough to wrangle all of you. Like whiny little halla who don’t want to go in their pens.”

“We have pens now?” Dorian asked. “That’s rather deviant, Inquisitor.”

“I hate you,” she muttered, throwing back the rest of the coffee in a single gulp.

She began to plan. She went to Cole, because Cole was the only one in Skyhold other than her, apparently, who was a virgin. It was awful. It was terrible. Because of Hanal’ghilan, she knew more about the sex lives of everyone in the Inquisition that she ever wanted or needed to know. The reverse, of course, was also true, and the only one who didn’t seem to care was Cole. Everyone else teased her mercilessly.

“Still have your white shadow,” Leliana had said idly in the War Room two days ago while Hanal’ghilan had lowered his horn at Cullen and proceeded to push the Commander around the room – the Inquisitor had not wanted to consider why.

Just yesterday, Sera had gone on at some length to Blackwall about being elbow deep in circumstances. And had asked the Inquisitor how her circumstances were. They’d both howled with laughter. The Inquisitor had wanted to die.

Or to stick them with something pointy.

Hanal’ghilan was off harassing someone else, so she was planning. With Cole. Planning with Cole was more like trying to herd cats than halla. He kept wandering off in his mind, and she kept having to refocus him. She understood the drifting; they were in the tavern, and there were lots of thoughts constantly brushing up on him. “We should have gone to one of the empty towers,” she said after two hours of getting nothing done.

“I can lead him away for a while,” Cole said abruptly. “We can make crowns of flowers and give them to you when it’s done.”

Her head hit the table with an audible thunk. “Couldn’t we have come to this conclusion at least an hour and a half ago, Cole?”

“Maybe,” he said. He tilted his head to the side. “But you weren’t ready then. You are now. Don’t worry, Solas burns, too. Heated, hot, heavy hands on his—”

Squeaking, she flailed, shushing him. “That’s private, Cole!”

“But he thinks it so loud.” Cole blinked at her with those huge eyes of his. “So do you. You think about him pushing, pressing, pinning. Holding you down and—”

She sputtered, pressing her face into her hands. “Private,” she groaned. When her face stopped flaming, she lowered her hands. “Let’s do it, then. You lead him away. Do the flower thing. And I…”

“Will have and be had,” Cole supplied.

“Yes, that,” she agreed.

So Cole left, and she watched him go to the stables. She watched him lead Hanal’ghilan to the gates. She watched him lead the unicorn out. And then she ran for Solas.

He was pouring over some book she was sure was very interesting, but it couldn’t be more interesting than him bending her over something and—well. She really didn’t know where to go from there, she’d just heard Dorian talk about being bent over things. Presumably, it worked the same way as everything else, but she just didn’t know.

“Hahren,” she said breathlessly, stumbling to a halt just in front of him.

He looked up at her with interest, but not interest.

“Forgive me, but I—”

“Cole took Hanal’ghilan out of Skyhold,” she said, and there was the interest she was looking for. She held out her hand. “Come with me?”

Creators, it suddenly occurred to her that he might say no. That he might gently rebuff her. He had hinted, on more than one occasion, that she was too young for him, that it was inappropriate for him as her hahren to act on any feelings for her. She would strangle him, she decided, if he told her no.

He shot to his feet, taking her hand. “You deserve better than what is sure to be a quick tumble,” he said as she all but dragged him out of the rotunda and hauled him across the great hall.

Behind them, Varric called out, “Unicorn chastity belt, Inquisitor!”

“I’m going to stick you on a spit and roast you, Varric,” she shouted back just before she pushed open her door.

She and Solas tumbled through the door and scrambled as quickly as possible around the tower to the actual door to her room. Then they were through it, and his hands were in her hair, dragging her mouth to his as he pressed her against the side of the stairwell and kissed her. Creators, it was a kiss. His nails scraped against her scalp as his tongue swept into her mouth. It was real and visceral and it flooded her with heat.

“Bed,” he said against her mouth, and he started to draw away.

“The wall is fine,” she protested, pulling him back.

His teeth found her lip, biting and tugging, and she whimpered softly before pressing another hot kiss to his mouth. “Not for your first time,” he said.

“Solas, you could fuck me in the dirt in the woods, and it would be fine,” she snapped, thrusting her hand into his breeches to find him achingly hard.

He swore, cleverly and creatively in Elvish, as she closed her fist around him and stroked. Creators, he was big. She’d stroked boys in her clan until they spilled in her hand, but they were boys and Solas was a man, and the idea of having this part of him inside of her was turning her brain to goo. Her smalls were a mess. She was a mess.

“Fuck me here, hahren,” she breathed, squeezing his cock. He gasped, his breath fanning across her lips. “Up against the wall, just like this.” She rubbed her thumb over his tip, rolling her hips against his thigh.

“Vhenan,” he said, strangled.

“The more you protest, the more time you waste,” she pointed out, taking his hand and guiding it between her legs.

He hissed, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit, rubbing her through the fabric of her trousers, and her mind went blank. She rocked against him, grinding herself on him in a rhythm that practically had her soaking through the fabric. Words escaped her. All she could do was gasp and moan, mewling for more as she worked herself over his hand, hers still stroking him.

Yanking his hand back, he deftly unlaced her trousers. Pushed them down her hips. They caught on her boots, but that didn’t deter them. He stepped between her legs, and she lifted them, trapped as they were, around his hips. His fingers pressed against her wet cunt, one sliding easily into her, and he groaned. “I should do more for you,” he said.

“Fuck me,” she demanded, sliding the fingers of her free hand behind his head. She urged him closer, feigning a kiss, then went straight for his ear. Her lips closed around the delicately pointed tip and he snapped.

He tore at the laces of his breeches, knocking her hand aside in his efforts to free himself. She kept sucking him, pulling broken groans from him with every drag of her tongue along the shell of his ear. And then his cock was free of his pants, and he was pressing it into her, and she had to release his ear so she could let her head fall back against the stone.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she hissed, clawing at his shoulders as he worked himself inside her.

He murmured something in Elvish she couldn’t understand – he was always doing that, speaking far more of their language than any elvhen had a right to – and then he was all the way inside her. “Vhenan.” He sounded strangled.

She brought his lips to hers. “Doesn’t hurt,” she told him. “Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t,” he ground out, and she ground against him, rocking her hips over his. They both gasped at the same time.

“Lucky me,” she said on a soft exhale. “Now, won’t you shut up and fuck me?”

He did. Creators, he did. He wasn’t tender or gentle. He was demanding, taking what he wanted with brisk thrusts that had her moaning his name every time he pushed into her. One hand curved around her ass to support her, to give her more leverage, while the other worked between their bodies to stroke her clit.

That was a revelation. Having a man inside her as he played with her? She could hardly breathe for how good it felt. Some demented part of her thought it felt so good in part because it was petty revenge on an obnoxious unicorn, too.

Then she was lost to thought, drowning in the feel of him. He made her cry out, made her quiver and shake in his arms, until finally, finally, her body clenched around his cock. It was the strangest, most delightful sensation she’d ever experienced, the orgasm somehow more intense for having him inside her. She swore – something about the Dread Wolf’s balls – and Solas swore – something about Mythal’s tits – and then he was coming, too, with jerky, abbreviated thrusts and a look of ecstasy on his face.

They slumped against each other, gasping.

“Vhenan,” he began, but she cut him off with bright, wicked laughter, peppering his face with kisses.

“Finally,” she crowed, laughing, kissing him, wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders and just hugging him. “Finally, finally, finally!” She pulled back, eyes widening with delight. “You know what this means?”

“I’m damned for all eternity for despoiling you?” he asked mildly.

She knew her expression was demented from the way his brows rose slowly. “That Blighted unicorn is going to hate me now!”

An hour or so later, Hanal’ghilan came screaming into the great hall, flowers braided into his mane. He slid to a halt before the Inquisitor’s throne, where she sat idly drinking coffee. He approached slowly, his nostrils flaring, and then recoiled from her. There was, interestingly enough, no condemnation in his eyes. Just quiet acceptance. He trotted away.

“I almost feel bad,” she said, taking a noisy sip of her coffee, as Solas drifted through the great hall toward her, a predatory look in his eyes.

At her side, Varric said, “Do you really?”

“Mmm. A little. A very little.” She sighed happily. “My sex life is still like my coffee, though.”

“Bitter and black?”

She gave him a wicked smile. “Hot and steamy.”

“More than I needed to know, Inquisitor,” he said, and he fled as Solas gained the dais.

“I believe I owe you hours of leisurely lovemaking, vhenan,” he said.

She tossed back the rest of her coffee and set the mug aside. “Let’s see if you can keep up, old man.” He did. But so did she, and it was wonderful.

[mirrorworldangel]

OTP Question Meme 1

Got tagged by @r6shippingdelivery thanks for the tags!

Imma do a second one for a different OTP cus this is kinda fun.

Tagging @dimethief @lj-todd @rayearthdudette @retrodisaster​  @ourwarbird and anyone else who wants to try this.

(art done by @ourwarbird)

Gustave “Doc” Kateb x Julien “Rook” Nizan

DISAGREEMENTS

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Usually it’s Doc, but there are some rare occasions Rook would scream.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Neither.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Rook, he would either use a different room to sleep in or would leave to stay with someone for a few nights until one of them m up and  

Who trashes the house? Because of an argument? Neither. 

Do either of them get physical? Once, and it was a slap to the face. It never happened again.

How often do they argue/disagree? They would sometimes have a few disagreements and bickerings, but when it comes to big arguments that’s when everybody know shit just hit the fan.

Who is the first to apologize? Whoever feels more guilty for how they acted, which usually is the one in the wrong (once they realise that).

SEX

Who is on top? Depends on who is in the mood of controlling the other, but mostly it’s Doc.

Who is on bottom? Rook, unless Doc let’s him hold the reins. Literally.

Who has the strangest desires? Rook would think it’s him,but Doc is always the more experimentally curious.

Any kinks? Bondage, marking/biting, dirty talk, discipline, lingerie with heels, collar, riding crop, creampie.

Who’s dominate in bed? They let the mood take them.

Is head ever in the equation? Yes.

If so, who is better at performing it? Rook, he has more experience.

Ever had sex in public? Sometimes. From Doc’s office to the communal showers, where they could have their own privacy but  getting the thrill of possibly getting caught.

Who moans the most? Rook, Doc likes to make as many sounds as he could from the man.

Who leaves the most marks? Both.

Who is the most experienced of the two? Both.

Do they ’fuck’ or ‘make love’? Depends on their mood.

Rough or soft? Middle ground, veering more towards rough most of the time.

How long do they usually last? Depends on the day and their stamina, but it’s not uncommon they’ll go for 2 rounds.

Is protection used? Sometimes, but mostly not.

Does it ever get boring? Never. They like to spice things up differently.

Where is the strangest place where they’d had sex? At the infirmary wards, they had to be quiet about it because there are a few operators that were asleep there. But also there was that one time at the parking lot in their car...

FAMILY

Do they plan on having children/ have children? They wanted to, but were afraid of bringing it up because of their busy lives.

