#please send more prompts if you want!

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Manner minded as got to be Father Luc, I bet he’s always so polite to Flora even when he’s really sick, always had a hanky with him and hates it when she has to do basic things for him.

Luc may seem very mannerly in the fics I've written about him because they're usually when he's "on" doing priest things or else with Flora, because especially in the early months, she brings out the best in him ❤️

But most days, he's just a normal dude lol. He'd sooner sneeze into the collar of his shirt than carry around a tissue or handkerchief. He would only use the word hankie if he was joking around. He definitely tends toward comfortable and casual rather than neat and precise in most things. Also, don't forget, he was an angsty punk rock lover in the 90's and 2000's. Had he not been religiously inclined from an early age, he probably would have landed somewhere on the angry hipster spectrum and exist exclusively in joggers or ripped jeans lol.

However, he IS always polite to Flora because he's crazy about her and wants the best for her. It's true that he goes out of his way to be especially kind to her when he's not feeling well, because he'd never want to go take out his bad mood on her. But after they're comfortable and established, he loves being babied a little and letting her take care of him (within reason). Definitely the "cuddle me until I'm better" type rather than "Stay away, I don't want to trouble you."

Thank you for your interest in my characters though ☺️ if you want to request something else from this list now that you have some more character detail, please feel free!

[sasslett]

FFXIV Naughty Fic Prompts

a collection of my favorite smutty tropes and ideas that I desperately want to see people write

Only One Bed Trope (tm)

Someone accidentally walks in on your OC pleasuring themselves

Your OC accidentally walks in on someone pleasuring themselves

Your Echo-bearing OC has a vision of someone in a private moment

Sparring leads to steamy times

Bandaging wounds/cleaning up after battle

Your OC being watched (alone or with others) during a private moment by Midgardsormr/Feo Ul/Ardbert/Fray (Esteem)/Emet Selch/Crystal Exarch/that fucking shoebill/Hydaelyn, or anyone else who regularly spies on them

A linkpearl call at a very bad time

Discovering/dealing with racial physical differences during intimacy (ears horns tails height differences etc etc etc)

Vacation to the Gold Saucer/Costa Del Sol/one of the many hot springs in the game (Kugane, Camp Bronze Lake, Lakeland)

Combat abilities used sensually/sexually

Post-battle emotional high/"Holy shit we're alive" moment

Pre-huge battle "We might not make it out of this alive" moment

Fun with fantasias

Everyone is attracted to the WoL/everyone wants a piece of the WoL

"I know we shouldn't but I can't help it" sorts of dynamics

Fellow Scion/acquaintance walks in on WoL/OC with their partner - gossip ensues

That damn Ishgardian ball we never got but deserved (ok I guess this isn't really steamy but it can be)

Other character with special sensing abilities (Y'shtola's aether sight, Krile's super sensitive Echo, Hythlodaeus' soul sight etc) knows what the WoL/OC has been up to/knows OC and their partner are a couple before they're out (or uses their ability in the heat of the moment if shipping with them)

Something fueled by armor/glams (and we know there's a lot of sexy outfits in game)

WoL/OC being given comfort after one of their few defeats (Zenos, Ranjit, Final Days etc)

That inn room scene in Endwalker (if you know you know)

[ailithnight]

Just had a wild idea in the shower for a dp\dc crossover.

Wes Weston is convinced that Batman is actually Lex Luthor, using the cowl to hide his baldness.

And he swears that Bruce Wayne is Superman, with makeup. After all, they are both himbos.

(the fact that Bruce and Clark have canonically swapped with each other without anybody noticing shows that they're similar enough)

Danny thinks Wes is completely ridiculous, but is also quietly concerned because he was right about him being Phantom, what if Wayne really is Superman?!

Sam's not convinced. Not only do Lex and Batman have completely different body types, but there's no way that the man who got drunk at a gala and got his lips stuck to an ice sculpture of himself can possibly have the mental ability to calculate how much force to use when grabbing a falling Lois without her exploding.

Tucker compares pictures. The butts don't match.

Its an interesting idea, Anon.

I, however, am not a DPxDC prompt blog.

While I do occasionally post prompts, those are just my own thoughts that latch into my head but I don't intend to write myself.

In the future, consider sending your prompt ideas as an ask or submission to the resident DPxDC prompt blog, @stealingyourbones

[zukkaoru]

Hi Grace! I don't know anything about bsd, so I'm gonna stick with atla (if that's okay). Zukka with the fluff dialogue prompt: “I want to spend the day with you doing nothing.” please. 

it's been so long since i've written them so uhhh i hope this isn't terrible 🫣

(prompt requests are still open)

.

The morning sun filters through the windows, painting Zuko’s bedroom golden. For the first time in months, they’re allowed to stay tangled up with each other in bed past sunrise. Sokka traces his fingers up and down Zuko’s arms as Zuko’s lips ghost against his boyfriend’s jawline. For a brief moment, they are allowed to be nothing more than two boys in love.

“Sunshine,” Sokka whispers, and Zuko lifts his head just enough to let his eyes roam over Sokka’s face. Summer has brought out his freckles, and they dot his face like constellations in the night sky. He cups Zuko’s cheek with one hand, then says, “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

Zuko hums in agreement. It would be nice, he thinks, if they had no obligations. If Zuko were not the Fire Lord and Sokka were not travelling constantly—if they lived in a world where they could hold onto each other outside the confines of this bedroom, if the world were not set up to oppose them.

“Me too,” Zuko agrees, then leans in to steal another kiss. “I’d take even just one day. I want to spend the day with you doing nothing.”

“One day,” Sokka muses. “One day of no responsibilities. Just you and me.” He sighs. “Maybe someday. For one whole day, we’ll lock ourselves in this room and do absolutely nothing.”

It’s a nice fantasy, unattainable as it may be. There are always things that require Zuko’s attention, and there are always people unintentionally pulling him and Sokka apart. But maybe one day, when Zuko has established himself as Fire Lord, when the world isn’t still reeling from one hundred years of war, they’ll be able to find a day of peace.

For now, though, Zuko will cherish the few extra minutes they’ve found this morning. It won’t be long before he’s called elsewhere, but until then, he’ll continue to kiss Sokka slowly, like they’ve got all the time in the world, and he’ll be content to have Sokka in his arms as the sunlight pours over them.

[applesandbannas747]

I know fanfic is widely accepted these days and most creators aren't going to sue you for writing it, but I am begging people to remember that by sharing your fic and OCs unsolicited with creators, you're putting them in a really uncomfortable position. For one thing, they have their own ideas for their story and it can be really awkward to respond to fans trying to insert their ideas into it. You're trapping them into interacting with your fanwork in a way that can be hard to disengage from, especially without hurting feelings. And it can also lead to trouble regarding intellectual property and plagiarism.

