#tis just a drabble my good sers

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

[inspired by this post by @synthetickitsune. i love it so much <3]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

“Hey, are you even listening?”

“S-sorry, I just zoned out.” You muttered out the apology as you glanced away from the commotion across the plaza.

Waving a breadstick in front of your face, Jieun continued, “ I know the hero’s party is mesmerizing. But, Y/N, we are at the bottom of the pecking order here. You can’t get distracted by them! No matter what happens, do you think Jeonghan will notice us? Or, god forbid, Joshua?

“He won’t?” You reply distractingly as your eyes kept moving by itself towards the boy sitting at the center of the table. A shadow of a smile constant on his lips.

Slamming one hand on the table, Jieun said with a kind of desperate urgency in her voice, “ No! He! Won’t! He is a big shot hero. He saved the world! What are you not getting here? Please don’t let the first friend I make be braindead. I will so start crying.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t cry please.” You take both of her hands into your own and look right into her eyes, trying to convey your sincerity. Because you can’t let your new friend cry. Not when she was the only human connection you had left in the world. Trying to capture the right words from the cloudy sea of thoughts in your head, you say, “I will listen to you, don’t worry. We only have each other here.”

At this Jieun let out a small relieved smile and went on about the guild rules. The afternoon passed away swiftly with the warmth of the soft winter sun, delicious teacakes, and comforting company. Yet, when you lay down at night, you can’t help unfurl the tightly bound thoughts in your head. You can’t help recalling Joshua’s smile when he was with his friends. There he was, looking so fondly at them,as always. “My family”, he called them as you two laid side by side under the dim glow of the sun. He would whisper things in the vein of “there is nothing I would not sacrifice for them”. You wanted to ask then, “Even me? Will you even sacrifice me?” Well, now you know your answer considering he slit your throat for them for everyone.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

a/n: almost everyday i think about the 'svt + who would sacrifice you to save the world vs sacrifice the world to save you' post and i think about why joshua wants to be happy about his choice. what actually happened that made him do it? What if he didn't give the person he sacrificed a choice to save the world or die? What if he made the choice for them? What if they came back and saw him mourning them? Would they forgive him for the betrayal? Or would Joshua have to live knowing that he has the everyone's adoration for saving him but your loathing for dooming you? delicious, delicious angst hehe

[theluckywizard]

A Sense of Duty

This is a self-contained fic of a tense conversation between Commander Cullen and warrior Garrett Hawke. It pairs with Chapter 65: The Return of my long fic In the Shattering of Things, but I've written in the context so anyone could enjoy a good Hawke v. Cullen throwdown in the Inquisition era.

Summary: As commander of the Inquisition forces, Cullen needs to have a chat about tactics and protocol with his old acquaintance, famed warrior Garrett Hawke after spurious reports come in from Crestwood. The mountain of history between them and the salacious rumors about Hawke and Inquisitor Rose Trevelyan make this conversation more intense than he expected.

Excerpt under the cut 👇

“I’m sure by now you’re familiar with the Inquisitor’s background,” he begins.

Hawke nods, clutching a hand over his shaggy, unkempt hair to keep the gusts from claiming it.

“I’ll start by saying that she has my full support. But it can’t be understated how inexperienced she is in combat situations.”

“I’m well aware, Cullen,” says Hawke, reaching for his given name for the first time in several years.

Cullen snorts softly before continuing. “I know you’re a talented warrior. I know you fought in the King’s Army. Your accomplishments are well-known. But the Inquisitor—”

“Rose. You can say her name,” answers Hawke, the interruption cutting Cullen so deeply that he feels sure that Hawke must be aware of what had passed between him and her. He continues before the chafe of the words ignites his resentment into anger.

“The Inquisitor needs steady combat guidance. Not stunts and wild improvisation.”

“You, Ser, lack imagination,” says Hawke, stopping to look at him. 

“So I’ve been told,” he says drily, not taking the bait. He continues walking. “I don’t suppose I could impress upon you the importance of her staying alive.”

“This is about Caer Bronach, isn’t it? What were we going to do? Sit with our thumbs up our arses waiting for your troops to arrive?”

“This is not the place for unorthodox tactics. The Inquisition must be above reproach.”

“Above reproach while the pyres burn brightly with Inquisition bodies?”

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that using the undead as fodder spared Inquisition bodies from serving as the same. Surely you’ve been there before. Front line meat to absorb the initial onslaught. I’ve been there. Staring down a darkspawn horde flanked by the barely trained, quaking in their mail and soiling themselves. I’ve seen your army. You don’t have the men to spare right now.”

“You understand what I’m trying to say here,” says Cullen, tempering his exasperation. 

“I can appreciate that a man in your position would rather her not attempt to raid keeps using corpses. Even I can appreciate the publicity challenges that presents. But don’t pretend that by the book is safer or most effective every time. How many times were your hands tied by rules when you could have saved lives? I was the person the Templars hired when they couldn’t act.”

“Exactly. Your capers have their uses, Hawke, but involving the public face of this organization will have consequences,” says Cullen. He moves in for the meat of his grievance, bracing himself for a fight. “And it’s not just about that. You know it’s not. The Inquisitor was injured.”

