#but also alistair is very far away from him and doing very dangerous things

[evilvarric666-archive]

I just think about Brosca in Awakening a lot

#on top of Everything Else he's experiencing separation anxiety of the variety usually only experienced by small. mistreated chihuahuas. #its fine though hes fine. hes handling it. #its just that they've spent pretty much their every waking moment together for almost a year and a half now #like since they met in ostagar they've just. never been apart. #with a few exceptions that lasted. at max. 24 hours. #even before they were Together and like. even when they were broken up for a little bit before the landsmeet. #alistair was still always just Around. brosca forgot what it was like to just not have him nearby #hes being really normal about it though. a-okay. #but also alistair is very far away from him and doing very dangerous things #and if he needed help brosca couldn't help him or protect him #and if he died brosca wouldn't find out for weeks #he could be dead right now even. or dying. theres absolutely no way to know. #its fine though! #except also. even if neither of them dies or anything terrible like that. #there's no guarantee that their relationship will survive this first separation #what if he gets back and doesn't feel the same anymore? what if their relationship can't survive in real life #what if they only work in the context of being the last two wardens in ferelden during a blight? #what if they did all that just to find out that they can't be together? what if brosca loses him anyways? #its all good though! he feels fine :) today he only had one panic attack and only locked himself in the bathroom to cry twice #really great! hes coping so. soooo good. #so so good.

[autisticandroids]

yknow those episodes where a character's whole personality gets split into 3-5 different distinct separate bodies? what bodies would cas have? I feel like it'd just be a mess tbh, imagine 5 different castiels all of them loving dean to a certain extent but showing it VASTLY differently. one cas would literally want to murder the others lmao

okay so i don’t actually think this trope would be an effective tool for analyzing cas? he’s not conflicted enough in himself. he’s too impulsive, too singleminded, too uninhibited. like, in the end, cas always ends up doing whatever he wants. there aren’t multiple discrete voices vying for control, really, or rather, if there are, one is always significantly stronger than the others. like in the end cas will always end up eating raw meat off the floor, you know? he’ll do what he wants. if i was going to do personality splitting i’d do it to someone intensely internally conflicted, like dean.

however, because i’m in an essay writing mood today, i’ll answer a question slightly to the left of the one you asked. cas may not be internally conflicted, but he is intensely changeable. these two things are related, actually; the same impulsivity and singlemindedness that mean he doesn’t have a ton of internal conflict at any given time mean that different ideas sound good to him at different times, because he isn’t really thinking about, say, what future-him will think of them. and he’s not really trying to maintain an image or identity. he’s just doing what feels right at the time, which is very different at different times and in different situations.

anyway, that in mind, i think a lot about ways to bring together many alternate versions of cas which sort of correspond to different times in the show.

i have a fic in my head about a bunch of cas-es pulled from alternate timelines by some kind of spell. so this would be set during the widower arc because the basic impulse here is to show dean a very bad time. just absolutely put him through hell. also, all the alternate timelines are different because different stuff happened, not because cas made different choices, because if we’re torturing dean it has to be like 5x04, the changes in cas can’t be cas’ fault. they have to be dean’s or just like, the universe’s (which makes them dean’s).

so dean is trying to bring cas back, and he finds some kind of spell that can bring someone “from another world.” and he tries it because hey. can’t hurt to try. anyway i’ve thought a long time about different versions of cas i would put in this and here is what i have. in order of when the timeline split off.

- a cas who never raised dean from hell. think 14x13 “lebanon.” this one i’m not too sure about, like, this could be fun, but i don’t know if it’s different enough from the next one. like this castiel would have lived through the averted apocalypse and subsequent general fuckery that happened as an angelic footsoldier, which would actually be pretty interesting now that i think about it, especially since all that stuff would have gone down soooooooo differently without cas specifically for your average angel footsoldier. like cas has PERSONALLY caused more upheaval in heaven in twelve years of spn than there seems to have been in millennia. so he would be the point of view of a normal footsoldier from a totally other world.

- a cas who died mid season four, and is pulled out of the empty in 2017 by this spell. i’m not sure when this cas died. my thoughts are (1) killed in on the head of a pin by alistair, (2) killed during his torture in the rapture, or (3) simply never resurrected after lucifer rising. (3) makes the most sense, but that cas has already thrown away everything for dean. i prefer the idea of a cas who loves dean, is already on the brink of disobedience for him, but has not yet taken the plunge. both on the head of a pin and the rapture are great places for this, and they both have strengths and weaknesses. if he died in the rapture, he was killed by heaven, which is fundamentally more fun, but he was also really very much over the edge already. if he died in on the head of a pin, he wasn’t killed by heaven, but he is perfectly teetering on the brink of falling for dean. regardless of when he died, the purpose of this cas is to be horrified at all the various and myriad ways he has destroyed and corrupted himself for dean in the other timelines.

- possibly endverse cas, who would have died in 2014, but like s4 cas, would have been pulled from the afterlife by the spell. i’m not so sure on this one. we as a society love endverse cas but i dunno what purpose he would serve. maybe endverse cas didn’t die in 2014, and instead was imprisoned by lucifer, because, you know. he’s the only brother lucifer has left. so he is very excited to see dean alive and well, since his dean is dead, and, not being an angel, cas can’t bring him back. the purpose of this cas would be to horrify dean that cas loves him and needs him so much, and to disgust the other cas-es with his neediness.

- a cas who was in some way on better terms with dean during s6. maybe dean and cas ride off into the sunset together after swan song instead of dean going to live with lisa, maybe dean prayed to cas while he was with lisa because he missed him, who knows. either way, cas has dean’s help with the angel revolution in season six from the start, and never goes to crowley. the plan cas and dean come up with to beat raphael includes breaking into the cage and stealing the grace of michael and lucifer, freeing sam and adam in the process. incidentally, it also involves cas possessing dean, because if cas is gonna eat archangel grace to become more powerful, he’s going to need a stronger vessel. so cas and dean have a whole like. midam situation happening. they’re a double archangel together, and godstiel never happened so none of the other terrible apocalypses that stemmed from that happened, and everything is pretty cool where they’re from, and also they’re obviously uhhhhhh SOME kind of together. the purpose of this cas is to upset dean because this cas shows how much better everything could have been and how much better his and cas’ relationship could have been if dean had simply been more considerate of cas in s6, and also freak dean out with how uh. close. this dean and cas are.

- a godstiel who managed to swallow purgatory without swallowing the leviathans and remained god. he’s probably soooomewhat less scary and murdery than canonverse godstiel because no leviathans, so you know, not as many angel purges or massacres on earth. and he probably went and fixed sam’s wall within about three days because cas is prideful but he does NOT like it when dean is mad at him. so they did kiss and make up, and so this cas would have had dean to act as his morality chain. but he’s still very scary and godstiel. and also he refers to dean as “The Beloved” you know. his purpose is to freak everyone out, because he’s scary, but also, for the past cas-es, because he is a terrifying abomination that they could never imagine becoming, for the future cas-es, because he is a reminder of their worst selves, and for dean, because he is a reminder of how dangerous cas is, but also because he uh. obviously has some feelings about his dean. unclear if they are consummated or not.