Say you're an author and a fan sends you a fic, which you read, and find that it's predicted some key elements to the next book of the series. Now that fan has proof that they sent you these ideas before the book came out, and when you publish your new book, they notice how similar it is to their fic. They might try taking legal action against you or they might just brag online that your idea was so great that they took it, or inversely call you a thief and an asshole for stealing their ideas. So maybe instead of even risking it, you're now trying to redo that next novel away from those elements. Are these scenarios likely to happen? No, probably not. But a lot of authors are advised by their teams to avoid fanworks for this reason anyway.

Interacting with the creators of the canon you love is awesome! But please remember they aren't fellow fans and you need to interact with them appropriately for everyone's sake

[tommys-wings]

I. I forgor to colour the flower on my previous fanart 💀💀💀💀

[skitskatdacat63]

Quick question, how old is Seb in the boy king au when they get married, I'm asking because I was rereading the fic & directors cut from September and you said he’s so obsessed with calling Seb little. Is Seb shorter than Nando or is Nando trying to feel a bit taller when actually he is a itty-bitty war criminal kitty? If Seb is shorter but still has time to grow how badly will Nando take it

Hello! This one is much easier to answer than your other one(You're really making me think deeply, thank you 🥺), so I think I can answer this pretty quickly(hopefully)

So you've probably noticed that I don't mention actual years too much which is just bcs the timeline is so vast and I've not decided on a lot 😭. But they basically have the same age gap as modern day, so I'd say they were born in 1681 and 1687 respectively(which matches up well enough with the real world history.) Irl, the war that I'm canon divergencing away from takes place 1701-1714, so stuff regarding when their coronation and marriage happens is somewhere in there. So I'd say Nando becomes king in like, 1705 and then they marry somewhere between then and 1710(when seb ideally becomes emperor??)

So to answer your actual question. Seb is def taller than Nando by the time they get married. But in that ficlet, Fernando is obsessed with calling Seb small because he wants to make himself feel bigger!! It's less about actual height and more about power dynamics. He's belittling him by literally calling him little! And it's also about Nando being older than him. Seb became a king as a boy(hence boy king), whereas Fernando became a king as an adult so he calls him little because he still sees him as that little boy king who is too young to have that amnt of power.

They first met pretty young, not knowing what their future would be like, and didn't really see each other for a while. And so until they meet again, when the marriage plans start happening, their perceptions are: Nando thinks of Seb as some little boy king, and Seb has a childish crush. So it's very odd for Nando to suddenly now meet this kid, all grown up, and he's now taller and even more powerful. So I think Nando still associates Seb with that image in his mind, thus calling him little all the time.

Conclusion: Fernando IS shorter, and he wears heels and calls Seb little all the time as a way to cope

[ladylynse]

Hello! I love your works, they're all so cool! I especially love your rc9gn ones because it's my current hyperfixation. Do you think you can make some (even your 3-sentences ones would make me really happy!)? I have a bunch of prompts!

Prompt 1: Viceroy trying to create a robot, but something went wrong (Bash/McFist/a robo-ape probably messed it up) and it caused an electric short-age to the whole town

Prompt 2: There's a thunderstorm at the end of class and everyone was advised to wait out the storm before they could get home, shenanigans ensues

Prompt 3: (contains human!Nomicon) the Nomicon thinks about all the good and bad things his current student has done

I have more, but I don't want to spam you with all of them, so here's all I'll give! It's fine if you can't do any of it, I'm just thankful for the work you've alr done!

Thanks so much, Anon! I'm sorry I'm getting to this so late, but I am delighted you like what I've written. I really appreciate you letting me know!

These prompts are best for ficlet prompts (specific scenarios always are), and unfortunately my ask box isn't open for that at the moment, but I'll turn them into three sentence prompts: blackout, stormbound, and human!Nomicon AU, reflections. I'm specifying what I'm boiling the prompts down to because I don't take specific scenarios for three sentence fic prompts anymore, so I ask for a word or two (along with the AU if it's an AU) for those, and this is how I'm going to list them in my three sentence fic list. (I'm still going to do your scenarios because I'm assuming you're new and don't know what I've been doing more recently, but this will give you an example of how a prompt can be boiled down.) You are welcome to still share any ideas you have, though! (It's always fun to see what people come up with.) I just won't necessarily turn them into ficlets.

Prompt 1 - Blackout

“Viceroy,” McFist growled in the sudden silence that seemed all the louder for the absence of any hum of machinery, “what did you do?”

Viceroy pinched the bridge of his nose—of course he’d get the blame for this when McFist, in all his enthusiasm, had been the one to activate the prototype before it was ready—but somehow summoned the patience to say, “It seems premature activation caused a power outage that, if the view out the window is any indication, is affecting the entire town; if you had waited—”

“The Ninja was right here,” snapped McFist, his words nearly—but not quite—covering up the sound of a pair of feet hitting the floor behind Viceroy and their owner no doubt dropped from above, “and if he’s going to show his face under my own roof, I’m going to send every WND we have after him!”

Prompt 2 - Stormbound

Randy didn’t think it would be too long before the rain let up enough for them to safely leave, but Howard—and clearly Heidi—had other ideas, since Howard had his phone out and was willingly watching Heidi’s Me-Cast, where she was saying, “Hey, N-villers, Heidi here with the DL on the downpour; the storm has us all stuck in school, so I propose a contest: first person to—hey!”

“First person to discover the real secrets of Norrisville,” continued Debbie, her face only partly in frame and the entire camera bouncing as she scrambled to keep the phone out of Heidi’s reach, “will win the prize. So how about it—who wants to unmask the Ninja with me?”

Prompt 3 - Reflections, Human!Nomicon AU

He would be lying if he called Randy his best student or his most skilled one, but Randy may well be the one who most embodied what it meant to be the Norrisville Ninja; he had a heart that wouldn’t fail him, and when he dealt with the likes of the Sorcerer and now the Sorceress, that was the most valuable of all.

Of course, he also had more luck than the last ten Ninjas combined, and at times like these, it was hard to accept (despite ample supporting evidence) that that luck was entirely natural and not the result of a magical artefact altering the luck of others and bending fortune to his own favour, no matter how well that would explain the current predicament.

“Yo, Nomi,” called Randy, since Randy had insisted on calling him that once he’d realized he wasn’t speaking with the one he called First Ninja, “now that you’re, like, a person and not a book, this is a perfect time to teach me how to do the Ninja Dragon Fist, so how ‘bout it?”

-|-

see more fics | more RC9GN fics

[hellofanidea]

ok one last bc i just came across it in a bbc merlin post on my dash

"I have the power to change everything, yet can affect nothing, it's all inevitable-- it is also all my fault."

Natalie slumped down onto the bed when she was finished, her head going into her hands. Defeat rolled off of her in waves, and it made Nix's heart seize to see her brought down so hard. Tentatively, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You haven't had any more say in this than anyone else, and you work twice as hard as everyone to keep it all together," he tried to assure her. "Nobody's blaming you for any of it, even if it all goes up in flames."

