#teagan gets mail

[lalalian]

let’s talk students: aethergarde dr (dragon rider school dr)

date: july 18, 2024

jkdshfkhskd it's been a hot sec since I've done this. Teagan won the poll last time, so we'll be going over him today!

pronunciation:

Teagan: (Tee-gen) (‘gen’ as in ‘again’)

Whit: (Wit)

appearance:

There are two kinds of people— you either prefer Teagan or Asterias. These two are genuinely so fine that students tend to like them (like a crush yk, not just platonically or smth LMAO) based on their personalities rather than solely relying on their looks.

Teagan’s got golden olive toned tanned skin, gray eyes, and full messy black hair. He’s got defined masculine leaning features and he’s ABSOLUTELY ripped. I didn’t make him like this without a purpose— It was simply because he helps his family transport heavy crates to different ships and wagons (I mean like he’s quite active in general, not just walking of course, he likes fighting and working out)

Teagan has a severe case of RBF despite his personality; he’s got no tattoos or piercings, tho I think he’d like to get his ears pierced.

I realized I haven’t said what style they like to wear, so I’ll do it for Teagan today (I’ll edit the rest of the posts with their own styles eventually). Teagan isn’t really into fashion; he values mobility and comfort over style as long as he doesn’t look, in his opinion, ‘noble and stupid’. He doesn’t like stiff shirts, so he usually wears looser garments. His wardrobe consists of brown, dark brown, black, cream, and very occasionally… dark green. He almost always wears some kind of boots (unless it’s a special occasion, he’d be wearing the black dress shoes his dad forced him to wear). As for his hair, if his hair’s long enough, he’ll tie it in the back. The most he’ll really do is brush through it.

personality:

Teagan’s a total extrovert and tends to have large circles of friends. When he’s alone for long periods of time, he can get a little antsy. I imagine that he’d bother his friends to hang out during finals season, but since everyone’s probably studying, he’d have to accept taking some notes in the library 😭

He’s the kind of guy that would try to help you out with literally anything, even if he’s not good at it. He’s a terrible artist, but loves to draw stupid things just to mail them to his friends. Teagan would definitely also pass notes around in class. Like Straus, he’s a terrible dancer, but yk at least Straus gets dance lessons… NEVER dance with this guy.

Despite his playful nature, he knows when to get serious. Teagan’s more of a logical thinker, but he’s incredibly kind and doesn’t like to see people he’s close to get hurt.

He really loves eating meat and raw fish. His dad had to stop him from eating fish straight up out a river (uncooked) many times as a child. Teagan’s also really good with kids; he knows how to cheer a kid up or teach them something without getting super irritated. Teagan’s weird asf not gonna lie, but hey at least he’s a really good cook. He doesn’t really cook for people he doesn’t know honestly, so like he only does it for people he’s close to.

relationships & status

Teagan was raised by his father after his mother died giving birth to him. Unlike a ton of Isekai manhwa fathers, his father didn’t hate him for being born, rather, he put all of his love into raising his son.

Teagan was raised well despite his non-noble status— his dad is a wealthy merchant. He often interacted with nobles because of his dad’s business; through these interactions, he grew a strong hatred for nobles. It isn’t rare for those higher in the social chain to treat people ‘lower’ than them with disrespect, and he definitely got a glimpse of this kind of mindset when attending meetings with his dad.

When Teagan was about 8 yrs old, his dad adopted another child off the street. This child ended up becoming Teagan’s little brother; his dad called him Archie because he used to arch his brow whenever he was the slightest bit confused— but then at around 3 years old, his dad decided that he needed a better name, so he named him ‘Archer’. Teagan and his dad still calls him Archie. When you shift here, Archie will be 13.

As you’d expect, Teagan’s really close with his dad and his younger brother. Teagan was supposed to inherit the family business, but since he’s an S-ranked rider, Teagan’s dad began teaching Archie all the stuff he needs to inherit his dad’s position just in case Teagan wants to do something else with his life.

His dad doesn’t want Teagan to be involved with super dangerous jobs; he’ll likely get pretty angry if Teagan wants to pursue a more dangerous career.

likes & dislikes:

likes:

-coffee, nothing added, just straight up black coffee

-wrestling with his brother

-cooking

-working out

-he likes fighting in general

-dogs. He likes dogs way more than cats

-the smell of leather

-dragons, he thinks they’re cool but he’s never aspired to be a rider simply because he didn’t think he’d be able to be one

dislikes:

-salads

-pooping (he’s got chronic constipation)

-reading

-tea unless it has boatloads of sugar in it

-nobles (yeah ik surprising, right?)

-chess

aura:

Teagan’s aura is an uncommon plume; unlike the students we’ve discussed before, his aura is single toned. I mean like the inner portion of his aura is darker, but like its bc the mana is more concentrated there yk?

#a8673e

dragon:

Teagan will bond to a male yellow wingwalker, and he’ll name him Kiser (Kai-sir).

strengths & weaknesses:

strengths:

-very physically strong

-good at cooperation (at times)

-great social skills

-dear god his martial arts skills are insane

-brave and persistent

weaknesses:

-finds reading boring; makes it hard for him to consume long texts, I’d imagine he’d ask someone close to him to read out a passage, then he’ll take notes that way

-a little dumb at times (it’s okay we love a himbo)

-has a habit of doing something crazy before thinking; he’d fight a monster he’s not really ready to fight for the fun of it

-can be lazy sometimes

-often wants someone near him to talk to; he likes to talk lmao

fighting style:

He mainly doesn’t use a weapon, but if he had to he’d fight with two sabers. His primary fighting skill is martial arts, his saber skills are average.

wanna know more about my aethergarde academy dr? here's a masterlist with everything I've posted about it!

[crimsonhydrangeavn]

An mc who's really into skin care and notice that the LIs have some dry skin so took it upon themselves to make a morning and night routine for the LIs and every night they apply the LIs' night skin routine before bed.

Garret would admittedly have a mini crisis if you came up to him with skincare tips. Was his skin that bad? Did he look older than his age? What if you found him unattractive? No, he couldn't live with that possibility! He would allow you come up with a skin routine for him and apply it on him, however he would also do his own research and make it a point to visit the spas on the island on a regular basis. The improvements on his skin would be near instantaneous and after the first week he would practically be glowing. Of course he would allow you to keep applying the creams on his skin since he loves the feeling of your gentle finger tips on his skin. He'd never tell you the truth, allowing you to take all of the credit for his improvements. Marcelo would probably be a little reluctant at first. He's not huge on skin care (or sunscreen for that matter) and would see it as a waste to use it on him. However once he saw how happy it made you and how nice it felt to have you slather cooling and refreshing creams on his skin, he would quickly warm up to it. So much so that it would become the highlight of his day/night and eagerly wait for you to call him over to apply everything.

Camilla would be beyond impressed with your knowledge. How did you know she wanted to switch up her skincare routine? She had noticed the dark circles starting to appear after her late night gaming sessions and she needed and excuse to try out some of the new pr packages she got in the mail! I think it goes without saying that she would love the attention and attentively listen to everything you had to say. She would then make sure to keep the routine up herself without any additional input or reminders from you.

Rita would be a little lost with the whole process. The most she would do is wash her face with cleanser, occasionally apply eye creams and moisturizer, and put on sunscreen when she went to the beach. She would be more than happy to allow you to put on whatever you thought she needed applying. Though unless you reminded her, or insisted on applying it on for her, she'd probably end up "forgetting" in favor of getting out the door quicker.

Teagan would honestly be a bit insulted if you recommended that they change up their skincare routine. As much as they love being pampered and touched by you, the thought of you seeing them less than perfect would send them spiraling. Of course, after you apologized for bruising their ego, they would eventually hear you out. Once they realized that you actually knew what you were talking about they would begrudgingly follow your advise and insist on having you apply it for them because " you were so much better at it than them" and totally not because they loved feeling and seeing you so close to them.

[teaganweatherford]

𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 @mattswheeler wheel of fate trip thread

"I can't believe we're actually here!" Teagan clapped her hands together, looking out the view of the window in her room in Amsterdam. She was still in actual disbelief that she was here and while she obviously had gotten numerous letters confirming, had several phone calls that she'd made about this trip and had received the plane tickets in the mail just a month ago, she still hadn't believed it was true until she'd boarded the plane and then landed in the airport in Amsterdam. "This is unbelievable. And this view with this Souvignier Gris is honestly breathtaking." she admitted, looking over at Matt. "Did you get the chance to look up and see what kind of things you want to do while we're here yet?"

[ariadosanon]

[ROTO LEAK….]

[It’s a voicemail. The message has been translated from Orrish to common speech for your convenience.]