- a cas who naomi never rescued from purgatory, and who stayed there. hasn't spoken to another being in half a decade, has not recovered from his emotionally destroyed state in purgatory in s8. believes at first that the spell is his dean rescuing him, and is crushed when he realizes he was wrong. like endverse cas, his purpose is to show dean how much cas needs him and depends on him emotionally, and how he (dean) is capable of destroying cas, as well as his guilt for leaving him in purgatory and how lucky he is that his cas got out. this is especially noteworthy since the guilt for leaving cas in purgatory is part of the reason dean is trying to get cas back.

- a cas who stayed human after season nine, and has built himself a small human life over the next four years. he has a job and an apartment and friends outside the winchesters and yes, he still goes hunting after work sometimes, and he's still in contact with dean, but he is also independent in a way no other version of cas has ever been. he exists to freak out dean because dean has never seen cas independent of him. he is also fairly bitter at dean since dean did kind of stop spending time with him when he was no longer useful, and our dean feels guilty for that.

- a cas who showed up twenty minutes later in 10x03, finding sam dead and dean gone, and had to chase down demon dean, and has now spent three years following demon dean around as his tragically adoring stalker, because he hasn't found a way to resurrect sam yet and he doesn't want to put dean through the demon cure until he can save sam because he doesn't want dean to experience that guilt, but he also adores dean and wants to keep an eye on him and keep him safe and also keep him from doing anything too heinous, so he just covertly follows him around the country and watches from a distance as he commits various murders and fucks his way through every local bar scene. and occasionally cas finds dean something to kill, when the mark gets hungry, and drops it in his path. his purpose is to freak dean out with the lengths cas would go for him, and the depths cas would sink to.

anyway. lebanon cas and season four cas are horrified and perhaps disgusted (lebanon cas more than s4 cas) by ALL of the later cas-es, and how far they’re fallen, all of it for dean. godstiel and archangel cas being abominations, endverse cas and s9 cas being fallen, even purgatory cas and demon dean’s cas for their total dependence on dean.

purgatory cas and endverse cas are just happy to see a dean, even if it’s not their dean. demon dean’s cas, too, in a way. he’s happy to see a dean who is still human, who he can still have as a friend.

human cas is pissed to see that he was right, that dean would have stuck by him if he’d still had his powers, that this version of dean is doing spells to try and bring his cas, who is still an angel, back, whereas he and his dean only see each other once every couple months.

everyone is terrified and disgusted by godstiel, as i said before.

they’re mostly kind of thrown by archangel cas. a lot of them are jealous. godstiel is furious because how dare anyone, even an alternate version of himself, take dean as a vessel (even if dean likes it). godstiel isn’t really there, though, he resisted the summoning and just sort of popped his head through to see what was going on, and he goes back to his own reality pretty fast without murdering anyone.

also to be clear dean has not at this point examined or acknowledged any feelings he may have about his cas besides “friendship,” nor has he wondered what feelings his cas may have for him. given how many of the cas-es were clearly in some kind of relationship with their dean (endverse cas, archangel cas) or just openly in love with their dean (godstiel, purgatory cas, demon dean’s cas), dean is forced to reevaluate the nature of his and cas’ relationship.

#spn #asks #anonymous

[screenviolense]

THE RUTHERFORD FAMILY: a mysterious and wealthy family with dark secrets buried far beneath their family home in the english countryside.

myrna rutherford - the matriarch of the london rutherfords, using her maiden name after the mysterious deaths and disappearances of several of her husbands, very little is known about her other than that she’s been alive and in better health longer than she truthfully should be and is one of the few who can navigate the rutherford home without falling prey to the unsettling quiet and paranoia it can cause in even the strongest of minds, especially at night

sylvester rutherford - the oldest of myrna’s children, he lives a surprisingly normal life and is rarely seen at family events due to his illustrious career as an international spy. he lives with his common law husband at an address he chooses not to disclose with their yorkshire terrier.

beatrice rutherford - a woman well known throughout england for her stranger danger and street smarts lectures at schools in the 70s and 80s, she carries that persona into every other aspect of her life, often terrifying her own niece when she was her guardian into not trusting anything or anyone. she lives alone in a london townhouse covered so thoroughly in ivy that it’s nearly impossible to make out much more than the door.

victor rutherford - unofficially disowned, victor is a kind but lonely man, also living in london by himself, but has a love for smaller pleasures in life that his siblings never quite understood. he raised his nephew, alistair, another outcast of the family.

martin rutherford - the youngest of his siblings, martin believed for a long time he would never take on the role of the family, at least until the accidental pregnancy resulting in kinsey and the rapid marriage to an interpol agent named margot, often trying to avoiding his responsibilities by traveling all over the world and gathering stories to write about that turned him into a famous true crime novelist. after spending a year with kinsey, he passed her off to be raised by her aunt, knowing she would do a much better job of shaping a proper rutherford heir and rarely enters her life save for when he needs more material for his books. despite his easily charismatic demeanor, he’s far more dangerous than he looks and can pull the fear from just about anyone without a care in the world.

margot hellstrom - pretends her husband doesn’t exist which is just how he likes it. well liked though by his mother and sister, despite not being a proper rutherford.

kinsey rutherford - the reluctant heir to the family legacy, kinsey’s upbringing left her isolated and unable to easily bond with other people, but it never took away the soft touch or the desire to help that led her to join interpol. after an encounter with a serial killer with less than human abilities left her lost and traumatized, she chose to leave her job and embark on a journey to discover more about the strange things she’s seen, which forces her to start to look back on her own childhood and relationship with her father who seems more insistent about making contact with her after her accident. 

alistair rutherford - even more accidental than his sister, alistair did his best to live up to the family name by becoming a detective, but it was clear, even from a young age, that he lacked the right temperament for it and was mostly forgotten by the rest of the family. he doesn’t seem to mind.

leia, luke, and padme rutherford nolan - the children of kinsey and floyd, they’ve mostly been sheltered from the truth of their family, save for the occasional check ins from their uncle and great uncle, but leia can’t deny the strange urge she gets to fight her grandfather every time he visits.

#✦ RUTHERFORD FAMILY * to be cut off from one’s family is its own very special sort of loneliness #✦ KINSEY R. * HEADCANON the light of autumn: you will not be spared #✦ LEIA R. * HEADCANON i cut my teeth on weaker men #✦ MARTIN R. * HEADCANON there is usually one wicked person in any room

[blackswaneuroparedux]

The Great Drive: James Hunt and Niki Lauda at Fuji, 1976

I feel really sorry for Niki. I feel sorry for everybody that the race had to be run in such ridiculous circumstances because the conditions were dangerous and I fully appreciate Niki’s decision. After an accident like he had, what else could he do? Quite honestly, I wanted to win the championship and I felt I deserved it. But I also felt Niki deserved to win the championship – and I just wish we could have shared it.

- James Hunt on winning the Japanese Grand Prix 1976 to become F1 World Champion

James Hunt’s epic title battle with Niki Lauda, during what many see as the definitive F1 season, was topped off by a thrilling race in the land of the rising sun. It became an instant classic, one of F1’s Great Drives.

With everything to lose, in treacherous conditions, and with late drama, James Hunt's drive in the 1976 Japanese Grand Prix was one of the greatest of all time.

James Hunt delivered his greatest drive in spite of himself. It wasn’t just the peak moment of his career, but also a defining drive for F1.

The British gentleman racer conquering the world’s best in far away lands – Hunt embodied it.

Despite this, the Brit’s landmark drive came in the midst of late night escapades, mechanical disasters, psychological warfare and F1 politics.

