#this year however i will have to brace up for the cake decorating kills the hands even on a good day but what can you do

[dragpinkman]

thank god i actually have a birthday cake idea this year for my 20th

[tommyspeakycap]

I love your work! I was wondering if you’d be willing to write something about (toddler) baby Shelby having Alfie help her bake a cake for Tommy

omggggg that’s so so cute!!

A Bakers Help

The burly Camden Town ‘baker’ was nothing short of completely shocked when he heard a soft banging on his office door in the mid afternoon. His eyebrows had furrowed and he had kept his hand readily on his weapon so he was prepared in the event of an enemy being on the other side of the door. He was surprised to say the least when he tugged open the door and had to look down multiple inches to spot she who knocked on the door.

There stood a little girl. One he knew fairly well but who’s appearance outside his office was still a shock. That little girl was notorious around most of England, especially in heavily gang populated territories where the “Shelby” was a household name and everybody who knew that name knew the littlest member of the family was something akin to a jewel in Tommy Shelby’s crown. Alfie had been curious as to whether or not she was actually attached to Thomas Shelby’s hip in consideration to how much time she spent right by his side, teetering along on little legs so he knew she was safe right by his side. It wasn’t often that Tommy entrusted others to watch over his youngest sister, so it would be safe to say that Alfie was incredibly confused.

“Good morning.” The little girl greets, her lips plastered with a bright smile as she lifts a hand to wave at him. Alfie braces himself on either side of his doorway with strong hands so as to lean out of his office to look out into the ‘bakery’ to both the left and right before stepping back in. “Mhm yes it was actually. Where’s your brothers?” He asks, turning his eyes back to the girl in the doorway who fights to pull her wool coat back up from falling off her arms due to the fact it hadn’t been buttoned up. The girl shrugs, “Dunno...Can I come in?” She asks politely, “It’s very cold.”

Alfie Solomons squints his eyes and forms a crease between his brows, but even he can’t deny the chill in the winter breeze through the unheated factory and the shivering of the child, and so he steps to the side and gestures her in the door. Alfie hums, or maybe something more akin to a grumble, in thought as the five year old wanders around his office to take in the whole surroundings. “And where are your pikey brothers then yeah?” His voice rumbles deep and gravelly the same way it always does, not missing the chance or thinking twice about dropping an insult to the Shelby men as he speaks. The youngest of the clan shrugs her little shoulders. “Dunno,” she says again, “I’m with Ada. Told her i was going out to play.”

The words most definitely do worry Alfie Solomons after the girl with Tommy Shelby’s striking blue eyes and his heart in the palm of her tiny hand finishes speaking flippantly. It occurs to him that she’s simply too young to understand both risk and consequence. She knows that Tommy Shelby dotes on her like the little princess he believes her to be. She knows he loves her, he tells her every day. However, Alfie knows the far darker side to that love. He’s heard of people brutally murdered with remains unidentifiable after coming close to her, and although Alfie has no desire to harm a child who probably doesn’t even understand what it is the rest of her family do when she’s not around, that doesn’t reassure him even in the slightest that Tommy, Arthur, Ada and John Shelby along with Polly Gray wouldn’t rip him to shreds if they knew their little princess was stood in his office for whatever reason.

“Right,” Alfie states, “Better get you home then,” He strides easily towards the door to hold it open, but the little girl simply quirks one eyebrow and remains where she stands. “It’s Tommy’s birthday soon.” She declares, looking up at the hardened London gangster as if he poses no threat nor fear to her in the slightest bit. She smiles at him, big and bright. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know if he was violent, didn’t know if he was supposed to be scary. She just knew she had met him before, he was relatively funny as the 5 year old obviously did not pick up on the thinly veiled threats hiding beneath the verbal back and forth between her favourite brother and the man she stood with now, and more importantly than anything; she knew he was a ‘baker’. “You need a cake on your birthday, you know.” She adds very matter of factly, and Alfie Solomons doesn’t fight the little grin he gives. “And you’re a baker, so you can make good cakes. I need you to help me make Tommy’s cake for birthday cake time on Saturday.”

There’s virtually no way this little girl had just come up with this by herself. The way she acts, her generosity, her sweetness and her absolute insistence of cake for her brothers birthday was not something she had adapted by herself. Children don’t just come up with these things. That thought, for Alfie, means that those who have raised her have drilled a certain kindness into her. Thomas Shelby has raised his little sister to be the kind of kid who will find a man she thinks is a baker just because her brother told her he was, so that he can help her make a cake. That makes Alfie want to laugh. Tommy Shelby acts the part, but Solomons now knows he’s the type who taught a little girl about the importance of cake and birthday fun.

“Fine.” Alfie responds, out stretching his arm to gesture the little girl out into the factory. He did actually have a designated area for the ‘bakery’ just in the event that someone came looking or investigating and he needed to show there was actually a bakery there. He was thankful for that now, because he got the feeling that there was little to no chance he would have gotten away from the very very persistent little Shelby trailing behind him. It becomes apparent very quickly that little (y/n) will have no luck when it comes to seeing what was going on up on the counter, considering she wasn’t even nearly the same height as it, never mind tall enough see over it. Alfie has to get creative in that respect, eyes flicking around until they lands on a a stack of crates that he grabs a couple of to pile them next to the counter so that the youngest Shelby can contribute as she pleased to the cake making.