“Hey Wes. It’s Vic. Just checking in— I know you had to have gotten my New Years card since Pal came back without it. Uhh— she wasn’t very happy so I have to assume you skimped the treats this time. I know she’s kinda needy about em but if it bothers you that much I can spot you for them or something. She’s a good girl y’know?

Sorry that’s off topic. Anyways my card hasn’t come yet, I think it got lost in the mail or something. I’d be cool just getting to video call you guys for a minute instead. Or even if you wanna just phone call. But uh— without Rui. I know she still doesn’t like me.

I know you’re busy around Winterfest— Ranger shit. Take your time. I just wanna see you and Teagan. Call me back.”

[Beep… Beep… Beep…]

[leclerc-s]

i did something bad - part eight

YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN, KID

masterlist//previous//next

christian horner who fucking was it?

alex albon in my defense, it was an accident. i forgot giovinazzi was in the groupchat.

christian horner good. now i know who's head to come for.

teagan horner dad, let it go. people were bound to assume we were dating just treat it like another rumor.

max verstappen to be fair, logan and oscar ripped him a new one.

liam lawson LOGAN SARGEANT? THAT LOGAN?

daniel ricciardo surprisingly he was quick to call him an asshole and a bunch of other words i didn't know he knew. oscar more-so called him a fucking dickhead.

teagan horner they're my grid kids.

pierre gasly did charles know he would end up a father when you two started dating? charles leclerc i knew the moment she met ollie.

mark webber are you stealing my grid kid teagan?

teagan horner you're no longer on the grid. he is my grid kid. deal with it. sebastian vettel how many grid kids do you have teagan? mark webber do not encourage this! teagan horner i have 3! oscar, ollie, and logan!

daniel ricciardo christian, how does it feel being a grandfather 🎤

christian horner no comment. i'm still plotting how to decapitate giovinazzi. is a cease and desist letter too much??

pierre gasly YES! alex albon people are suspicious if you send a cease and desist letter they'll know for sure. christian horner decapitation it is.

teaganhorner posted new stories

logan said he had a cool place to show me. he took me to a fucking lake to fish. i regret ever becoming his grid mom.

visiting grid kid #2

never leaving max alone again. he's such a drama queen.

MIAMI 2024

teaganhorner redbull's three mouseketeers reporting for duty at imola!

tagged: maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc

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landonorris so this is what you three do when you ditch us.

oscarpiastri grid mom is having more fun then us. pick up the slack logansargeant

↳ logansargeant dude, you're in bed. maybe get up and we can go get breakfast

username this trio is superior

username the banana costume makes a comeback!

danielricciardo and why wasn't i invited to the mouseketeers hang out? have i been replaced by lechair?

↳ teaganhorner you literally told us to go f*ck ourselves and let you sleep.

↳ maxverstappen1 you kicked us out of your room when we were hanging out. you said we were too loud and we weren't letting you sleep.

↳ charles_leclerc we invited you out and you said only if we bought you food. once we bought food you went back to your hotel to sleep.

↳ danielricciardo alright i get it, i'm old, i'm not as fun as i used to be.

alex_albon i guess our invite got lost in mail or something.

↳ maxverstappen1 notice how it says red bull

↳ alex_albon i was in red bull once. is that not enough?

↳ teaganhorner we can hang out next week in monaco!

↳ alex_albon deal

IMOLA 2024

daniel had decided they should all have breakfast together, calling it a make-up breakfast for the hang out teagan had with charles and max. he had of course informed the entire group chat and now they all found themselves at a small restaurant enjoying breakfast together. their attention had been on charles, they could all tell he was nervous, that much was obvious in the way he fidgeted with his rings.

it was his first time being at a ferrari home race since he had left the team. it wasn't as big as monza but it was a ferrari home race nonetheless. teagan exchanged glances with max, the dutch glancing at christian and daniel who both looked confused. pierre was trying his best to distract his best friend but it was all for naught.

daniel cleared his throat, "are you going to be okay?" he asks charles.

"i'm not sure," charles whispered, "i do not think i can do this. this was home, for so long, i do not know how they will react to this."

teagan reached across the table to grab his hand, squeezing it, trying to comfort him, "many fans support the driver, not the team that they represent."

"the tifosi are different," charles pointed out, "they... they bleed rosso corsa proudly. they will only see me as a traitor to them. i let them all down, i failed all of them."

"you gave it your all," christian supplied, "they saw the struggles. they saw the bad strategy calls. they know why you left. they understand better than anyone else what it is like to be let down by ferrari time and time again."

"besides," alex said, "you gave them back what they hadn't had in 9 years. you gave them monza back, if only for a fleeting moment. you are forever engraved in their memory as one of the greatest because of what you did for them."

liam smiled, "something tells me you haven't been on twitter lately."

"not the time liam," max scolded.

"they're going to show up in red bull gear," yuki said, "you're still one of them, no matter the color you wear."

"i mean, the words fuck ferrari in all caps are currently trending on twitter," pierre added, as he put his phone away "so, that's got to count for something."

daniel laughed loudly, "only the tifosi could get the words fuck ferrari trending."

charles looked at them before someone tapped on charles shoulder. he tensed before turning around and being met with a little girl, no older than 10, in a ferrari shirt. what stood to all of them was the 16 on it, it was charles's shirt, his number.

the girl smiled at him, "can you sign my shirt?" she asked. she sounded so genuine in it that charles couldn't find it in himself to say no.

"of course," he looked around at his friends and boss, "do any of you have a marker?" daniel pulled one out of his pocket, "don't ask."

charles laughed, "i won't," he leaned over to the girl and signed her shirt carefully. she turned around and hugged him, "i think you look good in blue too," she smiled before running off. she turned around, "make sure you win for us!"

"see that," max said, "that's something they can't ever take away."

"they'll always love their il predestinato," pierre smiled.

for the first time in a long time charles realized he was right. to the majority of them it didn't matter what team he was on, he was still one of them. of course, there would be people who would hate him for his choices but he didn't care, not at this moment. and if he arrived at the paddock and was still surprised by people chanting his name decked out in red and blue, no one could blame him.

redbullracing imola, tifosi, he's still your il predestinato, he always will be, he's just on a loan to us. congratulations to charles on his 5th win of the season, in just a matter of 2 months, he's doubled his career wins. it's another red bull 1-2 here in imola. #ilpredestiato #forzacharles

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username who approved this caption and why did they think it was okay to make me cry?

landonorris now why am i crying? this post is about charles not me.

teaganhorner damn, was it the admin's mission to make us cry?

↳ redbullracing sorry little boss, we're crying too.

charles_leclerc i will never admit that i cried to this post, but thank you admin. 💙💙

↳ redbullracing always charles 💙

maxverstappen1 the narcissist in me wants to ask for a post for me but charlie deserves it.

↳ username charlie? he calls him charlie! they're besties.

↳ maxverstappen1 not by choice.

↳ teaganhorner friends by chance, lovers by choice

↳ charles_leclerc 🙄

↳ username i love this trio

taglist: @burningcupcakefire @spilled-coffee-cup @evans-dejong @elliegrey2803 @bingewatche @lillians-world-is-f1 @dakotali @arkhammaid @sunflower-golden-vol6 @applopie @lorarri @melanier7 @ironspdy @mikaelsonandrea @mypage-myfandoms @badassturtle13 @the-depressed-fellow @thewannabewriter @cspn17 @meadhbhcavanagh @vellicora @you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive @enchantedthoughts @stopeatread @hobiismyhopeu @lilsiz @alessioayla @bb-swift @lilac-lines

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

¡leclerc-s speaks! i refuse to call twitter anything other than twitter. would not recommend listening to you're on your own, kid while reading this. i listened to it while writing it and i almost started crying. okay maybe i cried a little bit but that's not important. MONACO YOU'RE UP NEXT!!

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[walllerbridge]

stop uwuing wambsgans he would feed the rabbit bagels he WOULD

yes that is exactly what i’ve been saying! he would!!!!!!!

[khrysopoeia]

This is in super rough shape, but I've been wanting to share something from this AU for ages, so I'm going to go ahead and put out a preview. Still working on the larger plot, but it's stock fantasy/D&D-inspired FMA AU and I'm having far too much fun with it.

The Goblin’s Jig was an adventurers’ tavern, which meant the ale was strong, the barkeep was stronger, and the barmaids were less ‘feisty’ or ‘spirited’ than they were ‘trained combatants.’ The need for that skillset rarely arose, though. Teagan, the Jig’s owner, didn’t stand for the kind of adventurer who thought their line of work entitled them to special favors. He was a jovial older man -- and an adventurer himself before an infected wound had forced the amputation of half of his left leg -- who generally knew the type when he saw them.

A quarter hour ago, Roy Mustang had known none of this. Fortunately, one of his companions was a chatty drunk.

