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bongo-clash · 2 years

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Right through the door (and all around the wall)

DP/DC week prompt: Lazarus Pit

'Bad News: Jason Todd finds a Lazarus Pit in Gotham. Worse News: There’s something crawling out of it.'

(No content warnings || fic under cut!!)

Jason’s felt weird the last few days. Like, weirder than the usual weird that comes with being a living zombie full of Lazarus waters and all their consequences- weird as in something’s up weird.

It started with some sense of unease, and maybe it was stupid to just put it down to waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but he started his days in a poor mood more often than not anyway, so he thinks it was reasonable enough. But as the week had gone on, he’d felt more and more like he was being tugged around at the chest by something, the Pit running through his veins snapping for something he didn’t know the source of. By the time six days had past, he’d well and truly had enough. Which leads to his current decision: ambling around Gotham trying to follow the feeling.

Which leads to his current situation: standing face-to-face with a glowing green puddle at the end of a nondescript alley, previously hidden vaguely by a large dumpster.

Now, Jason isn’t an idiot- in fact, he rather likes to think himself as the opposite of an idiot. And because he isn’t an idiot, he knows he’s looking at a newly-formed Lazarus Pit. There are only so many things that glow that shade of green in this world. But what the Hell is he supposed to do about it? He doesn’t know the first thing about how they’re formed, and he doesn’t know the first thing about how to get rid of them, but the appearance of one in Gotham cannot be good news. It could attract the attention of the League, which is a problem for several reasons, and perhaps more pressing is that its properties could be discovered by the local peanut gallery. The last thing anyone needs is for any of the rogues to figure out they can heal themselves with magic floor gatorade.

…He should probably tell the Bats. The thought alone pulls a grimace onto his face behind his helmet, but he knows in his heart that it’s the best thing for it. At the very least, the warning that people might start looking a little more green around the edges would be appreciated; the old man would probably go ape if he found out Jason knew about it the whole time and just didn’t say anything. Okay, maybe that makes it more tempting to not tell them- but Dick would be disappointed in him. That man’s disappointed face is universally hard to look at.

With nothing else for it, he reaches up to the side of his helmet and activates the com link he’d tentatively agreed to stay connected to. All at once, he’s greeted with the sea of idle chatter from the other Bats as they go about their patrols.

“Hey,” He interrupts, effectively cutting through the conversation. “So, I just found something interesting on my turf.”

“Little Wing!” Dick greets cheerfully, voice carrying over onto Tim’s com. It’s one of those times where Nightwing comes down from Blüdhaven to patrol with the family, then. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath before speaking, knowing his next words are going to cause something of a stir. “I think we’ve got a Pit forming in Gotham.”

Right on time, everyone on coms starts speaking at once. Dick sputters in surprise, trying to form a response over the declaration; Tim is asking how he can be sure, and for location and size and ‘should we be worrying about Ra’s making a show?’; Damian’s saying something under his breath about all their disastrous communication skills; Barbara’s staying quiet, probably waiting until they’ve finished freaking until she starts up. Batman, though, is evidently not half as patient, shouting over the pandemonium to make himself heard.

“Hood. Explain.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Uh, that’s pretty much all I’ve got at the moment, old man. Been feeling kinda weird the last few days- felt like I was being pulled about and shit- and when I tried to find the source, I found this bright green puddle. I don’t know what else you want from me.”

“Why didn’t you inform us of the feeling prior to this?”

He’s about to snap back at the man for being pushy when he hears a noise from the end of the alley. Immediately, his gaze snaps back to the Lazarus Puddle, and he blanches when his sees the surface begin to froth.

“Hood-”

“Shut up, something’s happening.” Red Hood bites, somewhat distracted as the frothing continues, slowly becoming more violent. “Does anyone know if pits can boil over? Because I’m looking at it now and it looks like someone’s left some foul-ass milk on the stove for too long.”

Barbara’s finally voice cuts through the coms. “Nightwing and Red Robin are the closest to your current location- ETA five to seven minutes. Do you need back-up?”

“I have no idea— holy fuck.”

Distantly, he can hear the others asking him what’s up, and Barbara telling Dick and Tim to head over west, but he’s too focused on the way the pit seems to curve upwards, looking less like water and more like a thick sludge. A thick sludge that something is trying to break through. The vague impression of a hand is pushing against the surface.

His voice is breathy when he finally responds to Nightwing’s cries. “Guys, I think there’s something in there.”

“What?!”

He takes a wary step forward as the hand continues to push, and then a large step back accompanied by a startled yell as the surface finally breaks with a violent splatter. He jumps to avoid the spray, and the hand flails as it searches for purchase against the floor. Surging forward, it discovers solid ground and quickly leverages itself onto it, pushing and pushing until Jason can see the beginnings of a face.

Dripping with the more concerning equivalent of sewage, there’s black hair with the vaguest implication of white strands against it, a heart-shaped face, and bright, blue-green eyes. Ergo: something that looks almost exactly like him.

Stumbling further back as they continue to rise, he hears Barbara announce Nightwing and RR’s ETA as one minute from now, and crosses his fingers that they get here sooner, because he’s looking at this kid like a fun-house mirror and he doesn’t like it at all.

The teenager looks at him from underneath the thick coating of sludge, shaking himself free from the last dredges of the Pit clinging to his shoes. “Hm,” The guy says, tone deceptively casual. “I wasn’t expecting an audience.”

“What the fuck.” Jason chokes, barely grasping at his ability to form words beyond the shock. The teenager searches his face, before looking down at his own figure.

“Ooh, yikes, give me a second-“ He snorts, before his skin takes on a strange blue tinge and the sludge falls through him, meeting the floor with a wet slap, which- gross. “-There! Sorry about that. Coming out looking like the Blob isn’t the best first impression I’ve ever made, huh?”