As the ‘76 season approached its climax in North America and Asia, it seemed all might be lost for the McLaren team and its lead driver. Hunt had been duelling with Ferrari’s Niki Lauda throughout the year, but losing his British Grand Prix win to disqualification (announced by the FIA at Round 14 in Canada) seemed to have derailed his season for good.

McLaren team manager at the time Alastair Caldwell describes the state of affairs as they approached the North American leg of the season: “We abandoned the idea of winning the world championship. I let him misbehave in Canada and in Watkins Glen. On both occasions we were pissed on race eve, both of us in a bar after midnight getting rotten – me on alcohol and him on women, because he was always very successful with women.

“James met a girl – the leader of the band at the motel in Montreal – and so he came to the race dishevelled, in the same clothes as he’d been wearing the previous night – and he won the race!

“Even then we still thought we were out of it. Then we won Watkins Glen too! So suddenly we became serious again.”

Lauda had scored 4 points to Hunt’s 18 in this period. With the championship fight back on, the rejuvenated team and driver looked at the season finale in a new light. The championship fight was back on, and as a result, McLaren prepared for the Japanese GP with renewed vigour.

James Hunt had been in Japan a fortnight, ostensibly to test at a circuit  new to him. Delays at customs, car problems and bad weather had severely  restricted his running, but at least now he was totally orientated and, in his inimitable fashion, ‘relaxed’. That meant when he wasn’t  strutting his stuff on the hotel’s squash court, he was billing and  cooing with its latest migratory flock of pretty air stewardesses to bed. It beat  jogging.

Lauda arrived later, low-key and at a low ebb. The spirit that held  the demons at bay during his remarkable Monza comeback had evaporated in  Canada and America. Now running on empty, he was full of doubts. While  Ferrari team manager Daniele Audetto attempted to whip up retro oppo to  McLaren’s ‘illegal’ testing, his star driver looked the other way and  wished it over: Lauda was sick of Enzo and his minions, of a season in  its 10th month and of press intrusion.

McLaren’s earlier preparations were in sharp contrast to the rest of the field who arrived just for the race weekend itself. According to Caldwell, “The others all turned up on the Thursday, including Niki, you can see them all get off the plane knackered and then trying to find where this new racetrack was.”

It wasn’t just through testing and acclimatisation that Hunt and McLaren stole a march. Caldwell thought he might use interactions with the press to his advantage: “Just for a laugh we spread a rumour. A journalist said to me ‘what’s the track like?’ I said ‘It’s is good but it’s got a lot of loose gravel on it.’”

Enjoying the effect the track surface story had on the rest of the field’s preparations, Caldwell thought he’d develop the rumour into a full-blown design feature.

“Because we were bored and had nothing else to do, the mechanics made mesh covers for all the air intakes on the car, to “protect” the brake ducts and air intake.

“Then Niki (Lauda) came down to our garage, which he always did – he spent more time in our garage then Ferrari’s. He would joke with us and do mechanic’s repartee.

“Psychologically we had them on the back foot right from the start.”

“Niki had come to see what we’d done with the cars as he was also a spy. So I told the mechanics, ‘just by mistake’, to take the covers off the cars so you could see the mesh covers on all the intakes. They did this and then they put it back on in a hurry while I ‘looked displeased’.

“And so then Niki broke off the conversation, trotted back to Ferrari and said ‘f**king hell, McLaren have put vents near these grilles over everything in the car, we got to do the same.’

“The whole Ferrari organisation went out to find these grilles, find where they came from and make them for their three cars. Then we put our three cars in the pit road and took all the grilles off the T-Car. Niki came down and said ‘You f**king bastards!’ They came down the pitroad and Ferrari had this shit all over their car – these grilles all over the radiators.

“He had to tear back and tell them to take them all off. Psychologically we had them on the back foot right from the start, there’s all this psychological warfare.”

Niki was plastered across front pages because of his near-death  experience on the track; James was on them because of the life he led  off it. Their battle and clashing personalities, though they were good  friends, had made the world championship a global news shit-fight. Hunt,  outgoing but often lonely in a crowd, pretended to be okay with it.  Lauda didn’t.

Friday’s practice sessions provided blessed relief, therefore, even  though both men suffered understeer on the stickier Goodyears made  available to its faster teams because of the rare presence of  Bridgestone and Dunlop on one-off Japanese entries. The title rivals  finished the day one-hundredth apart on a provisional third row.

Each improved on Saturday – Hunt to second, Lauda to third – and  James, a notoriously slow starter who, by his own estimation, needed to  win the race in order to become world champion, was in a much-improved  mood. Niki’s never budged.

Then it rained. And rained. And rained some more.

The storm that swept in from China a day later than forecast was the  last thing Lauda needed: another element beyond his control. Mist  shrouded the snow cone of Mount Fuji, which supposedly bestowed good  fortune – when visible – and Niki felt hemmed in by circumstance.

The mind-games might well have been in vain, for the monsoon weather which rolled in on Sunday looked like putting the race in jeopardy. If the Grand Prix was cancelled, Lauda would be handed the World Championship.

Not that Hunt was enamoured with the situation. He spoke privately  with Lauda and agreed an attempt to have the race postponed – albeit not  before he stressed that he would take the start if necessary and race  as hard as Niki forced him to.

The Grand Prix Drivers Association had been formed to have some influence on such matters, to stop the interests of teams, the governing body and sponsors taking precedence over drivers’ well being. Hunt and Lauda were both members and convened prior to the race start in an effort to have it stopped.

“They were adamant the race wasn’t going to be held. Bernie (Ecclestone, Brabham team boss) and I were in the race control tower trying to convince them to hold the race.” says Caldwell “And James kept on saying ‘No no, we’re not going to race’. I tried to explain to him that no race meant no World Championship. He replied “No, no, no, it’s totally unsuitable, we can’t race”.

Alistair Caldwell, McLaren Team boss, resorted to more imaginative tactics to swing the mood towards starting the race.

“I was going down (to the pits) getting my car mechanics to start the engines every half an hour, which would make all the other teams start doing it – they didn’t know why. The engines were making this noise ‘woop, woop, woop’”.

The engineer then turned his attention to activating the spectators.

“I was trying to get some enthusiasm from the passive Japanese crowd, they’d been there for hours doing nothing. They weren’t even talking, just sitting in the rain – miserable.

“I said to our tyre man Lance Gibbs ‘Do you think you could get the crowd going?’ So he got up on the pitwall with his ACME Thunderer whistle, which had been given to the boys to use as a horn, for when they pushed the race cars around the paddock.

“He went ‘beep beep’ and hundreds of spectators did the same – got them doing a concert. We then did the business of slow clapping, when it gets to the end, people can’t keep up, they lose co-ordination and you get a huge noise.

“I went back to the tower and the geriatric Japanese officials and said, ‘Look, you’ve got a riot on your hands’ Bernie was there and he said ‘Yeah, you’ve gotta hold the race. Otherwise you’ll have trouble’. So they said ‘Ok we’ll have the race.’”

With the decision made, the cars finally lined up to start at 4pm. The deliberations had been going on so long that the light was now beginning to fade, reducing the limited visibility even further.

Hunt, nervously retching and hacking more than ever, was so  distracted that he took a leak in full view of the spectators. Cue  polite applause. Ominously, he then walked a plank laid across a puddle  and stepped aboard his McLaren M23. He tipped his helmet back against  its roll-hoop and closed his eyes in contemplation. Lauda, crushed by  all that had gone before, hunched forward in his 312 T2’s cockpit. Both  knew that fate was about to be sorely tempted.