“I don’t think he wants to hear Teagan’s life story, Brosh,” said the less chatty of the two. Her name was Maria something -- Roy thought the surname started with an ‘R,’ but he wasn’t sure. She and her friend were members of the Pendleton city guard who Roy had helped out of a tight spot involving a cutpurse with a couple more friends than they’d expected. They’d offered to buy him a hot meal and a round or two as thanks. The meal had been more of an enticement than the drinks.

“He sounds like a man with some interesting stories,” Roy said. And some interesting contacts, he didn’t add.

“Adventurers get all the good stories,” Denny Brosh said. “I bet you have some, right?”

“I suppose I do,” said Roy, and launched into a well-practiced yarn about a goblin tribe and an enchanted helmet. As usual, he made sure to grin just a little slyly during the most improbable bits. You’re in on the joke, that grin said. I’m exaggerating, but not making things up, exactly. If you fit the mold people expected too perfectly, they got suspicious. Roy was careful to give his stories an edge of braggadocio. It kept people’s questions focused where he wanted them, which kept them from realizing that every one of the stories was a complete fabrication.

“Is that when your hand got messed up?” Denny said, and Roy stopped mid-sentence.

“Brosh,” Maria growled, “you don’t just ask people about missing fingers! Sorry about him.”

It was his thumb, actually, on his left hand. And Roy had gotten enough practice with that question over the last year and a half that he no longer actually flinched when someone asked it. It still threw him, though, and it was a relief when the door to the tavern swung open with a bang and a gust of cold spring air.

Three figures in patched leather armor entered. Two of them, both humans, were straining under the weight of a large chest.

“Teagan, pour a round for the tavern on me!” the third figure bellowed. He was a black-haired dwarf with no beard, but an impressive mustache. It was braided and everything. “The Company of the Golden Oak just raided a dragon’s hoard!”

The entire room heard that. Every soul in the tavern other than Roy broke into some form of laughter, be it loud guffaws, hearty chuckles or, in the case of one gnome who should probably have stopped drinking two tankards ago, manic giggles.

But no, that wasn’t quite right. One other person wasn’t laughing. A human woman, seated at the bar with her back to Roy, glanced at the three men and shook her head ruefully. Roy had noted her when she came in, more for the hand-and-a-half sword strapped to her back and the high quality of her wool cloak -- it looked about five times as warm as anything he owned -- than for anything else.

“Laugh all you like,” the leader of the 'Company' said. “We’ve got a chest full of dragon gold that says it’s true!”

Because dragons always kept their valuables in flammable wooden chests with locks sized for human hands. Right. Roy dismissed the trio and went back to his meal. The roast chicken was good, and the overcooked carrots were food. He appreciated both.

“Bullshit,” called a voice from a shadowy corner of the tavern. There was a large man, larger even than the three with the chest, seated there in full plate mail. Roy had given up trying to figure out how his chair hadn’t collapsed a while back, but he hadn’t stopped glancing over periodically. Anyone with that much steel on them in a room full of people in normal clothing was automatically dangerous.

It wasn’t the armored man who had spoken, though. A shorter figure, one Roy hadn’t spotted through the crowd, stood up, gesturing to the chest.

“That thing has to be three feet long and, what, a foot and a half wide? An inch deep in gold and you’d already have more than three hundred pounds on your hands.” The speaker picked up his tankard and made for the bar. “Hey, Teagan, you gave me watered-down ale again.”

“You’re a kid, Ed,” the tavern keeper grumbled into the silence that followed. “And you already get a discount.” People began turning back to their drinks. Maria shook her head with a rueful smile and took an enthusiastic bite of chicken. The two human men with the chest put it down, one looking mournful and the other downright enraged.

“Dammit, [dwarf], you swore this was the real thing!” the angrier of the armored humans said.

“Of course it’s the real thing!”

“But how do we know it’s actually gold?” asked the mournful man. “It better be. I’ve got a tab going at the smithy on [street name] now.” Judging by his hat, which would have been gaudy even without the full rooster’s worth of plumage and was probably worth as much as his well-used armor, he also had one going at a haberdasher.

“I’m telling you, it’s gold!” the leader insisted. “Dragons hoard gold. Everyone knows that!” He turned to the tavern at large. “Any of you heard of a dragon hoarding anything other than gold?”

A couple of people nodded thoughtfully, though more rolled their eyes, and most just ignored the dwarf. There hadn’t been a dragon seen in Amestris in decades, let alone this far west. They were rare even in the desert to the east these days.

“You could just open it,” the tavern keeper suggested as he poured a drink for Ed. “If it’s full of anything valuable, you can replace the lock easily enough.”

“Sounds good to me,” growled the other armored human. He pulled a set of lockpicks from his belt pouch, which just went to show that it wasn’t wise to assume things about people’s skill sets based on their body type.

Maria and Denny exchanged looks as the man knelt in front of the chest. Those picks were probably illegal to use in the city. Adventurers tended to pose dilemmas like that for municipal guards, which was one reason you rarely saw Maria and Denny’s type in establishments that catered to them. Bringing Roy to a tavern frequented by guards would have been even more awkward, though, and those were the only other places that let you keep a weapon the size of Roy’s longsword with you. He was fairly sure he hadn’t been too suspicious about mentioning that he didn’t like to be parted from his weapon. Just an adventurer here. Not quite average, but with quirks that you can easily understand.

Before the two guards could decide what to do about this particular awkward [dilemma], though, the man with the lockpicks screamed. Roy whipped around to see his hand and wrist disappearing into a hole in the chest where the lock had been -- a hole with large, gleaming teeth.

“Mimic!” shouted the man with the hat as the whole tavern came to their feet and dozens of weapons were drawn.

[to be continued]

[laurelsofhighever]

Alistair x Cousland, slow burn

Preview:

“So this is Bryce Cousland’s youngest,” Wynne commented dryly.

“Will she be alright?” It would be just his luck for the only daughter of one of the most powerful men in Ferelden to die under his care minutes after being rescued. Would they merely hang him, or would the grief-stricken Teyrn of Highever wish to draw out his execution? Maybe the dog would get there before anyone else had a chance, and simply maul him to death.

“Yes,” came the measured reply. “But these wounds require more attention than simple spells, and it’s a miracle the blood poisoning hasn’t overtaken her already. I’ll need light, and heat, and somewhere to lie her down.”

“Teagan’s pavilion is closest.”

“I’ll get my equipment.”

The mage turned with a swish of long robes and headed for the sloping marquee that served as the infirmary, leaving Alistair to heft the semiconscious noblewoman into a more comfortable position.

“Can you walk, my lady?” he asked. She was almost as tall as him, strongly built, and still girded to the neck in layers of aurum plate – even having discarded her undercoat of mail carrying her was something he'd rather not risk.

“Yes,” she replied, as if the question were offensive. When she staggered, her head lolled back against his shoulder and she flashed him a tiny, derisive grin. “Ugh, mostly.”

Unable to entirely control his hysteria, Alistair chuckled. “That’ll do. Come on, easy does it.”

[renee-writer]

Sisters Chapter 24

"That is weird." Tabitha had collected the mail and now scans through it. Oona looks up from where she sat on the floor where she was playing building blocks with Adam. Asha lays asleep in the sling against her chest. Fallon naps in the other room.

"What is?" She adds another block to the tower and Adam knocks it down with glee. "Hey kiddo, not fair." He giggles louder. She starts to rebuild as she awaits her answer.

"I received a letter from our local Mother. It requests that I come in for an interview before my next insemination date."

"Weird." She reaches for it and Adam pulls on her missing her attention. "Adam. Just a moment. You stack. Mama read."

"Ma ma!" He demands. Tabitha lifts him up and his fusses turn to laughing.

"Like that is it?"She lifts him higher and his laughter turns into squeals. Asha squirms, burying her head deeper against her mama to try to escape the noises her brother is making. Oona absently pats her as she reads. She sees a strange mark on the letter... A strangely formed A. She runs her hand over it and gets a queer feeling. "Oona, I think he is tired." She nods but is still focused on the strange marking. "I am going to go lay him down. Oh, I ran into Teagan today. She said Oakley is bringing Serenity by. " She still looks vacant. "Hey love. Where are you?"

"Sorry I was just... There is a strange mark on here. It seems like something I have seen before. Trying to recall where."

"Okay, I am going to lay little man down then we will try to figure it out." She nods. She returns a few minutes later. Oona has picked up the blocks and now sits on the couch feeding Asha. "Okay what mark.?" She shows her.

"I swear I have seen it before. Just can't recall where. The whole thing is weird. Why would you need to be interviewed?"

"I don't know. Oh no! You don't think it has to do with Adam, do you?" Oona losses her breath. Tabitha quickly draws her close. "Forget I said that. I am sure that isn't it."

"You can't be sure."

"It isn't you they are requesting. It would be if it was about Adam. I am sorry baby it is just the mark looks like an A. Had me thinking about him."