[allylikethecat]

Watch out world, Ally is trying to write smut again

[bigender-cowboy]

Anyone want to give me a random character (fandom I’m in or not) and see me in their outfit

[fragrantpines]

“A story? Oh my, I haven't done one of those in a while. Shall we take a peek at the options we have on hand?”

Opening prompt requests for a limited time only! (closed!)

What to do: Send me a character from the tale of food + which prompt you would like to use from this list (Tea Prompts List)

E.g: “Hello, I would like Drunken Chicken with the prompt Green Tea.”

Additional info: None so far, go wild and request to your heart's content 💕

“Hm~ What a lovely tea time this was. I enjoyed it thoroughly, did you? Oh, don't answer me now, tell me when we meet again!”

“Whether it be over another cup of tea, under a galaxy of stars or through a garden of roses... the stories will always be here, waiting for you to remember them. So don't keep "them" waiting too long, young master. Until we meet again~”

[lemonlightt]

Random question! What is your favorite type of feline?

this is a HARD QUESTION ANON. sorry to disappoint if our favourites do not match . i would like to hear other peoples answers too so >:) any moots come here >:)

i have had many different phases of favourite types of feline but it either has to be sabertoothed cats. if you are looking for a species that hasn't entirely died out then it'd have to be pallas cats right now.

sabertoothed cats because they're so fun to study. i love their anatomy. theyre so CUTE. i just love forgotten felines. secret thing about me that my husband might not even know probably but i used to be obsessed with extinct ancient animals for a period of being a kid !!!

but obviously pallas cats. they're so EXPRESSIVE? they look like they're in a constant state of anger? they frighten me to my core/aff. i lvoe them. have you ever looked at them? they look like a snow leopards lil sister.

look at this one. look how teeny. they're so worried. not a thought but fear behind those eyes. they don't know where they are.

this fucker looks like you just gave them the most unimaginable read ever . i've never seen a cat JAWDROPPED. it's fucking amazing. these cats are a blessing .

this one looks like my husband. they're so ugly. i need to hug one. they look like they want to go home and sleep.

this one is so hangry. me when i dont get my yummies. my yummies. my yumyums. !!!!!!!!!

do you understand anon. anon . do you understand? i could keep going for ages. they are a blessing . i love them. thank you for this delightful ask. you, among these cats, are a blessing. thanks for the excuse to scream about pallas cats. sorry for ranting at you

to anyone who wants to add their fav felines (extinct or (MOSTLY) alive) GO CRAZY!! SHOW PICS!!!!!!!!

[likecastle]

Ronance Femslash February - vampire AU

Thank you to the illustrious anon who sent an ask that just said “Ronance + vampire AU?” You’re so right, anon. Yes, absolutely. I love this idea so much. I . . . don’t know how to feel about how this turned out, though, I have to admit. It started out madcap and silly, and wound up being kind of downer. I still had  great time writing it, though, so thank you so much for sending this idea my way!

I’m accepting Ronance prompts all month for Femslash February. Anon asks are totally fine, and you’re welcome to send more than one prompt. Don’t be shy! Please, keep them coming! You can find previous prompts I’ve filled here.

Content warning for . . . uhhhh . . . allegorical internalized homophobia? Or, like, I guess in the context of this story, it’s internalized homophobia and also internalized anti-monster sentiment? I don’t know, please proceed carefully if learned self-hatred from a small-minded community is troubling to you.

“Steeeeeve,” Robin whines, leaning over the counter in a despairing slump. “I can’t just tell her!”

Steve glances over at her from where he’s reshelving tapes, looking thoroughly unimpressed with Robin’s current crisis. “I don’t see why not.”

“Because—” Robin sputters. “Because—I just can’t!  That’s not something you just up and tell people.”

Steve puts a copy of The Hunger back on the shelf. “Uh, I think that’s exactly what you do.”

“But, I mean, what if she freaks out?”

“I didn’t freak out,” Steve points out.

“Yeah, but you’re—” Robin stops herself, deciding that particular observation is better made another day. “—sympathetic,” she finishes weakly.

“You never know,” Steve says, flipping over the display box for Salem’s Lot so it’s cover-out. “Nancy might be sympathetic too.”

Robin groans into her folded arms. “Only in my wildest dreams is Nancy Wheeler sympathetic.”

“Well, you won’t know unless you try,” Steve says stubbornly.  “You might be surprised. She’s pretty open-minded, so, like, even if she’s not into it, I really don’t think she’d mind.”

“Yeah, but then she’d know. And if I did tell her and it turned out she wasn’t into it, I think I’d just, like, spontaneously combust.” She makes a gesture with her hands like a puff of smoke. “You’d come in the next morning and all that’d be left of me would be a pile of dust on the carpet.”

“Would it really be so bad, somebody else knowing?” Steve asks, and his voice is too gentle, Robin really can’t take him being all kid gloves about this. “Lots of people are, uh, like you these days. Take Annie Lennox, for instance.”

Robin stifles a frustrated groan and scrubs her hands through her hair, pulling maybe a little too hard. “Annie Lennox is not a—”

“What!” Steve interjects incredulously. “Yes, she is.”

“No,” Robin says slowly, “she’s not.”

Steve genuinely looks like he can’t process this information. “But . . . she’s so pale.”

“I need a drink,” Robin says, and marches into the breakroom to take a swallow from her thermos. It’s old and it smells kind of weird, but Steve gave it to her because it’s got Popeye on it and it’s one of her most treasured possessions. She feels better when she emerges from the breakroom, a little less shaky, a little less like she’s going to fly off the handle.

“All I’m saying,” she says, resuming their argument as if she never left, “is that I don’t think you’re really thinking this through, Steve. Every single person who knows about me is a risk. I love you, but if, god forbid, you ever let something slip, even by accident . . . It’s a lot of trust to put in someone. You know what this town is like. They’d build a pyre right in the middle of town square today if someone so much as looked at me wrong. We both know they’ve done it before.”

Steve has moved on to tidying the new releases, and he keeps his eyes on the tapes as he straightens Fright Night on the display. “You know I wouldn’t,” he says quietly.

“No, I know,” she assures him. “That’s not—”

“And Nance wouldn’t either.”

Robin sighs, shoulders deflating. “I know. I know. But I really don’t think I could handle it if she started treating me like I was contagious, or something.”

“But—” Steve looks up, stricken. “That’s not even . . .”

“Doesn’t matter,” Robin says with a shrug. “I just . . . I don’t think I’m ready. I want to be, I really do. I’d very much like to be able to look her full in the face and say, ‘Nancy Wheeler, I’d like to drink your blood, and also make out and stuff,’ but . . .” She shrugs again, the hopelessness overcoming her. “I’m just . . . not.”