Hunt made a blinding start and held a huge lead by the end of the  opening lap. As the rest pecked hesitantly in his rooster-tails, he was  out of sight, both physically and metaphorically.

Meanwhile, Lauda, unable to blink because of his burn injuries, was  drowning in the pack and questioning his sanity. He formulated an answer by lap two. The Ferrari – “a paper boat in a storm” – rolled into the  pitlane and drew up at its garage. Measured. The team descended while  designer Mauro Forghieri craned into its cockpit to ascertain the  problem.

After just 1 lap, Lauda had seen enough. Deeming the conditions too dangerous, and having already nearly lost his life at Nürburgring that year, the Austrian decided it simply wasn’t worth carrying on. He pulled his Ferrari into the pits and walked away from the 1976 World Championship. Lauda, the reigning world champion, had the skill but not the will to continue. It was “murder” out there – and life was for living.

Hunt, as drivers without a world title feel compelled to, pressed on  and kept his date with destiny. Hunt being Hunt, of course, he almost  missed it. Not until his post-race red mist lifted could he be persuaded  that he hadn’t.

With Lauda out the race, Hunt’s task was now a little more straightforward. He simply had to finish third, and the title was his.

The McLaren driver pressed on and by lap 10 his lead had doubled to over 8sec. Meanwhile, interesting movements were afoot further back in the pack.

Local hero Kazuyoshi Hoshino, driving a privately-entered Tyrrell 007, had made his up to third, from 21st on the grid!

More worrying for Hunt was that March’s Vittorio Brambilla had overtaken Andretti and was beginning to hunt him down. By lap 20, Brambilla had closed right up behind the Hunt.

On the next lap, the March driver decided to go for it. Brambilla, known for an erratic driving style, conformed to type on this occasion by inadvertently out-braking himself as he dived down the inside of the McLaren.

Hunt had been wary of Brambilla and was monitoring the situation constantly. In a moment of brilliant anticipation, he allowed the March to spin in front of him, performing the cutback and before carrying on as if almost nothing had happened.

Brambilla dropped to fourth, the danger to Hunt being over for now. Andretti at this point was gradually dropping back through the pack. It was Hunt’s team-mate Jochen Mass who was behind him now, with a McLaren 1-2 now looking very much on the cards.

Seeking to control the race from here on in, the team’s new concern was the drying line which was now appearing on the track. Caldwell put out a pit board sign telling his drivers to cool their wet weather tyres – this was done by searching for wet sections of the track, the water preventing the rubber from overheating.

To his team manager’s frustration, Hunt didn’t appear to be heeding the warnings: “As soon as Mass saw the sign, he pulled over in the water right in front of us. Then on the next lap he came down the right hand side of the track, splashing through the puddles, which cools the tires down, (while) James didn’t react.

“The next lap we gave it to Hunt again, the next lap again, he still didn’t do it. So we took away the pitboard, just gave him the ‘cool tyres’ sign and he still didn’t react. So then everyone in the team started pointing at it (the sign). Everybody in the team pointed, Teddy (Mayer, McLaren Managing Director) and everyone else and he still did nothing.”

Hunt carried on down the dry line, running his tyres way above their recommended temperature, seemingly oblivious to the warnings.

If Hunt wasn’t going to heed the warnings, then Andretti was: “Because we were emphasising this so much, Andretti saw it and started to cool his tyres. So he started running through the puddles. He didn’t have to stop (as a result).

“But James just resolutely drove down the middle of the dry track, and we could never bring him in, because he was never that far ahead. It was never possible to tactically stop him because there’s a big long pitroad at Fuji.”

Jochen Mass, benefitting from his team’s tyre advice, now began to reel in his team-mate. If he got past, he would have no trouble driving off into the distance to take the win.

However, the German’s diligence came to naught, as he spun off and out of contention on lap 36. This would have a huge bearing on the race later.

For now, Hunt was again in the clear. Another challenger, Shadow’s Tom Pryce, moved into second, but he too retired as his Cosworth engine expired on lap 46.

As the grand prix wore on, Hunt remained in a seemingly trance-like state as he stuck to his line, the situation became critical.

Whilst yet another to danger to Hunt had abated, the McLaren driver was now deciding whether to play the percentages. He could either pit to replace his worn tyres – and lose track position – or try and stick it out at the risk of losing so much grip he would be overtaken anyway.

Hunt took the second option. He could afford to drop to third, and this is indeed what happened. On lap 61, he was overtaken not only by Tyrrell’s Patrick Depailler, but also the resurgent Lotus of Andretti.

If Hunt managed to hold position, he would be world champion. For the next 7 laps, the plan appeared to be working. Then, on lap 68, disaster struck.

The McLaren driver suffered not one, but two deflated tyres – both on the left-hand side of the car. They were, as Caldwell puts it, “worn down to the air”. Hunt managed to drag his car round for half a lap before scraping into the pits.

F1 jacks at the time were not designed to lift a car with puncture at the front and rear of the car. While the jack was used to lift the rear of the car, TV shots show Caldwell and other team members lifting the other end of the car themselves to replace the front-left tyre.

It was a long pitstop, and once out, Hunt found himself back in fifth place. There were four laps left and Hunt was two places down on where he needed to be.

Two more laps passed and the Englishman was no further up the order. It looked as if he may have lost his championship chance.

Then, with two laps left of the race to go, Hunt started the fight back. At the exit of T1 he managed to get past the Surtees of Alan Jones. One more place and the championship was his.

Next up was the Ferrari of Clay Regazzoni. It turned out there were some Scuderia politics at play which would work to Hunt’s advantage.

Caldwell filled in the back story: “Ferrari’s reaction to Niki’s crash was to sack Regazzoni (for 1977). He had already been sacked (by Fuji).

“So he was pissed off at Ferrari. When James came charging along, he just stepped out of the way and let him by.”

After benefitting from Regazzoni’s apparent generosity, Hunt was suddenly back in the golden position, the third place he needed to clinch the championship.

The McLaren man just had to keep it on the road for two more laps and he’d take the title. The tension mounted, both in the team pit and back in the UK, where his family were watching the live television feed at 3am.

Despite two nerve-wracking final laps, the Englishman duly brought his McLaren home in third place. He was the new F1 World Champion.

Photographs show Hunt angrily remonstrating with his team as he climbed from the car. He hadn’t realised he’d got the job done.

Caldwell himself had mixed emotions about the whole affair, “He didn’t look at the board and when he came into the pits he started shouting at us, because he didn’t know what happened. He was incredibly annoying on the day. He did drive magnificently, he kept it on the road – that’s one point of view. From my point of view it was the most frustrating day – I could’ve hit him with a baseball bat! He could have won the race, just strolled the world championship. All he had to do was read this pitboard and drive in the water, which is what Andretti did, so he didn’t wear the tyres out and could paddle across the line with the same ones.”

In spite of Hunt seemingly making a championship-losing decision, he had still managed to pull it off.

However, such was Caldwell’s consternation, the two didn’t discuss afterwards.

I was so angry about it. We flew back to England and I wasn’t talking to him on the plane. He was pissed as a newt anyway – we were all pissed as a newt and totally exhausted. He just went to sleep.”

The two never discussed the reasons behind the events, but it didn’t change the result. Three years after making his F1 debut, Hunt was the world champion.