Jason is rapidly losing control of both his life and the situation. “What the fuck is- I- who the fuck are you?”

“My name’s Danny.”

“Danny.”

The kid nods. “Yep. It’s Danny.”

“Okay. Danny, can you tell me what the Hell just happened?”

Danny, apparently, blinks, looking back at the Lazarus Pit for a moment before refocusing on Jason. He’s never been more glad his expression is hidden behind the helmet. “Well…” He starts hesitantly, “I… hey- who’re they?”

Jason stupidly whips his head to look behind him, and- sure enough, Nightwing and Red Robin have finally positioned themselves on the rooftops above them- but he hears a splash and when he turns around, the kid is gone, thick ripples casting over the Lazarus Puddle. The two vigilantes jump down from the roof, coming up beside him. Tim looks utterly gobsmacked.

“Did that kid just jump into the Pit?” He blurts, struggling to choose between looking at Red Hood for an answer and keeping his eye on the puddle in case something happens.

Jason takes in the situation. He takes in the sight of his brothers, the green sludge smattered across the concrete of the alleyway, the remnants of conversation echoing around his head. He thinks about everything that just happened, and takes a deep, deep breath.

“This is officially the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” He says, before promptly turning around and walking out of the alley, intent on going to bed and passing this whole thing off as a some kind of trauma-induced nightmare. He knows he’ll have to deal with this at some point, because there’s apparently a Lazarus Pit in Gotham and a whole guy that looked like him crawled out of it, but if he can just pretend that none of that happened for even a few hours, by God, he’s taking it.

#dp/dc week 2022 #The ending is weird because I had no idea what I was doing the entire time I was writing it #It derailed so hard from what I was going for so if it reads awkward that's why but still!!! Hjhdgfjsg #My One (1) thought was just that it'd be funny to call the pits magic floor gatorade #Yeah the title's from the Blob theme song it's just. The song is So Catchy.#I don't have anything written for tomorrow yet but I DO have the day 3 prompt finished so!! There Is That #dpxdc #Bongo's Writing!!!

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steviesummer · 5 months

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what you cannot hold (wanting)

written for @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘hole’ wc: #404 | rated: G| cw: angst, unrequited love (maybe)

There’s a hole in Steve’s heart that gets bigger every year. He doesn’t know when it started, surely just a pinprick, but he remembers when he first noticed it. He was 12; his parents talked about how grown up he was as they left on their trip, but all he could feel was that hole opening up inside him.

Nancy tore it further, grip strong from where she’d been holding it closed. Maybe he should have known better, known not to let another person get that close, but it was too late. It was only the arrival of Dustin and the need to protect the kids that kept him from bleeding out.

Robin snuck in, smoothing the edges other had left sharp and jagged. He wasn’t ready to let anyone in but that didn’t matter. It never mattered. He tucked her secrets inside, promising to keep them safe.

The kids starting high school undid all the progress he’d made. They needed him less and less- busy with school and full of hero-worship for Eddie Munson when he did see them.

He couldn’t blame them. Eddie was loud and never afraid to be himself. He put himself out there and played their game; he would have been more surprised if they hadn’t clicked.

Guilt and jealousy had him ripping at the seams of his heart, hoping one day he’d be able to pick enough threads loose that he could sew it up himself. Keep himself safe from pain.

Then Vecna came, and Eddie nearly died, and they got closer too. Steve thought maybe this was it, maybe Eddie would be kind to his tattered heart.

But Eddie was going places. Steve listened when he talked about getting out of Hawkins, becoming a rockstar. He knew he didn’t fit in that dream either. After all they’d been through, Steve just wanted peace. To feel safe and whole.

Every day, he smiled and ignored the way his battered heart raced. One by one, everyone moved on- to college or work or their dreams. Steve just stayed, couldn’t leave, not yet.

Maybe someday things would be different. Their dreams would line up or they’ll both find someone new or time would heal him. Until then, Steve can pretend like his heart is still in one piece. Until then, Steve would hold the gaping wound inside close. There’s a hole in Steve’s heart and it gets bigger every year.

#steddie #fic #mine #angst #title from a jewel song #catch me making myself cry #seriously who wrote this? me?#i don't write angst #but here we are #microfic prompt #anyway i have like 4 more ideas for this prompt #and the rest should not be angsty #this is barely edited #idek anymore

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blametheeditor · 1 month

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A Song Without Its Lyrics

Prompt Roulette By Title

Character A's best friend, Character B, is mute. That sure as hell doesn't stop Character B from somehow being the brightest, most expressive person starring in Character A's life.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of treating others as lesser than. Mentions of calling others 'pests'. Mentions of select mutism. Mentions of death and murder. Mentions of being apathetic

_______________________________

“If you just listen for two seconds-”

“Why should I? Everything you’ve said up until this point has been worthless.”

Vincent almost wants to yawn, watching the conversation between Scott and David go in yet another circle. Not that he cares if an agreement is made tonight. No one knows he’s even here, and he wouldn’t have bothered to show up if William hadn’t commanded him to make sure the negotiations didn’t get too out of hand.

Literally. The owner of Fazbear Corporation might be worried a certain egotistical employee will abuse the fact he’s a giant and therefore grab a certain ‘supervisor’ who’s small enough to fit in the palm of his hand in the heat of the moment, but Vincent knows that wouldn’t happen. Not when pests don’t deserve to so much as even look at him, none the less have the honor to be held by him.

Though, ‘negotiations’ is a bit of a stretch. Scott has been negotiating and trying his hardest to get David on the same page. It’s David who refuses to budge, finding every excuse imaginable to disagree with something he might have even thought of but refuses to give in solely based on principle.