“Hey,” Steve says. “That’s OK.  You don’t have to.” He comes around behind the counter and bumps his shoulder against hers. “I’m sorry I’ve been pushing this, I just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah,” Robin sighs, leaning against him so that her head drops on his shoulder. “I know. Me, too, someday.”

[greypetrel]

Ok because I'm falling down the Aisling x Fenris hole with you - could I ask for affection meme #29 - Meeting eyes across a distance and knowing what the other is thinking?

You are all enabler!

(and I want to thank you. x°D Really I was so anxious at posting that fic, I’m so glad it got some appreciation)

(reminding you all that this is much an AU, don’t worry, we’re staying in Cullen territory in Canon. … She has a kink for Templars and bisexual disasters tho. You can mock her.)

Also it’s coming in more parts! Because why suffering twice when we can all suffer more.

Soundtrack!

And Part 1 if you missed it

If I Make it to the Morning

( Meeting eyes across a distance and knowing what the other is thinking )

*Between Hasmal and the Tevinter border, 9:41, Firstfall.*

At first, the voices and tales of the Herald of Andraste didn’t caught Fenris’ attention. He just shrugged them off, not paying attention to the latest imposed saint and saviour there to solve everyone’s problems. He had spent his time in Kirkwall with the Hawkes, not enough to have him stay, but enough to learn that one person was but one person, and couldn’t be held responsible to solve the World.

He learnt about the Conclave, learnt that the Herald was an elf, and a Dalish one. But after a fleeting thought, wondering if he crossed their eyes at the Arlathven, all that time ago, he took his sword and was on the road again, after the next slavers.

He had no interest in joining the Inquisition, and if Varric needed him, he knew how to find him and contact him. It was none of his business, after all, three years with a clan and two days at an Arlathven didn’t make him a Dalish.

There were weird groups of mages, lately, crossing the border in the middle of the night and with no cages. It was clear, tho, that they weren’t exactly up to much good. The first group that Fenris ambushed didn’t look that assuming. He admittedly just saw Tevinters acting suspicious, followed them and attacked when it was clear that they were up to no good, interrogating their chief.

Venatori, he called their group. At the service of the Ancient One to restore Tevinter’s glory. Add the usual slurs and empty threats, Fenris just ended him and got on with his work, gathering documents and the informations he could. He didn’t fully understand what was going on, there definitely were some pieces of the puzzle he missed -first and foremost who this Ancient One was-, but the mentions to Red Lyrium were enough for him to catch on that Venatori meant, too, kill on sight. He sent word to Varric as soon as he got back to Hasmal and his informators, attached the document he found, and got on with his life.

*Close to the Tevinter border, 9:42, Wintermarch.*

It passed a month before another attack to another group of Venatori almost ended in disaster. He thought he had counted them all, tracking them down as they crossed the border and made their way out of the beaten path, hiding the way hahren Oshyn taught him, minding his steps not to make noise, blend in the environment. It was useful for spying as well, observing the enemy without being seen, and he was grateful for the effort the Lavellans put up with him. Except, this time he miscalculated.

He didn’t see that there was a second group, bigger, further back on the path, that descended on him as he was almost finishing the first. He cursed, thought back on his strategy. They were too many, and he was getting tired: his chance was falling back -dodge a fireball, parry another, jump back when there’s the crack of lightning, plant your sword in the ground and your hands away, shut your eyes and close your ears, the way she told him to- and retreating back in the trees, hoping he still remembered Oshyn’s teaching enough to lose them in the woods.

And then, an arrow struck a soldier. Another felled the next. Barriers were casted as a contingent of soldiers and scouts came out all around him, telling him brashly to just move.

They sported Inquisition insignia, a flaming black eye in white field, cut in half by a sword. He stared, not understanding what they did so far north. Far beyond the reaching of the Chantry. If they crossed the border and entered in arms in the Imperium, it would have caused a diplomatic disaster, and for what he knew, the Inquisition wasn’t so politically sound to withstand offending Tevinter, Herald of Andraste or not.

When the battle was over, he approached what looked like the Officer in command, and asked. They were kind, and treated him as equal. Mistook him for a Dalish, but it wasn’t the first time it happened, and he often took it as covering, not bothering to correct the mistake of seeing a tattooed elf and going for Dalish.

“We’re here on the Inquisitor’s personal orders, hunting slavers and Venatori. You shouldn’t engage neither on your own, particularly the Venatori: they’re dangerous and the prisoners are taken for experiments.”

“So close to Tevinter?”

“Yes, it’s a conjunct operation. The Inquisitor’s Tevinter advisor has contact in Minrathous. Magister Tilani joined forces with us for this operation.”

He frowned. A Tevinter advisor in contact with a Magister? He heard of Tilani, she wasn’t high on his list of targets, but still… Maybe he should have paid more attention to the Inquisition, after all, if its hand reached so far north and its leader had… Such sympathies. Weird.

“Can you tell me more about the Inquisitor? With a Tevinter advisor?”

The scout laughed, shaking her head. He followed her around, helping how he could in searching bodies and retrieving documents, orders and everything useful.

“Forgive me the laughter… You’re not the first to have doubts. The Lady Inquisitor was the Herald of Andraste, and much like her patroness, she doesn’t look at provenience, if the intentions are good. Whoever wants to help defeating Corypheus has a place.”

A Dalish elf with sympathies for Tevinter. It could… No. No, it couldn’t be. She was one of many, and she wanted to stay in the clan. He shooed that thought from his head and made another question.

“Who’s this Corypheus?”

“The Ancient One, yes, the one that the Venatori follows.”

“So, a Magister.”

“So they say. Some rumours say he’s darkspawn too, tho… But he was the one who opened the Rifts and the sky, and destroyed Haven, Lady Lavellan tho closed the Breach and dueled him in Haven… She’s the best bet against him.”

“… Lavellan, you said?”

“Yes, didn’t you know her name? I thought the Dalish knew. Do you know her?”

“… she’s a mage.”

“Yes, but-”

He thanked the Scout, a little too brashly for politeness, and was out of the clearing before she could ask him who he was exactly. And thinking back, really, how many weird elves could he think of that would have welcomed a Tevinter noble as advisor? How many elves were so prone in getting caught always in the weirdest shit so gloriously?

He needed to get South.

*Exalted Plains, 9:42, Guardian.*

It took him way longer than he would have liked to reach her.

He had considered tracking the Lavellan, just to ask… Anything, really. Because the idea of facing the Keeper and the whole clan, after almost 8 years since he left without even a goodbye was still more appealing than facing her, after leaving with yes, a goodbye, and also a conversation that left her in pieces and took the light away from her eyes.

But he owed it to her, at least. He owed it to come personally, not go looking for voices and rumours from people who knew her, not write and ask Varric how she was faring and if he believed she needed help.

He hadn’t been thinking straight, but he felt his heart in his throat and a sense of dread. He had to go and check. Even if it meant having her tell him in his face that he went way past her stupidly wide boundaries and she hated him. Just a quick detour. Check if she was fine. Offer his sword if she needed it. He owed it to her. She has just saved his life. Yet again. He was free, now, and he was done running.