Ten weeks later Hunt arrived in Argentina to begin his title defence  feeling underwhelmed and under-prepared. A few celebratory cigs and tins with his friend Britain’s newly crowned 500cc motorcycle world champion, Barry Sheene, at Fuji and a riotous return flight had been followed by a  disorientating whirl of meetings, interviews and engagements. The  race-by-race title chase had been thrilling: a sequence of one-day  stands. Making it official had cooled the relationship. The love affair  was over.

Though both men would retire summarily during the 1979 season, Hunt  did so because he felt frightened and disillusioned, whereas Lauda did  so because he felt nothing, which frightened him.

Niki, though, had a system – plus a plan to run his own airline – and  ultimately would return to the F1 cockpit and be successful. James,  whose theories were sometimes somewhat scrambled, would not. He bred  budgies instead. You do what you have to do.

Lauda’s decision to stop at Fuji ensured that he would be able to  continue. Hunt’s decision to continue ensured that he would have to stop  sooner rather than later. One racing mind wiped clean, the other  cluttered – and racing.

In spite of his career’s decline, Hunt’s endeavours had captured the imagination of the wider world in a way no racing driver had done before.Hunt knew that life was for living, too. Tragically, however, he had just discovered how best to when fate too soon snatched it from him.

#niki lauda #lauda #james hunt #hunt #quote #motorsport #grand prix #formula one #racing #driving #racers #drivers #world champion #japanese grand prix #fuji #history #sports #adrenaline rush #rivalry #sports car #culture

[fairfaxleasee]

"Since when do you have a vendetta against vases?" + any DA2 cast

For @dadrunkwriting

Despite the best efforts of my cat who didn't think I needed to actually finish this.

Pairings: Alistair/Amelia, Fenris/Cass Hawke

Rated: T (horror references)

(The DA2 cast is involved so it counts, right?)

"Since when do you have a vendetta against vases, my friend?" Zevran Arainai turned the current fundamental threat to Ferelden's existence in his hands as though it were actually a vase.

"That's not a vase!" Alistair wasn't allowed to carry his shield in the palace (something about it being 'unkingly') so he was hiding behind the sturdiest-looking piece of furniture in the room. "Now can you assassinate it or not?"

"I am not sure what to tell you, but I am fairly certain this is a vase. However, if you are so insistent on paying my rather exorbitant fees, I could be persuaded to assassinate it for you." Zevran tossed the thing up in the air and caught it a few times.

"Be careful! Just because there may not be poison on it doesn't mean there's not poison in it!"

"Come, Alistair. I believe the stresses of your life are starting to get to you. What could you possibly have to fear from a vase."

"For the last time it's not a vase! I don't know what it is but nothing that woman's involved in is what it seems to be!"

"Ah, so a woman is involved, is she? Does your piccola gazzia know?"

"Amelia? Of course Amelia knows. She doesn't believe me about it not being a vase either but she didn't meet Cassia Hawke!"

The smug grin finally slid off Zevran's face and he set the not-vase thing down. "Cassia Hawke? The Ice Queen of Kirkwall? The most wanted woman in Thedas and infamous poisoner - and I am saying this as an Antivan."

"Yes! That Cassia Hawke!"

"And the vase..."

"Her 'gift.'"

"Did I say my fee would be 'exorbitant'? I am afraid I must revise it to 'ludicrous.' The Ice Queen is hardly a standard hazard, after all..."

"...You know, Zevran, I can't help but feel you're exploiting me."

"I am not the one with a gift from the Ice Queen in my house I would rather have gone. Now, before we discuss just how ludicrous my fee will be, tell me: on a scale of 'she wanted to stab you with a blunt object' to 'she wanted to lower you feet-first into a vat of acid' how angry was she with you when she gave you this?"

"Uhh..." Alistair tried to remember. He was fairly sure they had moved beyond 'stabbing' but he wasn't sure just how close to acid he'd gotten.

"Very well, did she give this to you before or after you told her to smile?"

"I did not tell her to smile!"

"So perhaps only a slightly ludicrous fee then."

"...I may have sort of implied she should be nice."

"Incredibly ludicrous it is."

"I... FINE! Now will you get rid of it."

Zevran sighed dramatically and gripped the thing by the lip. He pulled some sort of black bag out of his armor (Alistair didn't want to think about what the bag was intended to be used for) and placed it inside. Then he tied it shut and walked over to the door out of the room.

He motioned for Alistair to come over to the door. Alistair shook his head. He may be an idiot, but he wasn't that big an idiot.

"All you have to do is close the door! It will be quicker if you do it than I."

With how nervous he sounded, Alistair doubted it was really as simple as the assassin was making it out to be, but he did want the door shut as quickly as possible. He reluctantly got out from behind the chair and crept over to the door.

"On my signal!" Zevran started spinning the bag, then on the signal tossed it into the hallway as Alistair slammed the door.

They heard a muffled crash, then nothing.

"So... what now?" Alistair wasn't quite sure what to expect. He'd never watched an assassination before (well, unless you counted the time Zevran had failed to assassinate him).

Zevran had an ear to the door. "Well, I do not hear anything, and I do not smell anything, so now I think you pay me for solving your vase problem."

"Oh no!" Alistair wasn't getting fooled. "I've already smashed the thing to pieces. It keeps coming back! I'm not paying you until I'm sure it's gone!"

"...you did not think this was perhaps information that would have been useful before now?"

"You're the assassin! Why didn't you ask before now?"

"...very well. We shall just go and bury it then."

"Done that before too..." Alistair muttered mostly to himself as he and Zevran left the room to collect the bag.

He could hear the shattered pieces in the bag clank as they took it outside to the royal garden to bury it.

"There, my friend? Are you satisfied?"

"Not yet! We're going to check and make sure it's not back."

"How can it be back when it is dead and buried?"

"I don't know, if I knew that I'd have been able to kill it myself!"

"...you are lucky I am not charging you extra for this." Zevran shook his head but did follow Alistair back inside.

Where the vase-looking thing was sitting where it had been before Zevran had smashed it looking just like new.

"See?" Alistair threw his arms out just to make sure Zevran would.

"I... do not understand. I put it in the bag, we smashed it in the bag, we buried the pieces. How is it back?"

"I don't know, but I'm not paying you until it's not back anymore! I thought I left the blighted thing in Kirkwall in pieces, but that didn't stop it following me back here!"

"Have you considered it may be easier to beg the Ice Queen's forgiveness and throw yourself at her mercy? I believe at the very least she would kill you faster."

"I... look, how am I supposed to do that when no one knows where she is? Also I don't want to be killed faster, I want to not be killed at all, and if you want to be paid, you'd better get rid of that vase."

"I... very well. As an independent assassin competing with far more famous guilds, I suppose I must protect my reputation for dependability." Zevran grabbed the thing and stuck it into another black bag. "Let us see if drowning will fare any better than breaking."

They checked the bag just to make sure the thing hadn't escaped somehow before they threw it into Denerim harbor.

"There? Now may I please get paid?"

"No! I told you not until I'm sure it's gone."

"Again, you are lucky I am not charging you for two assassinations..."

"If you'd done it right the first time, we wouldn't have needed this second time!"

They kept bickering about who was getting the better end of the deal back to the palace. When they arrived, they ran into Amelia carrying the same vase they'd broken and just dumped in the harbor.

"Amelia! Don't touch that! It's dangerous!" Alistair snatched the thing away from his very surprised wife.

"...Alistair, it's a vase. They're not exactly known hazards."