It’d be admirable and entertaining if it wasn’t so childish. To be honest, Vincent’s unsure what they’re even discussing currently, nor the original reason why Scott, Eggs, and David met up at Freddy Fazbear’s.

Personally, at this point, he’d take Eggs out of timeout to contribute to see if anything can get done tonight, even if it’s something as simple as setting up a schedule for every restaurant on when the mechanic can run diagnostic checks and fix anything that’s needed. It might not even be part of the agenda, but at least it’d be something.

“Look, we need to work together on this, and-”

“I don’t want to hear another word,” David interrupts yet again. Which is a bad look all around, using the fact his voice can overpower Scott’s effortlessly to gain complete control over the situation. But Vincent isn’t here to be a babysitter, or report to William the man that was hired partly for PR is nothing but a bully behind closed doors. If Scott can’t handle such petty tactics then he’ll need to learn how. “William might listen to your idiotic suggestions, but it’s clear you have no idea what you’re doing considering I’m here. So shut up and let me work.”

Despite being several feet away from where Scott stands on a table in order to be on an ‘equal level’, though the attempt is completely ruined by the fact David’s standing to ensure his shadow is cast over the miniscule figure, Vincent can see the sandy haired man’s expression clearly. Every shift as the look goes from fear, to anger, to despair, finally landing on determination.

I’m not going to shut up. You are going to sit down and we are going to converse like God damn adults.

It’s only when David doesn’t respond with confusion written all over his face does Vincent realize Scott had signed the words rather than say them out loud.

And then Vincent isn’t hiding in the shadows at Freddy Fazbear’s, waiting for the business man to react. Instead, he’s sitting at a table. In a different though similar restaurant. With a much younger Scott Cawthon sitting beside his hand. One that isn’t purple. Without a single look of trepidation aimed toward it.

...it’s been a while since he thought about his life before William.

“Did I do something to earn the silent treatment?” he had asked. Gently poked Scott in the attempt to get some kind of reaction. Because it was the first time his best friend wasn’t ranting about how a mother blew up on him even though her ire was directed toward another coworker. Or excitedly discussing the fact their bosses were working on a new project and they’ll be one of the first ones to see it.

It concerned him. Scott was the only one who saw Vincent’s words and actions as more than just him being an annoying asshole. And he didn’t want to lose the human’s friendship if he crossed a line somewhere.

He was glad he didn’t receive a glare or a yell for demanding attention when it clearly didn’t want to be given. But even though the headshake given was immediate and decisive, nothing was said. Which meant he was still worried, just for different reasons.

The worst part was the fact Scott looked so upset, panicked, and yet still not a single word was spoken.

“Has the free food left you speechless?” Vincent mused. “We have it, what, a minimum of five times a week if not more? But this time it managed to blow your mind how amazing reheated frozen pizza can be?” He hadn’t thought about it before, considering it’s not something you really focus on, but it was then he realized just how expressive Scott was. Maybe because he’s human, and being around giants has you unconsciously doing everything in your power to always be heard or noticed. It meant Scott should never play poker or else lose all of his money, but it also made it easy to see the relief that Vincent wasn’t upset. As well as the cautious hope that slowly began to appear.

Vincent was happy to continue. Tapped his chin as he hummed in thought. “Going for a world record, then? Longest without saying anything?”

Scott rolled his eyes dramatically with a look of ‘really?’.

“Hey, I won’t judge. But don’t expect me to help, you’ve got to time it yourself.”

It was so brief, a blink and you’ll miss it moment, and it didn’t help just how small the human is. But Scott looked hurt by his words.

Which meant Vincent swept him up. There wasn’t even a yelp, but a finger was hugged in order for Scott to steady himself from the sudden action. Looked up at the giant with worry.

“We’re watching a movie at my place.”

“I’m sorry,” had been the first thing Scott said to him the next day.

It pissed Vincent off his best friend felt the need to apologize for something that seemed out of his control. Wanted to find whoever put the idea Scott should be ashamed of it and punch them in the face. “What for? I thought we had a great time of you silently agreeing all of my opinions are correct and should never be challenged.”

There was a wince, but there was also a smile. “I, uh, kn-know it’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” Vincent asked. “Unless it’s annoying for you, it’s anything but annoying for me.”

“You weren’t, but I, I couldn’t-” Scott sputtered, looked genuinely confused. “H-How?”

“Adds to your charm, Scotty,” Vincent smirked. “Like your stutters.”

He didn’t ask why. And Scott didn’t tell him.

But the next time it happened several months later he sat the human down. Forcefully. Because Scott avoided him for as long as possible before the giant managed to snag him. “Do you know ASL, Scotty?”

That stopped Scott from running away. Which was best for all of them considering all Vincent had to do was pin him without any effort.

He was suspicious, uncertain why that was the first thing asked, but shook his head no.

“Then you and I are going to learn it.”

Because even though Vincent knew how to sign and read important phrases, and could go through the very tedious process of conversing by spelling every single word out, he was far from fluent. But he would like to be. He wanted to for a while ever since he learned in order to make sure every child could be included whenever the band started to play. Giving Scott a voice when his own didn’t work was just the last push he needed.

To be honest, Scott would’ve been fine on his own without learning any sign language. It’s impossible to misinterpret what the human was saying considering just how expressive he was, but there would be scenarios when being able to say what you mean and want would be crucial.

And there did come a time when Scott’s only words was strictly through signing. When William came into their lives. When the human could no longer express any kind of emotion.

When Vincent finally realized what took his best friend’s voice away.

That’s why, for the first time in years, Vincent feels a wave of protection grip him with an iron fist as he fully registers why Scott is suddenly signing instead of speaking despite the fact David wouldn’t be able to read it. Because his voice has been stolen away. And this is the only way to say what he wants to.

A far cry from before when all he could do was obey without a way to fight back.