All things considered, Alfie was actually a fairly good baker. He didn’t come up with the idea of a bakery to cover his illegal business work for no reason. He knew he could bake if it was necessary (which it sometimes was to smuggle alcohol), so this ask from the little girl who had a list of ingredients and an exact image of how she wanted this cake to look, wasn’t a huge task for him.

In the process of the bake, Alfie learned a lot. He learned that little Shelby couldn’t quite pronounce her L’s (which Tommy was apparently working on with her), so she called him Afie. He learned that Tommy’s favourite cake was vanilla sponge, which was why it was a four tier vanilla sponge with extra strawberry jam that his sweet little sister had chosen. He learned that the little girl got here by very discretely tripping up her cousin, Karl, so that Ada was preoccupied giving him a plaster for his knee and stopping his tears and (y/n) snuck off from Ada’s London home in the direction she felt like she remembered Tommy going when he had taken her to Alfie’s bakery once, albeit leaving her in the car with Arthur and John. She had to ask for directions from confused strangers a few times, but ultimately she found the place on her own. Alfie learned that little Shelby talks a lot. She’s very clever, can follow instructions a lot better than most children of a similar age. It had become increasingly clear she didn’t see any problem with talking about the fun things she did with her brothers. The way Arthur and John like to throw her about to hear her giggles, how Tommy tucks her in every single night that he can. How he tickles her, how he still carries her around even though her aunt Polly protests it. How good her aunt Polly’s cooking is. How much she loves her family. She sees no problem with divulging these soft family moments, although Tommy would probably be absolutely appalled that people knew these things about him and his brothers. It made the head of the Peaky Blinders seem so incredibly mundane.

Alfie could see now why that sweet girl was so loved and held so dear by the family. He also had to wonder if she truly was one of them. She was funny and bright, she giggled with him and babbled on about sorts of rubbish. Alas, she was bossy as Thomas himself. She was loud like Arthur, sarcastic as John, self assured as Polly, as independent as Finn and opinionated as Ada. She made sure to tell Alfie exactly how to stack the first layer while she mixed ingredients for the next layer and he was kept on a very short leash, reminded every so often that he was not to dip his fingers in any of the mixtures and leaning over as he worked to tell him Tommy liked more jam than what Alfie had put on.

“Wait!” She yelps out, leaping off the makeshift kitchen stool made from those bottle crates to chase after Alfie until she reaches the man who was carrying the cake towards a box. “Finishing touches,” she insists, ever so slightly dusting the cake with powdered icing sugar to give a final decorational appearance. Alfie smiles subconsciously as the small girl stands back with a proud grin, turning her eyes to man holding the cake, “Thank you Afie,” she beams, her cute little way of saying his name never lost on him as his heart flutters. “Welcome, baby Shelby.” He responds as he slips it into the cake box he’d ordered one of his men to go and get without question.

Alfie was certain he would step outside his bakery and London would be burning. He expected to have Shelby’s killing people on the streets searching for their baby, their sweet little princess. He assumed (and rightly so) that Ada hadn’t told Tommy that she had absolutely no idea where his most precious little love was for genuine fear of his reaction and so she had mobilised some friends and acquaintances she had made while in London to try finding her little sister. Albeit they were evidently unsuccessful and absolutely no one expected little (y/n) to be baking with Alfie Solomons for her gangster brothers birthday because she just loves him so.

Ada literally burst out the front door frantically when she saw the car headlights pull up outside her house, wrapping herself tightly in her coat as Alfie Solomons lifts her little sister down out of the car. The 5 year old stands innocent as ever next to the man who Tommy never truly knows if he can trust or not as he reaches back into the car to lift out a white cake box with two strong hands. “Better keep a closer eye on this one yeah?” He gestured his head to (y/n) who runs towards Ada and jumps into her open arms to be squeezed incredibly, almost painfully tightly. “Never run off like that again!” She hisses, her concern and anxiety clear behind her words as she speaks into her sisters soft hair, stroking it with her hand for some form of reassurance.

“Sorry Ada,” she hums cutely in response, “We made Tommy a cake though, for his birthday!” Ada let’s go of (y/n) and turns to the little girl. “Go inside and find Aunt Pol, i’ll be in shortly.” She says as she eyes Alfie Solomons with the stoney faced glare he assumes she learned from Polly Gray and her often stoney resolve. “Bye bye Afie!” The 5 year old chimes, scuttling up to him to wrap her arms around his legs for a moment before turning and running off with a wave at the doorstep with Alfie a little bit to stunned by how kind she was to him despite the bad man he was to do much else than wave after her. “You,” Ada snipped, cutting him out of his thoughts and crossing her arms firmly over her chest, “Baked a cake with my little sister?” Her words leak with confusion, eyebrows furrowed with her head tilted in question as she continues to be unable to think of any reason why Alfie Solomons hadn’t turned the little girl away or even used her as a bargaining chip with threats of harm to the child if Tommy didn’t do as Alfie wanted. Instead he baked with her a cake for Thomas and she was returned without a bump, not even a hair on her head harmed. He had returned the little Shelby who was uncharacteristically clumsy for a Shelby without her falling off of anything, burning herself on any ovens or accidentally eating something she was supposed to.