If so, how many children to they want/have? One or two, twins at best.

AFFECTION

Who likes to cuddle? Both do, especially after work.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate places? Both, they enjoy the flirting game together to see the other getting hot and bothered,

Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves? Both, but mostly Doc with a bit of dirty talking.

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? No idea because I haven’t thought about that.

Who gives the most kisses? Both.

What is their favorite non-sexual activity? Spending time together. Taking walks with their pets, lounging together, and all of the simple things they do together. They also adore sight-seeing around the places whenever they are at other countries together. 

Where is their favorite place to cuddle? Anywhere and anytime.

How often do they get time to themselves? Everyday after work? Weekends and day offs? Its the times they finally get to relax without worrying about work are the best.

SLEEPING

Who snores? Not snoring, but heavily breathing for Rook.

If both do, who snores the loudest? Look at the previous answer.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately? They share.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay separately? They cozy up together, Rook snuggling at Doc’s side with Doc’s arm around him.

What do they wear to bed? Sometimes in their shirts and boxers, sometimes Rook uses Doc’s button-up shirts. They would also sleep naked after sex.  

Are either of them insomniacs? Not really, although if woken up from a nightmares, the other would wake up to accompany them until they go back to bed again.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Nope, no sleeping pills.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Yeah, they wrap their limbs around each other whenever its cold. They also would lay side by side as well.

Who wakes up with bed hair? Both, although Rook is the winner here.

Who wakes up first? Both are early risers, Doc is a bit of a slower paced.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? Both, whoever gets up first.

What is their favourite sleeping position? Either spooning, or one of them using the other’s chest/shoulder as a pillow.

Do they set an alarm each night? Yes, they do have to wake up for work.

Can a television be found in their bedroom? Nope. They have dogs for that.

Who has nightmares? Doc. Rook only occasionally.

Who has ridiculous dreams? Once it’s Rook saying a song verse in his sleep.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed? I don’t think so? It’s mostly about the blanket hoardings.

Who makes the bed? Both, they take turns.

Any routines/rituals before bed? Both would kiss their pets goodnight after final rounds of bathroom duty and feeding. Once in bed, Doc would do the occasional reading and Rook with the social media accounts while they were snuggling with the pets that followed them to bed.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? Doc. Pity him.

WORK

Who is the busiest? Doc, being the Head Medic of the team has its responsibilities and paperwork. Rook would try to help him out after Recruit trainings

Who rakes in the highest income? They seem to rank the same in Rainbow so they probably get paid the same? Or maybe because Doc is the Head Medic he earns more?

Are any of them unemployed? Nope.

Who takes the most sick days? No fucking idea.

Who is more likely to turn up late for work? Neither, they’re punctual.

Who sucks up to their boss? None, Doc would rather argue with Harry and Rook would plead at Harry until he gives in

What are their jobs? They're part of the GIGN team within the counter-terrorism group Rainbow.

Who stresses the most? Both, but Doc probably a bit more.

Are they financially stable? I think so, especially with Doc’s family background.

HOME

Who does the washing? Doc, he is a bit fussier with the type of detergent. Although Rook slowly takes over his task because Doc had to stay at work a bit later because of the paperwork.

Who takes out the trash? Whoever finds the trash full before bed or work or else the pets will have a go at it.

Who does the ironing? Both do. You gotta keep the formal uniforms crisp smooth, so why not iron too whatever other clothes need ironing.

Who does the cooking? They cook together, mostly Rook.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? None, unless if they’re too stuck to their phones or had fallen asleep while waiting for the kettle, then it’s a fair game.

Who is messier? The pets.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Blame it on the pets.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Military life has trained them to not keep throwing dirty clothes on the floor, amongst other things. The only exception is when they undress each other and fall in bed kissing and marking each other, they can’t be bothered to think about that in the heat of the moment.

Who forgets to flush the toilet? Neither. The fuck is this question.

Who is the prankster around the house? Again blame it on the pets.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? One of the pet birds they fostered has a slight obsession with shiny things.

Who mows the lawn? They have an apartment, not a house with garden, so neither in England. If they are at the family cottage, they already had a gardener for that. But at Greece, there is no grass to mow.

Who answers the telephone? Both, but more often Rook.

Who does the vacuuming? Again Rook. This is his deal of the chores because of his habit of fostering stray animals.

Who does the groceries? Both, and they go together.

Who takes the longest to shower? None, they keep to short and efficient showers... unless they hop together under the spray.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom? Both. Being this handsome takes a lot of work. XD

MISCELLANEOUS

Is money a problem? I don’t think so.

How many cars do they own? Each had their own car, so when they start livign together they technically have two cars.

Do they own their home or do they rent? They rent an apartment near the base at England. Once they had to move to Greece, Doc took this as an excuse to buy a beach house for “family visits”.

Do they live in the city or in the country? Somewhere near a small town. Not too far from the base nor the nearest hospital in case of an emergency.

Do they enjoy their surroundings? For the most part. Surroundings are secondary, what matters the most is the company.

What’s their song? I don’t know why, but I always have the song Dandelions by Ruth B playing in my mind every time I think of them. 

What do they do when they’re away from each other? If they’re away from each other that means one of them went on a mission, so they do their jobs. But they also mail each other love letters and foreign bouquets and gifts to the other back home.

Where did they first meet? When they got selected to be part of Rainbow. Though in Rook’s opinion, its at the infirmary back in France.

Who spends the most money when out shopping? Doc is extremely frugal when it comes to grocery shopping, but will easily splurge a custom made $200,000 Lamborghini in a blink of an eye to show off against NIGHTHAVEN. Rook would buy a lot of snacks and treats and toys for their pets, but is usually the one who had to control Doc on his lavish spendings just to show off.

Who’s more likely to flash their assets? If it is meant to spoil the other, then it’s Doc and his family.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Rook, because it’s rare to see the orderly man stumble adorably.

Any mental issues? Yeah, Doc have PSTD (especially after Outbreak), Doc more than Rook because he had to deal with a lot of deaths head-on.

Who’s terrified of bugs? Neither.

Who kills the spiders around the house? Doc would, behind Rook’s back. While Rook would just simply find a cup and move it away by hand. 

Their favorite place? Their countryside cottage in France, lend from Rook’s parents.

Who pays the bills? Both. They split it in half.

Do they have any fears for their future? Both are terrified of losing the other during a mission. Them dying is something they have more or less assumed, but the other dying? Unthinkable. Especially if they died in their arms.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Doc. But with a nice home-made dinner tho? Rook is the winner.

Who’s the tallest? Both have the same height I guess?

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Both, but mostly Rook with permission.

Who wanders around in their underwear? I don’t think either of them would be probe to walking around in their underwear unless it’s for a romantic occasion.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? It would be Rook here, especially when he’s doing chores or dancing together.

What do they tease each other about? Doc would usually fuss about Rook’s weight but that is nothing to the whispers of sweet praises to Rook’s ear with a few kisses, how beautiful and sweet he is and how his loving heart could fit the whole world etc. Rook usually tease him about his motherly habits, but also cooes at how his darling “angel of grace” is always watching him.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Neither, because Doc has the best taste in men’s fashion and loves to spoil Rook rotten. And Rook has good tastes that he learnt from Warden.

Who crushed first? Rook.

Any alcohol or substance related problems? Nah. But is he occasional weed brownies included?

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Both, all the Spetsnaz go drinking together as a team, so the boys stumble home drunk together.

Who swears the most? Doc at work, Rook in bed. 😄

[xolarajean]

Feel the Beat - Movie Review

Plot: Feel the Beat is a film that combines dance, comedy, and drama. It is directed by Elissa Down and stars Sofia Carson, Enrico Colantoni and Wolfgang Novogratz. Carson stars as April Dibrina, an aspiring Broadway dancer in New York City. Unknowingly, April steals a taxi from Ruth Zimmer, the producer of a major Broadway show April is going to audition for. After the realization she tries to plead with Ruth not to get cut, only to accidentally cause her to get injured. To make matters worse, the entire encounter was recorded by another dancer. After the embarrassing video of her goes viral, April returns to her small hometown in Wisconsin. April reluctantly accepts an offer to coach the local dance team in hopes of getting the attention of a famous Broadway producer, Welly Wong, at the national competition. Throughout the journey, April struggles with figuring out what her dreams are while also trying to mend relationships with the people she left behind years ago -- one of them being her ex-boyfriend, Nick. The movie shines a light on the rigorous training and pressures professional dancers go through. 

Rating: 3/5

I would say it is PG-13. The only curse word that I can remember that wasn’t censored was “ass” near the end. It also shows some little girls twerking/doing suggestive dancing in somewhat skimpy outfits in dance competitions -- for me it was awkward and I skipped through those parts, but I guess it also highlights the sexualization of young girls in the dance industry. 

Pros: 

Diversity (out of the main cast) - Zuzu is deaf and everyone knows/learns sign language which is used throughout the film.  Kari is African American and comes from a struggling household. June is of (I believe) Japanese descent (based on her Instagram account). In addition, Dicky joins the dance group and no sexist comments are made about it. Oona is not made fun of for her weight (if I recall correctly). Deco is also African American and honestly slays throughout the movie (Such a queen, I aspire to be him)

Supportive side characters (especially dads) - all the townspeople are super supportive of April and the girls. The dads tho came THRU. I really enjoyed the scenes of them taking notes on the dances and helping their daughters with practicing at home. The football coach (father of Dicky and one of the girls) especially surprised me because I thought the movie was going to make him the stereotypical sexist dude with him being against Dicky joining dance and overall looking down on dance, but I was pleasantly surprised when he started going full cheerleader mode when Dicky joined in. 

Sofia Carson and Wolfgang Novogratz - I really enjoyed their acting and chemistry together. Though, I wished their was more time to develop their relationship before getting back together because it felt very rushed/abrupt when they kissed. Either way, I really liked their banter and interactions, it felt really realistic. 

Kinda enjoyed the little crush Sarah had on RJ because I’ve been there lmao.

Cons:  

Cheesy and predictable - going into it I already knew what was going to happen obviously which kinda made it more bearable I guess? Kinda overdramatic with some characters like Miss Barb but at the same time endearing.

Sometimes the dialogue felt weird and cringey - this was mostly felt in the parts at the beginning with April begging Ruth and her going back to Wisconsin.   

April in the beginning - I know the whole idea is to show the major growth April goes through from start to finish and that the protagonist is not perfect, but it felt so weird for April to be so blatantly bitchy and moody to the girls the first time they meet. I feel that most people at least would put on a fake smile at the start and try to answer the questions in a respectable way. Tho I would like to mention that I love Sofia Carson even when acts like a villain lmao. Plus the way she treated Ruby was just not cool??? Like at least be a decent human being and say something along the lines of “you could practice harder and be better” instead of just crushing her dream??? 

Some of the dancing scenes where girls twerked/did very suggestive dancing - I skipped through these parts b/c I was so uncomfortable from the first second. Enough said.