"Right. Right, that makes sense. I thought the same. About the mark. It looks like an A. Maybe because Fallon is such an exceptional child, they consider you an A plus mama."

"She is wonderful." They exam the mark some more before there is a knock and Oakley comes in carrying Serenity.

"My beautiful sister and niece. She still serene?"

"Oh Oona, she is wonderful. Hardly ever cries and sleeps well. What do you have?" She takes a seat across from her and turns her baby out to face the others. Oona turns a milk drunk Asha out to do the same.

"A letter Tabitha got from our Mother. Pretty straightforward if strange. But we are puzzling over the mark on it." She hands it to her. She reads if through twice.

"Strange. Why would you need an interview. We all know our jobs. To make sister/daughters then work for society"

"Exactly."

She turns back to it. Studies the mark. "An A but more."

"Right. It is driving me crazy. I know I've seen it somewhere. Just can't recall where."

"Oh!" Her eyes get big. "But it can't be can it? Though Lovelyn says.."

"Oakley please make sense."

"We studied it in school. A plan B, if needed. It may be if birth rates are dropping. Lovelyn says they are. "

"Project Adam!" Oona and Tabitha say together.

"Just so. A contingency plan if the current sperm starts to become ineffective."

"Why I thought of Adam when I saw it." Tabitha says.

"How wild. They want to interview you about having an Adam when you already do."

"If we are right, he may be able to live freely." An excited Oona says.

"Maybe."

[legendofsim]

“It wasn't my idea.”

Getting a roommate wasn’t Willow’s idea, but she needed a place to stay that was cheap. Well, as cheap as living in the city could be. So, she found a listing online and was checking it out. The place was small, clearly meant for only a single occupant to reside in- but the rent was manageable and she was used to having no space. “You’re Willow, right? Teagan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Teagan outstretched her hand before taking a seat on the couch and motioning for the nervous girl to join her. 

“Oh, no thanks. I’m good standing,” Willow assured the bold woman in front of her. Teagan looked comfortable. No, it was more than that. She was rocking a confidence that was fairly new to Willow. Someone like that, she wasn’t sure, would make the best roommate. Maybe there’d be too many demands, too many questions. 

“Alright, suit yourself. Anyway, tell me about yourself. Why are you looking for a place to stay?” Teagan asked. 

“I need a warm place to stay at night and an address that I can get my checks mailed to,” Willow answered honestly. “There isn’t much more to it than that.”

“Where do you work? Can you afford the rent?” 

These were all basic questions Willow had answered a million times before. Nothing changed, except the look of disappointment on the faces of people who couldn’t get more than Willow’s usual mundane and vague answers. “I’m a grocery store clerk. Minimum wage, but it’s enough. I don’t eat that much and I keep to myself. Plus, I’ll do any of the chores you need me to.” “Well alright,” Teagan said, standing up and extending her hand towards Willow. “You can move in whenever.” “What?” Willow asked, pulling on her earlobes as if she hadn’t heard a thing. “No more questions?” “Nope, nothing. We’re good.” And yet, Willow wasn’t so convinced of those words. How could this girl be offering her a place to stay- a nice place to stay- for dirt cheap out of the kindness of her heart? There had to have been something more than that, right?

Teagan was made by @dstarsims.

[dargeereads]

Love on the Lake, a beautiful small town standalone romance filled with laughter and tears from New York Times bestselling author Helena Hunting, is live now!

Teagan Firestone has always been the dutiful daughter, especially since her mom died. But as her father finally begins to move on, it’s her turn to do the same. Her destination: Pearl Lake, a close-knit community with an entrepreneurial spirit and secrets of its own.

One of them is Aaron Saunders, who dropped out of college to work construction for Pearl Lake’s upper class. He’s a mystery and has a playboy reputation—that is, until he meets Teagan. Neither of them is looking for love, but in a town this small, it’s hard not to let your heart get involved.

As their romance heats up, Aaron’s elusive past comes to light and Teagan is there for him, bringing them even closer together. But when Teagan is forced to face her own demons, her inability to accept the support of friends and family threatens the life she’s worked so hard to build.

Can Aaron love her, even when she can’t love herself?

Fall in love today exclusively on Amazon or read FREE on Kindle Unlimited! Amazon: https://amzn.to/3sv3Rbd Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/LoveonLake Audio CD: https://amzn.to/3g870sK Paperback: https://amzn.to/3sn7Lmo

Add Love on the Lake to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/3iU4rfi

Excerpt

She crooks a finger, beckoning me closer. But there’s only six inches separating us. If I take a step forward, my boots will touch her toes. So I bend instead, until my ear is next to her lips, like I’m waiting for her to tell me a secret. For a moment I consider the fact that I’ve been up and down the stairs to the loft at least a dozen times. The only air circulation in here is from a portable fan, so I’ve been sweating and shirtless for several hours. I might not smell all that fresh. But that thought disappears when her fingertips drag along my collarbone and I feel the warmth of her breath at the edge of my jaw. “Aaron.” Her palm wraps around the back of my neck. So soft. So warm. I swallow and grind out, “I’m listening.” Her thumb finds that spot between my ear and my jaw, and she presses, gently at first and then more firmly. Her lips brush the shell of my ear, and she whispers, “Look at me.” I feel like a marionette, and she’s pulling all my strings. I turn my head toward her, and her lips brush across my cheek, sending a hot shiver down my spine, lighting me up like a pinball machine. Teagan Firestone is a dangerous woman. Sweet, beautiful, broken, and yet . . . bold and resilient. She’s a lethal combination, and it’s all compounded when those soft lips meet mine. I don’t even know what’s happening. Well, I know. I’m kissing her. Or she’s kissing me. She definitely started it. It’s like an explosion. Like an entire warehouse of firecrackers igniting at the same time. I groan into her mouth and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me. Our tongues tangle, and her other hand grips my biceps, sliding up and over my shoulder. She knocks my hat off my head, and it drops to the floor behind me. And then both of her hands are in my hair, sliding through the damp strands, gripping at the crown, angling my head farther to the side. Deepening the kiss. Dragging it out.

About Helena Hunting

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.

Connect with Helena Instagram: http://bit.ly/2kN5wdZ Twitter: http://bit.ly/2mloUim Facebook: http://on.fb.me/Zt1xm5 Facebook Fan group: http://bit.ly/2kN5yCD Website: http://www.helenahunting.com/ Never miss an update! Subscribe to Helena's mailing list: http://bit.ly/2MlRKq6

[teaganweatherford]

Teagan still couldn't believe that she was looking at the results of the contest she'd entered. It had been so long ago - probably the same week her father had passed if she had to guess - since she'd entered she'd practically forgotten about it. And along with plenty of other pieces of mail that still came to the house these days it didn't take much for it to get piled up. Which was why this had been placed on the stack on top of the box. "I-" she paused, reading over the letter again and smiling, nodding. "I entered this contest a few months ago, around the same time dad died.." she looked up at him, handing the piece of paper towards him. "A summer trip. Amsterdam, Brussels, Paris and then Madrid." she smiled. "I honestly didn't expect to hear anything, you know, these things are usually a scam after all, but it turns out I won." @mattswheeler

"You got it." Matt said and started going through the boxes and sorting them by what article of clothing they were. For him, he didn't mind this. It wasn't getting to him and his thought of just helping Teagan out was his main focus. "Well, if you need help with that later, too, I can do it." He told her before shaking his head. "Don't worry. I can get this." He assured her as he kept going and once she said wow, he looked up once again. "Won? Won what?" He asked curiously. @teaganweatherford

[ericavandross-archive]

                            CALLING ALL RUDDS!

content warning: teen pregnancy, child abandonment, divorce

so our story starts with an 1896 red brick victorian road house, right on the road with a toaster... (me making obscure song references, ignore me.)

okay so, here's the dealio, folks. sharon had never been meant to be a mother. that much was clear from the beginning — from the moment that she had her first child at the age of 15. the vogels weren't exactly the most loving and nurturing family, to be fair. but they were strict. and they were gratingly adamant about her learning from her mistakes. so what did they do? they made her keep the baby and raise it herself.

and it wasn't easy. she didn't have the patience, nor the drive — like she'd never truly had that nurturing instinct that all good mothers seemed to have. sharon vogel was a child who'd never learned to grow up. and it became increasingly apparent the older she got. once college rolled around it was all about having fun. she didn't study, came home late, showed up to classes hungover... as if she were making up for lost time that she didn't get in high school. her parents were at their wits end — unsure of what to do with her and unsure of what to do with the baby. first rudd couldn't have come around at a more opportune time. they met at a grocery store in eugene when she was 20 and he was 23 — sharon unable to reach a container of dill pickles on the top shelf, and first conveniently right there, ready and willing to help her out.

now that sharon had someone to fixate on, everything else fell to the wayside. she wanted to impress him. she wanted to be so much for him. because he was a wonderful man who somehow loved her — her and her little girl. they got married a year later, when she got pregnant with the twins. and four years after that, a little boy joined them. everything was perfect. and it was nice. they were the pristine picture of a family finding their place in the world. but as was her custom, sharon grew antsy and bored. this wasn't to last.

she left without a word when the twins were seven — a whisper lost in the wind — leaving papa to clean up the mess she left in her wake. and there was no explanation. nothing. divorce papers came in the mail three months later. and it tore him apart — he didn't want to tell their friends and family because what was there to even say at this point? she left. she just left. grandma polly knew better, though. she could always sense when her son was in trouble. and so in spite of the front he put on for months, she arrived on their doorstep with a suitcase and a fern in tow. she's been living at the house ever since — helping to keep it tidy, make sure there is food on the table, and keep an eye on "those rambunctious kids" of his. (and it's much the same still, despite them all being grown now. grandma is very involved in their lives.) and she'd always been so good to them — it was almost like mama leaving hadn't happened at all.

