#thorne's writing challenge

[tessa-liam]

Snow Wars

Brothers-in-Arms Series- Prequel

🥰Thank you to @snoopdogcone for your ask - 

Prompt:  Snowball fight - Week 2 December 1st to 7th @choicesprompts 

Choices Book: The Royal Romance, pre-book #1

Series:  Brothers-in-Arms, prequel/one-shot 

Pairing: None  Warnings: none

Characters: Liam Rys, Drake Walker, Maxwell Beaumont, Leo Rys, Olivia Nevrakis, Eleanor Rys, Trystan Thorne 

Rating: Teen - All characters belong to Pixelberry

Category: angst/fluff, ask/prompt 

Words: 1.7k, not Beta’d, please excuse all errors 

A/N: A ”Brothers-in-Arms" series prequel

A/N2: Trystan Thorne - Choices, Crimes of Passion

A/N3: My submission for: choicesdecember2024; Day 10, snow; Day 30, snowball fight @lilyoffandoms

Brothers-in-Arms Series

Snow Wars, Prequel

Summary:  Liam, Drake, Maxwell, Olivia, Leo, and Trystan engage in a spirited snowball fight during their winter stay in Lythikos. What begins as a friendly challenge quickly turns into an epic battle, filled with strategy, laughter, and good-natured rivalry.  

On a crisp winter morning in Lythikos, eight-year-old Prince Liam gazed out of the frosted window of Lythikos keep. The fresh snowfall blanketed the landscape in a shimmering white, and an idea sparked in his young mind. 

 “Snow fort,” he whispered to himself, eyes lighting up with excitement. 

Rushing to his quarters, Liam rummaged through his suitcases until he found ‘The Young Adventurer’s Guide to Winter Fun’. A gift from his mother, Liam flipped through the pages, he stopped at a detailed diagram of a snow fort, complete with instructions on stacking snow bricks and carving tunnels. 

“This is perfect!” Liam exclaimed excitedly, clutching the book tightly and rushing back down the grand staircase. 

 He quickly found his best friends, nine- year-old Drake and eight-year-old Maxwell, in the keep's cozy sitting room. Drake, the practical and steady son of a palace guard, was warming his hands by the fire, while Maxwell, always brimming with energy, was busy fashioning a makeshift sled from a serving tray. 

“Who’s up for building the greatest snow fort in Cordonia?” Liam announced with a grin, holding up the book like a treasure map. 

Drake, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. “A snow fort? Isn’t that for kids?” 

“Drake, we are kids,” Maxwell chimed in, already excited. “I’m in!” 

“Looks like we have a deal,” Liam said, clapping his hands. “Let’s divide into teams!"

Olivia, sitting quietly with her hot cocoa, perked up. “I’ll be on Liam’s team!” she declared, her cheeks turning pink. At seven years old, Olivia was already fiercely loyal to Liam, even if it was mostly because she had a budding infatuation with him. 

“First,” Liam said, flipping the book open to the diagram, “we need to make snow bricks. The book says to pack snow into molds to make them strong.” 

Drake, ever the realist, crossed his arms. “Molds? We don’t have molds.” 

“Not a problem,” Liam said confidently. “We’ll use whatever we can find—buckets, pans, anything.” 

 Armed with pots, pans, and boundless enthusiasm, the three boys and Olivia ventured into the snowy expanse and trekked to the edge of the icy lake near the keep, followed by several Royal guardsmen. The air was cold and crisp, their laughter echoing as they began packing snow into their makeshift molds. 

Maxwell, already covered in snow from head to toe, announced loudly, “I’m the official Chief. Brick. Maker!” 

 Drake rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Fine but make them sturdy. No crumbling bricks.” 

Meanwhile, Olivia took charge of decorating the fort with pine branches and icicles, making it “look royal.” Adding a small Cordonian flag attached to a stick, she propped it into a turret top.

Hours passed as the boys stacked their snow bricks into walls. Liam, with the book propped open nearby, directed the construction like a young architect. Drake ensured the walls were straight and stable, while Maxwell worked on a tunnel inside the fortress walls.  

By the time the sun began to dip behind the snowy peaks of the surrounding mountains, the fort was complete. It stood tall and proud, with sturdy walls, a small entrance, and even a snowball arsenal inside. 

 “We did it!” Liam declared, his cheeks flushed with triumph. 

 Maxwell flopped onto the snow, exhausted but grinning. “This is the greatest thing we’ve ever built!” 

Drake leaned against the fort’s wall, nodding in agreement. “Not bad, Your Highness. Not bad at all.” 

 As the evening settled over Lythikos, the four friends sat inside their creation, sharing stories and sipping hot chocolate brought out by the keep’s kitchen attendants. For that moment, the snow fort wasn’t just a fort—it was their Kingdom, a place where adventure and friendship reigned supreme. 

><><>< 

 The winter sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the snow-covered grounds of the keep. Crown Prince Leo and Crown Prince Trystan of Drakovia stepped out of the black SUV, their boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow. It had been a grueling day of lessons—diplomatic protocols, strategic warfare, and a particularly tedious lecture on trade agreements—but now, finally, they were free. The sixteen-year-old young men were having military lessons at the army stronghold nearby. 

 As they walked towards the main entrance of the keep, Trystan nudged Leo with his elbow. "Looks like someone’s been busy," he said, pointing in the direction of the lake. 

Leo followed Trystan’s gaze and smirked. Beside the outline of the frozen lake stood a grand snow fort, its walls expertly packed and reinforced, with small openings that served as lookout points. Surrounding it were scattered piles of snowballs, clearly prepped for an impending battle. From behind the fort's walls, they spotted movement—Liam’s blond hair peeked out, followed by Drake’s unmistakable silhouette and they heard Maxwell’s exuberant laugh. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Leo replied with a grin. “Let’s show them why we’re the older brothers,” as they moved toward the lake. 

 Without another word, the two princes bent down, scooping up handfuls of snow to form their own ammunition. Trystan was already calculating strategy. “We’ll flank them—split up and take the high ground. They won’t know what hit them.” 

 Leo chuckled. “Or, we could just charge in and cause chaos. That’s more fun.” 

 “Chaos it is,” Trystan agreed, and with that, the battle was on. 

Behind the fort walls, Liam crouched low with Drake and Maxwell. “They’ve seen us,” Liam said, his voice tinged with excitement. “Stick to the plan.” 

 Drake, ever the strategist, nodded. “We’ve got the fort’s protection. Maxwell, you’re our wildcard. Keep them distracted.” 

 Maxwell saluted dramatically. “Distraction is my specialty.” 

As Leo and Trystan advanced, Maxwell popped up from behind the fort, holding a massive snowball. “Incoming!” he yelled, hurling it with all his might. The snowball arced through the air, landing harmlessly a few feet from Trystan, who retaliated with a well-aimed shot that splattered snow across Maxwell’s face. 

“Direct hit!” Trystan cheered. The battle began with a flurry of snowballs flying through the air. Laughter echoed across the courtyard as both teams ducked, dodged, and launched their icy ammunition. 

Leo, meanwhile, launched a barrage of snowballs at Drake, who blocked most of them with an improvised shield of snow. “That’s all you’ve got?” Drake taunted. 

 “Oh, not even close,” Leo replied, sprinting forward and scooping up more snow as he went. He hurled two snowballs at once—one hit Drake’s shoulder, the other narrowly missed Liam. 

 “Nice try!” Liam called out, popping up from his hiding spot to lob a snowball at Leo. It caught him square in the chest, leaving the older prince momentarily stunned. 

“Think we’re being challenged?” Trystan asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 “Little brother’s got a good arm!” Leo laughed, brushing snow off his coat. 

Drake proved to be an excellent snowball sniper, hitting his targets with impressive precision. Maxwell, on the other hand, turned every hit into a dramatic fall, faux-claiming to be “mortally wounded” before springing back to life. 

Olivia stuck close to Liam, her aim chillingly accurate, but her real focus on staying by his side. “Liam, watch out!” she cried, tackling him to avoid one of Leo’s well-aimed snowballs. 

“You saved me, Olivia!” Liam said with a grin. 

“Of course I did!” she replied, blushing. 

 The fight continued on with laughter echoing across the grounds. Maxwell, true to his word, caused chaos by running circles around Trystan, throwing snowballs in every direction. Drake held his ground valiantly, while Liam alternated between offense and defense, his precise throws keeping his older brother and Trystan on their toes. 

 Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the princes called a truce. They stood together in the snow, breathless and rosy-cheeked, their earlier lessons and responsibilities momentarily forgotten. 

 “Not bad, little brother,” Leo said, clapping Liam on the shoulder. “But next time, Trystan and I will bring reinforcements.” 

“Bring whoever you want,” Liam replied with a smirk. “We’ll still win.” 

As they walked back to the keep, they exchanged playful jabs and stories of their victory and near-misses. For a brief moment, they weren’t princes with the weight of kingdoms on their shoulders, or children—they were just brothers, and friends enjoying the magic of a winter’s day.