"It's not a vase, you know where it's from and it won't die!"

"It won't..." Amelia started looking surprised and started glaring at Alistair in a way that reminded him of her father. "Alistair Theirin! Have you been breaking these on purpose? You're just lucky that I counted wrong when my father brought these extras with him after you visited Kirkwall and there are still some left to replace them. It's odd, I could have sworn that last one you just broke was the last one, but when I went back downstairs to look after you broke it I found more."

Alistair leaned away from his wife and back to Zevran. "...they're reproducing now!"

"Yes, and I have decided that in that case they are entirely your problem."

"I... you don't want to get paid?" Alistair looked at the assassin in disbelief.

"Not if it means having to investigate how the Ice Queen has managed to make vases suddenly appear in your palace when she is annoyed at you. No, my friend, you are entirely on your own in this."

"I... but..."

"Perhaps next time you will not tell the woman to smile?"

"I didn't tell her to smile, I told her to be nice!"

"Eh, either way."

Alistair wasn't prepared to let Zevran off the hook quite that easily, "What about not breaking a contract?"

"The Crows do not break a contract. I, however, am not a Crow. I am a man who enjoys the pleasures of living. And speaking of those, I am going to find Avalonne before she becomes as mad at me as your wife currently is with you."

"I'm not mad at him, Zevran!" Amelia looked mad enough to Alistair, "I'm annoyed he's been breaking these things on purpose!"

Zevran had already started wandering off down the hallway. Alistair was obviously not getting rid of whatever the thing was that way, but maybe if he could explain to Amelia just how dangerous Cassia Hawke was, he'd get her to figure out a way to be rid of the souvenir. "Now, Love, I can explain."

Judging by his wife's reaction, he'd overused that line.

-------------------------------------------

"You know, Cass," Fenris shook his head slightly. "This was not what I had in mind when I suggested you needed a hobby.

Cass reached up for his hands to help her out of the cistern she'd used to get into Denerim without being seen. She grinned at her husband, "What? Pottery's not a hobby?"

He shook his head again but she could see him smiling, "Pottery is a hobby. Using the pottery you've made to torture someone who annoyed you isn't."

"I mean, it sounds kinda 'hobbyish' to me. How are you defining 'hobby' that it doesn't meet the definition?"

"Well, 'semantics games' are a safer hobby, but I'm serious Cass - sneaking into Denerim just for that was... it was..." He looked away from her.

She knew it was a stupid risk, but if she had been seen, letting the Ferelden authorities chase their tails to find her in an assassination plot against their King in Denerim should mean no one would be looking for her to slip through the Frostbacks into Orlais.

"I didn't go just for that." She untied the coin purse from her belt and threw it to him.

"...Cass did you steal this from the palace?"

"I don't steal Fenris. I sold my daggers. Wade didn't care who I was or where I came from, he just wanted to study Sandal's runes. He literally opened his safe for me and told me to take whatever I wanted as long as I promised to leave him the daggers."

"Cass!"

"We need the money, Fenris."

"You need to have some protection!"

"I sold my daggers Fenris. I still have the knives, poisons, and acids." She walked over and clasped the front of his armor. "And I have you."

He brushed some hair away from her face. "Always, Cassia."

#dragon age #da drunk writing circle #fenris #fenhawke #fenris/f!hawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x femhawke #fenris x hawke #alistair theirin #king alistair #zevran arainai

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 127

Annnnd a-one, and a-two, and a queue-queue-queue!

This chapter has one of my favorite things in the world to write - Interpersonal relationships (if you are surprised, I’m going to assume you are new here....).

Specifically, one of my biggest pet-peeves is when friends or siblings are written in a way that shows that the author doesn’t actually have any friends or siblings they are close enough to that all rules of societal politeness go whizzing into some far-off dimension as soon as they are in proximity.

When I get to write a chapter with such close friends/ersatz-siblings and also have @baelpenrose cackling and egging me on, it literally makes my whole day.

P.S: If anyone has wondered about the ages of the characters, several are clearly lined out in this chapter......

EDIT: Fixed some insane formatting issues.

“The food festival, Sophia? Really?” an incredulous voice asked before the door to my office even opened all the way.

I resisted the urge to scream, but did surrender to pinching the bridge of my nose and breathing slowly. “Hello, Arthur. Do come in. Long time no see.  Of course I’m not busy…” My one day each week to have a few hours to myself - no mentees, no assistant, even Tyche was off work….

“We saw each other last night when I came over for dinner after sparring with Conor, and  you’re never busy on Saturdays, Alistair makes sure of it.” He dragged a chair in front of my desk for what I felt was the sole purpose of putting his boots on my desk instead of the conference table.

“I thought you two didn’t even like each other, how did you - “

He waved a hand dismissively. “Enemy of my best friend’s enemy is my friend, that sort of thing. Anyway - “

“Did you just call me my own worst - “

“You are, let’s not pretend otherwise. Anyway.” Arthur arched an eyebrow at me and waited for any further objections, but I couldn’t think of any. “The Food Festival. It’s my one favorite tradition on this ship until armed combat becomes a spectator sport, and you are putting Parvati and Hannah in charge of it?”

After a beat pause to make sure he was done, I glared at him. “Everyone has asked me that, and I don’t understand the issue.  They’ve both helped in the past, even before they started training to replace me.  I’ve handed more and more off to them each time, and they did great! Plus, they have three months, it will be fi - Wait, why do you even care, Arthur?”

He held up one finger with the authority of a deity who would have smited me if he could. “One, Parvati Fletcher does not like mapo tofu. You do. Specifically, you like it from that one vendor who grows her own Sichuan peppercorns and uses them like they are an infinite resource. Two, I spend entirely too much time working with Zach Khan, and he won’t shut up about how stressed Hannah is. Three - “ I was seriously starting to get concerned he actually could smite me at this point - “As much as I love you in the most platonic way possible, you are an obsessive, compulsive perfectionist who insists on doing everything herself and running herself into the ground so that everyone else has the time of their lives. So why are you trusting this, the largest and oldest event on the Ark, entirely to other people?” Dropping his boots from the desk, he leaned forward, palms down until we were nearly nose to nose.

“Sophia Reid, I swear on any god I can kill if you are dying…”

“WHAT!?” I squawked, jerking back and standing so fast I knocked my chair over. “For the love of little fish, I’m not dying! I haven’t had a near death experience in four years, thank you.”

“Three, not counting the fact that there is a reason Alistair makes you drink anything through a straw anymore.”

“How did - Nevermind.” I shook my head and tried to focus on the topic at hand. “No, I’m not dying. Nor am I injured, having a midlife crisis, rethinking my life choices any more than I ever do, or so much as in possession of a stuffy nose.” Taking a deep breath, I rolled my eyes and started counting off before I could stop myself. “Conor and Maverick and I are fine. No, I’m not arguing with Tyche again. Yes, I’m still going to therapy. Else is fine. No new sentient plagues or rogue cult leaders that I’m aware of. Nor have I become immortal, queen of the universe, savior of humanity, pregnant by Noah, or possessed.” Carefully, I picked my chair back up and sat down.

“Good...to… know?” He gave me a funny look. “Who asked the most disturbing one?”

“Immortal or Savior of Humanity?” I asked for clarification. “Those were Maverick and Derek, respectively.”

The look only got worse. “I meant ‘pregnant by Noah’, but fascinating to see where your priorities lie….?”

“Oh. That was Charly.”