SO NOW THAT THAT PESKY HISTORY IS OUT OF THE WAY... i'm here requesting tiffany and teagan's dad and siblings! ages are pretty set in stone for all of them, as well as the siblings being part jewish (since the vogels are ashkenazi jewish and practice judaism). i've offered suggestions for faces, but you don't have to use them by any means considering there are lots of other very good options to choose from. everything else about them is pretty open personality and name-wise! and as for papa rudd, he's relatively open too — but it's worth noting that he's worked at the ppd for about 20 years and has been chief of police for seven. (i suggested hugh jackman because of the sweet pic spam he has with tiffany's fiancé adam — taron egerton is his face claim.)

both grandma and mom are npc for now (although, i may be convinced to let mama come back into the picture at some point if you make a good case for why she would be back in portland).

father   ➝   first "papa" rudd / 48 / suggested: hugh jackman / open mother   ➝   sharon rudd (née vogel) / 45 / -- / npc grandma   ➝   polly rudd (née campbell) / 70 / -- / npc half-sister   ➝   first vogel / 30 / suggested: rachel bilson / reserved for cailyn sister (twin)   ➝   tiffany rudd / 24 / zoey deutch 1 / kenz sister (twin)   ➝   teagan rudd / 24 / zoey deutch 2 / sunny brother   ➝   first rudd / 20 / suggested: nat wolff / open

if you have any questions – or simply want to snag one of the rudds – pls feel free to reply to this post, dm me, or poke me on discord @ kenzo#0780! thanks, cuties! ♡

[walllerbridge]

I never thought I’d see a justified related tumblr post

welcome to the party bestie i am obsessed with justified rn and will go to any length to relate ANYTHING to it

[fa-nfiction]

Thunder #22 - part one

March 31st, 2015

Despite all of the preparations, the thoughts, the hopes and the dreams of what this was going to be like, nothing could have prepared me for this. It felt like an explosion of the mind, as I realized exactly what was happening. Panic. Love. Excitement. Bliss. Fear. Joy. Adrenaline.

And just like that, I had no clue what to do. I hurried to the bathroom, got new clothes on, and went into a new rush of panic. What should I do? Who should I call? Where’s the birth bag? Do I really need my hairbrush? Where THE FUCK is that hairbrush? Still, the water kept seeping from within me, reminding me that Teagan was coming. I tried to stop panicking for her sake, but I didn’t know how. Desperately, I found my phone and found the hospital’s number in it. I pressed the call button and waited.

( … )

“What the ACTUAL FUCK do you mean I have to fucking WAIT?!” I yelled at the poor nurse in the receiving end.

She sounded young and insecure, and my suspicions proved to be correct, as she passed the phone on to a midwife.

“Yes, hello? Miss - Mitchell, is it? This is Joanna speaking.” The voice sounded strict and a bit older. Maybe 50-ish. I hoped and prayed that she wasn’t the one that was going to deliver my baby.

“Yes, this is Cas- I mean, Cassandra Mitchell. The other nurse, she said- ow -” A tiny contraction appeared, but I hardly lost my breath.

“- she said that I couldn’t come in now? My water has broken, and I-”

“Well, are there any contractions? Big ones?”

“How the fuck do I know if they’re BIG contractions? Huh?” My patience was wearing thin. There’s a baby coming out of me right now, god damn it -

The midwife laughed a dry, humorless laugh.

“If they were big contractions, miss Mitchell, you wouldn’t be able to talk. Or curse at me.”

I huffed at her, even though I knew she was right. I did know about contractions. And the ones I had right now were hardly even there. Why are they hardly there?

“Well, I don’t have contractions, then.”

“I thought as much.” Joanna spoke at the other end, her voice now sounding a bit more friendly than before. “Tell you what, miss Mitchell. We’re swamped in here. Everybody’s giving birth, and we’re understaffed. It’s-”

“-Easter, I know.” I bit my lip with frustration. I can’t give birth HERE?!

“So, until something progresses, you just stay put. Try to sleep, if you can. Try to eat as well. You’ll need the strength for later. Let me just look at your file-”

I heard her rummaging in the background and shuffled my feet impatiently until she returned.

“Maybe, get your boyfriend to take care of you? It says here it’s - Michael?”

I froze at the sound of his name. It felt like a kick to the gut, as memories came roaring back.

“Why does HIS name stand there? I’m not - he’s not -” I was surprised with how strained my voice sounded. Even after all this time, he still had an effect on me.

“Oh wait, I’m sorry, I had some old papers in my hand, it’s-” Her voice trailed off, as she rummaged some more. “Wait, here- Richard?”

“Yes.” My voice became calm again. “He’s the father. He’s not here, though, should I call him at work?”

“Does he work far from your home?”

“It’s not our home- uh, nevermind. A bit, yes.”

“Miss Mitchell. Calm down. Do as we agreed to, and we’ll take it as it comes.” Her voice calmed me down completely. I began to change my mind about her delivering my baby.

“Call him when you feel like it’s time. Sleep. Eat a bit. And hopefully we’ll see you when the chaos in here has cooled a bit down, eh?”

“Um, okay. Fine. Thanks?”

“Until later, miss Mitchell. You call us as soon as it begins.”

And like that, we hung up. My hand was resting on top of the belly, caressing it slightly.

Panting, I waddled into my bedroom and laid down. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, as a hundred emotions and thoughts were swimming through my mind.

( … )

“Careful. He’s a kicker.”

“I know he is. Remember that first scan? I said that he was a footballer. Still is. OW, there he goes.”

I laughed long and loud at Teddy’s well-aimed kick from the belly to his father’s chin. Michael was lying with his head resting on my belly, and Teddy was kicking away, as usual. But the contractions were getting worse and apparently, they made him kick more.

Michael laughed as well as he sat up on the bed, his dark blue eyes sparkling with joy.

“I can’t wait to see him.”  He said as our laughter had stilled, and we were waiting for another contraction.

“Me neither. Ooof, here it comes-” The contraction appeared, and it felt like a belt of molten metal, scolding into my skin around the hips. Michael rubbed my knee in an attempt to distract me. It didn’t work. I could hardly concentrate on the breathing the way we’d practiced beforehand. As it subsided, Michael’s face had shifted. He looked genuinely worried now.

“It’s definitely getting worse-” I panted as I felt my body go limp in the absence of pain.

“Should I call the hospital?”

“Please. Please do.” I pleaded, and in the course of a second, he was calling them.

“I’ll get the birth bag. No matter what they say, we’re going now.” I could see the worry on his face and tried to not let it get to me. As the pain from the next contraction came, my resolve crumbled.

“Re … remember the hairbrush-”

( … )

I awoke in complete and utter confusion. Is Teddy alright? Where is Michael-

I had to catch my breath as I remembered where I was, and that it had been a dream. I was even more confused as I saw that the sky outside was beginning to darken. Exactly HOW long did I sleep?

I scrambled through the covers to find my phone, and panicked slightly at the number of notifications staring at me from the screen.

One message from Caitlin. A picture of her, smiling, Chris in the background carrying a large cardboard box. The caption read “Moving day! Yay!”

3 new e-mails, none that mattered.

One SnapChat from Megan, a picture of her drink with a caption reading “3rd date and I’m so nervous”.

5 calls from Richard. 3 texts.

“Hey C. How was your sleep? <3”

“Is everything okay?”

“Cassie, please call me. I’m getting really worried here.”

Somehow, my inner autopilot kicked in, and before I’d even thought about what to tell him, I had pressed his name and was calling him.

“Cassie?” He picked it up after a single ring.

“Honey! Hey … how are things?” I replied in a strangely happy tone.

“How are ... things?” I could actually feel him shaking his head at me through the phone. “Haven’t you gotten my messages?” Again with the controlling, Richard. Don’t.