The fun came to an abrupt halt when Queen Eleanor Rys, Liam’s mother, appeared on the scene, her presence regal yet warm. 

“Liam, Leo, and everyone,” she said with a smile. “It’s time to get ready for the ribbon-cutting ceremony in the city.” 

“But we’re in the middle of a war!” Leo protested, his snowball in hand. 

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “A snowball war can wait. The people of Lythikos are expecting us, Leo.” 

“Olivia, I’d like you to join us,” Eleanor added. “I could use a young lady’s perspective.” 

Olivia’s face fell. She had been looking forward to spending the rest of the day with Liam, and the thought of being separated from him was disappointing. 

Olivia hesitated, glancing at Liam. “Do I have to?” 

Liam crouched down to her level, brushing snow off his gloves. “You’ll have fun, Liv. And I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Okay,” she mumbled, still reluctant but unable to refuse Liam’s gentle encouragement. 

A Memorable Day ...

As Eleanor led Olivia away to a waiting SUV, the others exchanged knowing smiles. “Looks like we’ll have to finish this battle another day,” Liam said. 

“Next time, we’re building two forts,” Leo declared as he ran inside to change his clothes for the ceremony.

"Or three!" Maxwell added with a laugh.

Despite the interruption, the day had already become one of those cherished childhood memories that none of them would forget. The laughter, camaraderie, and hint of youthful rivalry in the snowy dukedom of Lythikos marked the start of many more adventures to come.

'There's so many different worlds

So many different suns

And we have just one world

But we live in different ones'

❄️Thank you @sazanes @lizzybeth1986 for creating and hosting King Liam Appreciation Week✨️💖✨️ Day 5, Healing

❄️Artwork Commission by /artbyainna

@kingliamappreciationweek

@choicesprompts

@choicescommunityevents

@choicesmonthlychallenge

@choicesficwriterscreations

❄️Tags in the comments

[clone-wars-winter-challenge]

So.... Apparently I forgot to do the last poll for a week and it was only a day long..... So with that being said ..... I shall give you one more since i clearly didn't look at my post hard enough 🤦🏽‍♀️🤣

[airlockfailure]

Last Line Challenge!

I was tagged by @loverboy-havocboy and @brokenphoenix99 and this is my delayed reaction. This is from one of the perspective paths for Interitus:

Thorn clenches his fists, armor creaking as he fights to control his temper.  “That’s your man in that transport.  This is your sector.  How many troopers do you think you lost to this… meat house?” he asks. Behind his visor, Thire blinks away tears.  He shakes his head, unwilling to guess.

NPT: @seascribbling, @marbled-polecat, @gun-roswell, @thatonegreyghost

[sunnymoon-sunshine]

Another thought I’ve been having relates back to The Scorching, the history behind it, and how much of a good twist it was to throw out. I don’t know if it was planned or a convenient retcon, but it works on so many levels thanks to the themes already present. It also leads to some interesting theories.

Burn could never have been queen. The first action we see her do in the books is destroy an egg due to hatch within the next few nights. It’s cruel, and most of all, it sealed her fate. The kingdoms were founded on the blood and tears of furious mothers, broken hearted from losing their eggs and determined to keep their broods safe. Burn couldn’t have been queen, because that is not what a queen should be. Thorn takes the throne because she took over a city, created an army, and fought tooth and claw to find and save her lost dragonet, despite the odds.

Glory takes the throne because she is the dragonet who should have been cared for. She should have been seen, noticed, and saved. She wants to be queen not to have the nicest things, but because someone should care when a dragonet disappears. The first dragon she rescues is a dragonet. She is worthy because Grandeur gave up on her dragonets and her tribe, but Glory refused to give up.

Coral isn’t a good dragon; her abuses and her absolute classist nature are abhorrent. However, she is marked by her craze as she watched as so many of her daughters were crushed in their eggs. The horror of losing a child is what marks a queen, in some shape or form. Orca was not worthy of the throne, because before she even challenged her mother, she devised a way to kill every dragonet that could challenge her before they so much as crawled out of their egg.

What one truly has to wonder is when the rules changed. When did it become a rule that to become queen, there had to be a fight to the death? When did mothers find themselves pitted against daughters, sisters, nieces, all for the power of the throne she has? Who came up with the deadly challenge?

One can only wonder.

[jerzwriter]

It always starts somewhere...

This is my entry for Day one of @choicesjanuary2024 January Challenge. I hope you enjoy it!

Book: Crimes of Passion (post book 2) Pairing: Trystan Thorne x Carolina Rose Category: Fluff with a dash of angst Rating: Teen Words: 1,200 Summary: It's a tradition. A day Carolina always looks forward to, even if it's filled with bittersweet memories. But tonight, the tradition starts anew, with Trystan by her side.

Darkness had already enveloped the city as Carolina drew the curtains. Her face bright with anticipation, she gazed out her bedroom window onto the street below. There was only one thing on her mind as she mindlessly twirled the crystal flute of Chardonnay in her hand, nearly forgetting it was there. But the moment she remembered, she eagerly brought the glass to her lips, savoring the rich, oaky flavor as it swirled over her tongue, warming her more than the roaring fire ever could.

Despite the dipping temperature, she slipped off her cardigan and tossed it on a nearby chair. Eyes still focused on the freezing pavement, and she couldn't help but smile. This wasn’t the first time she had practiced this ritual; it was practically as old as she was, even its practices had been amended over the years. The ceramic mug her father bought for her when they saw Annie was no longer in her hand. The delicious aroma of the hot cocoa that had filled it was also gone, just like her father, who once sat at her side.  

The unwelcome visitor was drawing near. Sadness, reaching in and gripping her as it often did made her eyes flicker away, but she turned back with determination. No! Sadness and despair would not win today; not on a night as special as this. Her fingers traced the rim of the crystal chalice that her father had used years before. The only one she’d consider using today.

“Ves eso, Papi?” she whispered into the deafening silence. “Any moment now.”

He must have entered quietly, or perhaps she was too distracted to hear him because his breath was warm on her neck and his arms gently encircled her waist before she heard a sound. Then, she had to laugh. Was she even a detective after all?

“What will be any moment now?” Trystan whispered, brushing her hair to the side and placing gentle kisses on her freshly exposed skin. She leaned into him, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaping her as she melted into his arms. Just like that, all was right with the world.

“Mi Vida,” she smiled. “This is a very important night.”

His eyes widened for a quick moment... concerned he had forgotten an important date. Then, his expression softened as he recalled the stormy forecast.

“That’s right,” he grinned. “The first snowfall of the year.”

“Mmm hmm,” she nodded. “More importantly, our first snowfall together.”

“I see you have your father’s wine glass,” he smiled. “And the curtains are drawn, so you have everything you need.”

She gently placed the glass on the table beside her and turned to face him; her eyes lingering on his moonlit features. “At least I do now." Her lips moved toward his, claiming them as her own in warm, comforting kiss.

“Mmm-mmmh,” he simpered before playfully pulling away. “Oh, no, Lina. No way. I’ve been waiting to participate in this ritual for some time, and I will not allow you seduce me away from it.”

She strolled toward the old mahogany sideboard with a chuckle. "Oh really," she said, pouring another glass for her love. A playful smirk tugged at her lips when she placed it in his hands. “Then you’ll need this... if you plan to do it right."

He nodded with approval upon taking a sip. “This is quite good; I suppose the seduction could wait.”

“How noble of you!” Carolina teased.

“But, of course! I am a prince, after all.”

Shaking her head with delight, she fell into his arms and and Trystan tried to determine if that sound of her laughter had become his favorite melody of all. It was undoubtedly in his top three, each spot now claimed solely by his Carolina. But his body tensed as he realized her laughter had turned to tears that dampened the crook of his neck. He clasped the sides of her face, worry weighing on his features.

“Hey, hey,” he whispered, gazing into her tear-filled eyes. “Are you all right? I thought this was a happy tradition?”

“It is,” she sniffled, wiping away her tears. “But it’s different now, and it’s my first time sharing it with you.”

“Is that OK?” he asked. “If you’d rather be alone...”

“No, no!” She grabbed his hand and held it against her heart. “I’ve done this alone for years now, ever since my father died. Honestly, I never thought I'd share this with anyone else again, but now... I can't wait to experience this with you by my side.”

He pulled a chair closer to the window so they could sit without missing a thing, then motioned for her to sit on his lap. “I’m glad to hear that,” he assured. “Because there is no place I’d rather be.”

“So, how does this work?” He asked, getting down to business. “Do we do anything special while we wait?”

“Nope, we just keep watch. Whoever spots the first snowflake has to yell, ‘Look, it’s a blizzard!’ and then we share a toast.”

“A blizzard?” Trystan chuckled. “Carolina, a flake of snow does not a blizzard make.”

“Of course not, but it is how each one begins. Everything has to start somewhere, and that’s what makes it so remarkable. We watch one single snowflake fall to the earth, so innocent, so insignificant on its own, but when we wake up tomorrow the city will be blanketed in snow, and you and I will know, that it all started with that one little flake we watched together.”