Vincent’s body is moving before he can tell it to, stepping out of the shadows with the intent to kill David where he-

“Oooooh, are you gonna take that, David?” Eggs suddenly asks, looking up at the giant with a wicked grin. Manages to freeze Vincent in place by words alone.

“Take what?” the business man demands.

“Scott telling you to sit down and stop being an asshole!”

Vincent feels the pounding rage slowly subside until he’s backing into the shadows again before any of them manage to spot him. Stares at the blond human who was able to make sure Scott was heard.

“No I’m not going to take it. He knows nothing about keeping a restaurant running properly.”

I’m not saying I do, I’m saying there’s things you should know about the building Afton hasn’t told you about.

Scott started signing halfway through David’s growl, but Eggs had been watching to listen to both. “Scott’s got a good point, though. William might have trap doors lying around.”

David stares down at them. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Sit down and Scott’ll explain!”

Surprisingly, the giant does. Grumbling all the while, but he does. “Explain about the possibility of trap doors.”

No trap doors, but it’s worse than that.

“The vent’s were replaced with snakes!”

No.

Vincent ignores the rest of the conversation. Feels his entire body finally relax. Left to try and understand what happened, and why there’s a small piece of him that hadn’t been there before that’s still wanting to go to Scott’s side.

With it clear Eggs is acting as a mediator, the purple man quickly makes his way out of the building before turning down the sidewalk leading to William’s office. Knowing that in a few hours, Scott will join him to report what was able to get accomplished. Because nothing has changed. William’s word is law with Vincent and Scott his messengers to obey every word said to them without hesitation.

So why does it feel like he’s losing his best friend.

#I haven't done a Bingo prompt in a hot minute #and while I'm motivated to write there's been a clash between time and energy #so no continuation on the big stories this week #but I'm working to have one out next!#as long as other responsibilities don't take up all my free time again #that's mine dang it #have a good weekend!#FNAF bois #g/t #giant #tiny #Prompt Roulette By Title #L3 #BTE writing #cw #content warning

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wren-of-the-woods · 2 years

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The anniversary of Love Run is approaching, and I have an idea for how to celebrate!

You know those lyric videos where the whole song is written in AO3 fic titles (like this, this, and this)? We’re pretty close to being able to do this for several songs from the album. It would be really cool if we could manage to make that happen around the anniversary!

These are the lines from King, Elsa’s Song, and Not Yet / Love Run that have not been used as titles yet. They need stories! Feel free to use as a promptlist, or just claim a line and start writing. No pressure, obviously -- I just thought this could be a fun way to celebrate!

Reblogs/signal boosting would be much appreciated <3

King

When you are gone away

As our boat is untethered from the dock

There’ve been times I know

I’ll stand up up up at the bow

And the waves of our bodies and the smell of our follies

You fumble through the dark

To the light that you keep burning there (all hell)

I know your fingernails are the colour of rust (come back)

And your veins are empty of dust (but our voices)

The wind and its shackles, the old fishers tackles

Elsa’s Song

I can hear the cannons calling

Around this muddied lot

I cannot hear them scream

Cos although you say good day to me

That I barely know the meaning

And all the cannons shot

And in years to come you’ll wander

And then you’ll cry to our painted sky

And you’ll strew some sage and lilies

And roses where I rot

Not Yet/Love Run

By hook or by crooked look give me land

The oh’s of your screams still echo in yer dreams

I’ll point you steer

It seems oh it seems / To me / That you / You can’t sleep

Grab the stroud

It’s time to fight don’t be yellow bellied

Hold the bar at Hurley's hurly burly's

Out of pillows and get drunk again

It seems oh it seems / To me / That you / You can’t dance / For shit

If my old mum could see me now

Oh how she’d howl she’d howl

Don’t turn 'round

O let the earth a-tumble, love

And humble you withal, keep running

Let foul men band and heed your hum

For that ancient hymn you heard me strumming?

Is nought but fumble-falls and guns / And tumbleweeds.

It's nought that rum won't solve

Though some would harm you, none - not one - no none / Will raise to you a hand nor thumb.

#the amazing devil #love run #joey batey #madeleine hyland #loverun2022 #writing prompts #title prompts #i don't have time to take prompts atm but i hope some of y'all enjoy these #elsa's song #king #not yet / love run #also the more fandoms the merrier!!#and feel free to change/drop words in the lines if necessary #or use only part of one #and also you can tag me/send me the fic when you post if you want! i'll probably find anything y'all do anyway but it can't hurt #if anyone joins in on this i can update the list in the reblogs as we go #i may have ideas for a couple of the lines! so hopefully at least a couple of these will be done soon

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curtsies-from-princess-ashlyn · 5 months

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There have been so many songs I've had in the back of my head loosely linked to Ricky and Gina, and today's prompt finally gave me an excuse to compile a playlist for them. There's honestly probably more that can be added, but I'm actually quite proud of how many I was able to add to this list!

There are some songs that are from Gina's perspective ("Mastermind", "What if I Love You", "Nobody Love Me Like You"), including her S2 perspective, some from Ricky's ("would you love me now?", "Smoke Slow"), some about their angst that can be from both perspectives ("The Night We Met", "Where's My Love"), and some that are more joyous and celebratory ("Different", "I Just Love You", "Honeybee").

However, the one I really want to highlight is "Nebraska" by Oh Wonder. This was in my top 5 most played in 2021, so I can't believe I didn't think of it until now as a Rina (and especially Gina) coded song, but BOY does it fit them so well. Seriously, go listen to it now and tell me this doesn't perfectly represent and describe Gina Porter and how she feels about Ricky. It touches on the importance of "I love you" but that it shouldn't be a wasted phrase, and the narrator sings about traveling the world but the only place that feels like home is her beloved (who may have also broken her heart).