But, by the time he reached Skyhold, not difficult to find once he crossed to Ferelden and found forward camps and bases flying the flaming eye all around the Storm Coast and Crestwood, drinking anecdotes and informations he could find and hear, she wasn’t there.

It was, honestly, impressive to see what she had accomplished: the tall, imposing fortress bustling with life and activities, the camp in the valley. Oh, he knew she was highly intelligent, and would have been a good leader, once her time would have come… He never expected this. As he never expected to find back from Kirkwall Knight-Captain Rutherford – now Commander, and underlining heavily how he was no more Knight-Captain- to burst his cover of “Former Lavellan member”.

It took him too many explanations to let him, Sister Nightingale and Lady Montilyet to agree and tell him where the Inquisitor was. Varric barged in, fighting guards, to vouch for him, and yet fell surprised when Leliana asked him if it was true that he knew the Inquisitor. He couldn’t answer, because he never told him which clan he knew, never told them all more than “I hid three years among the Dalish”, when Merrill noticed some idiosyncrasies he picked up and she instantly recognised. Luckily, Cullen didn’t forget he was in the Gallows too, fighting against Meredith, and it was him, in the end, who convinced his colleagues. It calmed him to see she had people around that were protective of her. The actual her, not the Inquisitor mask.

He tagged along in the next supply caravan, headed to the Exalted Plains. It wasn’t a long trip, at least.

He was welcomed by destruction. Trenches in shambles, a countryside on fire, soldiers from both parties of the civil war gathering to burn corpses, Inquisition forces working hard to keep everyone supplied, the roads safe from bandits, clean up what they could.

They pointed him North, saying the Inquisitor hadn’t been back from a couple of days. That was busy, as the Inquisition’s forces repaired the bridge to Citadelle du Courbeau, helping a Dalish Clan that was camped in Halin’Sulahn. She was bound, tho, to be at Fort Revasan in three days time, to cross the river and go check the situation in the Citadelle. Voices ran of more zombies and demons.

He sighed, not surprised that they kept having such a bad timing amongst the civil war and her fulfilling her duties to the People. As the great First that she was. He headed north, leaving the beaten path, spotting traces he didn’t really like and felt familiar from the last three, aimless years.

He climbed to the top of a low hill, facing down to a flatter strip of land where a tall, dilapidated elven building still stood and he saw it: a small camp, lit by a couple of fires and tents with the Tevinter snakes painted on top. Very unwise, to make themselves so visible and recognisable. Particularly because they were so few, all but five people, two of whom lying asleep.

He unsheathed his greatsword and slowly walked down, laying low and hiding behind fallen rocks. The position wasn’t the best, just a turn of a head and he’d be spotted. Nonetheless, he trudged on hiding until he couldn’t anymore. He was spotted and then he ran. He faded through a tent, stabbing down to the sleeping mage there, right in the middle of his chest. One less.

He faded again through a fireball, charging one of the mages, the one that alarmed the others. It wasn’t difficult, he just had to pay attention and care for his surroundings, ducking and dodging and taking his time. He had energies to spare, the long journey left him eager of getting back to work. One Venatori less, throat sliced neatly.

The third had him retreat, casting a rain of icicles he had to jump back to dodge. Not a problem, he could circle him, maybe drag the assassin they had with them in the fire, or over one of the ice mines that were casted -as if he didn’t know what they were, the idiot didn’t even put some effort in making them inconspicuous to the warrior elf glowing blue with lyrium. Amateurs.

A snap of wood behind him signalled one of the rogues, he girated around, swinging his sword –

Swiiish.

The assassin screamed in pain, as an arrow struck him right in his eye. He heard a feminine laughter, very nasal, from behind him, but didn’t stop to look, slicing through the soft belly of the assassin and leaving her on the ground to die, turning again to parry another fireball thrown at him with the flat of his weapon.

“See? I got the bull’s eye, Bull! Got it? Ah ah!”

The same voice of the laughter cheered, followed by a booming one, a laughter hidden behind every syllable, from right on his left.

“Great job, Sera-baas! Move, broomstick!”

The ground trembled, as a Qunari run after him and sliced the mage he was aiming at as if it was butter. The mage jumped behind, wounded badly but apparently not down, more resistant than one would think, or with a better armour hidden in flowy robes. The Qunari yelled. “Crap!” as he jumped back, too close to fully avoid the fire that was thrown at him. He hissed, swinging his axe to get distance, ignoring the pain and the burn. Fenris didn’t lose time, jumping right at him, zig-zaging to avoid being targeted too easily. He killed that mage by stabbing him in his chest, deep, but it left him open to the last warrior, his sword stuck in the leather brigandine the mage was clad in.

“Boss!”

He heard the Qunari yell again, as he struggled -damn Tevinter clothes with their too many straps- to free his sword and himself.

He felt it, then.

The air crackling in static all around, buzzing with energy and the distinct smell of ozone. Noise of hoofs, a horse neighing. And then-

It thundered, loud and strong. It had been eight years, but Fenris’ body, apparently, remembered, closing his eyes and letting go of the hilt, staying impossibly still where he was as the air filled with light and thunder, the woosh of flames adding up and warming the air on his face was new, and then everything quieted again. He opened his eyes and the last Vint was lying on the ground, unconscious and burnt from the lightning that just hit him, twitching jerkily as the electricity ran through his nerves, his clothes on fire in more than one part, hair completely burnt down.

They were younger, in a carefree day, years ago. It was spring, the air was full of the smell of fresh grass and flowers. He was sitting against a tree with a book she had lent him to exercise, as she slowly padded her way in the underbush, staff held tight in her hand and steps overly measured, toes checking the ground for twigs before placing her weight on it. She wasn’t a hunter: she may be not so bad when she asked him to teach her to wield a sword, but… The tongue out of her lips, the overly concentrated expression betrayed her uneasiness, long hair splaying all around, leaves stuck in the locks. She launched a rock in the undergrowth, quickly falling into position and calling on her mana as three rabbits ran away, scared. He closed his eyes and averted his eyes, not moving one bit as she told him, as thunder fell from the sky, precise as an arrow, and shocked one of the running rodents dead. She turned with a big smile on her face, expression lit up by more than the speckles of the sun that filtered through the canopy, proud of herself and looking at him for recognition.

“What for?” He had asked, barely containing a smile. He was there from a couple of years, they were unlikely friends, and he found it was difficult to stay grumpy and angry when Aisling was looking at you with that level of enthusiasm.

“Dinner, silly!” She laughed.

She wasn’t catching dinner anymore, but the precision, dead-set and carefully gained through a lot of methodical exercise, was still unmistakably hers. And yet, she wasn’t laughing anymore. She wasn’t alight with enthusiasm, and her hair weren’t long and with leaves or flowers decorating them.