Nick - look he is hot and I loved the few scenes of banter between him and April, but I felt that he wasn’t really developed? I understand that he is not the main focus so there might not have been enough time for him too. Honestly, I think its because he seems WAY TOO PERFECT and I wish to find a guy like that haha (my hopeless romantic heart beats so fast when he is on screen) Guess who found their new celebrity crush

So those were my thoughts on Feel the Beat! My PMs/replies are definitely always open to discuss this movie or any other movie/shows that I’ve seen/reviewed. I would love to geek out with anyone! <3

[immortalled]

Slapping these all together instead of making a ton of ooc posts, but.... s3e2 live reactions and final thoughts.

- Simon continues to be cute.

- Lowkey wondering if Overman has the pee fetish...

- Kelly and Alisha hanging out and getting ice cream is adorable. I hope we see them actually hang out in this season.

- Alisha is talking SO loudly in the graveyard. Seth is literally just right there. ALISHA PLEASE.

- Even without invisibility Simon manages to scare people by sneaking up behind them lmao love that. Never change, weird little man.

- ???? Okay, I don’t understand why Curtis wants to keep his whole “my power is turning into the opposite sex” thing secret? His friends KNOW that’s his power, why hide what he looks like? Why does it matter? 

- This episode is quickly turning into one of those “uh oh big misunderstanding, now everyone is going to think Simon is cheating on Alisha even though this could have just been solved by talking to each other” plots and... man, that is my least favorite trope. I swear if it turns into this, I’m gonna scream. Curtis, I will throttle you, and then I will throttle Overman.

- ...Cute girl is gonna get Ruthed isn’t she? Gosh, Curtis... c’mon...

- S I G H S. I take it back. Curtis does need to drink his Respect Women Juice. 

- Simon’s looks of horror are pretty golden lol

- OOF OOF OOF. This episode does not shy away from uncomfortable issues women have, huh? Yikes! I feel unsafe just watching lmaooo why’s everyone in this show a creep? Why!! Not a bad thing, it’s realistic, I suppose, but everyone? Everyone? Give me one nice man, Misfits, please. I miss Ben. Bring Ben back.

- Ohhhh, Curtis, honey... This is why women guard their drinks like HAWKS at parties...

- SKGSJGK RUDY SPITTING HIS DRINK INTO A GIRL’S HOOD IS SENDING ME I hate to keep comparing him to Nathan but at this rate I might actually have to make a Nathan/Rudy parallel gifset. That gave me bowling alley flashbacks.

- Emma what the heck?? Who just leaves their girlfriend passed out? Who assumes that was their fault? Excuse me? 

- I AM SO SCARED FOR CURTIS OH NO

- .................I didn’t need to see that. I did not want to see that.

- I swear Curtis better own up to Emma. But now I’m not happy with either of them. Emma shouldn’t have left Curtis, and Curtis should be honest. This is such a mess.

- Simon is a mood. Simon is me. I too have no idea what the heck is going on. Curtis is making everything so difficult.

- Oh my stars, I love Kelly to bits. What a girl, what a pal. 

- However, I am going to throttle Curtis and Overman. I hate this trope so much. Kelly being a bro for Alisha is literally the only good thing about this.

- Well. Curtis is certainly chugging his Respect Women juice now. He’s drowning in it. 

- Seriously, why didn’t Curtis just tell them???

- I’ve said it before, but why do they always choose to film like this? What is this focus? It’s less awful than S1 when they’d put faces partly out of focus when they’re the only thing on screen but??? I really wanna know the thought process.

- Good job Curtis. Go do the right thing. GOOD JOB, DO IT. DON’T SCREW THIS UP.

- O h.

- O h n o.

- This episode is legitimately terrifying. IDK if I can watch this one again. I am so uncomfortable.

- SAVE HER CURTIS OH M Y STARS I HATE THIS

- GOOD YES GOOD THANK YOU BABY 

- Holy crap that revenge though. Deserving, for sure, but. Wow lmao alright, then. 

Final thoughts: That episode was w i l d l y uncomfortable. Lots of nonconsensual stuff, high even for Misfits. It’s not uncomfortable because it’s made out to be a joke, though, but this episode takes it with a shocking amount of seriousness. It’s really good at showing just how scary it can be as a girl and for that reason alone, I don’t know if I can watch this again any time soon lol. It’s just... a little too real. I didn’t expect Misfits of all things to have an episode that tries to teach a moral lesson about consent but, despite its flaws, color me impressed.

My only issue is that I really don’t see why Curtis needed to learn this lesson? Out of all the main male cast, he’s always been pretty considerate and aware. I guess we never get to see too many of his faults since Curtis-centric episodes before have mostly been centered around his time travel power and his guilt over wrecking his athletic career. But... it just seems sort of left field that he’s the one who needs to understand what it’s like to be a woman? IDK. I’m both glad this is an episode because maybe male viewers could learn something, but from a character standpoint, it strikes me as strange lol. If anyone needed this lesson, Nathan (if something similar could have happened in S1 or 2) or Rudy would have been my choice.

Anyway. Not a terrible episode, not a great episode. Squicky. Very squicky. There were times when I felt that some writing was being repeated, too. A few lines and actions from Rudy felt like rehashes of Nathan and some elements reminded me a lot of S1E2, namely the whole issue with Curtis starting a relationship with Emma while he’s in his girl body without telling her who he really is. And then everyone teasing Curtis about the thing with Rudy felt like a weird callback to them teasing Nathan about Ruth. It doesn’t ruin anything, it just really pops out to me when it happens. Not sure if it’s because it’s actually that noticeable or if I’m just extra sensitive to it because I write Nathan and pay the most attention to his scenes.

Despite all that, I’ll say that Simon and Kelly were the real highlights of this episode. Simon had some moments that were just really adorable imo and I love love love Kelly confronting “Melissa” (Curtis’ female persona) when she thinks Simon is cheating on “her” with Alisha, and then she goes after Simon too LOL like. I appreciate a girl who doesn’t let friendship get in the way of ripping into both parties responsible for cheating. It’s also pretty cute that Kelly goes to check on Curtis after it’s all explained and Curtis is upset. That’s sweet. Kelly has such a big heart.

[unbrokenteacup]

Prompt: “Office person hears a disembodied voice saying their name. Go”

The office was quiet, I remember that. Most of the people that were usually sat spread across the open plan building had left en masse for their afternoon break. I’d heard a few people mention that they were going across the road for a pub lunch so they were likely to be a while.

I took the opportunity to stretch, locking my fingers together and reaching up towards the ceiling. I winced slightly as my spine adjusted with an audible snap. Letting out a sigh, I glanced over at the few colleagues who remained here with me; John was staring straight at his screen with a quiet determination – fingers dancing across the keyboard as he wrote up another call summary. Anna was staring out of the window, distracted. I couldn’t blame her, barely lunch time and it had already been a long day. Then there was Ruth, who was talking on the phone to an obviously difficult customer, her face showed an ever growing frustration but her voice never betrayed it for a second.

I stared at the curser blinking away on my screen, and weighed the benefit of finishing this complicated write-up now vs after getting a cup of tea. After won, on the basis that the warming caffeine jolt might make it easier to finish.

Standing quickly, I brandished my mug towards the remaining colleagues in the universal gesture for “want one?” and was met with a chorus of shaken heads and a murmured ���no, thank you” from John.

Making my way to the kitchen area, I weaved through the desks. It was so quiet here now, no chatter, no tapping or clicking or the loud screeching whir of our ancient printers. My footfalls made the monitors shake as I passed, there was too much cheap carpeting for them to echo but the air felt full of the potential for a good resonating footstep.

“Lor”

The voice caught me off guard. I spun around to respond, expecting one of my colleagues to have followed me to the kitchen after all but there was nobody there. Looking back towards where I’d come, I could see that everyone was exactly where I’d left them; working away, oblivious to my halted progress.

Wondering if I’d imagined it, but feeling slightly uneasy now, I continued on.

“Lor”

There it was again. Right behind me. Definitely my name, not just a creaky floorboard or a distant sneeze. Someone was calling my name.

Once again, I stopped walking and turned slowly. I took extra care to crane my neck around to see if there was someone sitting at a desk that I’d somehow missed – definitely nobody there.

More than a little uneasy, I decided to keep walking. Clearly it was just my imagination. Obviously. I was just more tired than I’d thought. Obviously. Suppressing a shudder, I put one foot in front of the other and clutched my “No 1 Plant Mum” mug tighter to me.

I could see the door that led to the kitchen ahead of me. I’d thankfully remembered my key card so I could just go straight through but as I reached out to tap the button the lights went off. As fast as blinking, one minute I was in a fully lit office building and the next it was pitch black. Certainly darker than anything should be at 13.00 on a Wednesday.

“Lor”

There it was again. Really close now. I could almost feel breath on my skin. This time I didn’t turn around. I just froze stock still right there in the corridor. My heart pounded in my chest like it was trying to break free of its flesh and bone prison, my legs burned as they flooded with adrenaline laced blood – ready to flee, carrying me away from the danger but something in my soul told me that if I moved it might never get to see daylight again.

“Laaauuuurel”

The voice hissed. The drawn out syllables slithered across my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. The darkness felt oily, uncomfortable in a way I’d never imagined air ever could. I forced myself to keep breathing, arm still outstretched towards the door. The movement of air through my nose seemed unbearably loud in the exaggerated silence.

“Laaaauuurellll”

The final L flicked off the invisible tongue, sending it cascading into the darkness. It fell to the ground, swallowed by the thumping of blood in my ears. I steadied myself and finally brought my arm back to my side.

“What do you want?” I finally responded, “I don’t understand”. I felt rather than heard the unseen visitor chuckle to itself.

“Yes you do. You know exactly why I’m here” it continued. “Did you think you could make a deal with a demon and not have to pay up? Your 10 years are up Laurel. Time to collect”

A mix of confusion and fear rushed through me, then a laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“Right. well I don’t know who you are, or how you’re doing that but I’m not sure you’re pranking the right person, dude. And even if you are being serious, look at me! If I’d sold my soul I’d sure as hell not be nearly 30, working in customer services!”

With that I felt the thing, whoever or whatever it was, pause. The air cleared a little, like I’d taken it by surprise.

“Keep. Still” it hissed, now directly in front of me. I felt something cold, scaly and solid brush against my wrist, then again against my temple. The sensation sent a shudder of revulsion through me; it left a greasy trail wherever it touched my skin.

“Your soul isn’t tagged…Um. This is embarrassing. You’re not Laurel Epcott?” it murmured into the darkness.

I laughed again. “No, I’m Laurel Elcott!” I’m not sure whether it was the idea that a so-called demon had somehow made a clerical error. Or that someone had made such a mistake when planning the worlds’ most elaborate hazing exercise. Either way, my body now shook with surprised laughter.

“Shit.” The voice said simply. “uhh, I don’t suppose I can offer you a deal. All your dreams made real for the low price of your soul?” it continued, now sounding uncertain – like a new salesman who hadn’t quite memorised the pitch yet.

“I’ll do you a favour” I responded, between fits of giggles. “You let me go and make me a cup of tea, and I won’t tell anyone about this whole thing” I gestured into the darkness.