“Yeah.” Alfie responds, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. Ada steps closer to him to try in some way to read what he’s not saying, her heels clicking with each step. “And you want nothing for it?” She presses, her eyes narrowed as he shrugs. “Birthday gift innit yeah?” He grumbles, handing the cake to Ada. “She’s the best of you lot,” he states firmly as he turns his back to climb back into his car, “Keep her that way yeah?”

Ada’s frown turns to a soft smile as she nods, watching as Alfie Solomons pulls his door shut firmly and turns on his ignition.

“Mr Solomons, Oi!” She calls after him, forcing him to roll down his window to hear what she has to say. “Thank you.” She breathes, “For looking after her and bringing her home. And for the cake.” Alfie nods his head in acknowledgment. Ada isn’t sure what else to say. She still feels fairly nauseous at the fact her little sister was missing for virtually the whole day and littered with further nerves at the fact Tommy would be around to pick her up in a half hour and it wasn’t like little Shelby to keep quiet about anything, especially not when it came to Tommy and especially when it came to her adventures that her favourite brother hadn’t been part of, so assuredly she would let him know all about her baking day with Alfie after the cake was revealed tomorrow afternoon for his birthday. Alfie knew this too and he imagined he’d get a visit from the head of the Peaky Blinders relatively soon after he found out.

Tommy would probably be as confused as Ada as to why Alfie looked after little (y/n) the way he did. Alfie couldn’t even really explain it himself, she just warmed up his heart and the sweet little girl showed Alfie truly why Tommy loves that little girl so much. She brings laughter and happiness and fun. She brings light into a very, very dark life and Alfie appreciates that dedication Tommy had to keeping her safe a lot more now. He himself now had a soft spot for the kid and there was a part of him that knew for a fact he too would be making sure no one in his circle was breathing words of harming that little girl who had promised she would bake with him again, and had his birthday written on her hand so she could bake for his birthday.

Maybe the Shelby’s weren’t so bad after all.

[drv3imagines]

Hey, what up friends of this blog. If you were expecting Mod Ouma, But Ironically (Mod Tojo) to answer an ask, I deeply apologize because that’s not what this post is about… HOWEVER. I would like to pay special attention to a few characters we’ve missed out on for birthday bashes. I was waiting until Rantaro’s birthday to go ahead and compile the birthday bashes we’ve previously missed out on. I had no intention of JUST doing Korekiyo, Ryoma, and Kirumi (Everyone deserves the love the killing game didn’t give them). I’m gonna go as far back as Angie Yonaga, Kokichi Ouma, Tsumugi Shirogane, Shuuichi Saihara, and finally our boi who’s birthday is today! Rantaro Amami! No one placed these asks in our boxes, so technically we aren’t obligated to write for them? But, I like being fair, and those poor kids deserve more.

So without further ado. Have a VERY LONG POST.

Angie Yonaga You weren’t exactly sure what to get Angie, which is a little more complex than you thought it should have been. She found a lot of gifts from you pleasing through the eyes of Atua. New art brushes? Atua thanks you for the offering of tools to further Angie’s craft for His eyes. Cute hair pin? Atua says that s/o is kind to bring forth ornaments to decorate Angie’s hair~ Once you tried to make her dinner, but that didn’t work out too well… Atua said it sucked and you ended up ordering out instead. Atua was right on that one, pizza was much better than eating burned meatloaf… You didn’t want to separate Angie from her religious views, but you honestly wanted to hear what she had to say for once. Even though you’ve been dating for so long, was it possible to hear just her thoughts on something? Especially since today was her birthday. That’s when you started to formulate your plan… Angie had just finished leading a prayer, when you stopped her just before she could go off. “Hey Angie, y'know what today is right?~” You asked in a sing-songy voice. The artist closed her eyes -probably asking Atua- before humming out the answer. “Atua says… Today is the day we celebrate a devout follower!~” “That’s right! And I got you som-” “S/o finally wants to donate blood for sacrifice!” A twinge of panic caused your heart to leap. Not that you didn’t wanna appease her wishes in donating…it’s just that you already agreed to do that nearly four times this month…any more blood and you’d end up in the hospital… “Maybe…next month…or three. Actually, it’s your birthday~ And I got you something! I think you’re going to really love it this time, Angie!” “Ah, but Angie already loves everything you offer. As s/o’s kind heart is pleasing in Atua’s eyes. He sees you and loves how you treat his dear children.” Perhaps…Angie really does appreciate everything you do behind her religious veil…if this is the best she could do to admit her feelings then you’d just have to accept it. You’d love her either way… You pulled your gift to her out of the bag anyway and she squealed. “It’s an avocado!~ Thanks!~ The gracious avocado is a blessing that Atua sends to Angie’s island as a gift for our devotion to Him! However…Angie thinks the best gift she has received from Atua…is you, s/o.” You blush at her comment before muttering, “do you think you can ask Atua if I can kiss you?” Angie pretended to think for a moment before cheerfully giggling, “Atua grants you permission~”