She could feel him swallow as he gently turning her chin his way. “Everything starts somewhere,” he whispered. “And we never know what beautiful places it might lead.”

The world fell into slow-motion as their lips came together. The familiar, sweet taste filling their sense as everything else fell into the shadows. He pulled her closer, as her fingers ran through his hair, and the rest of the world was lost.  Neither knew how long they stayed like that, but they couldn't forget Trystan's childlike gasp when he briefly opened his eyes.

“Look," he pointed with exasperation. "It’s a blizzard!” A solitary silver flake glistened in the streetlights as it slowly twirled down to the street below. They jumped to their feet, foreheads pressed against the cold glass, unwilling to miss a moment as it descended to the earth.

“It is! It’s a blizzard!” Carolina squealed, grabbing their wine glasses to propose a toast. “It’s our first snowflake, Trystan! The first snowflake has fallen, and with it, a new chapter begins.”

“To new beginnings,” he smiled, reaching out to caress her cheek one more time before they emptied their glasses. Side by side, they watched as more flakes fell, one by one, until a whispy, barely there sheet coated the sidewalks.

“You see, it’s happening!”

“It is," he smiled. "I dare say that we will wake to that blanket of snow tomorrow."

“We will,” she beamed. "But until then, I was thinking I'd like to get under the blankets with you. Are you in?"

Trystan took Carolina in one arm, as the other hastily pulled the drapes closed, a devilish glint in his eyes.

"I am so in," he smiled. "Look at us, sharing new things every day."

"Yep," she agreed. "One day this will all be old hat... we'll be some old couple boring those around us with stories of all the blizzards we've watched begin together. Hopefully, you won't grow tired of it by then."

"Are you kidding? Each snowflake is different, no snowstorm the same... and every day is a new discovery because I fall in love with every little thing you do."

A/N: Incorporated all 3 parts of @choicesjanuary2024 Day 1, though, I cheated and didn't use the sentence as the first line! Also participating in @choicesflashfics, prompt "I fall in love with every little thing you do."

@choicesficwriterscreations Tagging others separately.

[nerrels]

🍂 What was it like the first time Rook killed someone? How did they react afterwards?

Thanks again @queenmuzz for ask! Sorry it took me forever to answer!

If sentences will sound weird, I’m not native speaker. So, that's it!

Virida Aldwir:

When Virida was 16, she was hunting with her adoptive elf father, Varalan. They were chasing some ill and/or aggressive animal. Varalan was also teaching his daughter the importance of being quick and confident with her decisions while hunting. If she has any hesitation, it could lead to more pain or worse and put someone in danger.

They separated to find this animal. While Virida was searching, she noticed an unknown thin and pale elven girl running away from someone. That “someone” was human man. Young qunari followed them. When man cornered elf girl on break, screaming at her, Virida focused and make a shot. Few seconds, man fell into river. She grabbed girl’s hand and run away, looking for her father. Together they make sure no one searching for them and got home.

Meanwhile, in safety in her home, Virida was shaken, but not upset about the kill. After all, when her parents were killed by slave traders, she could be in same position as this girl.

Nailynn Thorne:

Nailynn was 22, living her peaceful life with her clan. She never thought of harming others, even with her magic. Elf will be soon become new Keeper of her clan, after all, who will protect them from any danger. One day, when she, her girlfriend and another friend were searching for lost animals deep in the forest, trio found them blighted and next to them darkspawns. Leader of darkspawns seems like more intelligent than others. In a fight, injured Nailynn and Leader were last standing. Eventually, elf burned darkspawn, but was weak by blighted blood in her.

Hour later, Nailynn was found by two grey wardens. One of them was human and another elf from their clan. They were investigated strange darkspawns but lost their track. Wardens decide to take her and others to Warden’s post nearby and gave them a chance, at least.

After Joining ritual and finding out none of her friends survived, young mage was crushed and devastated. She wished they just run away.

Teighan Ingellvar:

Tei was 18 with their first living kill as fresh Mourn Watcher. They was patrolling, when suddenly dwarf heard screams in on of Necropolis’s halls. Coming there, Teighan saw robbers threatening young MW students. Young Mourn Watcher ask them to leave this place and return everything they stole. She gave them 3 warnings but thieves ignore them. After few swings of their maul, none of the robbers were alive. Even the ones who asked for mercy.

Despite of saving their lives, students were a little disturbed by Tei’s quite demeanor like they don’t just killed bunch of people few minutes later.

original post Woe! Rook ask game be upon ye! - link

[im-sleepingbeauty]

controversial opinion but an argument can be made for elain archeron is the muse for taylor swift’s “the bolter”

[munsonownsmyass]

Selkie! Tristan Thorn x reader

Summary: Having to move back home to help your grandfather as his health declines, your life changes forever when you meet a mysterious stranger.

Notes: This is my contribute for The Moon in May challenge and the word i chose for the first week was "shift".

Also thanks to @albatrossandivys for the idea and shoutout to @firefly-graphics for the beautiful dividers.

I had to make this an AU (and a modern one) for obvious reasons. Hope that's okay 🤣

Warnings: None? Talk of floods, ocean and seals, so maybe triggering for people with thalassophobia? Also some fluff.

Words: 2.3 K

You needed the break. Life had been so damn hard lately after the breakup that you just needed to escape. Disappear for a while. Everything back home reminded you of him, of the life that you no longer shared, so when your mother mentioned your grandparents needing help, you volunteered instantly.

The move had been easier than you thought, switching out your hectic life in Edinburgh for a quiet village on the shore. Your grandparents had lived there their whole lives, your grandfather managing the little lighthouse. Now that he had gotten sick, you had taken over much to his dismay.

But you did a good job and when you weren’t helping out at home, managing the lighthouse or reading, you often found yourself looking out over the sea. Captivated by the waves, the soothing sound finally giving your soul some much needed peace.

At the end of the day, just when the sun would start to set, you would walk along the shore. Listening to the waves gliding over the sand, feeling the breeze in your hair. You’d always loved the sea, been drawn to it for a long as you could remember.

Growing up, you had spent every summer here. Spent the days bathing in the sea, fishing by the pier. Some days you could even see the small colony of seals that lived here sunbathing on the rocks. They are still there today, curious heads breaking the surface, curious eyes following you.

Sitting down for a while, you watch them in the distance. The older seals snoozing as the young ones play, splashing in the surface. And then… there’s one of them, just standing stagnant in the water. Eyes and snout just above the surface, eyes fixed on you.

You recognize him immediately. He’s been around for as long as you have, a mere seal cub when you were a kid. He had special markings, they all did, so you could easily tell them apart. This one you call Bangs, because of the longer tuft of fur on his head. Very unusual for a seal, you’ve been told.

Actually never been up close with them, curiosity takes over and you slowly walk closer to the rocks near the pier, climbing them carefully. Bangs are still watching you, inching closer in the water as you struggle on the wet rocks. You lose your footing, falling down towards the cold water when suddenly everything goes black.

Waking up, you feel a throbbing pain in your forehead and… a hand on your cheek. Looking up, you see a man hovering over you, his hazel eyes looking at you in concern. You should be scared, screaming and wondering how you were completely alone on the beach a few minutes ago and now find yourself in the arms of the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his soft voice enveloping you like a warm embrace. He helps you sit up, eyes never leaving yours.

“I-I guess…” You groan, your body aching. You probably hit more than just your head in the fall. And then it dawns on you. You could have drowned. If this stranger hadn’t come by, you could’ve…  You look into his eyes, hazel eyes so deep you could drown in them, and shiver.

“Thank you for saving me.” You say, voice almost breaking. His hand is still caressing your cheek, the motion so soothing. He just gives you a nod in return, his fingers slowly making their way down the column of you neck, stopping to inspect the silver chain that adorns your neck. You shiver under his gaze and his touch is so timid, so curious, that you don’t even question why this stranger has no apparent knowledge of personal space.

“Of course, Mo Ghráidh.” He counters softly, eyes again finding yours. It’s odd. Somehow, you feel like you know him, feeling weirdly at peace in his embrace. His… naked embrace.

You flinch back an inch, realizing he’s sitting naked before you. “You’re naked!”

“Well, yes. I suppose I am.” He looks down, smiling when his eyes return to yours. There’s a sweet innocence over him that you can’t help but love. Which is crazy! You don’t even know this man, besides him being your savior. A beautiful, sweet and naked stranger, but a stranger, nonetheless.

“Where did you even come from?” You smile, still not sure whether all of this is a dream and in a few minutes from now you’ll wave up gasping for your life in the water.

“Oh, I come from Wall.” He smiles gently, fingers playing with a strain of your hair.

“Wall?” You huff out, almost snorting. “That’s not possible.” Everyone had heard tales of Wall. A city in England, just on the other side of the border, which had been swallowed by the unforgiving waves of the ocean hundreds of years ago. Some say there’s still ruins down there today, though now its only sea creatures residing in them.