“Deal”

The word rang out through the void, and as quickly as it had disappeared the world came back. I was standing in the corridor, in front of the kitchen door holding a mug, empty a moment ago and now filled with perfectly scalding tea. Pulling myself together I dabbed at my eyes with my sleeve, removing the last traces of my laughing jag and walked back to my desk. No voices followed me back through the office, just my muted footsteps and the shaking of the abandoned computer screens.

Once back at my own seat; I waved hello to my friends, unlocked my screen and got back to work.

The cup of tea wasn’t bad either

[stevishabitat]

“These are the perils of working from home,” mutters David Tennant, typing into his phone, filmed by his computer and watched, bemusedly, by me.

The 49-year-old actor has been texting, intermittently and apologetically, throughout our Zoom call. One of his five children (aged 18, nine, seven, four and eight months) has returned to school, and it seems pickup arrangements have been miscommunicated.

Tennant’s correspondent – I assume it is his wife, Georgia – is messaging from inside the house; Tennant is in the garden, his long lockdown locks pushed back into a Beckham-style headband. Over yonder, he gestures off-camera, a homeschooling lesson is under way: “I came outside to avoid the maths.”

Yet Tennant seems to have embraced the realities of home life, with two BBC projects drawing on his experience of raising a family. In the meta, of-the-moment series Staged, he and Georgia play versions of themselves in lockdown in their Chiswick home, while There She Goes (which returns for a second series tomorrow) captures an oft-unspoken truth about parenting, says Tennant: that “it’s sort of a slog”.

Coupled with doing interviews from his garden – Tennant tips his camera to show me Myrtle the cockapoo, flopped at his feet – it offers a surprising glimpse into the family life of an actor who has previously been reluctant to reveal any of it.

“We’re not quite as squeamish as we were,” he agrees, not least because his eldest son, Ty, is now also an actor. “I don’t think we’ll ever be sharing pictures of our children in Hello! magazine, but I think a lot of that comes from an insecurity about being uncovered or invaded. The longer you’re together, the less that feels like a threat.”

Tennant met Georgia (then Moffett) in 2008 on the set of Doctor Who – her father is a former Doctor, Pete Davison. “As our relationship was born out of people trying to stick lenses through windows, it’s taken us a long time to slough off that residual nervousness about sharing anything.”

These days, their guard is low enough for Georgia to post on Instagram a shot of herself breastfeeding – and to rail against Mark Zuckerberg when the image was removed by Facebook for breaching community standards (“I’ll come round there and squirt you in the eye”).

But, Tennant adds: “It’s still important to us that the characters in Staged are not us,” “David” being “more pathetic” than Tennant and “Georgia” more indulgent of him. “We’re not telling the actual story of our private life.”

There She Goes, however, he praises as scrupulously honest. The comedy stars Tennant and Jessica Hynes as parents of a child with a severe learning disability, based on the experience of the writers Shaun Pye and Sarah Crawford with their daughter, who was born with an extremely rare (and still undiagnosed) chromosomal disorder.

Tennant plays Simon, the character Pye based on himself: a loving but somewhat hapless father, always out to foist young Rosie on to his wife so he can head down the pub. Tennant says he tried to catch Pye out on set: “I’d go: ‘This bit we’re doing today – that didn’t really happen, did it?’ And everything is true.”

The first series was widely praised for refusing to sugarcoat the realities of parenting and marriage, while still finding moments of sweetness. Hynes won a Bafta for her turn as Emily, Rosie’s harried but devoted mum who, in a low moment, admits to struggling to love her newborn.

Simon, meanwhile, leans on booze and dark humour. There She Goes can be an undeniably uncomfortable watch. But the dual narratives of each episode – switching between a challenging but joyful time for the family and a more desperate early one – provide relief and perspective.

Tennant considers the series a mainstream comedy. Yet there had been trepidation within the BBC about how it would be received, he says, “because it lacked a certain sentimentality and political correctness – there was a real fear”. He disdainfully recalls a journalist at the press launch playing devil’s advocate, warning of a coming “shitstorm”: “He said: ‘You are going to be destroyed for putting this on television.’ We all hoped he was wrong – but we feared that he might be right.” And this was after the huge critical success of the police drama Broadchurch, which might easily have convinced Tennant he could do no wrong.

The casting of a non-disabled actor as nine-year-old Rosie – who is non-verbal, with the mental age of a toddler – was one sensitivity, says Tennant. The possibility of casting an actor with a learning disability had been explored, he says, “because, of course, that’s a live issue and one that has to be rightly unpicked”. But the demands of the role were found to be too great for a young actor with a disability. “Anyone who appreciates the kind of challenges that a child like Rosie would have doesn’t doubt that it would not really have been possible.”

Miley Locke, who is now 11, was “an incredible find”, says Tennant, praising her as nimble and uninhibited in a challenging role. Locke has met Jo, on whom Rosie is based, and has “an incredible capacity to find the truth of that character”, he says. “She’s also very game – I’m endlessly having to pick her up and fling her about and yank her around …”

Any parent will identify with “that constant sense that you’re falling short”, he says – now, perhaps, more than ever. A scene in which Emily tries desperately to work in the face of Rosie’s demands has taken on new relevance during lockdown. “Well, quite,” says Tennant, while texting in response to the latest news from Georgia. “Erm. Sorry …”

A big part of the challenge of shooting Staged was finding moments when the children were “either asleep or quiet”, but Tennant counts himself as “phenomenally fortunate” to have had the work, given how acting has been affected by the pandemic. This October, he was due to appear in CP Taylor’s play Good; that now seems unlikely.

Even when theatres are able to reopen, Tennant does not foresee audiences flocking back, “to sit there watching three hours of Chekhov as someone coughs all over them”. The impact on British culture could be catastrophic, he fears, even for institutions such as the National Theatre and the Royal Shakespeare Company. “It’s a huge bill just to keep those buildings running … We could be left with a cultural scene that’s vastly changed, and that’s a huge part of who we are as a nation.

“Even if the theatre is of no interest to you, even if it feels like an elitist playground, it’s places like that that all the other creative industries feed off,” he says, adding that the arts make a significant contribution to the UK economy – nearly £11bn in 2016, more than agriculture.

Tennant’s career first developed in theatre. As a teenager in Paisley, the son of a Presbyterian minister, he became one of the youngest students at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama. Even as his work in television and film has taken off, Tennant continues to be a regular on stage, especially with the RSC.

It faces a “titanic problem” in the pandemic, he says, having furloughed 90% of its staff. Government intervention is needed to support theatres until they can reopen, he says, but he is sceptical of it materialising. “If one felt more inclined to trust this government, one might relax, but they haven’t exactly covered themselves in glory thus far.” In fact, since I spoke to Tennant, the government has promised the arts and heritage sectors a rescue package worth £1.57bn, which the playwright and funding advocate James Graham described as “surprisingly ambitious”.

A longtime Labour supporter, Tennant appeared in an election broadcast in 2015 before becoming disillusioned with Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership (to summarise various diplomatic responses to interviewers). Asked if he was a fan of Corbyn in 2017, he said he was a fan of the party – although its ambivalent position on Brexit (which Tennant has called a “shitshow”) was a sticking point.

Before last year’s general election, he said he was not even sure if he would vote for Labour. He did – to return Ruth Cadbury to her Brentford and Isleworth seat: “And, also, what was the actual alternative?”

He admits he found Labour’s defeat and the postmortem “disappointingly predictable”, although he still struggles to fathom how so many red seats turned blue. “How do you go from ever being a Labour supporter to supporting Boris Johnson?” he asks, dumbfounded.

He expresses some limited sympathy for politicians handed a pandemic when they thought they “were only going to have to talk about Brexit”. “But if you choose a cabinet purely to surround yourself with people who won’t disagree with you, you’re not necessarily getting the greatest brains in the country,” he says, although a caveat is quick in coming. “One might postulate, were that to be the case, and I’m not for a minute suggesting it is …”

Last year, Tennant singled out Michael Gove’s call for “enough of experts” as a “political lowpoint”. That attitude has had deadly consequences during the pandemic, I suggest. Now the government is “hiding behind them”, he agrees – “selectively, of course. If the experts then say: ‘We told them not to do that,’ suddenly they’re evil again.”

He shakes his head in despair. “Ugh! It’s a very sad state of affairs. Remember when there used to be clever people? When you look back on David Cameron and George W Bush with some kind of sentimentality, you think: ‘Jesus – how low have we plummeted, when they look like better options than what we’ve got currently?’”

Under Keir Starmer, Tennant says Labour “are looking a lot stronger”: “We’ve got a clever grownup in the room, which makes the other side look as ridiculous as they are. Let’s hope he can fulfil his early promise.”

Tennant has said he was inspired to act by watching Doctor Who at the age of three. When he was cast as the 10th incarnation of the Doctor, in 2005, he quipped that the first line of his obituary was written. Ten years since ceding the role to Matt Smith, Tennant remains as connected as ever to the programme, recording a new Doctor Who audio drama while in lockdown. “It’s a nice show to be associated with, because people feel kindly towards it,” he says. “You may not be a fan, but it sort of sits there in the cultural firmament. As a nation, I think we’re quite proud of it.���

Unlike many vehicles for British nostalgia, the malleability of the format has allowed Doctor Who to move with the times, he thinks. “It absolutely comes with all that nostalgic goodwill, but it also manages to live in the moment.

“It felt like a very different show in 2005 than it did in 1963, but it also has that link to the past – which is a positive, rather than preserving it in aspic in any way.” And the Doctor, defined by his (or her) kindness, a peaceful champion of the underdog, is “a wonderful character to aspire to. It’s about being the cleverest person in the room, not the strongest.”

Tennant, meanwhile, remains in his garden, the school pickup plan no more clear for all the messages sent back and forth over the threshold. “Probably would have been quicker just to go and have a conversation,” he says, cheerily. “But less fun for you, obviously.”

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 197:  Well Enough Alone

After a year, the war was still dragging on. Slowly it dragged, begrudgingly. But there was evidence that there was hope on the horizon. In the beginning, it truly had seemed like it was merely a rebel uprising, but after a year, it was obviously more than that. People joined David and Snow in droves, flocked to them, really! They started in the small towns, similar to the place Regina had threatened the Princess and drew from there to make their army. For the most part, as long as that was all they were doing, George and Regina continued to ignore them. Stupidly, in his opinion. They attacked their camp on more than one occasion. Snow and David intelligently gave the order not to fight but rather to flee and regroup elsewhere. And then, one night, after their army had grown close to a thousand, George foolishly sent a small platoon after them, and Snow and David had attacked. They'd claimed victory over his army easily enough, and many of the survivors had turned for them, vowing to serve them loyally.

From there, they moved from recruiting in small towns to cities, that was when George and Regina had both realized they might have a problem on their hands and formed a stronger, more official alliance. More and more, they attacked, and more and more, David and Snow won. Even he had to admit, False Prince though he may be, David was learning the ropes faster than he'd ever thought he might. Standing at Snow's side, even if he still used James's name, he was growing into quite the leader with an eye for battle. He was becoming a prince. A true prince. Not just a foolish boy playing prince or a man engaged to a princess. He took to the role like a fish to water.