“Dammit,” he swore softly. “I had her pegged for ‘possessed’.”

“I’m pretty sure she is, but the suggestion that I am came from Tyche, on no fewer than 3 occasions, by 4 different entities. She seemed pretty hopeful that Else was potentially mind-controlling me in an effort to make me take a nap,” I admitted.

“That tracks.” A nod of approval prefaced the question I had been avoiding - successfully, thus far, I might add. “Now that you’ve ruled out every possible plausible reason that you would entrust this to literally anyone other than a clone of yourself, why?”

“Why what?” My face was composed in an expression of innocence so convincing that I probably deserved an Oscar.

“I can and will convince Charly to turn all your coffee to decaf, so help me, Sophia.”

Realizing that he was, legitimately, worried about me and at the limits of his usually-impressive patience, I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine. You get the scoop.  Please record this and send me the loop, so I can just flick it at people who ask, please?” When he nodded, I exhaled slowly.  “It is no secret to anyone that I never wanted this job. I made the mistake of establishing the Food Festival, which as you point out is the largest event of the cycle on the Ark - the last three years, literally everyone attended in some capacity.” When he opened his mouth to argue, I held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t get me wrong. I love the Festival. What basically started out as a potluck because we were homesick and needed to meet - you know, the rest of humanity - is a huge, three day holiday.  It’s amazing!” I spun in my chair, arms flung wide for emphasis, before stopping to face him. 

“It also consumes my life, for months, to prepare for.  And that’s just implementing changes to make it more accessible so people don’t miss out! That doesn’t include adding things to make it more interesting or keep it from getting boring, or whatever. I literally don’t have time to do any of that!”

“So, you’re inflicting this on them instead?”

“Inflicting?” I snorted.  “Hardly. This is their final exam, their capstone project, their dissertation.  If they pull this off, I will gladly hand the entire office over to whoever is elected, cheerfully and knowing the Ark is in good hands.  But, they have to pull this off.  It’s the only major part of being Councilor of Resources and Relations that they haven’t done yet by themselves.”

He rubbed his face, looking somewhat impressed. “That’s honestly not what I was expecting.”

“I don’t think it ever is, honestly.” I shrugged at the question he glanced towards me. “For Evan, it was coordinating the weapons exhibitions.  Charly managed to pre-empt her own by designing more efficient aqueducts and filtration for when we reach Von - you know, the ones that also produce light?”

“Of course she would invent glow-in-the-dark plumbing. Who else?” Something caught up with him. “Evania Josue got away with planning an event? Seriously?”

“Oh, that’s right… you weren’t on Level One…” I murmured. When he only looked more confused, I clarified. “She was Maverick’s co-pilot when we needed people to pilot the Ark, which was not designed to pilot manually, via dead reckoning, using cameras pointed out the few viewports we have, for several weeks after the sensors were sabotaged.”

“She was whose co-pilot?”

“You really never heard this story? You practically live with seven people who were there…”

“Usually I get the bits about ‘Sophia nearly got her brains bashed out’ and ‘that traitorous bitch’, then start tuning out while I try to decide what it would take to get Charly to teach me necromancy… If Evan was the co-pilot, then why is Maverick….”

“Not in line to replace any Councilors? Arthur, we know that would be a disaster for him.”

He nodded reluctantly. “Your younger partner is a nice boy.”

“For fuck’s sake, he’s thirty seven!” I groaned.

“Nice man, whatever,” he waved off. “Which is exactly what I would like for you as a partner. You need nice partners, and blunt siblings. But I see what you mean about him being a Councilor… he’d be miserable.”

“What was yours?” I asked mischievously, dropping my chin onto my hands.

That earned me a flat stare, until he finally surrendered when I didn’t flinch. “The Twentieth/Early Twenty First History curriculum.”

“Seriously?” That had literally been the first thing he had done when Eino tapped him as a possible successor.

“I didn’t budge on points even he admitted he would have, out of fear of offending people.”

“Which is a fear you very much lack,” I pointed out.

“The truth is the truth. Coating it in sugar only makes it taste worse.” He shrugged nonchalantly before suddenly looking dangerously like he was thinking again. “There’s two of them.”

“Yes, Arthur. Hanna and Paravati are, in fact, two distinct and separate women-type-lady-people.”

“Thank you, Fee, I was well aware.” I suppressed a growl at the nickname - he knew I hated it. “I meant, only one can win the election, smartass.”

“Better to be a smartass than a dumbass,” I muttered.

“Sophia, you are forty five. Please grow up just a hair?”

“Tyche doesn’t want to be HR forever, you know.”

That brought his mind to a visibly screeching halt. “Wait, what?”

“What what?” I asked. “She does it because she is phenomenal at it, but it isn’t her passion.  She only stuck around as long as she did to make sure I didn’t trip over a chair and brain myself while I was at work.  When I’m gone, she’s gone, loser take the spoils.”

He whistled softly before shaking his head. “It’s bizarre to think of you two retiring around the same time I’m just starting the position.”

“I’ll have been a Councilor for a decade when I step down,” I pointed out.  I almost included unless I die first, but that never seemed to be as funny as I thought it was.

“But you aren’t that much older than me,” he sighed dramatically. “Anti-aging technology is frustrating.”

“Annnnd this is a natural extension of your career, with a ten year break thereabouts the middle.”  My grin was so bright it made him scowl before I finally got a begrudging smile.  “Think of it as getting elected head of the school board.”

The groan he let out probably echoed for several levels throughout the ship. I had basically just pointed out that he was becoming that which he most hated.

Or not. He seemed to recover with a gleam in his eye. “Pfft. Dean of Students, at the very least.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #found family #siblings #humans will pack bond with anything #aliens #post apocalyse #post post apocalypse #science fiction #original science fiction #haw #hfy

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #15 Thunderous

“What was the weirdest one?” Maxim’s curiosity never let-up, especially when it came to Charlette’s life in the Order. Consistently, he would pepper her with questions about it. You would think the man had made an unfortunate blunder in his choice of career, but really he had no choice. The Order was never open to him, not as the second born of a family that already had a member in the Order itself. They were not so greedy as to lock-up a family line in their ranks. But here he was again, trying to foist as much information about it as he can, while he and Charlette sit outside the Greenhouse having breakfast before starting their morning duties. “The weirdest one? They are missions to destroy or retrieve aberrant aetherical items or events. It is all weird, Maxim.” She knew how frustrating she was being, but she also knew she was not wrong. There was nothing boring, normal or everyday about the work she did.