“Yeah, I did - I, uh, I fell asleep.”

“How’s Teagan? Has something happened yet?”

I paused. How did I sleep so long? Had the contractions stopped? Why aren’t they here? I should call the maternity ward …

“Uh. No.” I felt compelled to lie to him. He doesn’t need to know. Not yet. “Nothing’s happened yet. Still fat.”

“But gorgeous fat.” His voice shifted from controlling Richard to lovely Richard. I began to wonder if I should tell him.

“I had kind of hoped I had started something last night, you know-” He flirted. Memories of the night before put a smile on my face and took me away from the worrying for a second.

“Mm-hmm. You think highly of yourself, mister.” I teased back. “You’ll have to try a bit harder if you- ow!” A small contraction appeared out of nowhere.

“What? What is it?”

“No-nothing.” I had caught my breath again and decided to lie through my teeth. “Stubbed my toe on the dresser. You know how clumsy I am.”

“Are you sure? I can go early from here, it’s no problem-”

“Sure. They need you there, I’m just clumsy. Really.”

“Okay. Well, call me if anything happens. You know it takes an hour to get to your place.”

“I know, honey. Uh, have to go, okay? Hungry.”

“Right. Love you. Catch you later.”

“Love you back.”

I hung up the phone and curled myself into a ball as the next contraction appeared.

( … )

Why. Didn’t. I. Tell. Him. FUUUUCK.

The contractions grew bigger each time they came. I had called the maternity ward, and finally, they had room for me to come in. The problem I was now facing was the fact that I had just lied to my - boyfriend? Baby’s father? Complicated, controlling ex? - and I’d feel like a complete moron if I called him again. Hey, yeah it’s me, I kinda lied to you before, I’m in labor and I just don’t feel like you being here, alright? Yeah, could you come anyway?

And like that, I had decided to call Caitlin as well. There was no response. I called Megan after that. She picked up, I heard the sound of women giggling, and then the phone was hung up. Thanks a lot, so-called friends. The time was nearing 10 PM, and I didn’t feel like it was appropriate to call my mother, even though she’d offered her help plenty of times. Naturally, I couldn’t call Richard’s mother. And like that, I was all alone in the world. Alone, with the worst contractions in fucking history. A strange thought popped into my head in one of the breaks between the pain. Michael. I could call Michael.

( … )

The smell of his cologne. The smell of him. Michael. It never failed to calm me down, even in the midst of all this chaos. My forehead was pressed against his neck, my arms around his shoulders, and although I was scared as hell, I felt safe with him. I could feel his heartbeat, fast and strong, against my skin. It felt like an anchor that kept me from drifting away on a sea of pain.

My cries were probably going through the hospital walls, but none of us cared. His hands were massaging the lower part of my back. In the moments that were clear, I would yell at him to press harder, to make it hurt more. Anything to make me forget about the contractions, although we knew it was impossible.

“Breathe. Easy. Breathe, Cas.” His deep voice was ever so soothing, but the increasing pain was sending me into a state of panic. I couldn’t remember how to breathe. I felt myself go dizzy. If he hadn’t held me, I’d have fallen to my knees. Instead, I collapsed in his arms.

“Nurse! Nurse! We need you in here NOW!” I heard him call before I blacked out.

( … )

23.30.

Teagan was usually asleep in my belly by now, but not this night. The contractions were squeezing her, and she kicked - angrily? - at the inside of my womb, stretching my body in ways I didn’t even know was possible. When I looked down, it looked like something out of a horror movie, and when the contractions came, it also felt like it. I was crying, sobbing, standing up and sitting down, even circling the birth bag that I had put in the hallway. My legs felt like jelly from the intensity of the pain, but I couldn’t lie down. The feeling was too much, too intense, too wild to lie down. Once and again, I put my hands on the dresser and pressed against it while wailing with the agony. The door was open, but I figured the neighbors would just have to live with it. The taxi was on its way, and way too slow for my liking.

If I give birth right here, I’ll have to find someone who can throw out the carpet-

“Miss … Mitchell?” A 30-something female taxi driver - oh thank heavens - knocked on the semi-open door before opening it fully. For a second, she looked completely shocked, as our eyes met and she saw what was happening. Somehow, I had failed to tell her exactly why I needed a taxi. Thankfully, some primal instinct overtook her, and without speaking a word, she stepped right under my left arm so I could support myself on her. With her other hand, she grabbed my birth bag and closed the door behind us. I don’t know how, but she got us both - or well, the three of us - safely down the stairs and into her taxi. I was on my way.

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 8

The winter of 9:31 Dragon draws to a bitter close. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, hero of the people, has revealed a string of secret letters between King Cailan and Empress Celene of Orlais. The specifics are unclear, but suspicion of Orlesians run deep, and there are always those willing to take advantage of political scandal. Declaring the king unfit to rule, Loghain has retreated to his southern stronghold in Gwaren, with Queen Anora by his side. Fear and greed threaten to tear Ferelden apart. In Denerim, Cailan busies himself with maps and battle plans, hoping to stem the tide of blood before it can start. In the Arling of Edgehall, King Maric’s bastard son fights against the rebels flocking to the traitor’s banner, determined to free himself from the shadow of his royal blood. And in Highever, Rosslyn Cousland, bitter at being left behind, watches as her father and brother ride to war, unaware of the betrayal lurking in the smile of their closest friend.

Ferelden Civil war AU Words: 4275 CW: gore, surgery, wounds Chapter summary: After hours of waiting, the last of Highever's forces finally make it to Bann Teagan's camp. But this doesn't set Alistair's fears to rest for long.

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Seventh day of Guardian, 9:31 Dragon

The camp hidden on the edge of the Marl Plain was quiet, awaiting orders, hidden from its target by the skirt of a low hill. The restlessness of earlier hours had subsided with the last treasonous gasps of those hanged for insubordination and incitement to mutiny. They had been the most vocal in their dissent at the plan to take Highever, but the example made of them had stopped any greater action by the others. As Captain Lowan strode through the rows of low tents towards the horse pickets, he saw resignation in the faces of those huddled around their campfires, and was satisfied. Men more terrified of their commander than the enemy were easily led, and far more easily controlled.

Something nagged at his well-ordered mind, however. As Arl Howe’s right-hand, he wielded more power than most, but his lord had waited long years plotting this campaign and what he would do when he finally had the Couslands in his grasp, and on this subject he was like a terrier with a rat in its teeth. He was deaf to any caution that the man they had plucked still breathing from a knot of Highever dead might be a threat to the plan, refusing to listen even after their prisoner had been caught attempting to escape and warn the castle.

Damned nobles and their damned hubris.

He turned a corner and almost walked smack into the conscript set to guard the makeshift gaol where the prisoner had been moved.

“Captain!” The sentry jerked crisply to attention, fear lancing though his expression. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Lowan nodded towards the darkness in the cell. “Is he awake?”

“Hard’a tell, Ser.” The sentry stamped his boots to try and scare some warmth back into his feet, relieved that he hadn’t been singled out for a reprimand. “He in’t moved, mind, and he in’t gannin’ naawhere, not on them legs.”

The captain levelled a cold glare at such lax discipline. In the early morning gloom, the stark light of the cell’s single lamp cast harsh shadows over the planes of his face, deepening the orbits of his eyes and carving the depression of his mouth into a grin like a skull’s. With nervous eyes, the sentry traced the grizzly line of the scar that cut a chasm up his superior’s left cheek and across his forehead.

“I mean, not that I haven’t been watching him, like,” he added hastily. “But, I mean, Ser, look at ‘im. He’s out coald.”

“You’d better hope so, soldier.”

“A-aye, Ser.”

With a measured grace that belied his age, Lowan crouched on his heels to better examine the prisoner, the first trophy of Arl Howe’s conquest. The man lay heaped on his right side on a dirty pile of straw, bound in thick chains under a scraggy blanket, his once-gleaming armour dented and soiled with filth that masked the sigil of the Laurels embossed across his chest. His dark hair and face, too, were streaked with gore, his features now all but unrecognisable under the swell of purple bruises. He did not move, not even when poked in the ribs with the iron toe-cap of Lowan’s boot.

To one less cautious, such a pitiful sight would be convincing, but Howe’s right-hand knew enough of Cousland pride to know that one heavy beating and two cracked femurs would not be enough to smother it. He reached for his belt and slid his dagger from its sheath.

The sentry licked his lips. “Orders were to keep ‘im alive, Ser.”

“Do not tell me my business,” Lowan snapped. He lowered the flat side of the blade to the prisoner’s mouth. For a moment, nothing happened, but then the faintest mist of condensation collected on the steel, and Lowan rose to his feet with a grunt. “He’s alive. Get him up. His lordship thinks this toff will do nicely for –”

“Captain Lowan, Ser!” A sergeant in patchy mail stumbled into the lamplight, panting. “I was told to find you here.”