Soon, it wasn't just George and Regina's troops that were attacking; Snow and David's army was doing some attacking of their own and not just on battlefields. They began claiming land. They began governing as well as warring so that he knew when the day came that they finally took what they needed, they would slide easily into a castle, just as though they'd always been there.

Snow and David weren't the only ones learning; he was too. He learned to trust the Seer. He learned to watch and not meddle, that everything had its time and place whether he rushed off to help it along or he didn't. For instance, when George realized that he was destined to fail, fall from grace and lose his Kingdom, he'd hired a new general, an old familiar face to him but not to anyone else in this land. It was none other than Lancelot of Camelot, and he'd been hired by George not to kill Snow, but rather to capture her. He was successful. One night, just after his appointment, he captured Snow White, put a bag over her head, and took her back to King George, and that was where he'd executed a brilliant but cruel plan.

"I don't care what you do to me! I will never tell you where he is!" he heard Snow shout through a mirror the moment the bag was off of her head.

George held up a hand to silence her. "I know. That's not why you're here. Would you bring our guest some water?" he requested, looking to Lancelot. He looked confused at the command, but he couldn't blame him. The task seemed beneath him. But he was an obedient knight, he remembered that much about him, and poured some water into a goblet sitting out of the table as George walked away from her.

"Times have been good for you, haven't they? I can see a light in your eyes. Cherish that. Because that light can die and be replaced by something else–pain."

"The only thing you know of pain is how to inflict it," Snow snapped, pulling the goblet from Lancelot.

"That's where you're so very, very wrong. I've had my share of pain. I had a son that I loved, died before his time. I tried to replace him with your 'Charming,' offered him the world. But he rejected me. Humiliated me in front of my kingdom. All for the sake of true love."

"Something about which you know nothing," she stated before taking a sip and meeting him at the table.

"I know more than you think."

"You? Were in love?" she taunted in disbelief.

"Yes. And she loved me. We were happy, blissful. But then, she became cursed. She drank a vile potion that made it impossible for us to conceive a child. Family is everything, my dear. Losing all hope of having one…there is no greater misery. Charming could have been that hope for me. But, instead, he made my suffering worse. For that, death is too good for him. First, he must know pain. My pain."

He felt his stomach twist sickened in his gut as fear stole over Snow's face and into her eyes. "NO!" he shouted at the mirror, at the same time that Snow did. She was looking down into the goblet, looking for something that couldn't be seen. No.

"You poisoned her?" Lancelot realized aloud.

"I cursed her," George corrected. "She will never bear a child."

He'd fret about, panicking, telling himself he had to go, had to find a cure even though he knew there was none. The Seer urged him to stay put. He'd watched the mirror like a hawk as Snow was released, tossed cruelly back into the woods at the spot her camp had once been before George's armies attacked. But she wasn't alone for long, for out of the woods came Lancelot.

After knocking him off her horse and threatening the man, she helped him to his feet, and the pair departed for a little cabin that David had hidden his mother in long ago, before the war had even started, apparently. When they arrived, David was there, so was his mother, who had an arrow sticking out of her chest surrounded by nearly half a dozen dead soldiers of King George.

All was lost. He could see that easily enough, even before they pulled the arrow free and examined it's tip, observing the wink of poison left on the wood. The wound to Ruth's chest would be a fatal one without magical intervention, and the Seer wasn't giving him a sign to go.

But they did.

While he expected them to put Ruth into the house and stay with her for her last hours, they moved quickly, prepared a wagon, loaded Ruth into it, and left for somewhere. Lancelot and David talked in the front, but Snow stayed with Ruth in the back. While the boys were away and the wagon was stopped, Ruth struggled to pull a charm from her neck, one that he recognized instantly as a gypsy charm because he had about twenty of his own. It was a charm for women, one that predicted the sex of a woman's child. Snow was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, but he watched as Ruth held Snow's hand out over the charm…and it didn't react. Snow nodded in understanding and exchanged what he could only imagine was an explanation to Ruth. But instead of growing concerned, the old woman grew excited. The words she said not only calmed Snow White, but they also made her smile.

All conversations ended when the boys returned, but as they walked on, he looked between the pair and often saw them cast glances at each other that encouraged smirks and grins. They were planning something. But what?

Lake Nostos. Oh, he knew the moment he saw it that was their plan but…it was a useless plan. Lake Nostos was no more. With the siren dead, it was now barren land, the lakebed drying up a little more every second. Still, they searched, and searched, and searched…until David raced to the place where Lancelot was, and he saw a single swallow of water left inside of a seashell. The men poured it into a canteen, and David took it to Ruth. David offered it, and she drank, or at least it appeared that she had…but he knew it wasn't so.

That water, even a sip, should have cured a wound like hers instantly, and yet there was nothing, no hint of getting better at all. That left him two conclusions. Either the water wasn't from Lake Nostos, just something left there from a rainstorm, or…she hadn't taken the sip.

Given the look Ruth kept giving Snow, he was willing to bet it was the latter. But…as he watched what unfolded, he began to see that there was method as well as madness to the Seer's instructions. Snow and David made themselves suddenly busy, and Lancelot bent his head low to listen to something Ruth said as she pressed the flask into his hands. A few moments later, the couple had constructed a simple arch and a bouquet of flowers. Though he couldn't hear, he recognized the wedding ceremony simply enough, a wedding ceremony that Lancelot officiated, in which, before he'd taken his place, he'd poured the small contents of the flask into a canteen.

Snow drank first, then David, and after they kissed, he wasn't surprised to see Ruth had died.

A few hours later, when David had buried his mother and held the charm out over Snow's hand, it did as he expected, and swung. The curse was lifted. He hadn't had to lift a finger. It was a good lesson to learn. So often in his life, he'd thought that he was the catalyst only to find that he was just another pawn of history, playing his part so that things could continue as they were supposed to. There was some relief in that because it meant that he was destined to get back to Baelfire. The future dictated it.

[dailyaudiobible]

05/19/2020 DAB Transcript

1 Samuel 24:1-25:44, John 10:22-42, Psalms 116:1-19, Proverbs 15:20-21

Today is the 19th day of May welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I’m Brian it is wonderful to be here with you today as we move forward. It’s the only way we move, forward each and every day as we take the journey of a lifetime through the Scriptures. So, first Samuel is where we’ve been kind of campin’ out here for the last week getting to know Saul, getting to know David, getting to know all the circumstances that swirled around the establishment of the kingdom of Kings in Israel. And, so, we’ve reached a point where Saul is certainly paranoid about David. David keeps increasing. Saul keeps kind of fading. And Saul wants David dead. And, so here's where we pick up the story. First Samuel chapters 24 and 25 today.

Commentary:

Okay. So, in the book of first Samuel we see David increasing, right, in momentum and Saul just kind of decreasing. He's the king, he's got a lot of power, this is gonna take some time, but we can see him kind of diminishing. He is trying to find David. He wants to kill David. Like this is his obsession at this point. He wants to get rid David before David can get rid of him and his household obliterating the memory of his name. Like, you know, we hear this kind of stuff talked about as Kings destroy other kings and kingdoms. So, he wants to get rid of David because he can sort of see what's gonna happen, he can see where this is headed. This isn’t just to protect the kingdom. Like, this super personal. He has been trying, one way or another, to get David killed for a long time and David has just had to kind of learn as he goes. He's had to learn how to be cunning and swift. I mean, he was a shepherd and then he killed the giant, Goliath. Now he wasn’t incapable, obviously. He had killed a lion and a bear as a shepherd. Like, he was capable but this…like…it was never on his radar that someday he would be on the run from the king of Israel because the king of Israel was so paranoid about him. So, David’s had to grow pretty fast. So, Saul, the king of Israel's, out looking for David with 3000 troops to find and surround and engulf and overwhelm and destroy David's camp if they can get to them. And Saul has to use the bathroom. This is kind of a funny story because, you know, he's…he's out with the soldiers so, yeah, if you were like watering the flowers or whatever, probably no big deal, but if you need some privacy, probably something a little more than that. And David's hiding in the cave and just the whole thing of it. Saul using the bathroom while David's cutting off the edge of his robe. It’s like a pretty dramatic, pretty gross, pretty…pretty…pretty uncomfortable situation. And then the king gets back out of the cave and that's when David reveals himself and is like, “I wouldn't…I could have killed you. Like, I could have done to you what you are trying to do to me. Right now, you could be dead. I could have killed you. So, I'm trying to show you that I don't…I'm not trying to do anything against anybody.” And Saul is humiliated and humbled in the moment for sure. He does, you know, like his eyes are opened for a minute…like he can see, “yeah, David could have…I could be dead. David could’ve killed me. So, he must not want to kill me because he had to me.” So, this buys a little time with David and Saul. Meanwhile, David's been, you know, kind of out in the fields. They’ve had to stay the run, but we encountered this guy named Nabel, and David has protected his shepherds and they just need a little supplies at harvest time, and they are kind of expecting that since they protect…protected the shepherds and the flocks that they would receive some gratitude. Nabel doesn't give gratitude, but Nabel's wife, Abigail certainly does and you can tell in the conversation that they have, that David is…is impressed with Abigail, is taken with her shrewdness and wisdom and insight in being proactive. So, once whole incident is over and Nabel finds out what Abigail has done he…I mean he dies 10 days later. And, so, Abigail becomes the wife of David, along with Ahinoam and a sort of kingly dynasty is in the making.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. And like Saul we have to confess that we can allow things to begin building up inside of us. We can start telling ourselves a story about somebody else. We can start filling in all of the blanks with assumptions. We can pave over those assumptions with additional fabrications so that we are believing something completely false about someone else, even to the point that we want to harm them or we want something bad to happen to them and then for a moment the lights go on and we can see things clearly. We can see how much we've made up and how much gossip we’ve listened to and how much it took to make up this story only to see that it's not true, that isn't the other person's heart toward us at all. We’re seeing this on a grand scale in the story between Saul and David, but on smaller scales we play this story out all of the time. And, so, may we receive the humble posture that King Saul had to take on today once he realized that David really indeed could have done away with him once and for all. Help us Holy Spirit to remain humble toward one another, not making up things about each other, not just assuming things, but actually entering into the intimacy of a relationship so that we know things. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In the name of Jesus. We ask. Amen.