Kokichi Ouma It was never a quiet day at the Ouma household. Your boyfriend was as childish as he was in high school, always the jokester and prankster. Still cuter than a button, and a huge tantrum throwing crybaby at times, but that’s what made him special. Who cares if he’d grow to be a man-child? He was loving and cared for you like no other. That’s why you reserved all your rest for his special day. Each year since you’d known him he’d been a guy to go all out- But… When you woke up this morning…it was quiet. You immediately thought he just got a super early start and wasn’t here, but you found him in the kitchen making a breakfast. It was a tad cleaner than when he normally cooked but- “Okay, who are you and where’s my energetic boyfriend?” He turned to you with that infamous devilish grin of his accompanied with his ��evil laugh’. “Nishishishishi~ Good morning s/o~ I decided this year I’d shake things up for my birthday~” What. This was automatically suspicious. What was this dork planning? “Awww, don’t you trust me, s/o?” No Well, of course. But if Kokichi made an unexpected change, something very bizarre was going to happen…you’d just have to keep a close eye on him for the day. Unfortunately…you were left with nothing. Your boyfriend was completely unreadable all throughout the day. You spent a whole day with him, indulging in activities you wanted to do??? Was it like some April Fool’s Day prank he was pulling?! But it isn’t April… maybe he’s got something really strange planned up ahead…better brace yourself. Yet nothing happened. It was actually well into the evening and the two of you were having dinner at a restaurant the two of you would frequent on really special date nights. Okay, seriously what is going on?! “Kokichi…are you alright? We spent your entire birthday doing things I liked to do? Did you do something I need to know about?!” That same smirk he gave you this morning reappeared, but it was softer…and very loving… “You’ve been so suspicious of me today, s/o,” he whined, “don’t you trust me?~” This time you vocalized your answer, “yes… I trust you, Kokichi. Please tell me why you’re doing this?” “Well, since you’re so nosy today~ I guess I should spill, huh?” For a moment you thought he blushed, but whatever it was, it immediately disappeared. “You’ve trusted me this long. I guess I should start acting like I like it or something. Every year you’re always making my birthday memorable, so I thought I’d be selfish and make this next memory one I create for us~” You didn’t have the slightest clue of what he was talking about until he pulled out a small box from his pocket and kneeled down at your side.

Tsumugi Shirogane Plain. That was the single thing your girlfriend asked from you on this day. She wanted the day to be a reflection of who she was. Plain. No surprises. No cake, unless it made a specific cameo from her favorite anime episode. And definitely no parties. Definitely no. She just wanted to cuddle her human dakimura and watch some of her favorite classics. Even though Sailor Moon was typically for normies, she was glad the remakes were staying true to the classic. You decided you would obey her demands…for now…and cuddle your otaku til her heart’s content. Eventually, noon rolled around and you had started to get hungry. Offering her lunch was pointless when she was fully immersed in whatever you two had been watching (Sailor Moon had to go when a new episode of her fave was on), so you took it upon yourself to make her something cutesy. While you were cutting up vegetables to put on her side, you checked your cell phone really quick before returning to your otaku. You thought you heard her mumble something, but you figured it was about the show, and started your at lunch. Just as the next episode began, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” even though it was pointless to announce when she wasn’t paying any mind.

Tsumugi had finished her lunch a while ago, but her focus was on this crucial exchange between the protagonist and the antagonist. It would determine whether a successful escape would be possible for the protagonist and the future of anyone else who received this fate, or if the antagonist would have the advantage and would continue their plot even after death. She figured it would be a pretty cool reference for her next cosplay. Maybe she should discuss this matter with someone who had appreciated her– Oh? But… where had you gone off to. Tsumugi paused the episode, worried that she had lost your interest by being to delved into her favorite show. Even though it was her birthday…she should have considered your feelings too. Deciding she’d apologize, the cosplayer picked up her plate and placed it in the kitchen, before searching the house for you. “S/o? I-I’m sorry I got lost in the show again… Ill do my best to give you more attention if that’s what you- Oh?” Had she somehow reentered the fictional reality she just left? Blinking repeatedly, she made sure she was awake, but nothing had changed. You stood before her, dressed as her favorite character, but not only that, you turned your shared bedroom into the world the character came from. It was nearly perfect, almost as if she had done the work herself. “I know you said you didn’t want a surprise, but I just wanted to do something special for my not-so-plain girlfriend. I had a speech prepared, but I think I’ll wait to deliver it when I’m not in character.” Her heart is completely overwhelmed at the work you put into impressing her. You’re almost worried she might faint, so you embrace her gently, steadying her balance. “Th-thank you… For not only taking the time for putting this together… making my belief that cosplay is an expression of love real.”