“Christ lassie! Are you okay?” You see your grandfather walk as fast as he can down the stairs to the beach. Behind you, the water slashes as something breaks the surface and when you turn, the mysterious stranger is gone.

“I saw you fall down the rock and hit your head.” He falls to his knees with a groan, inspecting the cut on the side of your head. “We need to get this checked.”

“Where did he go?” You ask, looking between your grandfather and the ocean. All that was left of your stranger, was his footprints in the sand, disappearing into the ocean.

“Who?”

“The man.” You touch a footprint before the waves wash up and remove the last trace of your encounter. “The man who saved me.”

“I didn’t see anyone, hen. Come on.”

With some difficulty you both get on your feet, making your way back to the house. As you reach the pier, you look back towards the sea and see Bangs looking at you, his little face barely above water. His kind eyes keeping an eye on you, never leaving his spot before you reach the house.

The next week you find yourself looking out over the ocean more than before, wondering if you could catch the stranger walking around on the beach. You had even borrowed some books at the local library about Wall, feeling silly as you skimmed through the pages as if they could give you an answer. When a few weeks had passed, you had given up hope of seeing him again, boiling it all down to the head trauma.

Distracted by some seal cups playing in the ocean, you barely notice the footsteps beside you, until someone sits down beside you. With a smile, you greet the stranger, relieved that he was in fact real and not just a figment of your imagination.

“Hello again.” He smiles softly, mimicking you by swinging his legs out over the pier, letting them dangle like yours. You instantly see that he is less naked this time, a pair of worn trousers hanging low on his hips.

“You’re not naked this time.” You say, seeing how his cheeks flush red.

“No. You… You didn’t seem to like it.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like it. You’re very han-” You stop, closing your book before looking at him again. “It didn’t bother me, but thanks.”

He looks down at your book, his fingers running along the spine, tracing the delicate letters. “What is it?”

“My book?” You question, smiling wide when you see his curious nod. You show him the front page, watching as his eyes go wide in wonder. “It’s Treasure Island.”

“It’s about the sea?” He looks at the cover, captured by the little pirate ship on the blue waters.

“No. Well, sort of.” You giggle softly, giving him the book to hold. “It’s about a young man named Jim Hawkins who finds a treasure map, so he goes on a journey to find it. On his journey he meets this pirate called Long John Silver.”

“Could… could you tell me the story?” He asks, his wide puppy like eyes staring into yours, making it impossible to say no. So that’s what you do. Over the next few days, you meet the stranger, who you’ve come to know as Tristan and read to him. Every day around sunset you sit on the pier, Tristan listening as you tell the tale. In between, he asks questions, and you ask yours in return.

There’s much you don’t know about him, but as the days go by you get closer to Tristan, feeling yourself drawn to him. Thinking about him when he’s not there. Such a kind and warm soul, his smile always brightening your days and the small fleeting touches sending shivers through you. You know you shouldn’t, but you feel yourself falling for him.

“You spend so much time looking out over the water, I’m fearing you’ll get lost in it.”

You tear your eyes away from the waves to find your grandfather standing next to you, leaning on the railing. For some time, you just stand there silently, listening to the waves.

“I just-” You start, but don’t even know what to tell him. That you meet Tristan every day and you believe he lives in the ocean? He’d have you admitted to a psych ward in no time. “Could you tell me about Wall again?”

“Hen, I’ve already-” He looks to you, seeing the quiet plea in your eyes. He just sighs, pointing out over the water. “Hundreds of years ago, there was no ocean here. Instead, just on the other side of the border, was the small town of Wall.”

“According to the stories, it was a wonderful place. But sadly, one day, the entire town was swallowed by the sea.” He pauses, nudging your shoulder before pointing over at the small colony of seals on the rocks. “Legend has it there was magic surrounding the place, turning all the inhabitants of Wall into Selkies.”

“Selkies?” You frown, looking at the seals. “So… seals?”

“No, no, Hen. A selkie is a creature that can shed its seal skin and become human.” He states, laughing when he sees the disbelief on your face. “Aye, it may be old folk tales, but stories of the selkies have been around for hundreds of years. They are rumored to be so beautiful in their human form, that we can’t resist them.”

He talks a little more, but you don’t hear a word. It couldn’t be real, could it? This had to be tales for children, dreamers. Your grandfather had always been a little superstitious, so you weren’t even that surprised that he’d believe something like this.

When he leaves you alone once more, you sit down on the pier, looking at the seals. Just below your feet, you see Bangs break the surface, his big eyes finding yours. With your grandfather’s tale still fresh in your memory, you just smile at Bangs.

“So tell me, Bangs… Are you really a selkie?” You giggle, feeling silly. But when you see him nod, you freeze. Wait, did he nod? No, you’re just imagining things. “Did you just nod?”

Raising his head just a little more above water, he nods again and… smiles at you? Okay, it’s official. You’ve lost your mind. You’re talking to a seal.

“Right… Okay…” You say as you get up and walk away, muttering under your breath how you must be tired and this is all just results of banging your head all those weeks ago. But at a large thud, you stop, feeling the wood vibrate under your feet.

You turn around to find Bangs on the pier, never truly realized just how big seals are. Or is it just him? Taking a few steps closer, you timidly close the distance to him. in the next second, he rises to his feet and if it weren’t for the railing, you would have fallen into the sea again.

Gently, like shedding a coat, the beautiful grey fur falls away, making way for human skin. There in front of, naked as the first time you met him, is Tristan with a pile of seal fur at his feet. If you hadn’t just witnessed it yourself, you’d have thought you had gone mad. Well, maybe you had.

“Y-you’re a-a selkie?” you stutter, frozen in place. Tristan just smiles, stepping closer to you, leaving the seal skin behind him.

“Yes. Please don’t run away.” He steps closer, gently taking your hand in his. His beautiful hazel eyes find yours as he closes the distance further, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that makes you shiver.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for years, but I was afraid you’d never speak to me again.”

You reach out to touch him with trembling fingers, your hand lands on his chest. Somehow, you still need to feel him to know he’s real.

“I’ve watched over you for years, missing you when you weren’t here.” His free hand reach for a loose strain of your hair, tugging it gently behind your ear. “Waiting for the day I was brave enough to tell you.”

And it’s true. For a long as you can remember, he has been there. Always watching on the rocks, swimming playfully by your side whenever you’ve ventured into the ocean. Like a guardian angel, making sure you were safe.

“Would… Would it be okay if I kissed you?” He asks nervously, almost as if he expects you to say no. And you should, because of what he is. There are a million questions in your mind about how you could make this work, but every thought is drowned out as he looks into your eyes.

The whispered ‘yes’ barely leaves your lips before he kisses you, the touch of his lips as sweet as him. But the sweetness soon gives way to a hunger like you’ve never known before. Tristan has ignited something in you, a fire only he can soothe. And just like that your fate is sealed.

Tagging: @itwasthereaminuteago @e-dubbc11 @mattmurdocksscars @lavenderursa @yarrystyleeza

[theblackphoenixwritings]

-𝙒𝙝𝙮?- -𝙈𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙪𝙨 & 𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙚

The crackling of the fire in the fireplace had been the only company Marius had longed for during that long and busy week.A curious contrast that of the noise of the fire, almost cheerful, with the silence of the snow falling outside, enveloping everything for several days now. That isolation was born out of his loyalty to his duty. He could not regret setting it aside for, he had to admit to himself, quite some time. That time had been filled by love and tenderness, by being close again to those he loved. It had been an intense and happy few weeks, Armand remaining always by his side, proud and devoted, his eyes full of love, Daniel who like Armand, never left Marius and was always there ready to offer his support and love. Thorne who despite being at least as busy as Marius, always found time to go to Marius to spend time together. And Lestat and Avicus, dear Zenobia, and Teskhamen.Marius had finally felt at peace and though he feared even to utter, within himself that word, happy.

Now the clutter in that room was a testament to his stubbornness, there were too many matters that had been left unfinished, too many things unfinished or to be corrected, and it was his specific duty to remedy and set things right. The desk was buried with pages and pages, written in elegant handwriting, open and closed books arranged one on top of the other, there were also ancient scrolls, photos and reports, documents about the activities of the immortals, law requests and drafts to be checked and finished, even complaints and stories and testimonies collected in order to give more attention to problems that might arise among the immortals. On the majestic ruby-red carpet that reached from the foot of the desk to the large bed, were scattered sketch pads, and sheets with barely drawn drafts, others finished, pencils and brushes, oil pastels and canvas boards. There was also the design of the large mural to be finished and checked, and it had to be harmonious throughout, it had to remember their history and their protagonists and pass it on.