Lowan glowered at the newcomer. “Report.”

“It’s the Red Iron, Ser – the mercs what went after the Cousland girl.” The sergeant gulped. “They’ve sent a message, Ser.”

“Ah, finally.” Lowan flexed his fingers on the pommel of his sword. “Are they bringing back her head, as they were told?”

“Ah, um, no, Ser.”

“They’ve taken her alive then? That’s a feat – Arl Howe will be pleased.”

“Uh, no Ser,” came the hesitant reply. “They – they’re not bringing her. She, er, got away.”

“I see.” Lowan’s grip tightened. “And the wounded from Glenlough?”

“Didn’t catch them,” the sergeant answered. “It seems she used what was left of the cavalry to harry our men and give hers more time to flee. They caught up yesterday morning, but she escaped again. They’ve, uh, broken off pursuit, Ser. The messenger says she reached Bann Teagan’s forces near Wythenshawe, and they’re not being paid enough for such odds. His words, Ser,” he added, noting the scowl darkening his superior’s expression.

For a moment, indecision coiled in Lowan’s limbs. His eyes flicked from side to side, his lips pursed as he worked out his next move. Employing the Red Iron had been his suggestion, a solution to Amaranthine’s pitiful number of professional soldiers, which had been meant as a shortcut for taking Highever… and they had failed to remove the youngest Cousland, a mere chit who should have been easy to kill. Having survived, she would return to her homeland bloodthirsty as only nobles could be, with the might of a new army and all the authority of the king behind her, implacable as an avalanche. Howe might escape, but those lower in the pecking order were never so lucky. He wouldn’t be that lucky.

As if to undermine the downward turn of his thoughts, from somewhere nearby the first blackbird of morning began to sing. Time was marching on. Cursing inwardly, Lowan straightened and barked for the sergeant to help carry the prisoner while he marched ahead to where his lordship was making final preparations for the attack on Castle Cousland. If they could take the keep, then it wouldn’t matter what the girl did; she’d be free to break her armies against the walls and follow the rest of her family into the Maker’s grace.

He did not look back, so did not notice the smile that cracked across the prisoner’s face, as wide as his injuries would allow. He would be able to do nothing but watch, crippled, as everything he loved was put to the sword, but for an instant exultation burned through the mire of his grief. Rosslyn lived. Even if nothing could save Highever now, he knew with certainty that it would not go unavenged.

--

By the time Alistair reached the eastern edges of the camp, the last of Lady Cousland’s retinue were already being tended, for which he was grateful. Horses were dotted throughout the clearing, heads drooped with their coats matted and stained from the road, most too tired for even a cautionary jerk as the healers all but dragged the troopers from their war saddles. Globes of blue-green light flickered here and there as the most serious injuries were treated with healing spells, and Alistair was glad to see that, at least in an emergency, the mages from Kinloch Hold were able to overcome their suspicion of the large, unpredictable animals.

Or not. A furious series of barks drew his attention to a group of four or so young mages clustering like geese a wary distance away from an impressive roan charger that had been roused from its torpor. It pawed clods of muck from the earth, warning the strangers away with an uneasy roll of its eye. One of them seemed to have been on the receiving end of its teeth already.

As he came closer, Alistair noticed the rider, her skin pallid with sweat and expression pinched with fatigue, trying simultaneously to rein in the horse and keep the wounded soldier at her back from falling. An arrow had pierced her left shoulder, leaving the arm limp across the front arch of her saddle, but even under the sheen of blood and a tumble of loose black hair he could still make out the pattern of laurels embossed on her armour. This, then, was Lady Cousland herself.

“Cuno!” The word hissed through gritted teeth, followed by a garbled string of words in a language that might have been Clayne.

The dog, a pure-bred mabari judging by the deep chest and wide head, immediately turned his attention away from the ‘threatening’ mages towards his mistress, a high, worried whine beginning at the back of his throat. His head tilted back, trying to get a proper look at her, and when that didn’t work he crowded closer, heedless of the horse’s stamping, fretting when she failed to notice his yipped entreaties to dismount. Already agitated by the smell of blood and the lack of direction from its rider, the roan shifted its weight into its powerful haunches, though they trembled from exhaustion. It was still held in check, but only just, and that control was slipping.

“I’ve got you,” Alistair reassured her, dodging forward to catch hold of the bridle before the horse could bolt.

The lady’s gaze rolled over his without focus, her whole body listing as she searched instead for her dog to calm him down.

“Cuno…”

Even without the rasp of her laboured breathing or the sunken hollows of her eyes, it was easy to tell she was in a bad way. He had to get her down, or Teagan would kill him. He noticed the knotted leather that bound the arms of the second soldier around her waist, swollen with rain so that it would be impossible to untie.

“You two!” he snapped at the only mages who lacked the presence of mind to find easier patients.

“Ser?”

“Get over here and help me. I need you to hold the horse,” he instructed. “He’ll be quiet, just do as you’re told. As for you,” he added, turning to the second mage. “Surana, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Get ready to catch him.” Alistair drew his knife, thankful that he had sharpened it that morning, and cut through the strap before helping to brace the unconscious man as the quivering elven mage hauled him to the ground, healing spells already sparking from his fingers.

Lady Cousland sagged as the weight dropped away from her. “Is he…?”

“He’s alive,” Surana answered.

Her eyes slid closed with a heavy sigh.

“Now for you, my lady.”

Alistair reached up, uncertain of the best way to help her without jostling her injury, but she waved away his hand and tipped forward, clearly intent on dismounting without assistance, despite the grimace it stretched across her face. Her years of training served her well, and she kept her balance, keeping the horse steady with murmured entreaties in the same language she had used on the dog, but as she touched the ground her right leg buckled and sent her backwards with a yell. He reacted instinctively, scooping his arms under her shoulders to take just enough of her weight to prevent her from sprawling. With a grunt, she turned in his arms. His shoulders acted as a brace so she could drag herself back onto her feet. When she looked at him, he caught the impression of high cheeks and a thin, straight nose, and fever-bright eyes the grey of cracked ice on the sea. He swallowed.

“My people, are they safe?” she demanded, her voice choked with strain.

“They’re being tended, my lady,” he replied, tentatively letting go of her. “Your other forces arrived a couple of hours ago, and are being settled in.”

She straightened, then doubled over again with a yelp as the movement pulled at the torn muscles in her shoulder. “I need – need to see Bann Teagan.”

“You need a healer.”

Setting his hand under her uninjured arm again, he glanced around for a mage not immediately engaged. Not far away, an older woman had just sent a pair of healers away bearing a stretcher between them, her hand to her forehead, seemingly unconscious of the fact that the ends of her white hair were matted with blood. He waved her over.

“No, th’others first,” Lady Cousland slurred, rousing as Alistair beckoned the mage over. “Have to get…”

His grip stiffened as she tried to twist away, ignoring the dog, who chuffed in warning but seemed hesitant to intervene. “How are you going to help your people if you run yourself into the ground?”

The words had their intended effect, though he had no doubt the impertinence in his tone would have been less well received if the lady had not lost quite so much blood. Winded and dizzy, her struggles faded as Wynne approached, but even though her legs trembled, she refused to bend her dignity by leaning on him. She watched blearily as the old woman checked her over, tutting first over her shoulder and then her right thigh, where a scabbed-over sword wound throbbed beneath a hastily applied, grubby bandage. Even the slightest press of Wynne’s fingers to examine the wound made the patient jerk away, snarling.

“Enough!” she snapped. Shivers wracked her body, but her expression had for the moment lost its dazed, absent look. “I will see Bann Teagan now. My father… is… He’s…” Sweat trickled down her forehead. Her right hand fumbled for purchase and found Alistair’s shoulder, her complaints subsiding into incoherent mumbles as he once again angled himself under her arm to better take the weight off her injured leg.

“So this is Bryce Cousland’s youngest,” Wynne commented dryly.

“Will she be alright?” It would be just his luck for the only daughter of one of the most powerful men in Ferelden to die under his care minutes after being rescued. Would they merely hang him, or would the grief-stricken Teyrn of Highever wish to draw out his execution? Maybe the dog would get there before anyone else had a chance, and simply maul him to death.

“Yes,” came the measured reply. “But these wounds require more attention than simple spells, and it’s a miracle the blood poisoning hasn’t overtaken her already. I’ll need light, and heat, and somewhere to lie her down.”

“Teagan’s pavilion is closest.”

“I’ll get my equipment.”

The mage turned with a swish of long robes and headed for the sloping marquee that served as the infirmary, leaving Alistair to heft the semiconscious noblewoman into a more comfortable position.

“Can you walk, my lady?” he asked. She was almost as tall as him, strongly built, and still girded to the neck in layers of aurum plate – even having discarded her undercoat of mail it would be a bugger to have to carry her.