She sat on a pinto horse, staff in her hand, looking straight at him with a hard expression on her face he didn’t think she even had in her. Her hair was shorter, brushing her shoulders and left loose, parted on top of her head so some stray locks covered her brow and her Vallaslin. Which was weird per se. She was very proud of her tattoos, always had been, and most often she braided her hair back to show them. Her face had lost the last roundness of childhood, her mouth had a harsh turn to it. She still wore leg wraps even with clothes and a leather cloak that were unmistakably human in cuts and materials, toes free on the stirrups.

Their eyes met, they kept looking for a long time. He notice briefly the other elf on the saddle with her, an archer taller than her that was glaring suspiciously at him, the second Mage in flowy white robes and moustaches that Fenris remembered from another life, or the Qunari of before asking questions he didn’t hear.

There she was. Aisling Lavellan, looking at him in the eyes.

Eight years had passed, but it was just like it was yesterday that they spoke for the last time. There was something he couldn’t recognise, but he still believe he knew, roughly, how to read her. He had spent a lot of time learning it, after all, and put his effort into it. With suspect at first, because she was a mage and she was eager, striving to get better, curiosity later, because she was careful and loved what she was doing, and a youthly, foolish and thought unrequited first love, lastly. They were both older, now… But she was still her, and he was still him.

He stepped forward, not breaking eye contact, until the archer rose her bow, the Altus got his staff in position and he had the Qunari’s axe at his throat, forcing him to held his chin high.

“Bull.” She just said, assertive. Her Keeper’s tone.

“Are you sure, Boss? We don’t know-”

“I knew him.”

He didn’t lose how she clicked her tongue on her palate, making the horse move without any other movement, stopping him in front of the Tevinter. Protectively.

She didn’t have to ask him, he didn’t have to answer, they still communicated silently as well as the day he left, after all. There was old hurt, distrust, and incomprehension. And yet, something steely in her eyes, that was maybe not her, but the Lady Inquisitor. He contracted his eyebrows, knowing she was reading him as well.

She lowered her eyes, nodded.

And then he spoke, for the others more than for her.

“I came to offer my sword to the Inquisitor.”

And then, someone punched him, hard, right on his right cheekbone. He fell to the ground, hissing in pain and scrambling to the side, to face-

A very angry, seething with rage, Radha Lavellan. Sharper to the corners, hair considerably shorter, daggers sheathed and hands still clenched in punches. If looks could kill, he would be dead and buried right there and then.

“Radha.” Aisling called, a note of tiredness in her voice.

The Rogue stepped back, without saying a word, still casting angry glances at him. 

“Who is our new guest, darling?” A soft, low voice came, still from behind the horse.

“A person we once knew. He won’t hurt anyone, let him come.”

There was that, at least.

*Skyhold, 9:42, Spring and Summer.*

She wasn’t angry with him. She didn’t seem so. But, she wasn’t the bubbly, friendly person of before.

She accepted him in the Inquisition, leaving to Leliana and Cullen to decide how better to take advantage of his abilities after he explained that he had spent the last 4 years after Kirkwall to hunt slavers down, on his own.

He didn’t expect to find both Raina and Garrett Hawke there, greeting him with Varric as one would an old friend. Even if he was the one of their rag-tag group that fought alongside them for the shortest time. But, they at least were welcoming.

Aisling avoided him, polite when they needed to interact, with a coldness she never had, not getting closer. He tried to speak to her, but she wasn’t reachable anymore. She didn’t want his apologies, she told him that he could be free, she didn’t need his help and didn’t want for him to stay if he didn’t want to, or if he just felt like it was his duty. He professed his wish to… Make amend, somehow. She just refused him, saying there was no need, nothing to amend for. Things happened.

He disagreed, and he stayed. Not that she seemed to mind much in good or bad.

But, she assigned him to missions, never ordering but always asking, mindful even after all that time of not making him feel trapped or forced. Radha slowly stopped looking at him as she would have stabbed him in his back, if it wasn’t for Aisling. It was something.

They danced around the other, gravitating, as they had done when the Lavellan brought him in. He knew she was observing him, he could see her looking at him from time to time. He was doing the same, both looking and not approaching. Space was what they had, space was familiar and a good compromise, as Fenris did his best to show her he was there, and he was not running, not leaving her to face a weird darskpawn-Magister alone. He could do that for her, and it wasn’t all that unpleasant.

The company was good, he got along with the Chargers -he knew the Iron Bull was familiar, after he named Seheron he knew. They never spoke about it, but they both knew. Varric… Was Varric, a knack for making you feel welcomed everywhere. He called her Lucky. It was, indeed, still Aisling Lavellan, the weirdo who thought people were good. She collected quite the rag-tag group, still making friends first and foremost with the most unlikely people around. Magisters and Altus -those were hard to accept, he stuck around as she and Dorian experimented, as Alexius joined them sometimes. He stuck around, a dagger at the ready, refusing to leave when she asked him, once, and even after she told him that Dorian had her utmost trust. Little by little, at least, he saw she was right, that the Altus really seemed to care, and the old Magister had no more bite to him. The Spirit, Cole, was the second on his list of curiosities that unsettled him: because of course she would have made friend with a Spirit in human form that read minds. And then Sera, whomever she was -he quite liked her, tho-. A Ben-Hassrath agent, and a good one, that acted like a mother cat and corrected her form with her spirit-blade. The ex Knight-Captain of Kirkwall lent her books, and they laughed together -he didn’t know Cullen was able to laugh. Apostates and Templars and Orlesian nobles charmed by her. She made it work, and he was admired.

Admired, and sad, because he knew her when she was young, and she never was that demure, and calm. Maybe it was just him and Radha that could see it, but he saw it: she was keeping her distances, keeping always three steps away from all her inner circle, save from Dorian.

She smiled more with him, as they spoke Tevene between them and experimented on magic. On that, she was still brilliant, as much as he was, and he had to admit, as much as she didn’t trust the man, they worked well together, filling each other gaps and spurring each other on. She has always been talented and elegant, thinking outside the box and, at the same time, controlled. But with him?

They made rain on the Keep. A real, true rain that filled the reserves of drinking water and saved people a long and hard trip to fetch it. And, as they travelled across Thedas, helped people as well.

As the months passed, as they found a comfortable rhythm around each other, they crossed eyes again, from time to time. Aisling started speaking to him again, unsurely and tentatively. She never touched anything much personal, always kept her distance. But, she asked about how he was. Asked him for his opinion on matters that weren’t work. Suggested him a book she thought he may like. He made a detour from the kitchen, when he passed and saw they had just taken out of the oven a tray of lemon cookies, and brought them straight to her in the library as a thank you, because he remembered she liked lemon sweets best.