All those studies were important and needed to be created with care and attention and then be supportive of the final project. Marius observed that confusion and sighed, resting his face in his hands. As his thoughts followed that chaos unable to make sense of how he had managed to create such a mess, gentle but firm knocks made themselves heard at his door. After a moment Thorne's gentle face peeped out, Marius smiled happily, leaning against the back of the large carved fine wooden stool, and with a wave of his hand invited his best friend in. He was always happy to see and talk with Thorne, was glad to see that he was well after recent events, glad in a way Marius could not give words to.

He knew, however, that Thorne, more than anyone else had made Marius' words his own, and between them it was often no longer necessary to use them. They understood each other with their look at each other, their friendship had become a deep and unbreakable bond. "Are you well? Do you need anything?" asked Marius as Thorne sat down in front of him. " It's strange I had come here, just to ask you these very questions. You are greatly missed." replied Thorne, settling into the red velvet armchair.

"I know I've beennot much present lately, but all this mess, it must lead me to put things in perspective and be able to support this court in every way. I have been putting this off and now I have to put it in order. You are always in my thoughts, even if I am not there with you." Marius knew that might sound like a weak excuse, but Thorne was as devoted to that family as Marius was and knew well that some things took time and detachment. " I just wish you would remember that you are no longer alone. We're here if you need a hand. And certainly we are not senators from ancient Rome, but we are here for you, and you know how precious you are to us. What I mean is that you can lean on me as well as Daniel and Armand and all the others who love you. Remember that you can share any burden or thought with us." Thorne, wanted Marius to be ready to accept that those who loved him were ready to be his support; he was no longer alone.

" Well it seems that even these gods, in whom I do not believe, somehow blessed me. Who knows maybe it was just your Thor." said Marius, with bright eyes and a gentle smile. " Why?" asked Thorne puzzled. He did not see what the gods could have to do with his words. " Because he has given me a friend who has the heart to listen to me when I speak, to see me when I am dejected, to walk by my side when I go astray, to show me the way with his presence, for the gift of his presence and his love. For I have found a friend and a brother, for I have never had one in my immortality, not so close to my heart, not so pure and strong in his friendship toward me." It was Thorne's turn to smile and have his eyes glaze over. " Whether this is because of the gods or a higher will, it matters little, but my will to stand by your side is unchanged and ever faithful."

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than difficult philosophical questions

I heard somewhere that X-1 is one of the hardest X missions in UtK1, and having just beaten X-2 on my second try with no particular strategy, I think that's probably accurate.

Also, using healing touch in UtK1 is supposed to give you an automatic C-rank, but I got a B-rank in X-2 even tho I used healing touch. Turns out that fandom wikis are indeed full of lies.

[nursal1060writes]

Summary:

Tamlin has been tortured and imprisoned while Feyre is performing her trials.

Rhysand sneaks off to see the High Lord who has fallen so low - and reminisce about who they used to be.

[clone-wars-winter-challenge]

Another week, another "what clone am I thinking of?" Here is your hints:

This clone loves a good time and is always down to try something new. He is known to get into trouble from time to time because he almost never says no to a new adventure. So when you tell him about ice skating, at night, in the park under Christmas lights while snowing... It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen but it's also the best time of your lives doing something new together. (Even if he does break his leg while trying to do a triple axle spin 🤦🏽‍♀️)

[merryfortune]

Every Rose Has Its Thorns

Written for the 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt :#59 Rose

Title: Every Rose Has Its Thorns

Ship: Dorothea/Manuela 

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Word Count: 3,690

Rating: T

Tags: Student/Teacher Relationship, Age Difference, Crushes, Unrequited Pining, Kissing, Academy Phase, Crimson Flowers

   The assignment was deceptively simple, Dorothea realised now in horror.

   Professor Byleth had assigned the class a task to teach them magic - and to teach them to appreciate how beautiful and complex magic was at all. How enchantment worked and how with just a flick of a wrist, they controlled the elements. Of which, when it came to magic, regardless of it it followed the convention of Reason or Faith, there were obvious elemental types belonging to either category. Those elements being ice, light, dark, wind, fire, and thunder.

   However, there was also the oft ignored type of anima. 

   Anima was just there, or so Professor Byleth described. Anima was the rhythm of the natural world like the seasons, or the beauty of the moon and the sound of waterfalls. Anima was the name given to the little gifts from the Goddess, or so the religious amongst them would say but since Professor Byleth was very much, not that led to the assignment.

   Professor Byleth asked the class if they could tap into the mundane anima that they saw within the world and create a new spell from it. 

   The spell didn’t have to be something like Meteor, Professor Byleth said and so gave the example of simply learning how to enchant a teacup so its contents would never grow lukewarm. Discussion throughout the classroom also yielded some ideas in vein of what Professor Byleth was trying to convey.

   Lindhardt came up with an idea of a pillow which was always cold. Ferdinand wondered if it were possible to lead a horse to water using this form magic. And Bernie wondered if she could use it to make a form of invisible ink. Professor Byleth applauded all their creativity and said that the homework would no doubt be a delight to mark at the end of the month.

   With all that as inspiration, Dorothea came up with her own idea: she would create a spell which would manipulate when roses bloomed. Seemed easy enough.

  (Wrong)

   She felt drawn to the idea of utilising anima magic and since she was never too far from the rose gardens, of course the fancy tickled. So tada. With a little bit of elbow grease and borrowing some recommendations from the bookworms in the other classes - namely Lysithea and Annette - Dorothea was well on her way to crafting her spell.

   It took her three weeks of research but she did it.

   She dubbed the resulting spell “Virgo” and upon testing it, it worked.

   In the privacy of her room in the dormitories, Dorothea had her set-up ready. She had a vase slender enough to fit only one rose and Dorothea had selected the most premature rose she could find from amongst the bushes. A rosebud days old and shy, the colouration of the petals was a scant peach. Dorothea was certain that with her spell, this rose would bloom and darken in colour.

   Only one way to find out.

   With the assignment due next week, Dorothea was nervous. She really didn’t have the time to scrap this project and start over if it was a failure. She sat in her seat, straight-backed and exhaled nervously. She concentrated on the rose then spoke.

   “Virgo.”

   The name of the spell tingled on her lips as excitement followed the sensation. She watched, eyes widening in gleeful disbelief, was the rose began to mature and bloom. The colour deepened to a warm pink as the rosebud opened, flowering, as Dorothea’s heart raced.

   She squealed, lost in her success. 

   Dorothea plucked the rose from the vase and held it close to her breast. She inhaled its divine scent and savoured the softness of its petals as she nuzzled against it. Anyone would be fortunate to receive it as a gift, a perfect specimen of its species, and anyone would be fortunate to receive it as a gift from Dorothea.

   Though she had no illusions of getting lost in the fleeting reverie.

   Her crush was ill-advised though it would be a dream, nonetheless, to gift that person with roses. The Goddess knows she deserved them and every accolade. In her youth, she was showered with roses in endless flurries at the end of her awe-inducing shows. She would have received plenty of bouquets in her time and so, another rose from an adoring fan would not be special - even if that fan was Dorothea.

   Her feelings would always be cut short and dismissed, Dorothea was well aware.

   Yes, that person Dorothea was thinking of as she held this rose was none other than Manuela Casagranda.

   Dorothea sighed dreamily as she indulged this peculiar and romantic reverie. One in which she was the heroine and Manuela was her love interest, how she had admired her from afar and did her best to blossom into a young woman befitting the diva’s legacy. She was the next generation but she did not believe that the emblem of the near past, of fame and glory turned dulled, could slip through her fingers so quickly. 

   To her, Manuela was very much still in her prime and if only Dorothea could convince her of her worth and beauty that she had at present, not just her glorious and illustrious past. 

   Perhaps a rose would suffice. More likely than not, it would not.

   Dorothea opened her eyes and she inhaled that lovely smell of a fully bloomed rose. Her skin prickled as she had more than just a heart palpitation of the sensations of her crush. She, akin to the rose she was holding, became adorned with thorns.

   Small, tiny thorns, over and up and around her slender arms.

   Dorothea squeaked in horror as she felt it, how they rose from her skin not that differently to hair. She dropped the rose in her fright as she tried to fathom how such a thing could occur, the green-black, hooked pricks of what were undeniably thorns. 

   Her eyes went wide and her heart raced. Dorothea tried to pluck them off herself but they were too sharp. A pearl of blood welled up, round and shiny, on her pointer finger and her heart stopped. That was more than enough to send her into a fit over this.

   Having just pricked from merely attempting a removal of these vile thorns from off her flesh, Dorothea desperately looked around, the rose on the cobblestone pavers of her floor utterly forgotten. Even trampled as she tried to find gloves, tweezers, shears, anything! Surely she had something stashed in her room to help.

   A frantic search did, in fact, yield tweezers.

   Her fingers went fuzzily numb as she carefully removed the thorns one by one from off her arm. There were dozens of them and she collected them on her table, a bead of sweat on her brow as she prayed to the Goddess that this was one time deal. A self-inflicted curse, a fluke, anything. 

   She stared at her pile of now removed thorns. The sight of them disgusted her. Thus, she was quick to get rid of them and throw herself at study. There had to be a way to fix this, even so close to her assignment.