Read the rest here!

DAFF Tag List

@warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren | @breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @ir0n-angel | @inquisimer | @crackinglamb | @nirikeehan | @oxygenforthewicked | @mogwaei | @exalted-dawn-drabbles | @melisusthewee | @blarrghe | @agentkatie | @delicatefade

[stayconnecteed]

HOLISSSS!!! Vi el ask game y decidí hacer mi primer request con eso 🫶 Recently I’ve had Day6’s “You Were Beautiful” playing on a loop in my head and it’s driving me crazy 😫 es que la canción es tan buena que ni modo jajaja 🙂‍↕️ Anyway, no sé si tenía que escoger un miembro de skz pero por si acaso, pensé que quizá podría ser con Jeongin? But you can really just do it with whatever member you think would fit best!

Mandando mucho amor 🫶💕

CLOSED NOW 💌 put a song in my askbox and I'll listen to it and come up with a fic prompt/drabble plot/smutty idea/some kind of brainworm for it!

a good old heartbreaking song. i didn't know this one, but i love it. just today, here where i live, it's a classical autumn afternoon and i think it fits this song. the foggy weather, with the sky creating a gloomy gradient between the angriest grey and the softest yellow - because even if it's cloudy, the sun is still shining somewhere. but jeongin couldn't think about it, not with they way the scorching breeze is playing with the bottom of his oversized t-shirt. he knows he's going to get ill if he doesn't enter the appartment, but for a moment he considers staying a little bit longer in the balcony. the numbing cold makes him focus on what his body feels, and not in how his heart is bleeding. because it's autumn, and leaves fall - just like he did once, utterly in love with you - but that also means another season has come and go, and you're not by his side. not anymore.

it's one of those days were every detail of his day reminds him of you, and he can't even manage to smile. because since you're gone, his mornings are not full of lazy words and cute yawns, the slurred 'i love you's that you used to tattoo into his skin burn in their absence, and his name doesn't sound right because it's been a while since you've called him. he feels he has forgotten all the stupid parts: the yells, the arguments, the void in his chest when you two fought. he has forgotten all of that, and not the way you looked at him and how your scent covered his sheets and he hates it. he hates it because forgeting you would kill him, but somehow not doing it hurts just the same.

and he doesn't even know if he's crying now - he knows that it's the only thing he has done every time he's thought of you. it could be the soft but merciless breeze of autumn, or maybe his tears, but he wishes he could turn back time. analyse every second, make things right. and it hurts more, because he knows it's not possible. he saw you leave, one last bright smile just for him, and disappear from his life. and the only thing that stayed were his memories, that are painful once in a while, even more that freezing autumn afternoon.

omg thank you for sending this in, green 🫶🏼 te adoro!! i hope you like this, i lovelovelove the song ( the rec was amazing ) and sending back muchisisisismo amor para ti 🤍

[magicalwardrobe-mw]

Subtlety, thy name is not Arya Stark

Or the many ways in which Jon (and other people) could have found out about Gendry and Arya.

Also in AO3.

It all started because of a post I made which wouldn’t leave me alone. So I decided I would start a drabble collection fixing the fact that nobody knew about Gendry and Arya and the whole relationship was kepta secret.

1. Is it an introduction if they already knew each other?

It took all of his self-control to keep riding calmly next to his Queen. All he wanted to do was to ride full tilt to Winterfell and its courtyard.

Bran and Arya are home, Sansa had said in the letter.

He had thought Arya dead, everybody did. But she was alive and instead of going home to her Jon had to keep staying in Dragonstone, then travel north of the Wall and then to King’s Landing. All the while his little sister was home and he wasn’t.

Daenery’s smile was one of understanding. Even if, from what she’d told him, her relationship with her own brother hadn’t been the best, Jon had told her enough about his siblings that his Queen understood his longing to see them again.

“Winterfell it’s beautiful,” she told him. He knew she was trying to get his mind off, distract him a bit.

“You should have seen it years ago.” Before the Greyjoys, he thought, before the Boltons.

Winterfell had stood through too many lords in the past years.

He managed to make it through the gates but his composure vanished as he rode into the courtyard. The Lords and Ladies were there.

And Bran.

Gods, Bran.

He had grown so much. The last time he had seen him Bran was a child laying on his bed, none of them sure if he would ever wake again. And there he was, staring unblinkingly up at him. He looked grown and tired, but the hints of the boy Jon knew still shone through.

One thing was hearing his little brother was alive. Another was to see it with his own two eyes.

Overwhelmed with relief and happiness and incredulity he rushed to Bran’s side and kissed his forehead.

He was there, he really was there.

“Look at you,” he told him, his voice thick. “You’re a man.”

“Almost,” said Bran flatly. He sounded empty, devoid of any feeling, any emotion, any life. The opposite of the Bran he knew.

He caught Sansa’s gaze. She looked sad, he thought, but still opened her arms for a hug with a tiny smile.

“Where’s Arya?” he asked.

Her eyes tore away from behind him, he knew she was staring down at the Queen, and flickered to the right.

There, hiding by the shadows of the wall was a small figure. His heart brightened with hope.