The other song that I want to talk about briefly is "I Just Love You" by Roo Panes. The feeling and atmosphere the music of this one creates always reminds me of domestic Rina, and the simplicity of the lyrics ("I just love you") reminds me of how Ricky feels for Gina. I also headcanon Gina's middle name is Marie, so the lyrics of the first verse fit, and the second verse sings about they've both had fears of vulnerability ("why are we oh so afraid / of saying something real?"). This contrasts the straightforward conclusion of the chorus, which definitely reminds me of Ricky's resolution, certainty, and directness in "Love You Forever".

#yes I did create a burner spotify account for this #don't wanna dox myself ahahaha #also despite the playlist title “sk8er boi” is NOT on this playlist #I can add more songs if anyone has recommendations too #I have another post for the tropes/parallels/motifs prompt I've been working on #and it's gonna be SUPER late so I'm so sorry about that #but I will try to finish it before the end of next week!#ik that's after the event is over but Christmastime is so busy for me #hsmtmts #12daysofrina #high school musical the musical the series #Rina #Ricky x Gina #Ricky Bowen #Gina Porter #Spotify

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theflyingfeeling · 5 months

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okay I'm not expecting anyone to care all that much, but I was looking at the prompts for the 18th Day of Gift-Giving for my Olli/Allu fic advent calendar and I'm between two options on what to do with them, so if anyone out there wants to put in their two cents...

(see the pros and cons in the tags of the original post)

#on one hand i'd like to write a standalone with a storyline of its own #because that way i could probably manage to write a better story #on the other hand i kinda feel like i should focus on the main plot after all the standalones i've posted this week #but if i stick to the main plot my options would be more limited 🤔#because i don't feel like making either of them have a random headache/migrain or some kinda personal crisis #just for the sake of the prompt #i know there's barely any plot to begin with but i still don't want to make it too scattered 😅#i have an idea that would work alright for the main story and it would probably turn out cute enough #but some of the other prompts that wouldn't really work for the main story are soooooooo tempting #and i mean. at least 4 or 5 of the stories for next week will be related to the main plot #plus the stories for the 16th and the 17th #so there'd still be plenty for that too!#i'm probably gonna make my own decision regardless of the voting result but i'd like to hear from you anyway #i've never made a poll before and i'm kinda nervous about this lol i really am expecting this to get maybe 3 votes max 🤡#i hate how the title is so huge pls don't be annoyed with me i'm sorry for existing i promise i'll never make a post ever again 😭#not putting this in any tags. you see this if you see this

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starsscarmyceiling · 1 year

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We’re more ghosts than people sounds interesting af 👀

Okay AH again sorry this is a couple days late, but my work has been CRAZED, but I still wanted to get to this!!! Thanks for asking girl 🥰

AGAIN, if you have seen this prompt post that I wrote out, this was another one that had origins in what I wrote out in the AU section...

"Sorry I am on some Red Dead Redemption shit but I simply cannot help myself but to shove all of my favorite things together alright. Cal is apart of some kind of roaming squad (IF you chose a band of outlaws I wouldn’t be opposed), and they are in this one town for a bit. He starts to go to a general store where a Russian aunt and niece run it, and a lot of people just assume Merrin doesn’t even speak any English and dismiss her a lot of the time. But maybe he’s seen her at one of the saloons or tending to one of her horses and thinks that there’s more to her than what she is presenting to the world (and lol she is prettyyyy 😍) He goes into the store with Greez one day, and he ends up asking Merrin something, and Greez is like lol why do you bother she isn’t going to answer you. Cal is like pssssh this girl is trolling all of you I just know it. Merrin looks at him like he’s grown a second head, and then Asajj comes out and starts to put on the charm and Merrin just yeets right out of there. Perhaps Cal was wrong. Maybe she didn’t understand him, but that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t want to get to know her. So he just continues to go to the store anyway and keeps talking to her all the time (We all know the boy can ramble let’s go). Maybe he even runs into her at other parts of town, or even on the outskirts where she’s taken her horse out, and he happens upon her while he’s on his. She does some target practice with a pistol and he’s impressed. He wished he at least knew her name. There’s a Russian woman in their group, and Cal asks her about a few Russian phrases, to which she complies, but then asks why. Cal is all SUPER red and is just like LOL NO REASON K THX BYEEEE! Cal goes into the shop, tries out a phrase or two, attempts a hello and asks her how she is doing. He feels like he is making a fool of himself, but then he swears out of the corner of his eye he sees her smirk. He asks her name in Russian, and she sighs…so Cal assumes he’s asked her wrong he clearly couldn’t remember it right and looks at the ground. “Merrin,” she says. His heart races. Asajj comes out and interrupts them OF COURSE. The gang wants to move on soon, but Cal isn’t ready to let go. It seems silly because practically every interaction they’ve had have been one sided conversations, but he still goes to the store nonetheless and tells her they are going to be leaving. She looks at him poignantly, and he still just doesn’t know if she’s pretending or really doesn’t understand. He dips his cowboy hat to her and tells her it was nice meetin’ ya milady dasvidaniya. Merrin shouldn’t be disappointed in the American man who came into her shop all the time to annoy her, really it doesn’t matter. How could it? He was really just a nuisance more than anything else, that Calvin ‘Cal’ Kestis. But, he was truly the only person that she could recall in what feels like a lifetime that looked her in her eyes, talked to her like a person, even if it was at annoying constancy. And GD he even learned some Russian just for her…but she tries to just forget about that handsome, redheaded cowboy all the same. Merrin is tasked to travel to a few towns over to pick up a delivery for the store, and after the long journey wherein she is going to have to spend the night anyway, so she decides to go to one of the saloons. She rolls her eyes as she sips at her whiskey because more than one man has approached her and thought she was a hooker. A brawl breaks out and she rolls her eyes harder. Stupid men. All of them were just children.