Shuuichi Saihara Today is my birthday. Shuuichi thought to himself. A few years ago if he said that to himself, he’d have mixed feelings about it. He didn’t really like big social gatherings and only kept the celebratory matters amongst his family members. And even then, he insisted they kept everything on a low profile. That is…until he met you. You were very exciting, and persistent. You always helped him out of his shell every now and then, allowing him to comfortably be able to celebrate this renewed day knowing love and care. He couldn’t wait until he found out what you had in store to- He turned over to see your side of the bed very much empty. It wasn’t even like warm, meaning you had been absent for some time. Curious of the situation, Shuuichi climbed out of bed and began to investigate. And investigate was definitely something he was going to have to do today. He smiled at the sticky note on his door, a symbol scribbled on its surface. So this is what he had in store today. After getting dressed, Shuuichi had accumulated nearly twelve sticky notes all of which had some kind of symbol scrawled on it. But he was at a dead end when he collected all of the notes. This can’t be right, none of these sheets have words on them. Shuuichi closely examined each of the notes splayed across the table, then he examined the area once more before his eyes rested on an out of place book. It looked like it had been recently removed from the shelf as the other books were more settled. Shuuichi removed the book finding his guess to be accurate when he discovered a sticky note with a smiley face tacked on the first page. It was a book of codes, you’d bought him for his previous birthday. He didn’t want to spoil himself as to what could be in store next…but he was practically bouncing in his shoes with excitement at his guesses. Turns out he was right! You had used previous gifts to give him clues as to where you could be hiding…all leading up to the final destination. Shuuichi saw you patiently waiting underneath a gazebo in a local park…the scene had looked vaguely familiar to him… but he couldn’t recall why… After your normal greeting, Shuuichi followed your movements carefully, trying to note what was it about this place that was ringing so many bells at once?! “Would it be too much trouble to ask you out on a tea date next time? I could perhaps bring my novels and we could talk about our favorite characters.” Almost on instinct, Shuuichi replied, “that wouldn’t be any trouble at all. If it’s with you, I would-” Oh. My. Gosh. You were recreating the moment when the two of you first met! “I see the light bulbs going off Mr. Detective, have you finally solved the case?” “I think so. I think the culprit is definitely you this time. The crime you’re being charged with……stealing my heart.” He’d have to look up some better pick up lines next time! He was not prepared at all, but at least you blushed. Maybe even-…even after all these years you still took his breath whenever you kissed him.

Rantaro Amami “S/o!~ Rise and shine (ursine…//shot).” You grumbled in response to the cheery voice, turning over to put your pillow over your head. “Come on, s/o, you promised.” You could almost hear the pout he was doing. Rantaro was easy to understand in these moments… But it is his birthday today, so it was understandable. And, honestly, you were looking forward to it. Heck you were really excited to celebrate with him……but this year he had a little something daring saved up for this afternoon. And that thing was rock climbing. We aren’t talking about your basic run of the mill indoor plastic walls with artificial hand and foot holds. No, we are talking a real terrain. A real terrain with steep cliffs. A real terrain with natural sharp rocks. That kind of extreme rock climbing that only your boyfriend would suggest. You trusted he would make it safe for you since your skill was no where near his, but you still had your doubts. The bed sunk as you felt an extra weight approach you. He was getting persistent. You mentally sighed; it wasn’t fair for you to lie in bed and make him go by himself…especially on his birthday… “Okay, okay… I’ll do it for the birthday boy.” You mumbled in your half-sleep state. Whatever he was planning, stopped and he immediately retreated. “Great, I’ll see you at the rendezvous then?” Wait?! We’re leaving now?!? “By that I mean breakfast~” he chuckled and headed out of the room, leaving you to reluctantly get ready.

“Rantaro…are you sure you want to do this today? Have you checked the weather? Do we have enough supplies? What if we get lost and our phones die? Or they lose signal?” Your worried state didn’t phase your lover as he winked to you and passed a slice of cake to you. “It’s early, but consider it our last meal together.” He stated gravely, holding back a laugh. “Rantaro, that’s not funny! I’m being serious!” Your green haired lover froze at the graveness of your tone. It was silent for a moment before he turned back to the counter and moved the entire cake to the center of the table. You weren’t sure what he was up to, and became even more confused when he returned to the table with some candles and a lighter. He offered you some of the candles and you begrudgingly assisted him. Once he lit each candle, he gave you a small smile, then closed his eyes and blew out the candles. “Hopefully, that will keep us safe and not make you worry any more.” Huh? “What are you talking about? What did you wish for?” “If I told you it might not come true and we really could die~” “RANTARO!!!”

[catgirlthecrazy]

Real Brides Don’t Get Wedding Armor

A totally silly and self-indulgent idea I got.

Alianne Cousland had survived a lot of strange shit in the last couple years, far more than most people had any right to in one lifetime. She’d joined the Wardens, and survived. She’d battled darkspawn, spiders, abominations, werewolves, bears, broodmothers, golems, and Maker only knew what else. She’d been trapped in the Fade, a non-mage, and escaped. She’d ventured to the Deep Roads’ nethermost depths and returned with a Paragon’s crown. Then she’d journeyed in the stuff of fables to retrieve a sacred relic to save a dying man- and succeeded. Oh, and she slew an archdemon and lived. That was probably worth mentioning too.

Aly would like to say that none of it had scared her, but she’d be a damn liar if she did. Still, the burning need to brown her own pants hadn’t stopped her from twirling a dagger, tossing a clever quip, and throwing herself at the next threat of death and dismemberment if it meant saving others.

Wedding dresses, however, might defeat her.