She hadn’t changed much. Her face had lost most of the roundness of childhood but it was still hers, still Arya’s. She wore her hair tied up in the back, not unlike him, like their father’s.

She was looking at him soft, aching. He could bet the same expression was written on his face.

“You used to be taller,” she told him.

“You’re not much taller yourself,” he said.

A smile broke through and then she was running towards him. Or maybe he was running towards her. She jumped into his arms and for that one second everything was alright in his world.

He would not cry. He would not cry.

She smiled at him when he released her and Jon wanted to hug her again and ask her about Needle and where had she been but he had a whole army waiting. Arya would have to wait.

 The Night King was coming. The Night King was coming and he had Viserion  and Sansa hated Daenerys and all the Northern Lords hated Daenerys and they all resented him for bending the knee. Even if that would save all of their lives in the end.

“Well, that was an interesting meeting,” Davos told him wryly as they left the Great Hall.

Jon grumbled.

“Sansa doesn’t like your queen, does she?”

Arya joined him in their walk, her hands clasped in the back. He hadn’t heard her coming.

“Sansa thinks she’s smarter than everyone,” Jon told her confidentially.

But instead of huffing and agreeing with him, like she always did when they were children, she stared hard at him. “She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met,” she said seriously.

Jon faltered. He glanced at Davos, still walking by his side but a few paces ahead and resolutely looking to the side to give them some sense of privacy.

“Ser Davos!” he called. “I’d like you to meet my sister Arya.” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Arya, this is Ser Davos Seaworth,” he said. “He’s my closest advisor and a great friend.”

She smiled. “Sansa has told me about you,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, my lady.” Her nose wrinkled a bit at the title and it brought a smile to Jon’s lips. “Your brother wouldn’t stop talking about you. It became very annoying.”

The siblings exchanged a look and a smile.

“What sorts of trouble did he get into?” she asked.

They made it to the courtyard, Davos telling her about their trip to Dragonstone and the introduction to Queen Daenerys. The wagons of dragonglass had taken over the yard and Jon spotted Gendry helping unload one of them.

“I’ll be right back,” he said but they paid him no mind, Davos gleefully reciting all the titles Missandei had sprouted off that day.

“And so I said: ‘This is Jon Snow. He’s King in the North.’”

“Seems like you’ve made yourself useful.”

Gendry looked up at his voice, spotted him and smiled. “I couldn’t sit around chatting while the dead come closer.”

Jon smiled at the rebuke. “I wish I didn’t have to sit around and chat,” he said. “Has somebody showed you the forge?”

“You mean where I’ll probably spend the rest of my life?”

Jon scoffed. “Let’s hope not.”

Gendry jumped out the cart. “Figured it wouldn’t be hard to find,” he said. “How many smiths have we got?”

“With you? Two. But I figured we could spare some more men to help you out.”

Gendry’s face told him that he’d better find him more men because he wasn’t going to arm a whole army on his own.

Jon glanced back at Davos and his sister, who it seemed were easily getting along. Beside him, Gendry’s breath caught.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ll introduce you.”

Arya looked at him when she heard him approach, an eyebrow quirked. “Seems you can’t even die right.”

He didn’t deign that with an answer.

“Here’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he said instead, clapping Gendry’s back. “This is Gendry Waters,” he said. “A friend of mine.”

Arya looked a bit taken aback. Jon felt offended. He might not have been as social as she was, but he was able to have more than one friend.

Then Gendry bowed dramatically at his side. “Lady Stark.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“As you wish, M’lady.” He had a cocky smirk on his face.

Jon exchanged an alarmed look with Davos. Gendry had always been reckless, never hesitating to join Jon on an expedition north of the Wall or telling him his true identity when advised against, but this was a bit too much. He grimaced at his friend’s misstep and waited for Arya to hit him.

Instead, her cool, calm, collected façade broke and an honest smile curved her lips. She looked downwards with a giggle.

A giggle.

“You got it back, then?” he nodded at Needle on her waist. “And what’s that?”

Arya grabbed the dagger she had strapped to her side and handed it to him, hilt first. They seemed to have forgotten Jon and Davos’ existence entirely.

“It’s Valyrian steel,” he said surprised. “I always knew you were just another rich girl.” His voice had a teasing tilt.

Arya smirked and took back her dagger, sheathing it with one swift move. “You don’t know any other rich girls,” she teased right back. Then she strutted back to the castle, spinning to get one last look at Gendry (always at Gendry, her eyes never leaving the blacksmith’s) and a smirk, before turning back around again without breaking stride.

Jon and Davos both gaped at Gendry. He had a stupid smile on his face and was watching the door through which Arya had gotten back in.

“What the hell was that?”

Gendry tore his eyes away, his ears turning red as he realized they were still standing there.

“Didn’t I tell you your sister and I used to be friends?”

Jon glared at him. Weeks he had known the smith and there hadn’t been any mention of Arya on his part. On their first meeting he had sprouted how he had known his father once, but nothing on Arya.

And they had been good friends at it seemed. Still were.

“No,” he hissed. “You forgot to mention that.”

“Ah!” Gendry rubbed the back of his neck. “My bad.”