But then this man comes in the middle of it and tries to break it up. His voice sounds familiar, but she thinks he’s hearing things. She tries to tune it out, but notices he gets punched anyway, and his hat flies off. Yeah, no there was no denying that red hair. She wants to leave, but she can’t; she’s stuck on her stool. Once the fight finally ceases, Cal is with that small man he came into the store with sometimes as he retrieves his hat. He talks with the short man, and she thinks he’s going to leave, and he is just going to be lost to her again, but then he seems to stay for another drink, probably wanting to nurse that black eye he’s no doubt going to get. He sits at one of the stools and downs a drink. Oh lordt should she go up to him now? After everything she’s lost, it seemed ridiculous to do such a thing, but she finds her feet moving of her own volition. Oh GOD what is she even going to say. “That is quite the punch you took,” she says, sitting down next to him, “I probably have something in my supplies that could help with that.” Cal whips his head to her and quickly voices her name, which she was certain he was going to forget. And he seemed most certainly shocked that yes she does indeed know English and has this whole time. There’s smiles all around as he offers to buy her a drink and she accepts. But she also has to make fun of how terrible his Russian was."

So then there was this one fine morning on the Merrical server where @myfaenwy posted this photo shoot of Cam that was so very rude of him, actually...I mean...look at this slut wtf

(affectionate, obviously haha we love him)

I then liked begged @myfaenwy to write the prompt that I wrote out, but then...I just posed the idea of writing with her (something neither of us have done), and much to my delight...she was down.

Unfortunately, we've both been pretty busy with other WIPs, so we have not actually started writing, but we've been talking about this like since before JS! We are wanting to follow a lot of my prompt. And since both of us are also big fans of Red Dead Redemption 2, it will also be pretty RDR coded (which is the inspiration behind the title)...

We've had a drunken brainstorming session LOL that also involved:

Greez running a saloon, obvs. Cere is the bitch who runs everything as the wealthy widow. Aunt and niece duo Ventress and Merrin as Russian immigrants that run the general store in town, also obvs. Cal's gotta horse named Beauregarde Deaugustine the First, and I mean...look at fucking Koboh...it's all right there!!!

Basically, this fic is just kind of begging to be written! We are soooo very excited to start writing it and be able to show it to y'all!!!

YEEHAWWW!!

Y'all think Merrin will want to save a horse, ride a cowboy?😏🤠

#sorry i don't have any preview to give...but i mean my prompt was pretty fucking meaty lol #i cannot wait until we start writing it!#guhhhhhhhhh i can never say no to plot ideas i get too attached to #i have a problem and i am making it all your problem too #esp because this fandom NEEDS more aus #TEEHEE #fanfic #my fanfic #merrical fanfic #merrical #wmgtp #wip title game

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nat-1-whump · 7 months

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🐗 Monster transformation whump

Fantasy whump ideas no. 5

(Huge thanks to an anon for suggesting this, it turns out there's more whump potential for this than I thought! Sorry for disappearing for... Four months, I think?)

Speaking of transformation, why are they being turned into a monster? Maybe Whumper injected them with a strange serum, after kidnapping Whumpee and taking them to some sort of lab, where Whumpee found themself strapped to a table surrounded by blinding white lights. Or Whumper cursed them with some sort of magic, having spent hours researching the most potent and painful spells to do so, maybe even with the intention of feasting on Whumpee's life force or using them as a puppet of sorts. Alternatively, Whumper didn't do anything to turn Whumpee into a monster, but they enjoy Whumpee's pain nonetheless... Because Whumpee actually brought this curse on themself.

The transformation itself is physically agonizing. Whumpee writhes in pain as their body twists and contorts into a new creature. Scales, fangs, or fur grow in feeling like they're stabbing through Whumpee's skin, slowly ripping them apart. Their head feels like it's full of hot lead. They plead with Whumper to make it stop, but to no avail. They're forced to feel every part of their body warp into something unrecognizable.

Monster Whumpee now has urges that they never had before. They crave meat, they want to smash through walls, rip things to shreds, you name it. Whumper taunts them, telling them to go forth and follow these urges like the beast they are. Whumpee suppresses these urges out of fear of hurting anyone, possibly begging Whumper or Caretaker to restrain them, or doing so themself. Once restrained, the urges bubble up even more and they find themself begging to be let go.

Eventually their feral nature gets the best of them. They break free, and in unleashing themself they unleash destruction. It's as if they're being dragged into it by forces beyond their control, their vision turning red. By the time they regain control of themself, Monster Whumpee has to face what they've done as a puddle of blood spreads across the ground before them.

Monster Whumpee gets treated like a dangerous animal, nothing but a threat to contain. Maybe their captors don't know that Monster Whumpee used to be a person... or they know but simply don't care. Whumpee begs them to let them go or help them turn back, but nobody will. They have to listen to gasps and camera clicks as they're hunted down.

Monster Whumpee gets shot with a tranquilizer dart. Their limbs feel like they're full of lead. They collapse on the ground, slipping out of consciousness as they're tied up, muzzled, and hauled away. (Muzzle whump my beloved...)

They wake up bound completely, every limb tightly wrapped in leather and chains. A thick muzzle over their face feels like it's suffocating them. Their restraints force them into a kneeling position on the dirty concrete floor. Whumper circles around them, tracing their finger along Monster Whumpee's skin. Monster Whumpee can't move in protest, though the anger and defiance still forces its way out in the form of muffled growls.

While desperately trying to escape, Monster Whumpee gets injured. With nobody willing to go anywhere near them, let alone treat them, they end up trying to treat their wounds themself, which may make the injury even worse.