   She didn’t care what it took. Just long as it got her top marks in her assignment. 

   There was no turning back to close to the due date, after all.

   She became convinced that she hadn’t studied properly. That she had missed something. That the manifestation and enchantment had been off somehow. It was just meant to be a small, simple thing but she became so reviled by it, she had to fix it immediately.

   After all, once was an accident and twice was a pattern, isn’t that how it went? Dorothea wasn’t too sure, she wasn’t some scientist like Hanneman or any of the proteges who took after him but she did try again after hitting the books some more. This time, the day before the assignment was due. She tried again and voila.

   No thorns.

   Just a pretty flower where there had been a bud before.

   Crisis averted.

   Or so Dorothea thought.

   Pre-class nerves had Dorothea jittering. Even though she was no stranger to stage fright, this was something else since she had the mixed results from her experiment in the back of her mind. But she was determined - convinced - the second attempt was the real one, not the first one. Nevertheless, she spoke stiltedly through polite small talk with her fellow students as they waited one by one for Professor Byleth to test them. Solo style, just like they would if they were to take a proficiency test to change classes.

   Then Professor Byleth called her name and Dorothea put on her most grandiose smile. She had this. She flicked her hair off her shoulder and forcibly eliminated all nerves from within her.

   “Greetings, Professor.”

   “Dorothea.” Professor Byleth returned her unusually jovial salutations and then arched an eyebrow. “What are you going to present to me for the assignment?”

   “A rose, of course.”

   Dorothea winked at Professor Byleth, who rolled their eyes and simply wrote down “rose” since that was all the information Dorothea had given them so far.

   “Begin when you like.” Professor Byleth told Dorothea once preparations were complete.

   “Thank you, professor.” Dorothea replied and whew.

   She felt nervous again. Even though she was satisfied with her practice. It was fine. It was totally and completely fine. She forcibly shut down thoughts that meandered anywhere near the malfunctions of her spell. She was confident nothing would go wrong as she set up her exhibition.

   Dorothea glanced around the room. The familiar four walls, the boring study materials, the door ajar. She exhaled with confidence as she placed her rose then stepped back.

   She closed her eyes. She visualised the blooming of the red rose, the bud that was swathed tightly in its petals. 

   “Virgo.” Dorothea said and invoked her homebrewed incantation once more.

   For the final time. 

   Thinking that felt good. It emptied her mind and when she opened, the first thing she saw was…

   Manuela.

   She looked past where she had set down her rose in a vase to the hallway. She could only see a snippet of it but she would know that dress anywhere and the accompanying sound of high heels.

   Virgo. Her spell worked but a little too well. The flower bloomed as it should but her arms became spurred with countless, green thorns. She could feel them grow and prick her skin, it was a nauseating feeling, Dorothea thought as she was subject to these horrors once more.

   “Uh, Dorothea…?” Professor Byleth prompted her. “I think it's a good idea if you go see Manuela after class.”

   Dorothea stiffened as she looked over her arms in horror. Sure enough, she had sprouted countless thorns up and down her arms. She could heard the other students outside begin to whisper. Her cheeks burn.

   “And my grade professor?” Dorothea asked, cuttingly, anything to change the subject.

   “Pass. With flying colours, congratulations.” Professor Byleth said. “Now, you are dismissed.”

   “Thank you, professor.” Dorothea said and she could not flee the classroom soon enough.

   She felt embarrassment burn her up from the inside out. Her arms erupted with more spines the more she rotated the awkward moment in which her spell went awry more and more in her mind. She stomped off, in a hurry, down the halls and let her peers speculate.

   She barged into the infirmary with tears in her eyes, “Manuela, I need help.” she announced.

   Manuela could have jumped out of her skin but she was quick to act. She was nothing if not professional when she was alert and sober. Even if she hadn’t been expecting a student. It was fortunate that she had been headed back from a stock re-supply at the markets when she had walked past Professor Byleth’s classroom enroute to her infirmary.

   “With what- oh.” Manuela’s expression went from one extreme, confusion,  to the opposite, of complete benevolence.

   She directed Dorothea to a bed and Dorothea accepted. It looked soft and like the perfect place to sulk whilst Manuela got ready to treat her patient. Thorns! How very unusual yet quite fitting for a splendid rose like Dorothea, how very curious.

   And just one in quite a lot string of incidents, actually.

   Manuela sighed as she fussed around, “I’m not surprised to see you in my infirmary, Dorothea. Seems a lot of the Black Eagles have made it into my midsts as of late. I’ll have to have a word with Professor Byleth about this assignment…”

   “Y-Yeah…” Dorothea quietly agreed, chewing on the syllables of her slang.

   She felt like a child. A silly, stupid child and she hated it. She tucked her knees under her chin as she sat in the bed, upright in the foetal position, back to the wall. Her arms were taut as she hugged herself, the spines of the thorns on prominent display as her skin prickled around them in embarrassment.

   “I’ve seen Caspar, Ferdinand, Linhardt, and even Bernadetta recently.” Manuela nattered. “So, suffice to say, this experiment is a failure.”

   She continued to busy herself with choosing ingredients for the salve she wanted to make. Dorothea watched, her cheeks hot. This was not where she wanted to be right now. She’d had her fair share of doctor-patient fantasies involving Manuela and they most certainly did not involve being in actual pain.

   “There we go, not long now, I’m almost ready, thank you for your patience, Dorothea.” Manuela said as she began to grind something into a paste using her mortar and pestle.

   “No problem.” Dorothea replied through gritted teeth. She winced every time there was a loud sound.

   Manuela turned around and tada. She had a freshly made… something. Dorothea couldn’t begin to identify it - eye of newt, perhaps? - but it smelt foul and had to be applied directly to her arms, that much was for sure.

   “It’ll only sting a bit.” Manuela lied.

   Dorothea hazarded a smile and allowed herself to be painted with the goop. She opened up, sat properly on the bed rather than like a petulant egg then offered her arm up to Manuela. She was at the ready with a brush as she held the mortar in her other hand.

   Inside the mortar was the salve. It was somewhere between grey and green in colour with a crunchy look to it. Manuela gave it a final swish with her brush and then applied it to Dorothea. It was cold the way peppermint was cold, with a spicy twinge beneath that frozen snap. It left a burning after-effect in its downward wake as Manuela painted her but Dorothea didn’t complain. She had experienced worse than a little sting.

   “You're handling this well.” Manuela observed and she glanced up at Dorothea who bore the stormy pout of an adolescent younger than she was. Manuela sighed. “Which leads me to believe that this is not your first time discovering this side effect of your spell.”

   There was a pause before Dorothea finally nodded and admitted, “Yes, this isn’t the first time.”

   “I thought so.” Manuela replied, understanding. Her brushwork was immaculate, swooping in and out around the various thorns.

   “Plucking them out didn’t work, quite clearly.” Dorothea cursed herself.

   “It happens.” Manuela consoled her. “Did you at least get a good grade, was it worth it?”

   “I did actually.” Dorothea replied, perking up slightly. Though that only answered half of Manuela’s question.

   Manuela hummed thoughtfully and Dorothea let her finish. 

   She used up all the paste that she had made. She used half of it on Dorothea’s first arm and the other half on the second. Manuela was delicate as she made sure that not an inch of Dorothea’s skin was bare by the end of it. Though the paste did dry in and magically disappear afterwards, taking the thorns with them. The thorns shrivelled up and fell away before disintegrating.

   “There we go.” Manuela said at the end of a job well done.

   It had even begun to put a smile on Dorothea’s lips again, “Thank you, Manuela.”

   “You're welcome.” Manuela replied.

   Dorothea flashed a smile and she began to get restless. She had been fondled up and down her arms by Manuela for the past half an hour or so, and she was still feeling overly dramatic over the error of her spell so she was ready to go. She tried to get up but Manuela reached out and stopped her. Gently. So that her fingers slipped over Dorothea’s smooth, dinless arms. Neither hair nor thorn on them, now.

   Just the crinkle of the paste.

   “Hold it, missy.” Manuela warned her.

   “What?” Dorothea asked.

   Manuela frowned, “Don’t sass me.” she scolded Dorothea. “My word, something has gotten into you today. I suspect it's more than just your homework.”

   “Sorry…” Dorothea mumbled.

   “I need to know for future reference, should another student’s spell go awry like this… What was the trigger?” Manuela asked. “I can take a few educated guesses but I would like to confirm my hunch.”

   Dorothea felt a flicker of lightning through her: the retribution of the Goddess, she would think. It made her stiffen and her heart stop. And Manuela noticed all of her micro-reactions.

   “Well, you know… The usual stressors.” Dorothea replied, inelegantly dancing around the truth but not outright lying.

   “Uh-huh…” Manuela chewed on her reply.

   “Roses are, of course, quite symbolically loaded.” Dorothea replied. 