One day, she told him she read about Danarius in the Tale of the Champion. That she was happy for him. And for once, her smile was sincere. As many, many times before, she tugged back the small, shy smile she had just for him. He smiled back, for old time’s sake. He hoped she saw that, in spite of everything, he was proud of her. And he regretted every single day he didn’t get back after Danarius found him and he put an end on the story, winning his freedom.

There was distance, still, a huge, gaping hole of eight year of absence, with not a word. They could work around it, falling into the most innocent of their old habits -like, he would sit in the library, reading, as Dorian taught her maths and to put magic in theory and they bickered, ten miles per hours in a mix of Tevene and Common following some weird line of thought.

He wanted more, he regretted many things. But if that was all that there could be, all that she had left to give him, he would have taken it. Work. Fixing problems together, on different sides of the same room. Exchanging glances and knowing, still, what the other was thinking. Avoiding to speak about the regret, the longing, that at least he started to feel again, after some months. That was left for sideway glances. She could concentrate on finding another person. One that wouldn’t have left.

*Adamant Fortress, 9:42, Kingsway.*

She didn’t want him in his party. It was predictable. She invented an excuse, but he really didn’t need one. He followed Raina, as he had done in Kirkwall, up the battlements.

They fought, they crossed path with Aisling, in her Keeper armour, making thunder rain from above in that way she and Dorian had to weave spells together, drawing together from the Fade to enhance each other’s power. She had Dorian and Solas with her, with the addition of the Iron Bull. As the Battlements were freed, she stopped them to assess the situation and instruct them further.

“We need to get to the inner courtyard and stop Erimond. We’ll head there, Raina and Stroud with us.” She instructed them, turning to him, Radha, Sera, Garrett and Varric. “You stay here, keep the battlements free for our soldiers, cover them as they climb. Garrett, you know what to do to call me if another Rift opens up here. Ok?”

No, it wasn’t ok. He frowned at her, and for the first time since he arrived, he spoke up to her.

“Let me come with you.”

He told her, looking at her in the eyes. He didn’t need to say why or explain, he knew she knew. He had experience with Magisters. He had known Erimond. He was the best suited, had personal grudge against the man and the category. She knew. She steeled her gaze, tho, furrowing and not budging. A challenge.

“No.”

She stepped back: Fenris didn’t realise he had stepped so close to her.

He sighed, nodding, understanding it was not a matter of ability. It was clear as day on her face.

She didn’t trust him at his side, after all.

He let her go, did what she asked. He wondered if she knew his heart went with her nevertheless.

---

When the dragon came flying, tho, he said fuck it to the plan.

“Broody!”

He heard Varric shouting behind him, as he left his flank open – but he saw Radha running his way, and he trusted that the elf would have covered for the dwarf. She was good and protective, the person you’d want covering your back. And yet, she had no experience with Magisters either, and he did. And Aisling was against a crazy Magister -he saw him, buzzing with power- on his pet Archdemon, and his feet took flight. He ignored Radha yelling at him to stop.

He opened his way, one demon after the other, heart in his throat, as the dragon destroyed old walls with his tails, his roars almost covering the thunder that rained on the Keep.

He turned and ran, ignored his lungs begging for air, muscles twitching.

A flash of green, and the Archdemon in front of him retreated, hissing in pain. Whatever the Anchor was on her hand, it was, apparently useful. Except that it made the dragon even angrier. He jumped, stabbed the reptile’s hind leg deep in the muscle. The dragon kicked, and he was too tired to duck in time. He rolled, coming to a stop against a wall, cursing how the sword was tossed in another direction.

He was about to run after his weapon, when the dragon stomped, hard, making the bridge they were standing on tremble. A loud crack, and the stones began to fall.

As the dragon flew away, Fenris was left with a choice. His weapon, on the right. Aisling, on the left, running on falling debris. She was quick on her feet, but not enough. It wasn’t really a choice.

He didn’t think and jump after her, grabbing her tight and rolling them around, not caring for much else than giving her a chance more. He heard her cursing, arm circling his chest and holding tight, instinctively.

Another flash of green, brighter than any of her lightnings. Brighter than her smile right after he kissed her back. He didn’t think it was even possible.

---

She brought them in the Fade and she got them out.

She had to leave Stroud there. Fenris offered to stay, because that’s what he could do. It wasn’t enough, not after reading on her gravestone, in the realm of the demon, that her deepest fear was Abandonment. He knew he hurt her, deeply. He had hoped he hadn’t fully break her. And then, seeing it written, a full certainty…

She refused, her quiet, mistrusting distances instantly ablaze with anger. She yelled at him not to say anything of the sort to her ever, ever again. He never saw her angry before. Once, she would have cried. Now, she didn’t. She said to Stroud to get out, she would have stayed. She couldn’t ask him to do something she wasn’t ready to do.

In the end, the last one to get out from the Fade Rift was, indeed, Aisling, stumbling on her feet and almost losing balance. Fenris didn’t know if the Warden pushed her or managed to convince her. What he did know was that in her eyes, as she rose up and crossed his eyes, looked for him, and especially him, there was anger. Hate. The same hate he felt and told her about, that night at the Arlathven. Hate masking desperation.

It wasn’t him who did this to her. But he understood.

He nodded to her, gravely.

She turned against Erimond and extended her fingers, casting lightning without her staff. Hit the Magister right on the mouth of his stomach, snaking in the tightening nets of his barrier right before he closed it. The man fell on his back, three meters away, unconscious, body twitching.

The battle was over.

And yet, it was not.

---

He found her again early in the morning, as the battlefield was cleared and soldiers moved to the infirmary. Radha thanked him for helping her sister, which was as much as a peace offering he would have gotten from her.

He found Aisling outside the infirmary, bent on herself, hands stained green, trembling like a leaf even if the sun was quickly fending the chill of the night away.

His heart broke.

“You can go, if you need to. I’ll remember you, tho. I remember everyone that leaves.”

She told him, bent on her thighs, hugging her legs with her face hidden between both knees. She was trembling like a leaf, as the night slowly left place to the dawn, vulnerable as ever and still naked under what had been his sheets, the sinewy lines of her Vallaslin he had traced with kisses and caresses few hours prior in full view, hair still tousled from their activities spraying all around.

He had no words to give her, except that it was too much for him to bear. The memories, the intimacy… No. He had been stupid, he hadn’t been as scared in his own life as he was in that moment, terror crippling him. It was too much. He couldn’t stay. He told her all the wrong words, with anger she didn’t deserve and that wasn’t even directed at her. Not really.

She hadn’t cried, she hadn’t said a word more, or even looked at him.

He had been stupid, he had been a coward, and he had gone.

She wasn’t crying, she was still clothed and her hair still neatly plaited behind her head from the battle. And yet, as stoney and sure-footed she had proved to be as the Inquisitor in the last six months, she was crumbling on herself, façade cracking, closed in a protective bubble, hugging her thighs.

Fenris shouldn’t be the one to do that. He knew she didn’t trust him anymore and she had all the reasons. But, he had come full circle now, and as many flaws as he had… He liked to think he could learn.