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And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

This is for the dad who called in on the 15th of May for his son named Joshua. You’d lost your other son in September the year before. My name is God’s Life Speaker. Lord we just left this family up to You. We just ask a hedge of protection from their mind their hearts their bodies Lord Jesus. We just declare life in this family in Your name. We speak it over them and we speak it over Joshua, that he would use his brothers story to tell Your story Lord, that somewhere inside Joshua he would know he is more useful here serving Christ for others to see, and to just bring to life his brother through his brothers story. Lord, somehow help the dad and mom to communicate that, that he could be used mightily by God, by You Lord, that You would just use Joshua and that he, through his sadness in his heart, his broken spirit would come to You Lord, that he would just decide knowing who You are, and for others to know who You are is more important Lord, that he would just bring his brother back to life in a story that leads countless, countless to Your son. And we just ask this, we ask just wisdom for the dad just energy and just start speaking what is not into being, just start believing what You don’t see and start speaking it over Joshua, that he is a life speaker, that his life in Your son who is passed has just gone on and on and on because Joshua decided this day, this day that he would serve the Lord and that he would…

Hello my name is Ruth I’m calling because I’ve been a member…I’ve been listening to the DAB family for about four years now and this is my very first time calling in. And I’m calling in, I live in New York, and I’m calling in because I need prayer for my business. I’m losing…I…I don’t know what I’m gonna do because of this corona. Business has been closed and I’m just asking God direction to lead me and direct me where to go from here. Thank God for Brian and this…this forum that we can come in. I’ve listened to many prayers and listened to many requests and I’m just am asking for prayer for me that God will help my business or guide me and show me where I should go from here. I pray that all is well with everyone and that this too shall pass. Thank you for your prayers. God bless.

This is Danny. My mom who’s battling cancer went to pick up some fried chicken the other day and there was quite a few people in there so she sat down waiting her turn and by the time her turn was up she was so weak she couldn’t get up out of her chair. So, she asked the man next to her to help her and he walked away from her. And everybody saw it and she asked if anybody could help her out to the counter and nobody came forward. Finally, the employee behind the counter came over and he helped her up and she looked at the crowd and she said, “I don’t have the virus I have cancer and you can’t catch that from me.” And he took her to the counter, and he took her order and then he walked her to the car and he said, “I’ll bring your order out you”, which he did. And my mother was so grateful. The next day she brought him a card with some money in it and she learned that his name was Abraham, which she immediately had a bond with him because she’s Jewish. And, so, I just would like you all to just join me in prayer to just pour out blessings on this young man named Abraham. Heavenly Father, thank You so much for this Young man, that he stood up and he did the right thing like a good Samaritan. I pray Lord that You would just heap blessings upon him and I just pray that You would just…just know in his heart that he did the right thing. He didn’t care about being fired by violating the social distancing rules, he just did the right thing for my mother. So, thank You for that Lord and I pray that You would give all of the people present another opportunity Lord to do the right thing and they would remember how they failed and they would do the right thing going forward Lord. Thank You, Jesus. In Your heavenly name I pray. Amen.

Hi everyone, DAB family __ I am calling for your prayers please. We all know what we’re dealing with right now, but this is the first time it’s really hitting me. One of my absolute best friends, my sister Lila just tells me that she’s tested positive, she’s a nurse, she’s a __ nurse at one of our COVID designated hospitals and it’s like she just…oh my goodness. And I just had my first COVID patient today and I’m about to go to open an all new…an all new COVID unit on Monday. So, please just keep us in your prayers. Please pray for healing powers over Lila’s body and protection over mine as we go into this situation. People are dying every day. She just buried her cousin two days ago and it’s just crazy. So, please everyone, please be safe, please do everything in your power to…to boost your immune system and keep contact down. Even though I know some states are opening back up and people have to go to work, but just please reduce your contact with the world and just keep yourself and your family physically safe and spiritually prayed up. Thank you DAB family.

Good morning DAB this is Ken calling from California and I’d like to ask for prayer for my 15-year-old son, Reed, who’s going through a difficult season in life. He’s very withdrawn right now. In fact, in February he refused to…to go to school. He spends virtually all day in his room with his lights off, refuses to associate with others and basically pushes everyone…pushed everyone out of his life. He doesn’t talk or want to receive encouragement or help of any kind from us as parents, his friends or receive professional help. He’s angry. He is very harsh towards others, scowls a lot, seems bitter, but doesn’t…doesn’t want to talk about. He appears very confused and no doubt he’s under attack by the enemy and he seems to have given up on his relationship with God. Reed really needs a breakthrough now. So, thank you DAB family for lifting him up…lifting Reed up in prayer.

Hi this is Jeanette from Denmark I have a word of encouragement for the grandmother who has just gotten custody of a 13-year-old grandson. When I heard your story, I was so grateful. I also had a grandmother who mothered from me for several years when I was a teenager and during those years there was a lot of material that I had to get off my heart and mind from the things I’d experienced before. It took time to establish a trust relationship with her, but it was the most blessed thing that happened. Suddenly, I was in a stable home and I really appreciate, right now, all of the things that she provided for me - food, clothing, a place to sleep, help with my homework, and yeah, a healthy example of what it can be to to get to know people. Thank you so much for the work that you’ve started. And also, Father thank You for covering my older sister in You with the grace to carry out the task that she has agreed to do. And Father I ask that You comfort her with Your Holy Spirit day and night, that Your words in her heart would become instruction and a path of her, that You would help her minute by minute and day by day.

[justanoutlawfic]

I Belong With You (You Belong With Me): Family Secrets

Summary: Belle learns exactly what she's inheriting from George's dynasty.

Also on AO3

The Enchanted Forest (One Week & 10 Days Before the Wedding)

 Belle turned around the corner, a heavy book clutched between her fingertips. She had discovered it within her possessions and couldn’t wait to share it with James. It had contained some of her favorite poems and she was hoping they could incorporate them in their wedding programs. She wasn’t sure how much he wanted to be involved with the planning of the wedding, but she also knew he loved literature just as much as she did. Outside their dress fittings, Abigail didn’t seem to care at all about the weddings. A part of Belle couldn’t blame her. They didn’t choose either of these fiancés. At the same time, Abigail spent most of her time holed up in her room. She only got dressed when her father finally demanded so. Would she ever get used to the idea of marrying David? For both of their sakes, Belle sure hoped so.

 As Belle turned the corner for James’ library, she heard a thud. She carefully approached the door, peering inside. James was backed up against the door with his father before him. His eyes were wide and there was something written on his face that Belle had never seen before. Fear. James raised his hands in defense. George’s back was to the door, his shiny forehead glowing under the chandelier. James didn’t notice her either, his eyes trained on his father.

 “Father, I’m sorry.” His voice was shaking. “It was just a joke.”

“A joke?” George let out a bitter laugh. “You think this entire thing is a fucking joke?” He slammed his fist against the wall right by James’ head, which made the younger man wince. Belle’s body tensed. “This merger is going to save our kingdom. You’re not going to mess it up by “joking” with Midas.”

“I don’t think he took it…”

“You think you’re so hilarious, but no one thinks you’re funny. In fact, if you disappeared, no one would miss you at all.”

 Belle’s grip on the book intensified. How could a father talk this way to their child? James was kind, intelligent and charming. Sure, he had a bit of dark humor but that only added to what made him, him. A parent was supposed to love their child for who they were. George seemed cold and standoffish, but she didn’t imagine he was this cruel. A tingling sensation rose through her body that she didn’t quite understand. Anger? Hostility? Could she go as far as to say protectiveness?

 James’ eyes narrowed at his father’s comment, his chin jutting outward. “I think you would. I mean, without me, how else would you get all the gold you need?”

George scoffed. “I should’ve let you be raised by those farmers. You would’ve been dead by your first birthday.” He went to grab hold of James’ collar and that’s when Belle decided she’d had enough.

“Lay a hand on him and I’ll let this book dent your skull,” she threatened loud enough for him to hear.

 George spun around; his eyes aghast. James looked shocked, yet a small grin was creeping up on his lips. His father quickly composed himself. He stood up straight and cleared his throat. Belle kept her glare on him with her book held up in the air. She ignored the ache in her wrist, not about to leave James unprotected.

 “I’ll beg you to remember your place, Belle,” George said.

Belle shrugged. “And I’ll remind you of who you need for this merger.”

George licked his lips, shaking his head. “A match made in Heaven indeed,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes darted back to his son. “We’ll finish this discussion later.”

“Touch him again and I’ll make sure you don’t get an ounce of my father’s gold.”

 George shook his head, walking out of the room. Belle dropped the book onto a side table and ran over to James. She put one hand on top of his and another on his cheek.

 “Are you alright?” She asked.

James nodded, letting out a deep breath. “You saved me from the worst he could’ve done.”

“I just…” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry. No father should talk that way to their child.”

“You clearly have never met George.”

“Well, no, but he was wrong. About all of it…” She trailed off, some of his words finally registered with her. “What did he mean? That you should’ve been raised with farmers?”

James sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re going to be my wife. I suppose you know our great family secret.”

********************

The private garden off the library was in full bloom. The azaleas showed off their pink as they danced in the wind. The cherry tree had lost its petals and instead had the sweet-smelling fruit instead. Multi-color rosebushes created a mini-maze. It had been lovely to look at in between reading Shakespeare and sips of honey tea. It was even nice for Belle to walk around with James.

 “My mother always did what she could to shield David and I from George’s cruelty. She wanted us to be kind. Not the stereotypical princes you hear of. She read us stories; told us we didn’t have to be vicious knights if we didn’t have to.”

Belle ran her fingers over an azalea. “She sounds great.”

“She truly was.” He bit his lip. “But then she got sick. It spread quickly and she was gone before we really knew it. George put us into knight training almost immediately.”

“But you were only 5, right?”

James nodded and Belle frowned. “He didn’t care. He wanted us to be the perfect dragon slayers as soon as possible. David tried his best. He just wanted to please George so badly. I was scared, so I took off. I didn’t know where I was going but I managed to steal some money, pack a bag and went to Pleasure Island.”

 Belle tried to picture James running away, but she was having trouble picture him as a 5-year-old. He just seemed totally broody and forever an adult.

 “It was supposed to be a never-ending carnival but it was a nightmare. They turned kids into animals and once they got word I was a prince, they were after me. I didn’t last very long before a strange man appeared,” James continued. “He explained that I was his son.”

Belle’s brows furrowed. “What?”

James outstretched his arms. “Exactly what I said. He didn’t explain, but said if I went with him, we could go back to a farm. I could live a regular life with him and my “real mom” as he called her.”

“That had to be confusing.”

“It was. But at the time, it sounded nice. Animals, having a mom again…so I said yes.”

Guilt washed over his face. Belle touched his arm. “That doesn’t make you a bad son.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But I was so willing to give up the mom that raised me…”

“If she saw what George wanted to turn you into, she’d understand.”

James shrugged. He gently pulled away from her. “When we were getting off the island, George showed up. He tried to offer the man money but he refused. He introduced himself as my father. The two argued. It came out that the man, Robert, and his wife, Ruth, had me and David. They were too poor to raise us. They could barely keep their farm. So, Rumpelstiltskin showed up and made them a deal.”

“And they took it?” Belle tilted her head. She had heard some awful stories about the wizard.

“Robert says we were dying. He had gambled away money for our medicine. George couldn’t produce an heir so Rumpelstiltskin promised to find him one. In exchange for saving their farm, they would give up one child.”

“But both of you are with George.”

James sighed. “George revealed that Robert got greedy. He wanted extra money. So, he said they’d give both of us. Ruth didn’t want to, but he made the deal behind her back.”

Belle gasped. It seemed David and James had been screwed over in the fatherhood department on both ends. “Lords.”