“Yes,” she replied, as though the question was offensive. When she staggered, her head lolled back against his shoulder and she flashed him a tiny, derisive grin. “Ugh, mostly.”

Unable to entirely control his hysteria, Alistair chuckled. “That’ll do. Come on, easy does it.”

Tightening his grip on her waist to keep her from slipping, he helped her limp the slow path towards the officers’ quarters. When a sharp curse drew through her teeth he paused, nerves jumping, worried he had knocked her, but it was only Cuno, the mabari, who had responded to the whisper of his name by bumping his muzzle into the palm of her hand with a brief lick for reassurance. Care softened the pained lines around her eyes, and for the next few laboured steps she muttered blandishments at the dog, until her words grew more disjointed and then faltered completely. Concerned, Alistair edged a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, and was surprised by the degree of relief he felt to see she was still awake, even if the muscles in her jaw were clenched hard enough to grind stone. Less welcome was the crushing pinch of her fingers into the back of his neck as she fought to keep her balance.

Wynne preceded them into Bann Teagan’s tent with the elven healer, Surana, following closely on her heels and carrying a surgeon’s bag that had seen a lot of use in recent weeks. He tried not to think about that as he followed the mage’s direction to set Lady Cousland on the edge of the cot, easing her down slowly enough to keep her bad leg straight. Surana came forward with a goblet filled with some dark green, viscous liquid. She scowled at the taste when urged to drink, but complied, until she lurched sideways and violently retched it all back up again.

“No, don’t try to give her any more, what are you thinking!” Wynne chastised. “She’ll just have to deal with the pain, Andraste help her. The armour needs to come off,” she added to Alistair as she took a rolled leather pouch from her bag. It contained a range of metal tools that gleamed viciously in the torchlight.

“What?” Alistair glanced down at the swaying noblewoman, the tips of his ears reddening. “I can’t do that! It would be – I mean…”

“Maker’s breath, young man, you’re hardly a voyeur,” the old woman snapped. “And would it be more or less chivalrous of you to leave her helpless like this, hm? That’s what I thought,” she added, when he cursed and dragged a hand through his hair.

Having dimly followed their exchange, Lady Cousland’s hand drifted to the buckles that held her cuirass in place, but found her fingers too clumsy to grasp at the leather straps. Alistair shook his head and kneeled to help, but quickly noticed another problem – the arrow in her shoulder had punched through pauldron and cuirass both and pinned it to her flesh.

“This is going to have to come out first,” he warned her, trying to work out the best angle from which to draw it. It must have been shot from a crossbow to have impacted with such force. Surana heard and bustled over with a wad of hard leather that he set between her teeth.

“Are you ready?”

She stiffened when he shifted her hair out of the way and braced a hand against her back, but nodded. The dog shuffled closer and laid his head in his mistress’s lap, offering an uneasy wag of his tail as she stroked his ears. Before he could change his mind or let her think about it too much, Alistair gripped the shaft and pulled.

The bolt came free with a wet ripping noise he heard even over the lady’s muffled cry and the dog’s frantic growls. It transfixed him. The dull iron was slicked with the same blood that spurted over his hands, its barbed point designed with an unnecessary cruelty that was sickening.

“Is this really the time to gawk?” Wynne demanded.

Surana had already taken over the removal of the lady’s armour, working quickly to access the wound before her blood loss became critical. But he had little experience with such complicated layers, and wasted more time than he saved trying to work out which strap to undo next. Losing patience, Alistair pushed him out of the way and stripped off cuirass, vambraces, and padded gambeson in quick succession, his embarrassment entirely overlooked in the face of the scarlet stain blooming across the noblewoman’s linen undershirt.

She had doubled over, fingers tangled in her dog’s ruff and head pressed tightly against his neck. Her breath came in uneven, shaking gasps, but it quietened when cool green magic met her fevered skin and began to knit her muscles back together.

“You’re alright,” Wynne soothed. “There’s a brave girl. There’s no lasting harm done – you’ll be right as rain soon enough.”

Before Alistair’s eyes the ugly gash shrank, the pale glisten of bone disappeared, and the ragged skin around the edges smoothed until all that was left was a livid, uneven starburst of scar tissue. He had no doubts that if not for Wynne’s skill with healing magic, the injury would have permanently limited the use of Lady Cousland’s left arm. Even arcane knowledge wouldn’t be enough to completely heal it, and already Wynne had swapped her spells for a pot of elfroot salve, which she smeared liberally over the closed wound before withdrawing to allow Surana to bandage the shoulder tightly enough to keep the newly-formed muscle from splitting. Time would do the rest.

“Well, this has been a fun way to spend an evening,” Alistair breathed, giddy. His hands were still stained with blood, which darkened and turned sticky as it dried. “And here I was planning to do some light reading with a glass of wine.”

“Don’t leave yet, Ser,” Wynne warned him. “I still need you to help hold her down.”

He frowned. “For what?”

“Her leg.” She guided Lady Cousland to lie flat with gentle presses of her hands. “It’s festered, so it will need to be cleaned before I can heal it.”

“I see.”

Surana busied himself setting out his mentor’s instruments as she began to unwind the bandage. Even that caused the lady to flinch, her eyes whirling beneath contracted lids as she whimpered and clutched the sheet beneath her. The sound distressed the dog, who pushed in close and huffed, but was sent away with a snapped command. Something about the calm, disinterested movements of the mages – the way Wynne sliced through the seam of Lady Cousland’s trouser leg to expose the infection – brought bile to the back of Alistair’s throat, as if to them the warrior lying at death’s door before them presented nothing more than an academic exercise, a puzzle to be solved –

“Please,” Wynne urged him. “She needs you.”

The sight of the wound decided him: swollen red, the skin stretched to a shine with pus under a crusted yellow scab.

“Right – right.” He stepped closer and dropped to his knees, setting his palms on the lady’s shoulders so that his body blocked her sight of Wynne heating the blade of a sharp silverite dagger over the fire. Her head turned at his touch. Sweat glistened on her forehead.

“Surana, are you ready?”

The young mage shuffled forward. Lady Cousland tracked the movement until she realised what was happening and dropped her head back against the pillow, eyes turning from Alistair to fix straight upwards, biting down on the leather strap she had been given. Still, she was unprepared when Wynne lifted the knife from the fire and slashed open the wound.

She jerked upward. She screamed, though she tried not to. She fought, tears streaming down her cheeks. The screams turned to sobs, and then to gasps as her consciousness ebbed away and her struggles weakened, allowing Wynne to set a healing spell against the flesh, and in minutes the battle was over. Both Alistair and Surana were exhausted from trying to keep Lady Cousland pinned down, their ears ringing as they tried not to gag on the sour odour of bile and blood that underlay the tang of white-spirit and elfroot. Their patient lay limp on the cot, barely conscious and sheened with sweat. Only Wynne retained her composure, practiced enough in her art that, at least on the surface, the grisly ordeal had no effect.

Alistair turned away from the sight, uneasy. Before he could fully process his motivations, he found himself sweeping aside a lock of dark hair stuck to the lady’s forehead.

“Unh…”

“It’s over now,” he told her gently. “You can sleep.”

Her eyes opened, searched for him. “You… You’re Bann Teagan’s man?”

“His right-hand. My name’s Alistair.”

She hummed, frowning as if committing his name to memory. “Alistair… ‘m Rosslyn.”

Across the other side of the tent, Wynne was already discussing her patient’s care with Teagan, who had arrived following the sound of screams. With a last final check to make sure she – Rosslyn – was asleep, Alistair pushed himself away from the cot just in time to hear the mage’s instructions to keep her warm and quiet.

“And someone will need to watch her,” she added. “I haven’t put her under a Sleep just in case she takes a turn, but I feel the worst of it is over now, and Surana and I are needed elsewhere. When she wakes she’ll need food and plenty of water.”

“That’s a tall order,” Teagan answered with a ghost of a chuckle. “What do you say, Alistair, are you up to it?”

“Me? I mean, yes Ser, if I can help, I’d be glad to.”

His uncle clasped a hand to his shoulder. “Good man. Can I see her?” he asked, turning back to Wynne.

“She’s asleep.”

If Teagan was surprised by Alistair’s interruption, he didn’t show it. “Then I’d best leave it – if she’s anything like either of her parents, she won’t be kept down for long. Come find me in the morning, and don’t let her bully you just because she���s pretty,” he warned, with a good-natured clap on the back. “After you, madam enchanter.”

Alistair watched the pair if them leave, his head sagging. It took a moment, but he gathered himself and ordered Surana to stay put while he went in search of someone among the kitchen staff who might still be awake. If he was to be in charge of Lady Cousland’s recovery, he would do it right – if only so that nobody could say otherwise if everything went pear-shaped and he ended up on the execution block after all.