Whumper agrees to protect Whumpee, but only if Whumpee lets Whumper use them as a subject for a series of tests. Though Whumper may initially claim it was for research and nothing more, it becomes more and more apparent that Whumper gets a thrill out of torturing Whumpee and recording the results. This may end badly for Whumper though. After all, what makes them think they can keep this monster contained indefinitely?

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thesistersarcheron · 2 years

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"in my dreams, we're still together", for Nessriel, because yaaaassss the angst. 💀💀💀

Pairing: Nessriel Rating: M Notes: You're breaking my whole heart with this request! Az just got over the yearning phase in viciousness & intelligence, and now he's right back in the thick of it.

Azriel always found her in the library. The empty, cold blackness where Bryaxis once dwelled, where Cassian still feared to tread… it contained the heart of the House now, and more often than not, her shadowsinger.

He didn’t speak as he drew her into the yawning dark, his steps careful and silent, a guiding hand around her waist and the other twining their fingers together. Nesta couldn’t see him, but she could feel his shadows, colder and more desperate as they covered her, a secondary shield of darkness to hide them from prying eyes.

“I missed you,” she whispered on a breath, mindful of the priestesses in the levels above them. “He misses you, too.”

Cool lips pressed against the back of her hand in response.

And then Nesta was being spun, her back pressed into a stone wall. One of his hands cradled her head before it could hit the wall, the long length of his body pressed against hers. A shaking kiss, featherlight, brushed against the space where her dress met her shoulder. Where a sapphire brooch pinned the elegant collar down.

“Az,” she murmured. She reached for him blindly in the darkness, and he hissed as her fingertips knocked against the edge of a wing, shadows banding around her wrist to draw it back. To draw it to his face, where she traced the tired, thin skin beneath his eyes that she knew was dark with exhaustion.

“In my dreams,” he said into her ear as she followed the path of his cheekbone, drawing her thumb over his lips. His voice a rumble so low she strained to hear it in the roaring silence. “We’re still together. All of us.”

“I’m sorry.” Gods, sorry was too weak a word for the regret that tightened her stomach and made it impossible to eat. She had been stupid to think that her mating ceremony would be a joyous thing, that Azriel would be excluded from the furious jealousy of the frenzy that followed. That the countless nights she and Cassian spent making love with him would mean anything once the primal magic of a mating bond kicked in.

No. It had only amplified Cassian’s reaction to him as that unruled, bloodthirsty part of his mind rejected the first-hand knowledge of what Nesta looked like when Azriel made her come. How Az kissed her and marked her and held her afterward.

She knew Cassian regretted it, had cried over the loss of Azriel in his life with her more than once after Az had been forced to move into the townhouse, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Soon,” Azriel promised her, as understanding and gentle and fucking heartbroken as he always was when they met like this. His lips landed on her neck, on her pulse, and then… His breath fanned over her face, chased by cool shadows to calm the burning in her cheeks. His lips met hers, and Nesta arched into him, chasing the kiss as he pulled away. As he stepped back.

“Soon.”

#nessriel #nessian #nezriel #idk really what to tag these guys it's a mess on my blog #nesta archeron #azriel shadowsinger #nesta #azriel #prompt fill #my fics #acotar #a court of thorns and roses fic #cassian #yet another taylor swift song title because i don't have a single original thought

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azertycake · 3 months

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arranging my guys in my head. putting them in a line. pointing at them. thinking about them. spinning them around.

#certified azertycake moment #I see one (1) tag that oc prompt post on my mutual's dash and my brain is fizzing (/positive)#i don't even have a title for my ocs' narrative. they're just hanging out and probably going to kill each other.#The One Where A Cowboy Really Has It Out For A Vampire

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pethfics · 3 months

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ZUTARA WEEK 2021 (Catch-up), Day Two: Disguised

Title: Unceremonious Unmasking Summary: Sometimes, the most elaborate masks were also the subtlest. People had developed so many ways of concealing themselves beyond just changing their appearance, and it was these quirks that Toph loved to explore. Read on FF.net

#zutara #zutara week #zutaraweek #zutaraweek2021 #disguised #unceremonious unmasking #when in doubt go for the alliteration #my go-to for quick title ideas when I don't have poetry or song lyrics hahaha #I didn't think Toph would be a big part of this but writing has its surprises #one of those prompts that is awesome for fanart #but I always have to do my weird spin on it

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razzle-zazzle · 3 months

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How do you come up with the titles for your fics? They're very creative!

This is a very funny question for me to receive, because the answer... varies. Prior to getting an AO3 account, I only really titled my fics if I had a good idea for a title; AO3 requires every piece to be titled, though, and a lot of them... did not come easily.

I have the easiest time with Whumptobers, as I just title those based on the prompt. Otherwise, I have to come up with the titles myself, and it's usually the first thing I think of that sounds good enough. I have two pieces titled "i don't even know" and "dormmates (idk what to call this)" respectively purely bc I couldn't think of a title for them, and then I have pieces where the title is some low-meaning jargon that vibed like "it's snow problem!" "tiny steps in the night" "eggs for one" and so on. So more often than not I'm scrambling to figure out some kind of title to satisfy AO3 and then leaving the piece untitled on tumblr bc it doesn't need one.

When it comes to naming AUs... yeah, that varies too. I had a lot of trouble coming up with a name for the Between AU because a lot of what I was coming up with (Bergen Branch, Bergen Brothers, etc) either felt misleading, incomplete, or didn't fit the tone quite right. So even though "Between AU" makes no reference to the fact that Branch gets to be Bergen royalty, it still works with Branch's character arcs in that AU as being caught between different worlds. Some of my AU titles end up being more literal or descriptive (Undead Acrobat, PN Rapids AU), and some get to be a little more poetic (Pearl & Seaglass, The River Runs Deep).