Aly stared at her reflection the mirror, mouth pursed tight. Her very white, very glittery, very poofy reflection stared back at her. A silky white bodice that valiantly tried and utterly failed to add curves to Aly’s beanpole figure. A poofy skirt that poofed out so aggressively that Aly thought even if she tripped on the hem she’d simply roll back upright from the sheer weight of it. And the whole thing was encrusted with so many diamonds that even Shale probably would have called them “slightly excessive.” All in all, it gave the impression of a glittery toothpick sticking out of a marshmallow.

Eventually, Aly’s brain emerged from the ice scape of horror to which it had retreated long enough to form a coherent sound.

“No.”

Mother Bronwyn raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

Aly glared at her. “I said, no. No way in the Black City am I going to wear this-” She waved her arms emphatically, causing the servants currently pinning and hemming the dress into place to duck- “This thing. Andraste’s tits, I’m the Warden-Commander, not a cake decoration.”

Bronwyn’s eyes narrowed. “I knew Teryna Eleanor quite well, my lady, and I know she did not teach her daughter to use such language.”

Aly glared back. “Andraste’s dank, yeasty-“ She enunciated each word like a carefully aimed arrow.

“In any case,” Mother Bronwyn bouldered over Aly’s cursing, “You are marrying a king, meaning you will become queen. On your wedding day, that will be the title of highest precedence, and therefore you must wear a dress appropriate to your new rank.”

Aly decided to change tacks. “And if we’re attacked by assassins? I can’t move for shit in this froofy monstrosity, and silk doesn’t do jack against knives or arrows.”

Bronwyn sniffed. “I hardly think that is likely.”

“Queen Moira had assassins out her arse when she got married,” Aly argued, naming King Maric’s mother and Alistair’s grandmother.

“The Rebel Queen was married in a tent in the Southron Hills, while being actively hunted by Orlesian troops. You are getting married in the most fortified city in Ferelden. The situations are hardly comparable. Now enough of this. You will wear the dress and we will argue no more on this matter.” Not giving Aly a chance to interject, Bronwyn turned on her heel and walked out.

Aly stood there in fuming silence as the servants finished pinning. She felt twelve again. Her mother had tried on more than occasion to subject her to dresses. Every time, Aly had fought, wheedled, tantrumed, and in general made her mother’s life a misery every time she tried to stuff Aly into one. The few times Eleanor Cousland had won, Aly made it her mission to ruin the dress as quickly and thoroughly as possible: jumping in mud puddles, “accidentally” dribbling food and drink, or just cuddling Ser Rufus and letting the slobber and dog hair do its work.

Even now, Aly was tempted to storm out of the room and toss the horrible thing into the fire. But Bronwyn would just take it out on the servants for not finishing the alterations, and the money for a new dress would be money they couldn’t spend on resettling Blight refugees. Petty childishness was so much less fun when you had to think about the consequences for others.

Eventually, the servants finished their work and Aly escaped. It was late, but she went back to her rooms and she got some useful things done that day: reports about rebuilding the city, supplies for refugees, the planned Warden fortress in Amaranthine, and so on. She was still at her writing desk when the door clicked open. A pair of brawny arms draped over her shoulders, and she looked up with a grin at dancing brown eyes she loved very much.

“So I heard a rumor,” Alistair said with a grin, “That a gorgeous woman is getting married to some hapless idiot next week.”

Aly grinned back. “That can’t be true. I heard she was marrying a handsome prince.” They kissed, slow and unhurried, enjoying the quiet peace of the moment, like a stroll in a familiar and favorite garden.

They broke apart, and Alistair glanced down at her writing desk. “Ooh, grain imports. Exciting! And here I thought queening was all balls and gowns and waving at people from carriages.”

He meant it as joke for her to share. Aly knew that. But she thought of the gown Mother Bronwyn had bullied her into, and her good mood soured. “Maker forbid we have a queen who can do something useful with her life,” she muttered, with considerably more bitterness than she’d intended.

“Your latest joust with the old dragon didn’t go well I take it? I heard something about dress-fittings.”

Aly scowled. “It’s not just the dress, although that was impressively awful. It feels like Bronwyn and her minions are using this whole wedding to try to force me into a proper-lady-shaped box, even if she has to hack off bits of me to make me fit. Like now that we’re supposedly at peace, I should hang up my dagger and lock pick and retire to hearth and home like that’s all I’m good for.”

Alistair drew back. “Aly… Dear… If you want to- I know this life wasn’t your first choice, so if you don’t-” He laughed at his own stumbling. “Maker, words just do not seem to like me tonight, do they?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What I’m trying to say is-”

Aly was on her feet with her finger on his lips. “Don’t. I chose this, remember?”

“If you say so.” Alistair chuckled. “You know, you might not need to worry. The ceremonial armour that Eamon commissioned for me is so shiny I think it will blind the whole audience. Then no one will be able to see the hideous marshmallow dress of doom.”

Aly grinned. “Perhaps I could arrange for someone to dump muck on us.”

Alistair chuckled. “Tempting. But Mother Bronwyn would probably murder us. And we’d never get to sample the stinky cheese platter at the reception.”