   Manuela’s brown eyes were discerning. Her countenance turned severe. She was always in opposition of Dorothea as a figure of authority and yet, that’s what Dorothea found attractive. Right up until she was reminded that she was just a subject below Manuela, feelings entirely one-sided. Her mouth dried and she absent-mindedly scratched her arms, still feeling where the paste was and where the thorns had once grown.

   She could almost feel them grow once more but Manuela’s balm was too good for her. She was cured now.

   “It might be that thinking about a certain someone… The ideas get crossed and the spell backfires.” Dorothea explained.

   Her voice trailed off and Manuela’s expression softened. She smiled, delighted. Though delighted like only a gossip could be delighted.

   “Well?” Manuela asked. “Who’s the lucky guy?” Then she blinked, embarrassed because she had put her foot in her mouth. “Or… girl. I know you are, uh, inclined both ways.”

   Dorothea felt her stomach squirm and her palms sweat. This was not how she had imagined this moment going. Sure, it happened in the infirmary sometimes in her daydreams and other times, it did involve plentiful amounts of roses but this reality was far too awkward and flat.

   Yet confess was exactly what she did.

   “You.” Dorothea murmured.

   “Uh… pardon?” Manuela malfunctioned. “Come again?”

   “I said. You.” Dorothea kept her voice down but her repetition was louder than a murmur.

   Repeating her confession out loud, however, still did not compute with Manuela as Dorothea found herself blushing rose red. Her heart was beating hard and fast, like she had just completed a solo for an audience of a thousand and yet. It was just Manuela who was somewhere between refusing to listen and refusing to believe that it were possible for someone like Dorothea to hold a candle for her.

   But it was.

   It really was.

   Dorothea admired Manuela with all her heart and soul. Her beautiful voice, her quaffed hair, her angular cheekbones, the way she felt like home no matter the scene or stage, whether it was the opera or the academy or the infirmary. She truly meant the world and more to Dorothea. How was she to not fall in love with such a woman, a force of nature if only she could see?

   “Please.” Dorothea insisted with eyes which were welling up with tears.

   “I know.” Manuela sighed wearily. “I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been there, done that. Pined for someone older than me and trust me, my sweet, it is a path that doesn’t end well for either of them.”

   She reached out her hand and caressed Dorothea’s face. She felt sparks in the pads of Manuela’s fingertips. She was so soft and gentle and ultimately, bittersweet. As was the expression which tugged on Manuela’s made-up face. Dorothea remained pleading and petulant, however, resistant to the wisdom that Manuela felt and was trying to bestow upon her as the closest reward she could get for bravely confessing her feelings.

   “I’m sorry,” Manuela told her, “I don’t feel the same way but just know, you would be good fortune to anyone to have, rich or poor, old or young, male or female. Please, my dear, keep looking, you will find someone who deserves you.”

   Manuela leaned in and pressed a familial kiss onto the middle of Dorothea’s forehead. Through her lips and lipstick, Manuela could feel the throb of Dorothea’s pulse and practically taste all the thoughts running through her head. She held Dorothea’s face steady.

  “I understand, Professor.” Dorothea replied brusquely, her heart broken.

   “I’m glad,” Manuela whispered as she pulled back, she felt a ribbon of Dorothea’s tears slide down over her hand as she cupped Dorothea’s cheek, “now be good, stay out of mischief, and keep on top of your studies. I don’t want to see any more thorns marring you.”

   “Understood.” Dorothea said.

   She shifted and squirmed, and Manuela kept her hand in place until Dorothea finally slipped away. The warmth of her was fleeting, turning to cold. Even Dorothea could feel the ice that she was exuding and as she stood up, she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.  As though she, too, were cold. Her bare arms felt cakey underneath her palms but it was just the after sensation. The paste that it had absorbed yet smooth as no longer was she prickly with thorns.

   “See you later, Dorothea.” Manuela called out to her as she began to leave.

   Dorothea turned around, at least briefly, to nod in acknowledgement of Manuela telling her goodbye but that was it. She excused herself wordlessly, feeling like a trampled rose.

[redrobinhoods]

knife to the throat | Febuwhump 2023

CW: Character Death

Summary: Thorn checks in on a Corrie patrol

A/N: Have a scene from my next fic… as a treat.

AO3 Link | Febuwhump Index

Thorn stormed into the offices of the Coruscant Guard like a hurricane.

He watched a shiny flinch out of the corner of his eye as he walked past, kama beating at his sides, to shove open the door to Fox’s office.

Fox barely glanced up at him, waiting for the door to close before he spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s my lieutenant?”

“He’s on patrol.” Fox set down the datapad to turn his gaze towards Thorn. “I asked him to take command of Kilo’s route in his absence.”

“His leg-”

“Is nearly healed. You’re such a mother hen, Thorn.”

Thorn’s shoulders shook as he heaved in a long breath. “Where are they?”

“Thorn.” Fox sighed even as he brought up his comm to transfer the coordinates. “You can’t…” He let his words trail off, brows lowering into concern.

“Can’t what, Fox?” Thorn’s comm chimed as it received the message. “Protect him?”

He knew Fox wouldn’t argue against that, wouldn’t dare go head-to-head with the subject.

“I’m just going to check on them.” Thorn said, biting back the anger in his voice. “Routine inspection.”

“You’re going to scare the shit out of Kilo’s men is what you’re going to do. They’re all terrified of you.”

Thorn shrugged as he turned towards the door. “Good.”

-

Thorn found the squad’s speeder with ease, leaving his own beside it.

It had been a few weeks since he’d ventured into the underbelly of Coruscant and he took a few moments to look at the planned route before disembarking the speeder. He’d intersect them, perhaps join them for the remainder of the route. How Thire would roll his eyes at him, echoing Fox’s ‘mother hen’ comments. It was better than the alternative scenario that smothered his thoughts.

It only took a few moments to calculate their approximate location in his head, a few more to decide where to meet the route and backtrack to ensure he didn’t miss them.

Then Thorn was off.

He had been following the patrol’s route for ten minutes without sign of them when he heard a scuffling in an alleyway. When his head turned, he caught a flash of Coruscant red as one of the clone troopers fell away from the assailant, shield falling to the ground.

Thorn moved into the alley, drawing the blaster at his side.

He regretted the action when it caused the clone trooper standing behind the trandoshan to pause, his helmet snapping towards Thorn to assess the potential new threat. Before Thorn could fire his blaster, the trandoshan had turned, grabbing the clone and tugging him before him.

Two of the three troopers already lay on the ground. The one at the trandoshan’s feet still stirred, his hand resting on the bloodying wound at his side. The other lay unmoving at Thorn’s feet, his helmet at an extreme angle.

Thorn felt sick to his stomach at the realization that he couldn’t tell the three men apart. Not when their armor was the same age and freshly repainted.

The trandoshan ripped off the clone’s helmet, flinging it to the ground with enough force for the plastoid to shatter as he brought the knife to his throat.

Thorn’s hands didn’t shake as he kept the blaster pointing forward. “Let him go.”

The trandoshan hissed and spoke as he began to draw the knife along the clone’s throat. “Let this be a lesson not to interfere-”

Thorn fired. The shot found its way to its target, his eye, and the trandoshan fell backwards. The clone in his hands fell forwards onto his knees, grasping at his throat.

“This is Commander Thorn calling for medics,” Thorn commed the Coruscant Rescue Ops as he rushed to his brother’s side. “Three men down with critical injuries.”

He knelt down beside the clone, reaching for the bacta at his side. His stomach turned when he realized it would be useless but still pressed it from the tube into his hands as he brought the man down into his lap.

“Look at me, look at me.” Thorn said as he replaced his brother’s hand with his own, smearing the bacta into the gaping wound. “I’ve got you.”

Thorn spared a glance over his shoulder to the man behind him, who had found his own bacta tube, and turned back to the man before him. He knew that Rescue Ops wouldn’t make it in time, not as each breath his brother took gargled in his throat.

Thorn removed his helmet to meet his brother’s gaze. He fought down the nausea in his stomach at the fear it contained as the man fought to breathe.

“It’s okay, you can rest.”

The man’s eyes widened and he shook his head, Thorn’s hand slipping from the blood running down his neck.

“Look at me,” Thorn said again softly, taking the man’s blood covered hand in his own. “You can let go. No one will ever hurt you again. You’ve done your duty.”

The man shook his head, chest heaving as he struggled for each breath.

There was an ache in Thorn’s chest as he pressed his forehead to the man’s own, cradling him. He didn’t even know his name, but he could feel tears welling in his eyes as he grasped the man’s hand. Had things been different, it could’ve been Thire he was holding now. Perhaps Thire was already dead. But he couldn’t withdraw from the man before him, couldn’t let him die alone as so many men had on Geonosis.

He let the gathering tears fall as his brother stilled with his last breath. He couldn’t bring himself to rise, couldn’t bear the odds he was about to face as to who lived or died.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder before the man’s weight fell against him with a groan of pain.

Thorn let his hand fall from the dead man’s throat, reaching his arm around to support the brother that had come to him, bringing him into his side.