“Robert said he felt guilty. He was sober and he wanted to make things right, he wanted Ruth to forgive him and he thought the only way to do that was to bring back one of the kids he sold. So, he wanted me.”

 James braced the edge of the bush. A delicate flower crushed under his grip, causing him to wince.

 “George ordered his execution. It was as if he were ordering a new rug for the main hall.” His glassy blue eyes stared off at the castle. “The guards carried him off and he was gone.” James swallowed, shaking his head. “If I hadn’t agreed to go with him, if I hadn’t run off…”

“James,” Belle returned her hand to his face, forcing him to look at her. “This isn’t your fault. None of it is your fault. Robert chose to go there that night. He knew he was kidnapping a royal child. Regardless, George didn’t have to do what he did, especially in front of a 5-year-old.”

James’ lip trembled. “I never told anyone about that. Not even David.”

Belle tilted her head. “Really?”

“On the ride home, George ordered me to secrecy. He told me that no one was ever to know, especially not my brother. If I ever breathed a word, I’d have a grave next to my biological father.”

“What a burden for him to place on your shoulders,” she whispered. “I am so sorry.”

James shrugged, wiping at his eye. “There’s so much damn pollen in this garden.”

 Belle took a step back, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. So much made sense now. The rumors about a vicious prince, a lady killer. It was all to appease his father. The dark humor was from years of abuse and protecting a family secret. So much was weighing down on James and yet he kept that devilish grin on his face most of the time.

 “Do you ever think of reaching out to your biological mother?” She asked.

James shook his head. “No. Even if George would allow me, it’d be out of the question. She had to pick one of us and she chose her favorite originally.”

“James, I’m sure that’s not how it worked…”

“I had a mother, Belle. She read me to bed every night, she snuck me treats in my lessons and she kissed my wounds when I was hurt.” James straightened up. “We may not share the same DNA, but she was all the mother I needed. I don’t need to find the woman who gave me life.”

 Belle stared at him for a minute. A part of her wanted to push, while the other understood. She wasn’t adopted but she had a mother that she loved more than anything in the world and not because they shared the same blood. If she found out tomorrow that Maurice and Collette hadn’t actually brought her into this world, it wouldn’t change how she felt about them. James’ mother was Serafina. She was all he needed.

 “I think you’re right, you’re happy with your choice,” she finally said.

James nodded. “Thank you.”

“But David didn’t get to make his. He’s had to live in the dark for years, not knowing any of this. I’m not saying he should know anything, but doesn’t he deserve the truth?”

“What? That our biological father sold him for booze money? No, I think that’d hurt him even more.”

“And what about the mother that wanted him and didn’t get a say? I know you’ve tried to protect him all these years James. Maybe I don’t know everything about this, but I do know that he deserves to have all the facts like you do.”

James sighed, running his fingers through his blonde curls. He looked down at Belle. Their eyes interlocked and she got that warm, relaxing feeling in her stomach yet again. “I hate when you’re right.”

“You might as well get used to it,” she said cheekily, plucking an azalea off the bush and handing it to him. “Happens more than you might think.”

 James rolled his eyes. Yet, that smile started to return. Why did he have to look at her like that?

 Why did he have to make her fall for him?

[gut-shabbos-sluts]

Well,

If you thought I could keep my biblical narrative out of my D&D, you were wrong. Let’s talk about the deconstruction of one of my favorite biblical type-scenes in the most recent episode of Critical Role.

The most recognizable type-scene (or leitmotif, which I’m going to use because I’m full of bullshit pretention and also it’s easier to type) is The Well Betrothal Scene. The Well Betrothal Scene, at its most basic, breaks down as follows:

Single Man goes to a well in a foreign land

Single Man meets Woman at the well

The drawing of water, in exchange for gifts or food

Woman rushes off to tell her family about Single Man

The rushing is significant. This leitmotif is in constant motion. People get cut off, half the Hebrew is verbs

Single man ends up betrothed to Woman

It can be seen with Isaac (via Abraham’s servant) and Rebecca, with Jacob and Rachel, with Moses and Tzipporah, with Saul and a group of unnamed women, and with Ruth and Boaz. Each one deviates from the form in one way or another, and that says something significant about each relationship in question. I’m not going to break them down because I’m not a Biblical scholar, but here’s a link to pages from Known Bible Scholar Robert Alter’s article on them if anyone’s interested. It’s good stuff.

Now, let’s reframe the leitmotif in terms of “Well Beneath”, and the whole Assarius arc as it is.

The Mighty Nein in a foreign land: This one is pretty straightforward. Even Yasha, the member from Xhorhas, is out of her element this far north. Even Fjord and Nott, for all the (very good) meta of finally being around healthier versions of their race, are uncomfortable. They’re all achingly foreign, some form of refugee.

The wells: They’re everywhere, and seeing the badlands that make up Xhorhas, they’re just as significant as wells in Bronze Age Palestine. They represent fertility and life. And now it’s corrupted. Does that parallel to the dodecahedron and its life-linked powers, as well? Most likely. But that’s an entirely different layer of Matt’s planning.

The woman at the well: The fact that it’s a male- and female- presenting demon presence isn’t that big of a twist, considering the how the cast, unlike the Bible, explicitly acknowledges bi people. (David and Jonathan are entirely other rant, but no, they don’t count.) The bigger inversion is the fact that they’re sex demons. Other than Ruth, every one of the stories centers around virginity. Is this not the biggest deal overall, considering the modernization aspect of who’s writing? Probably, but it’s worth mentioning.

The water being drawn and given: The dreams, and water-as-life-as-sex being given in exchange for a body count. Umadon and the neighbor’s wolves are explicit in this, and we can only assume that Old Portis had some sort of similar exchange with the demons in killing his family. It’s all transactional, even if that transaction is in the chaotic framing of D&D demons.

The swirl of activity, and the woman returning to her family: Nott and Fjord jumped into a well, didn’t they? Not to mention the general constant motion we’re used to from Beau. The Nein are in a time crunch, true, but explanations don’t detract from a parallel. And the demons going ethereal and running away is only another layer of that. They’re heading home, for what reason we don’t know, but because of that, the action hasn’t stopped, even if the episode did.

The betrothal: The part is clearest, other than the literal, physical wells in both stories. This arc is, above the Nein’s aversion to being in the physical Empire, about Nott and Yeza. About bringing a couple together, even if only for the moment of his rescue. This well dive is only another step in that direction. The fact that Nott isn’t the same person that she was at their wedding adds to this, especially since we have no clue if she’ll even tell Yeza that she’s Veth. This is the meeting of two people for the first time.

The fact that Nott will likely cover up her goblin form when they meet again furthers the narrative of Rebecca and Isaac, considering that’s what Rebecca does the first time she sees her betrothed.

The betrothal, continued: The demons tried to charm both Yasha and Caleb. They charmed Umadon, they most likely charmed Old Portis and many others in Assarius. Arranged marriages, even ones that end with happy couples (as we can only assume for biblical couples), are built on business. The direct diversion from this with a forced love from the place of the well is Good Shit.

I don’t know if Matt had this in mind when he built out this part of the story. I doubt he sees Yeza as Isaac and Nott as Rebecca. I don’t know if he intended to spin a subconsciously well-known trope on its head like this, or if he just wanted a hidden place for a portal that also allowed for access to the surface. I sure as hell don’t know where he’s going to take things tonight and down the line.

But the well is there, standing, full of water and asking people to come down to it and meet someone simply by virtue of being part of the leitmotif. The betrothal at the end could be a reunion, it could be a popular ship, or it could be something entirely different.

[nedxwynert]

Definitely Unexpected | Bucky Barnes x Reader

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(gif not mine)

Summary: Ever since you could remember, you and Bucky have been friends. When you heard he was leaving to go fight the war, it burned a hole in you. But one night, something definitely unexpected happened when someone showed up at your door.

Warnings: mainly fluff, cheesy shit, Bucky being cute

Word Count: 2,036 (whoops)

A/N: Okay, so I was thinking about a movie I adore called The Holiday and I was picturing a scene in it. So, yes, the title is the name of the scene with Jude Law and Cameron Diaz. If you've watched the movie, you'll get what I mean by this and I totally recommend you watch it cause it's an amazing movie. Anyways, enjoy.

Masterlist

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The paper boys around every corner of Brooklyn didn't help with your fear as they were shouting the header of the war that was going on, saying 100 planes crash in battle over a convoy in Channel ; fight off Italy indecisive! $4,848,171,957 more is by Roosevelt for defense; not to send men to Europe!

As a woman like yourself, you couldn't just go and sign up. The only big reason you were fearful of these Nazis and Soviets taking over almost all of Europe and gaining power, was because none other than your closest friends were heading into the war, but James was shipping of to England and that was far from Brooklyn and it pained you to hear that and feared that he will never come back.

You and James were friends since birth and then you met Steve later on who you didn't get too along with since you were the little girl who liked to rip her dress and skid her knees from climbing and doing activities that most girls wouldn't do. He was the one to watch in the back and always be hesitant of doing something like taking a big jump. You couldn't be the one to have tea parties and doing each others hair. You wanted to roll up your sleeves and pant legs and hunt frogs and stealing pennies from the streets and rush in candy shops and buy as much as your sweet tooth ached for till your pockets were empty of cash and full of delicious chocolates, Babe Ruth's, Tempters, and Abba-Zabas.

Now those days were only a memory as James was signed up in the army, Steve trying to enlist, but the poor guy was too thin and underweight to even pass and get listed, even though he wanted to help fight in the war but can't. And as for you, you were a woman and couldn't just get up and try to fight along with your friends due to the feminism in this time, men just telling you to go back home and cook dinner like a 'good girl'. It irritated you whenever you heard that, yet it led to your job that also makes your life even worse.

You worked at a small diner not too far from your apartment. Although, you get paid a lot and you were thankful for that, but the people's behaviour towards you is one you hate the most everyday that makes you really want to quit your job, but you needed money to stay in your tiny apartment and survive till this god awful war was over. You felt men stare at you as if they were removing your clothes with their eyes, having names called to you that made your blood boil. The white skirt and shirt with the black apron you wore for your job was thrown off you once you reached back home after long hours of being in the diner, snuggling into some more comfortable clothes like a pair of nice pants and a loose shirt and catch up reading your book or perhaps finish a painting you were working on. Thank god for Steve teaching you his incredible art skills.

Sitting on the hard uncomfortable couch in your living room, the sounds of the radio playing in the background, you work on a painting of what would be your place -- but a lot more prettier and what you would love to live in if you could, your grey shirt splotched with many colours as you've used this shirt many times to paint before as your (hair colour) hair was pulled back nicely and tied with a blue ribbon. It always made you smile as the ribbon came from Bucky back in eighth grade, tied to a (favourite flower) for thanks of helping him get away with accidently crashing his bicycle into the principle's fancy car.

As you hummed along to the softer and slower songs from Louis Armstrong that came from the radio, you were in deep thought while the thin brush stroked the canvas with paint, smiling slightly while thinking back to the good days of playing with Bucky and Steve after and in school. But while you went to get some more red to paint some curtains, you found out you were out and let out a heavy sigh before standing up and walking to the kitchen where you put the paint at. The song didn't stop and neither did your humming. Well...that was when you heard a loud knock on the door, frightening you as you yelped at the sound.