“We can’t have that.” Impulsively, Aly pulled him in for another kiss. When they separated, she grinned ruefully. “You know, I am a little envious. You at least get to wear actual armour, even if it’s silly shiny armor. Women don’t get-” She stopped abruptly.

Alistair raised an eyebrow. “Women don’t get…?”

She looked up at him, a manic delight in her eyes that usually indicated his life was about to get especially interesting. “I just had the best idea.”

It was somewhere around the tenth knock before the door finally opened. “Can’t you see the sign? We’re closed- ” Herren’s irritable voice cut off abruptly when he saw Aly standing there, hooded and cloaked, fist still raised mid-knock. Herren scowled. If looks could kill, Aly would be a bloody smear on the pavement right now. “You’re not welcome here,” he snapped. Only Aly’s quickly inserted foot kept him from slamming the door in her face.

“I have have a deal for you,” Aly said.

“We’re not making any more free armor, now go awa-”

“Herren, dear, what are you still doing up? Come to bed, it’s far too cold tonight.” Aly heard Wade- it could only be Wade- yawning from somewhere in the shop.

“I will as soon as this pest leaves.” Herren tried to shove her foot out the door, but Aly braced her hands between the door and door frame. Wade’s face appeared over Herren’s in the doorway and brightened.

“Why, if it isn’t my favorite customer! Don’t be rude Herren, let her in.” The door was flung open and Aly was pulled in with much fussing from Wade and much growling from Herren. When they were all seated at the counter, Aly made her offer.

“I need something… special made, and in a hurry.”

Wade’s face brightened. “Have you brought me more dragon scale? Herren keeps me quite bereft of truly masterful projects.”

Herren snorted. “I keep us in profit, I think is what you meant. I don’t care if you brought us hide from the archdemon itself, we’re not making you any more free armor.”

Wade’s eyes glittered with speculative excitement. “Archdemon hide… Just imagine the properties!” Aly could imagine, and did. The archdemon corpse hadn’t decomposed after she killed it- not even maggots would go near it. It simply lay atop Fort Drakon, oozing its miasmatic evil for weeks until Wardens from Jader came to dispose of it. The thought of anyone trying to make armor from it made her blanch. Only Wade would think it was exciting.

“Er, no,” Aly coughed. “I had a… Different sort of challenge in mind.” She looked at Herren, calculating. “The Grey Wardens officially confirmed me as Ferelden’s Commander of the Grey last month. We’re setting up our new headquarters in Amaranthine in a few months, and we’re going to need an armorer. Wade could be that armorer.”

Herren’s eyes narrowed. “In exchange for…?”

Alianne slid a sheaf of parchment across the counter. “You make this by next week.”

As Aly emerged from the bridal dressing chamber, Fergus looked her up and down. The corners of his mouth twitched. “I feel like I should be surprised, but somehow, I’m not.”

Aly grinned and twirled. “What, you’ve never seen a wedding dress like this?”

Her brother’s mouth twitched again. “Not quite like that one, no. You do realize that Bronwyn is going to murder you?”

Aly snorted a very un-queenly snort. “Please. I’ve faced dragons, and I’ve faced Mother. I can handle one bitchy Chantry mother.”

Fergus’ face softened into a smile. “You know they would be proud of you right now.”

Aly’s throat tightened. It should have been her father walking her down the aisle. It should have been her mother squabbling with her over dress fittings. A lot of things should have been that weren’t.

After a moment, Fergus held out a handkerchief. Aly took it, used it, then handed it back. She took a few deep breaths, then held out her arm.

“Shall we?”

If one stood in the rafters of the Denerim Grand Cathedral, one might have been able to see the murmur spread through the hall like a wave as Aly and Fergus walked down the aisle. More specifically, the murmur spread as the attendees realized that their queen-to-be was not wearing a wedding dress.

She was wearing armor.

In Aly’s defense, it was probably the prettiest armour a bride had worn to her own wedding in the history of… ever. A snow white leather armor tunic, with gold filigree and the Ferelden coat of arms embossed on the chest. Small versions of the Cousland twin vines and the Grey Warden twin griffons graced her left and right shoulders, respectively. A short, white waist-length cape hung over her back. A miniature rose tucked into her bun completed the ensemble. It wasn’t the rose, sadly. That beloved gift had crumbled to nothing under the hardships of travel months ago. Still, when she was being so heavily scrutinized, the rose felt like a little private signal, just for her and Alistair, like flaunting a love letter written in code.

The murmur reached the back of the room and bounced back like waves in a bucket. The crowd was scandalized, but it was a delighted sort of scandal. Aly’s reputation had spread during the Blight, and Ferelden could take pride in a queen who defied tradition, as long as she did it in style.

Mother Bronwyn, for her part, looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. But what could she do? If she made a scene over this now, she’d be the one to look bad. That was the key to winning with people like Bronwyn. You never argued, because they would argue back until the end of time and you’d never win. Better to forge ahead and not give them the chance.

By the time Aly reached the altar, Alistair was trying his best not to grin like a loon, without much success. He was the only one (besides Wade and Herren) who had known Aly’s plan ahead of time, but this was the first time he’d actually seen her armor in person.