The man let his head fall upon Thorn’s shoulder with a sigh. “We need to randomize the patrol routes. He was waiting for us.”

Thorn leaned his head against Thire’s, guilt rising in his chest at the utter relief he felt that two other men had died and not him. “Are you okay?”

Thire gave him a quiet hum in response that was nearly drowned out by the sound of the approaching speeders.

Thorn let go of the dead man’s hand to usher over the medics, giving Thire’s shoulder a squeeze before letting them take him. The guilt of his relief threatened to pull him under, but Thorn pushed it down as the Coruscant Rescue Ops took over the scene.

[lgvalenzuela]

They appeared sometimes around the Lighthouse, violets. Rook would just laugh and put them in little vases or maybe teacups. Yet he would catch him sometimes looking at them with an uncharacteristic melancholy.

That day (Night? Hard to tell it was always sunny in the Lighthouse) he wasn't sleeping, as usual. He just needed to open the door to get the smell of a good Antivan coffee, that was freshly done at the kitchen table. Rook was sitting at the table, with a book, but he wasn't reading, he was just staring at a little violet he was fiddling with his fingers.

Lucanis took the coffee and inhaled the aroma before taking a sip, for a tea lover Rook was remarkably good at making a good cup of coffee. He approached the kitchen counters, may as well repay the gesture by making something he knew Rook would like, even if that something was tea.

He placed the cup of tea next to Rook and sat down to enjoy his own drink. Rook chuckled:

“You didn't have to” he said, with a smile

“But you did?” he asked

“I figured, since you were probably going to be awake anyway”

He leaned back on his hand, trying not to look tired, but it had been a while since he last slept. If anyone could tell that, it was Lucanis.

He was impossible to figure out that Rook. Ever since he broke him out of the Ossuary he could see it, behind the charming smile and the pleasant dialogue. Rook did not like him. Or more accurately he probably didn't like the Crows. He would catch glimpses of truth sometimes hidden on what Rook would say, maybe it was typical Warden righteousness. But it felt different than his squabbling with Davrin.

And yet some days, he would just open the pantry door to find a coffee made just for him. He was used to seeing Rook being uniquely empathetic. He read the words of prisoners on the Ossuary, he promised they would be remembered. He watched him give money to every beggar they met and pet every animal they saw. Lend a hand to every person who asked and smile at every misfortune.

He did that for them he was sure, so he would appear like a beacon they could turn to. He certainly was that for him…

And yet there he was, tiredly looking at a violet:

���Where should I put this?” Rook sighed

“You always save them, the violets”

“Might as well, they appear because of me”

“Do they?”

“Are you trying to get information out of me, Lucanis?”

“Only if you're willing to share”

“How nice of you…” he fiddled with the teacup “They make me think of when things were simpler, do you have things like that?”

“I…try to…”

His eyes wandered over the coffee again, when he would open the door and find one made just for him, how distinct the aroma was when Rook was the one who made it, he could've sworn it tasted differently than anything before. How during his sleepless days he would study the wyvern tooth dagger he got him, picturing that little kid he once was, with a smile that somebody took into consideration what he wanted.

He thought about the way his voice sounded when he would hum to himself, or his little laugh when he would joke to himself almost.

“They make me think of Ferelden, the flowers, a little garden my mother had in the Alienage”

“Tue… sometimes I forget…”

“Yeah, people usually do, until it's convenient to remember my mother is an elf. That's why I try to make a point to remind people, I'm not human even if I look the part.

I moved out of the Alianage when I was still young though, the only Cousland left besides my uncle so…” he rubbed his eyes “Do you remember…in the Café…when we talked about family expectations”

Lucanis nodded

“I think…I understood you…a little bit more after that. Do they expect you to…No, that's a stupid question. Of course they expect you to…as a heir”

“Are you talking about carrying the family name?”

“You understood that quickly, didn't you?

It was…complicated…back home things are not as bad for elves back home…well not as much since the Hero of Ferelden.

But they're not as good as to expect a noble woman to…”

He thought about it for a moment, looking deeply into Lucanis' eyes. Oh how beautiful his green eyes looked with the lights of the fireplace flickering in them. As he meditated on how much he wanted Lucanis to know. He looked away, but he continued:

“There was one…”

“A noble woman”

“Yes” he drank a bit of his tea, looking down “Violet, her name was incidentally

Good girl, was willing to get married, have a couple of kids, the whole thing…and one day I walked into the room and asked her to leave…”

Lucanis fiddled slightly with his fingers, looking over at Rook. Why was he telling him this? Of all people? Or maybe he had already told the others. But what if he was the first one? Why was he putting this trust in him after…?

But why not listen? After everything he had done, even if nothing was specifically to save Lucanis. He had done so anyway and how little was to just offer a listening ear after all of that?

“Why did you…” he contained himself, thinking carefully “Why did you tell her to leave Rook?”

“... because I'm selfish…because I knew she didn't love me and I didn't love her…”

The tears came so seamlessly even Rook was a little surprised when he noted he had started crying. He tried to wipe his tears but they wouldn't stop:

“Shit, I didn't…” he buried his face in his arms “I just…I wanted it so badly for someone to see me…I wanted someone to want me as I am…

And I know I will never find that person but maybe I wanted to keep the illusion…”

Lucanis extended his hand to him, but stood frozen in place, unable to really reach him, touch him.

How comforting was the illusion that he could ever be that person for Rook. That he would see him the ways he saw him. But Lucanis couldn't be that person.

He didn't know if he lost the ability to be comforting long ago, or during that year in the Ossuary but whatever it was, he retracted his hand.

“You carry all of this besides the weight of the world?”

That got a little laugh out of Rook, he turned to him with a slight smile:

“I don't even know why I'm telling you this”

“Neither do I, but I'm…here to listen, if that's what you need”

“You also make really good tea for someone who scoffed at me finding out what my favorite drink is”

“It's just water with some leafs in it”

“Careful Crow, or I'll start putting ice in your coffee”

“You wouldn't dare”

“I'd watch out, Neve’s always close and she doesn't get much sleep either”

“I think she has enough murdering her own coffee”

And there was that big smile, the one that made you feel like every problem would melt away.

Maybe one day he’d be able to figure him out, maybe take a piece of the burdens he carried. Today wasn't that day, but maybe…someday…

Writing Challenge

Alright now that I was both sincere and pedantic(warned y’all I’m almost always both) here’s your writing challenge for the day. Don’t forget there’s no time limit to these, if you find it in a month I’ll still reblog it. I’ll take pretty much any BW fic not just DA. Reblog, tag, or link me!! My ask box is always open as are my DM’s! Without further ado:

I want flirty dialogue without physical touch OR flirty touch without dialogue.

OR OR

If romance like that isn’t your thing I want angst. Give me the longing. Give me the hurt/comfort. I yearn for yearning. Emotional distress???? I love that shit. I’m leaving this one wide open. Bonus points if you manage both categories. Look for mine later.

[nerrels]

the lovers and judgement for the rook tarot asks!

Wow, I was surprised someone will actually ask haha. Thanks!)

(Eng is not my first language, so if there any mistakes pls inform me)

rn i have 3 main Rooks:

qunari Virida Aldwir (she/her), dwarf Teighan Ingellvar (she/they) and elf Nailynn Thorne (she/her)

The Lovers: Who is your Rook's most significant relationship within the Veilguard? How do they help Rook feel seen and understood?

Virida: She’s very flattered by Emmrich attention, thoughtfulness and kindness.Not a lot people gave her that (outside of her family). Also she’s impressed with how much effort he puts in their dates. Since she has vibe of “mom” of team, it’s nice to have someone who would take care of her. Tbh, just his smile makes her heart go crazy, but she would never admit it haha.

Teighan: Despite their origins, Teighan is very collected person. With Bellara it’s more Teighan making sure she’s seen. Especially, as Mourn Watcher, helping her going through grief. Also, Teighan never thought that their friendship will (or could) blossom into something more. Maybe just being there for their partner and not being alone is what Tei needed.

Nailynn: This Rook is very anxious and clumsy and Neve’s confidence and cool persona makes Nailynn feel more secure and she less afraid to be more herself around Neve. Also Rook feel that Neve actually likes her company wich makes Lynn happy. Nailynn also had big crush on Neve since their first interaction in the Lighthouse.

Judgement: How does Rook approach difficult decisions? How do they cope with the consequences of those choices?

Virida: Like a responsible leader she thought about all possibilities with hope that none of her team get hurt. She accepts the consequences of the actions. Tho, she’s stubborn person and acts very defensive about her decisions.

Teighan: They act first and think second. Probably, later (in the beginning of Act 2) Teighan actually sit and rethink everything, when she realise that it’s not only her life on line. Someone will get hurt if Tei won’t be careful.

Nailynn: If things turn out badly, she will blame herself mostly since she’s in charge. Nailynn always unsure of herself and she better under someone else guidance, but eventually she’ll become more confidante in herself.

original post with Rook Tarot Card Ask Game