Someone was wanting to see you this late at night?

Panic hit you as you realize you couldn't just open the door almost covered completely in paint. But who would be only knocking on your door just to judge you by your messy clothes. This wasn't work.

"In a minute!" Saying loudly for the person to hear on the other side of the door, you rush to the sink to scrub off the paint on your arms and hands, skipping on drying them before heading over to the door, fixing your clothes like a girl trying to get ready for her crush to walk by her. But when you took a deep breath in, ready for answering the door, you reached for the doorknob and turned it. The old door would squeak on its hinges a bit as when you went to look up to see who it was, you felt your tired heavy eyes widen immediately in the size of dinner plates.

"Thought I'd leave without saying goodbye?" There was that husky voice you missed. It was Bucky, dressed in his nicer uniform with that stupid grin on his face as blue eyes were fixed onto your shocked face then next looking at your grey shirt that was almost just a completely coloured in paint. More of a grin came to his lips, making your cheeks burn a dark red.

"I thought you left to England," you spoke at a more bitter tone than you expected as his brows furrowed at how you weren't all too excited to see him, those eyes then looking at the art mess on your shirt. "Hey, eyes up here soldier." Hearing your words, those blue eyes looked back to your (eye colour) orbs, seeing how his body tensed at the new name as it only made you smile a bit with a hint of a blush on his cheeks (which was new for you to see him to ever blush).

"Sorry, I never saw a lady's clothes be covered in paint before," the soldier said in a snicker.

"Well, you shouldn't think I'm one of those posh girls. You know me, Bucky." You would giggle softly, an awkward silence falling soon after. Teeth bit at your lower lip and those (eye colour) orbs looking around as he was doing the same, wondering who was going to start to talk and that's when you saw him shiver. "Do you want to come in? It's pretty cold out and I think it wouldn't be too bad to have some company. I mean, if you aren't busy at the moment." And there you went, biting your lip again, looking up at the man you've been writing in your diary for years like you were one of those teenager girls who try to flirt with their crush and gossip about the things of him to their friends at school.

"(First name) (last name). Look at you. Being the sweetheart like you've always been." You rolled your eyes at him as he walked into your apartment, removing the hat that went with his uniform and hanged it onto the rack before his eyes went to search and look at your apartment for the first time. "Nice place you have here." You would look at Bucky while closing the door with a scoff before walking back into the kitchen to wash some of your paint brushes which probably are close to being hard as a rock by now from the paint drying on the bristles. While you listened to the floorboards creak from the soldier's weight from oitside the kitchen, Bucky had insisted of being the guy who gets a bit nosey and starts to look through the sketches on the couch, his mouth gaping from being impressed by your work. "Well fuck. Stevie sure taught you how to draw. You sure you didn't trace this?"

A blush came over your face, smiling while you would dry the paint brushes with a rag. You never thought anyone would be impressed by your art. Steve was an artist at heart, but you had to read books and attempt to make a dog not look like a cat. It took many years for you to achieve this now talent you do in your spare time.

"If those were traced, they would've looked ten times better." The sound of Bucky's laughter made your heart race, smiling a bit as you would walk over to him in the living room where it was warmer from the heater.

There were shared glances as it came back to the awkward silence, hearing the cars outside and the sound of some footsteps above from the other people who lived in the apartments. But when you went to look at Bucky again, this time you saw that he had something bugging him and it looked like he was trying to say what was on his mind.

When you would part your lips to say something, his eyes tore from you and focused them more on the drawings scattered on the couch, a mumble coming past his lips. Something like an I and a don't want to.

"Pardon?" You would walk closer to him but only a few steps as you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable.

"I don't want to go to England." Pain drenched his words as you could hear him just breaking inside from just by the sound of his voice.

"I don't want you to either," you said in a soft whisper. "But England would probably look like home, so I don't think you'll get too home sick. I know I do and it's fine if you are t-"

"That's not what I'm gonna miss, (name)." The sound of his voice breaking from the pain that shot through him, it was breaking you too. To see your childhood friend who had your back all the time and now seeing him in what looked like the brink of tears. When his eyes met yours, his whole body changed and his face. It was like you saw hope in his eyes this time.

"I'm gonna miss you." As he stepped closer to you, the sounds of the outside world became silent to you, focusing on Bucky as he stood in front of you, head tilting up from the difference in height. "I mean, I'm gonna miss Steve too-- but, I'm really gonna miss you." You were lost for words, staring at the blue eyed soldier like a kid looking at a fish tank. "And I uh. I actually came here to say one last thing before I left and I wanted to say it to you face to face instead of a letter, and that is that I.." A warm blush went over his face, looking down as you could tell he was nervous to finish his sentence due to his posture and how he would be playing with the hem of his shirt or anything to try to free from his fear. It made you smile everytime and he looked cute everytime he did it.

But that smile faded when you would feel his hands cup both sides of your face, your heart beating a million miles and hour as his face inches closer to yours to where you could at the slightest feel his hot breath over your lips. Then he said it. For years you wanted to hear this from someone, and you didn't expect to hear it from the man you've had a crush on for years and those dreams have become a reality.

"I love you."

Thank you for reading! Did you enjoy? If so, please consider to heart and reblog. Many writers today don’t get much credit for the hard work they put into their writing. And with that, have a wonderful day! :)

[theharellan]

// Dragon Age Questions

Tagged by: no one but i stole it from @dalathin​ Tagging: @hopewrought, @apocryphorum , @shiftysmugglerlook, @andrastegraced, @felandaristhorns,@deathsreflection,@ghilannainguideme, @snowmcid, @youriinquisitorialness,@nxthero​,@willbeshot, , @ofrevas, @theshirallen, @pentaghasted​, @valorcorrupt​

01) Favourite game of the series? Inquisition, without question. I love all the games but the themes and characters of Inquisition are most important to me.

02) How did you discover Dragon Age? I’ve been playing Bioware games since Jade Empire, although Dragon Age I picked up just b/c it was summer break from university and I was bored, and then I got hooked. I originally wasn’t going to play DA2 b/c it was the same year it came out that I picked up DA:O and it wasn’t getting great reviews. Luckily my dad’s a terrible listener and bought it for me, and unlike the time he bought me AC:Unity despite me saying I didn’t want it, it worked out.

03) How many times you’ve played the games? At least six for DA:I, and then somewhere between 4 and 5 for the other two.

04) Favourite race to play as? Dwarves or elves. I came into the series as dwarf trash and the writing for the elves was rly interesting for this series so I also became elf trash.

05) Favorited class? Mages, except in DA:O where I hate playing anything, but mages the most. Between the spell effects being ugly (why does rock armour look like ur flaking dry skin???) and the AOE effecting everyone even on casual (who decided it was ok to shake the screen THAT MUCH during earthquake) I’m............. not a fan. But I love it in DA2 and DA:I, although in DA:I archer/rogue is a close second.

06) Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time? I make different decisions based upon which character I’m playing. So like, Thora will make the same decisions (with slight divergences like I’ll break up with Thom so I can experience Josie’s romance) and then Ruth, my pro-Templar Inquisitor, will be designed to make different decisions from her. Same goes for my Hawkes and Wardens, although I have a significantly harder time justifying some of the alternate decisions in DA:O/DA2. I let the Dalish clan die in DA:O for one jerk Warden and I’m still like “this is a bit overboard.”

07) Go-to adventuring group? DA:O - Zevran, Alistair, Wynne. DA2 - Carver, Varric or Isabela, Merrill in Act 1 and then after that either Aveline in place of Carver or I’ll take Varric, Isabela, and Merrill just so I have a party that likes one another. For DA:I - Solas, Sera or Cole, Blackwall. Although like with my decisions I vary companions, except for Solas who I keep around even when my Inquisitor is doing everything he hates.

08) Which of your characters did you put the most thought into? Of my PCs, Thora. I don’t tend to develop them much unless I’m writing them, beyond really basic motivations and reasons for their decisions. Since I’ve been writing Thora for a while now tho she’s obviously gotten the most development.

09) Favourite romance? Zevran, probably, which is a shame b/c I’ve only done it once.

10) Have you read any of the comics/books? I’ve read Masked Empire and some of the comic issues.

11) If you read them, which was your favourite book? I rly enjoyed Masked Empire.

12) Favourite DLCs? For its drama, Trespasser. Overall, Mark of the Assassin. I may not like Felicia Day (sue me) but oh my god that DLC is fucking gold.

13) Things that annoy you. In-game uhhh... the writing for Oghren and some banter for Zevran, I’m glad Bioware improved the writing for their more sexual characters b/c the banter with Iron Bull is overall less uncomfortable. At this point tho half the time I’m more annoyed by the fandom and its like relentless negativity or misuse of the word “plot hole.”

14) Orlais or Ferelden? Ferelden.

15) Templars or mages? Mages.

16) If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one? With Wardens, there’s the assumption they died with their origin story if Duncan isn’t there. For my Inquisitors, Thora has a companion verse that I pretend is in effect if I’m playing not-Thora. Obviously Hawkes are a parallel universe. I would not wish four Hawkes onto Carver or Bethany.

17) What did you name your pets? (mabari, summoned animals, mounts, etc) I remember only a couple of my mabari names but uh... Fenrir was one, Butters was another, and then one was just Dog b/c i downloaded the dlc half-way through DA2 and it didn’t let me name it at that point, but it was IC for that Hawke so it fit. Thora has a war nug named Moroc.

18) Have you installed any mods? Yes god. A few key ones are Skip the Fade, giving me Warden armour in DA:O, giving Merrill’s romance armour a scarf so I don’t gotta look at her neck, and then the Bi Solas mod.

19) Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden? Most didn’t, no. I think the only one with positive feelings about it was my Brosca, whose life was kind of over at that point anyway.

20) Hawke’s personality? My main Hawke (Sylvia) was Purple with some Blue, b/c it’s just not appropriate to joke in front of the Viscount when his son’s body isn’t cold, and after Leandra died she got Redder but still overall Purple. My second most developed Hawke, Leland, was mostly red unless Fenris brought up slavery or he was talking to Merrill. Or Anders. Basically he was just grumpy when he had to talk to strangers.

21) Did you make matching armour for your companions in Inquisition? I sometimes try to match colours, but also have preferences for different characters so don’t always.

22) If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change? Thora already went back in time and changed one thing, next question. I have no answers for anyone else.

23) Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon? Not particularly, at least not for my PCs, obviously I have some for Solas. At worst Thora’s status as a Beserker is non-canon, but there’s no lore-reason why she couldn’t become one so it’s more that they just didn’t program it.

24) Who did you leave in the Fade? Depending on the pt. Thora leaves behind Alistair and let me tell u I cried a lot. I think I tend towards the Warden in most pts, the only one where I didn’t was my pro-Templar Hawke vs Loghain. Loghain was saved. I actually have only had Stroud once so it’s always been a choice between former companions and Hawke

25) Favourite mount? I like the Wild Hart and the Nuggalope.