There is one series where I spent a lot of time figuring out titles; in fact, just a few weeks ago I had a category two brainrot event that witnessed me going through all the ice and ice-related Wikipedia articles + a thesaurus shifting some of the titles in If We're All for One World (the title of which is literally just a lyric from the show's theme song, lmao). And the names from that series don't all fit a cohesive theme! I just put them together based on the other pieces they could be themed with, and based on what served the story best! I do have a series where all the names follow a theme (Buried Beneath), but it's a loose theme of "earth-related" lmao.

tl;dr I pick names based on what works for the fic itself, but sometimes I just throw words together until I get something that sounds vaguely fitting, and sometimes the fic is part of a series where the titles have some kind of theme, but even then it tends to be loosey-goosey.

#ask zaz #i...#i don't think this helped #thank you for the compliment!!#but some of my titles really are just. words i threw together #sometimes a title simply comes to me like a fairy in the night #sometimes i have to think about it #and sometimes it's a whumptober piece so instead of naming the piece based on the content i reverse the process and use the title #to help me figure out what i want to write for the prompt #so yeah my final answer is: it varies #and if ''it varies'' isn't an essential part of the creative process #then what the fuck am i doing /lh

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cakeinthevoid · 10 months

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@whumpkinpie hello! I have written more because Carrie and WIllow have captured my writing brain. welcome to my first ever tag list bwahaha

See prompt/part 1 here: the link

Part 2 — Asleep (Call Me Up — Luna Luna)

The sun had just disappeared behind the mountains when the speaker finally died. The warning trills had been ringing in advance, but Carrie couldn’t bring themself to break the calm late afternoon tranquility that had befallen their little porch. And thus Carrie tried to savour the moment until its most definite end—hoping that those extra few minutes could bring some more much needed peace to Willow.

After the soft vocals were abruptly cut off, Carrie expected Willow to start and disappear deeper into the house—hopefully to their room and not on the cold floor near the stairs.

Getting up and gathering their various items (glass, blanket, speaker, phone—), Carrie was quietly surprised to see Willow in the same position against the wall inside: one leg bent with their elbow resting on their knee—except now their head was tilted to the side.

They had fallen asleep.

And so close to Carrie. Were they finally feeling safe around them?

Carrie redoubled their efforts to stay quiet as they carried their items inside, stepping awkwardly over the cooler that was both holding the door open and partially blocking their path.

After getting everything in order and carefully dragging the cooler back to the kitchen, Carrie returned to the porch exit with a soft blanket.

Willow was still out like a light, remarkably. They were a very light sleeper and Carrie had fully anticipated the scraping of the beat plastic cooler on the hardwood floor would be the thing to wake them up. And yet they slept.

And, well, if they were sleeping so well here, why would Carrie force them awake just to move them upstairs? They were resolutely ignoring the consequences of sleeping in such a position on hard surfaces in favour of preserving the most peaceful look on their face that they had ever seen.

Carrie came close and gently laid down the light blanket on Willows wiry figure, holding their breath. When they didn’t shift, Carrie exhaled a silent breath of relief. Then they backed away into the kitchen to cook dinner.

While the chicken was in the oven, Carrie set about finishing household chores and finding the speaker charger. All the while, they thought of music.

#adding a song link because the VIIIBEEEE #the crickets at the end of the song... yessss... YESSSSSS #also I have no title for this yet #very open to suggestions #also very open to other prompts/tropes to include in this #sure I have some inkling on where to take this but I'd love to include what people want to see #if it fits of course we'll see #so uhhh #i'm going to tag it with oc names for now since I don't have a title #Carrie #Willow #don't think those are gonna change #maybe pronouns will. although I like the they/them for both since they game from simple caretaker and whumpee characters #I'd like to make it easy for readers to imagine whoever they want in their place #so I'm not going to be describing their looks #unless y'all want me to?????#regardless #hope you enjoyed!!#I've queued the next part for tomorrow morning :)#recovery #recovery whump

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greypetrel · 1 year

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

You are all enabler!

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

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

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

Soundtrack!

And Part 1 if you missed it

If I Make it to the Morning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So close to Tevinter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s this Corypheus?”

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

“So, a Magister.”

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

“… Lavellan, you said?”

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

“… she’s a mage.”

“Yes, but-”

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

He needed to get South.

*Exalted Plains, 9:42, Guardian.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Swiiish.

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

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

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

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

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

“Boss!”

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

He felt it, then.

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

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

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

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

“Dinner, silly!” She laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure, Boss? We don’t know-”

“I knew him.”

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

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

She lowered her eyes, nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was that, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Adamant Fortress, 9:42, Kingsway.*

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

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

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

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

“Let me come with you.”

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

---

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

“Broody!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded to her, gravely.

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

The battle was over.

And yet, it was not.

---

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

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

His heart broke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why did you get back?”

“What do you mean?”

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

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

“What happened?”

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

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

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

“I am a killer.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why returning now? After all these years?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

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

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

“Why are you telling me this, now?”

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

“I understand.”

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

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

“It is too late.”

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

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

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

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

“You don’t trust me.”

She sighed, deeply, shaking her head in denial.

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

That much was true, she didn’t hesitate.

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

“No. Thank you, weirdo.”

It could have been.

But, the timing was wrong.

#dragon age #dragon age fic #fenris #inquisitor lavellan #dragon age inquisition #fenris x lavellan #angst #writing petrel #aisling lavellan #again if I got something wrong or superficially please tell me #and yes I quoted Florence in the title #If you want more send prompts #again this would be a romance that is as difficult to make work in game as saving Clan Lavellan #aka if you don't have the Wiki page open they will end horribly #I didn't have the Wiki page open #cuties coexisting #ANGSTIES ANGSTYING

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