He took her hands as Mother Bronwyn began the time-worn ceremony. “Blessed Andraste, beloved of the Maker, we are gathered here today…”

She was halfway through the ritual words when Aly noticed a glint of metal somewhere in the rafters. A reflex that bypassed simple thought barreled her into Alistair just as the first arrow loosed, which is why it glanced off her shoulder instead of going through his neck.

“Vengeance for Loghain!” A man in the robes of a Chantry lay-brother charged the altar, two wicked looking daggers in each hand. Aly danced out of the way, but not before one dagger connected with her abdomen. Fortunately, Wade had done his work well, and the frantic jab slid uselessly off Aly’s toughened leather armor. She drew her own boot daggers, vaguely aware of commotion throughout the chapel, and that Alistair had drawn his sword and was fighting someone behind her, but she was too focused on the current fight to note the details. Aly feinted left, then struck right, putting a nasty gash in his arm. The assassin grimaced in pain but didn’t drop his weapon. Aly gave him points for that- She knew from experience how hard that was with a cut that deep.

They stood there for a moment, panting. Then the assassin struck out at her left. It was clearly a feint, so Aly moved right to block, but the assassin didn’t. He went straight for Alistair. Alistair, who had his back to them, blades locked with another assassin. Alistair, who despite his shiny plate armor, had nothing to protect him from a throat cutting.

Aly swore as she scrambled to defend him, too slow, too slow…

A dagger thunked into the assassin’s back and he toppled to the ground. Leliana appeared a moment later, yanking the knife out and wiping the blade on her Chantry robes. She nodded at Aly. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Aly panted. She glanced over at Alistair, who’d finally managed to run his opponent through. He didn’t seem to be hurt. “I owe you one.”

���What do we owe Leliana for this time?” Alistair asked, turning to join them.

Instead of answering, Aly pulled him into a bruising kiss. He grunted in surprise, but leaned into it eagerly as she sought reassurance with lips and hands. Eventually they pulled apart, panting. “You’re in one piece?” she murmured.

He grinned weakly. “Of course. You?”

Aly tried to make a show of scoffing. “Takes more than that to take me down.” Her voice was shakier than she would have liked.

Throughout the hall, various royal guards and other well armed attendees were quickly subduing the other assassins that had appeared. There was even an elderly woman in Grand Cleric’s robes calmly pulling a dagger out of an assassin’s back.

“Sodding nughumpers, is that it?” Oghren shouted. “This party was just getting fun! Where’s the ale?”

Alistair chuckled. “Glad someone’s enjoying this.”

“Your majesty, please.” That was Captain Easton of the royal guard, pulling on Alistair’s shoulder. “This room is not secure. If you would please come away…?”

Alistair looked incredulous. “Leave? Now? I can’t do that while people are hurt here!”

“Sire, we already have people-”

“His Majesty is right,” Leliana interrupted. Aly saw Alistair wince at the formal title coming from a close friend. “The assassins appear to all be dead. If the king left now, it would only start rumors that he was seriously injured or killed by this attack. It is vital that people see for themselves that this is not so. And if he is seen tending to the wounded, then it can only enhance his reputation.”

Aly didn’t need to see Alistair’s face to know that that he hated having a basic act of decency reframed in such cravenly political terms. But it worked. As Alistair went to find Wynne, Aly pulled Easton aside. “Have your men search the rafters. There was at least one man up there who’s gone now, and I didn’t see him fall-”

They all jumped as a body fell from the ceiling with a great thud. There was a very familiar looking dagger in its back. “My apologies, friend,” drawled Zevran from the rafters. “I should have anticipated something of this kind. The festivities have been making me lax.”

Aly flung out a hand to stop Easton’s lieutenant from putting a crossbow bolt in her friend. “Don’t. He’s on our side.” She looked up at Zevran. “If you get yourself killed pulling stunts like that, I’m never speaking to you again.”

He mock bowed. “So helpful. I wouldn’t dream of offending you that way my friend.”

All in all, they were stupendously lucky. No one other than the assassins had died. There were some injuries, but none were life threatening. The worst hurt was Bronwyn, who had to be carried out by two guards, but Wynne assured them she’d recover.

When most of the chapel had cleared, Aly found Alistair in the back wiping down his sword. She pulled him into another fierce kiss. When they pulled apart Alistair had a twinkle in his eye. “You know, after all that trouble, we still didn’t manage to actually get married?”

Aly blinked. “Fuck, you’re right.”

“I know. Really inconsiderate of them. They could at least have waited until we’d said our ‘I do’s. Now we’ll have to do the whole thing over again.”

Aly made a face. “Oh fuck that. Let’s go find Leliana.”

It turned out that a mere lay sister like Leliana did not have the authority to perform weddings. But she procured an Orlesian Grand Cleric from somewhere (the same one who Aly had noticed earlier dueling assassins with daggers), Alistair had Eamon gather up as many nobles as could still stand, and assembled them in the chapel.

It would probably go down as the most unconventional royal wedding in Ferelden’s history. The king and his queen-to-be standing at the altar, grinning like fools, armor looking much more well used than it had that morning. The Grand Cleric saying the ritual words, robes soaked in blood (“None of it is mine,” she had assured them.)

But it was their wedding. Aly and Alistair’s. And that was all that mattered in the end.