He knew she hated to crumble before others. She knew she spoke her affection in touches. Or at least, with others. She never touched him without his consent ever since he told her he didn’t like it, and she hadn’t even asked him why. Just accepted the thing, acted accordingly.

This time, he wasn’t a coward, and he didn’t turn his back at her. Instead, he got closer, slipped his hands under her knees and held her back as he hauled her up, holding her close. She started to wiggle immediately, trying to push him away. Hissing and pushing and making the hair crackle with static. It was like holding a wild cat, but he didn’t let go, knowing perfectly she wouldn’t have hurt him. He brought her to a small passage between two buildings, narrow and hidden and left free of rubble, miraculously. They would have been alone there.

He let her go, letting her scrumble away on the ground, heaving and panting. She looked around her, eyes spirited, full of panic, ending up on his. He nodded, knowing what she was thinking, and turned his back, sitting close but not looking at her, shielding from the outside. After a minute, she started to cry, breath ragged, sobbing out like a wounded animal.

He knew her, tho, and knew that… Maybe…

He turned to look at her, legs crossed below her, arms hugging her and swinging back and forth as she cried, breathing heavily through her mouth, still trembling.

She hadn’t moved back, tho, hadn’t sought more distance. So, he tentatively turned back to her and moved closer. Closer. She let him approach. She let him circle her shoulder with both his arms and drag her on his lap, close to his chest, holding her as she cried. She smelled of ash, and of elfroot. She always smelled of elfroot.

“G-go now if you don’t mean to stay. Please, I- I could’t take it one more time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He told her, squeezing her tighter. “I should have got back years ago. I’m here, now.”

He didn’t move, waiting for her to stop crying. She didn’t, slowly and tentatively shifting her head to slip in the crook of his neck. She didn’t seem to care much if he still had his armour on, and clutched to the border of his breastplate with a hand, holding close.

“Why did you get back?”

“What do you mean?”

“I… You were right. You were right all along.” She sobbed. “About magic. About… About me. I left a person in the- I- I wanted to make Erimond suffer. Slowly. I still do. I… I did blood magic.”

It made her cry more, and he didn’t lie. It was a stab.

“What happened?”

“Vyrina. Two months after you left. The baby… The baby was with his feet down. She would have died, they both would... I- I moved him. It was…”

He had found it weird that she didn’t heal with magic anymore in these months, and all that praising the 1000 qualities of Elfroot. She never did it before, she was learning Spirit Healing, and the Keeper said she was good at it. With those reasons, tho, he really couldn’t say much. It was her and she still didn’t have one bad bones in her body. She wasn’t possessed, that much was clear.

“I was wrong. About magic. It wasn’t about you, it never was… I was a fool, and I was scared. I thought it better if you hated me, I deserved no less. I projected things you didn’t deserve. I didn’t mean you. I never meant you. When you fell, this night, I…”

“I am a killer.”

“Aren’t we all.” He snorted, mirthlessly.

“Then, why…” She sobbed, folding again onto herself, voice pitching. “… Why did you leave, Fenris?”

He sighed, heavily. Six months it took her to ask. He owed her an answer. Particularly because she still, somehow, cared.

“… I thought about the answer a thousand times.”. He started, tentatively. He felt her moving, but it was his turn to just… hold her a little closer, placing a hand on her head. His gauntlet caught on her hair, he untangled it as delicately as he could. But she got the message that he didn’t want her to look, and stayed where she was. “The pain, the memories it brought up… It was too much. I was a coward. And I hurt you, more deeply than you would admit.”

She sniffed, shifted a little to get more comfortable against his armour. He settled them better as she took her time to reply. She had stopped trembling, at least, as well as sobbing. He turned his head to look at her, and what was left of the messy braid she tied her hair before the battle, locks spreading all over.

“Why returning now? After all these years?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I was hoping you could forgive me. And to tell you…” He swallowed. “… And to tell you that if you could, and you somehow felt as before, that if I have to be a future nothing could be worse than the thought of living it without you.”

It was as close as he could trudge. She stopped, perfectly still. It was out, he was on the clear.

“Why are you telling me this, now?”

“Because I thought you would have died, and I couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing. You still have battles to fight. You need to know that it wasn’t your fault.”

“I understand.”

She was back to cold mode. He slumped, fear rising back again, as well as regret. Gone was the giggling, gone were the embarrassment. She didn’t move from where she was, tho, hot breath fanning over his neck. He didn’t want her to go, ever, but… He felt her move, and let her slip away. He knew better.

“Thank you. For coming back. And for jumping after me. But…”

“It is too late.”

It wasn’t a question. He knew her. He didn’t need to even look at her to guess. She closed her fingers, slowly, over his, squeezing.

“I am sorry, Fen. But…” She was, tone of voice sweet, under hurt, old pain resurfacing. “… I don’t know. I think… I think it is.”

She kept her hand on his, not letting go. He moved and held her hand back, not saying anything else. He understood. He had stayed away so long convincing himself that she hated him and didn’t want to see him. He didn’t expect her to swallow everything or forget. They stayed there, silently mourning what was lost to bad timing, and trauma clashing badly together.

“I’d… I’d be glad if you stayed. If you want to. I… I am glad to have you around, even if…”

“You don’t trust me.”

She sighed, deeply, shaking her head in denial.

“I trust you with my life, Fen. I wouldn’t want to have anyone beside me in battle but you, Radha and Dorian, Bull and Sera.”

That much was true, she didn’t hesitate.

“I can’t trust you with my heart, tho.”

She moved forward, tentatively as she already did, but less nervous. She asked him to look at her, when she was close enough.

“One for the road?” She asked, smiling. She was crying.

“One for the road.” He smiled back, nodding.

She pecked a last kiss on his lips, no teeth this time. It was bittersweet, and she tasted like salt and ashes, and some lingering elfroot from the last healing potion she dranked. She dragged it on, and then interrupted it, moving back and letting go of his hand.

“Thank you.”

She said. It encompassed everything. Fond memories they had, young people learning to find common ground, growing together, him learning about peace and quiet, she peeking her nose in a bigger, wider world. A bigger, wider world that suited her and she was shaping.

“No. Thank you, weirdo.”

It could have been.

But, the timing was wrong.

[bookwyrminspiration]

I know taking my time with asks and prioritizing other things isn't something I need to apologize for, but I still want to say if you've sent me an ask and I haven't answered it I promise I am not ignoring it. I will answer and I do really appreciate it.

I genuinely haven't had an empty ask box since around Dec 2020-Jan 2021 (somewhere around there, I don't know exactly) but I love to answer those asks and share ideas! so please know it is not you or your ask, and that I am doing things as I can.

I just know I've got a few that've been sitting for a while and wanted to say I'm not ignoring you, I promise! I just have Life and there are many of you, so please be patient :)