“Don’t make me beg. I know you like it when I do, but I’m feeling too dignified this morning. Maybe later I’ll take it down a peg or three, but right now I’m far too proud. Have you seen my Thanalan blossoms? Nothing but pride coming off of those.” His flowers were looking quite fetching, she had to admit that. “Well, if that is all the reward you want for it, then fine. Just let me think for a moment.” He leaned back, hands up, face bright with excitement. Charlette dipped her spoon into the bowl of muesli, swishing it around in the milk until she had just the right amount of raisins on her spoon before taking a bite. The crunch was satisfying, as was the gentle tang. A favourite morning meal of hers. “Gods, I cannot really decide on a single one. Would you prefer weird and exciting or weird and scary?” Maxim tapped his spoon against his bowl, having to ponder for barely a second “Exciting!” “Alright then. So, have you heard of the churning mists? It is in the north, Ishgard is the closest city you will find to it, and even then you have to take a lengthy flight, by airship, to even get there.” At the mention of the infamous floating islands of the Churning Mists, Maxim was already set in. You could tell when he was interested by how he shuts his mouth for once, and just pays attention. “Our final destination was in the northernmost reaches of the Churning Mists. We had been called in by an old contact that often trades with the Librarians in the Order. Anything we find that does not need to be sealed away, or just kept in our own collection, is generally fair game for traders and collectors looking for rare texts. You tend to find a lot of those, when you plunder a secret library every second moon.” The Archives were created with the intent of sealing away all knowledge and technology that might cause harm to the balance of Eorzea, but like anything else it ran on gil. It’s not the proudest piece of the Order’s function, but it has made Willow’s Heart Library a bit of a jewel of the trade. At least for those who know about it, and are trustworthy enough. “The Trader was on one of his usual routes, he was one that did not scare from the more dangerous airways. Churning Mists is known not just for its strange location, and the Beastribe that inhabits it. It is also known for Sky Pirates. He had a particular route though, one that had proven safe each time, and also provided difficult terrain for anything bigger than your basic Merchants skiff to traverse. This time though, he had found something very strange. A derelict vessel.” Maxim had abandoned his food, both elbows on the table and his chin rested in his hands. This little turn in the story made his eyes widen, the bright-blue colour almost flashing in the morning light. Charlette was a complete sucker for a captive audience of course. “We were called out, and it took two airship rides and a very turbulent trip in a cramped skiff to get to this derelict. The strangest thing about it, was that it had not crashed or docked anywhere. It just hung there, in the air, but in pieces. Like it had been diced with a clever into three sections. All of it, not quite together, but kept close and in-line with each other by long strands of lightning aether. The beams sparked and flitted between the sections, and it was all so perfectly aligned you would think it was a model being pieced together.” Charlette had started speaking with her hands, holding them apart and mimicking a model builder slowly pressing parts into each other. “The strangest part, though, was the sound. It was like a thunderous storm, if it was yalms away inside a tunnel. It echoed out in pulses, and each time it did, the air around the ship shimmered and shook. But the ship itself remained firm in its position. And we had to board the damn thing.” She remembered now, the anxiety she had felt just from that sound. It was not loud, or intimidating, but it had all the qualities of something that should be. It was oppressive, she could feel it vibrating in her ears. But it was such an even sound. “Did you board it then? Must have been dangerous, isn’t lightning aether one of the most chaotic?” Charlette nodded, Maxim looked a little more proud. She would have to be careful, or he might give himself a crown by the end of the sun. “The Trader brought his ship as close as he could, it left a short jump for us. Not too difficult, Alistair and I cleared it fine. A’nidreah took a running jump, but she landed it as well as you would think. We had been looking around the section we were on, the stern, before we realized the sound had stopped.” Maxim’s “Ooh!” was very satisfying. “The pulses were still going off, but the sound no longer reflected. It was terribly disorientating though, the air around us felt almost like it was thicker? It is difficult to explain, but it was something between normal, and being submerged in water. Like our steps were lighter, but slower, and our breaths were more laboured. Alistair attempted to run, when he got close to the edge he tried to plant his feet and stop, but he just kept sliding. Right to the end, and then whoops! Over it.” The furrow on Maxim’s brown was a little worried. “Well, Alistair is fine, I saw him just the other sun. So I assume he didn’t fall?” Charlette shook her head. “Nope. He kept sliding until he slowed to a stop, in mid-air. Like he was standing on a solid deck. It did not stop him from screaming, a lot. But only at first.” Maxim didn’t laugh, in fact he looked a little more pale at the idea of it. “We all stepped out onto it, and it was terrifying. You have to really fight yourself for every step, because what you see is nothing but a drop into endless clouds and a likely death. But it was solid, it even tapped like you were standing on glass, or metal. It felt completely wrong, utterly at odds with the natural order of things. There we stood, land borne bipeds, but on nothing. Suspended. No matter how much I understood that, my mind just twisted and whirled around it, moments of panic came, then calm, then more panic. It felt like falling, being rescued, then falling again.” The more Charlette thought about it, the more the sensation came back. Hairs stood up, her skin pulled into goosebumps, even her breath caught as a shiver of adrenaline flowed up her body. Maxim broke her from the moment though, asking “What was it?” Charlette took another bite of her breakfast, and in an intentionally vague response said “Another ship!” Maxim was confused, understandable really since this made no sense. “The Sky Pirates had crashed into another ship, this one had already been caught in the small pathway. We used a device, one of A’nidreah’s little constructs actually. She calls it a Mystique.” The seeker was rather proud of her forays into aetherical constructs, and this was no less a moment of pride for her too. Like Maxim and his blossoms. “Basically it mists an area with aether-neutral smoke. It disrupts fields and illusions, like a glamour and it exposed the other ship. It looked ancient, made mostly from metal like a Garlean vessel, and had been there for some time. Turns out The Trader had lost his way on his own path and stumbled on this. Likely in the same manner the Sky Pirates had. The ship had been wedged into a front bumper made of large, blade like teeth jutting from the front. The Sky Pirate crew must have abandoned their ship, taking their loot with them. But we looked through the ancient ship and found the source of the cloak.” she left that hanging, just for Maxim. Who waited, then raised his hands, and finally asked in an annoyed and urgent tone “What was it?” “Order secret.” Charlette finished, with a smug smile. “Now let’s finish breakfast, we’re going to be late to our shift.” Maxim sulked the rest of the sun.

#ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv rp #elezen #ffxiv writing #duskwight

[asktheheirofslytherin]

"The reason why I looked different is because of the last time I was in here, you're fine though I'd recommend taking off your cloak and anything long because this place is called the nether and it's like literal hell but not really." Thirteen dead panned at the Professor. Gabriel were carrying the twin because the twins had seemed to fall asleep yet again. She'd guessed that they stayed up late again last night. Gabriel seems to look the same except for the wings on his back but it looked so burnt and broken.

"Anyways, let's walk. So about the last question about before. About what sets me off, well usually is someone or something hurting my loved one though it is possible because the voices in my head can also be the reason of my dangerous transformation." Thirteen explained to the Professor as they traveled through the nether, Thirteen occasionally hitting the fireballs away from the family and kill the ghast, and killing a few skeleton archers here and there.

"I escaped due to something happening at the lab, I don't really know what happened but I just escape when they're once distracted and vulnerability is at their highest." Thirteen told him, shrugging it off as they approach yet again another portal and all of them just went in. They were suddenly near the community house so they walked from there and after a few minutes of silence and walking, they soon encountered a castle and the flags were rainbow themed.

They went into the castle and was greeted with a person who is wearing a simple black shirt, brown trousers, shoes, and black sunglasses but he is also sitting on a throne and is wearing a red cape and a crown. The man looked up from the papers that they were reading when she saw Thirteen and Gabriel. "Thirteen! Gabriel! How are you?"

"Hey girl, it's been so long!"

"Too long, it's been months since you last visited. Who is this?" Eret asked them to which Professor Riddle bowed and introduced himself. "Oh, so you're the professor? It's great to know that there is someone supervising Thirteen. Where are my manners? I'm Alistair but you can call me Eret, King of the SMP and I don't mind any pronouns, speaking off, what are your pronouns?" Eret introduce themselves.

"Oh," Tom said, still looking at his hands, just in case. "And you...bring your children to Hell often?" he asked, just a hint of judgement in his tone. Still, they were managing to sleep through this - he supposed they were...used to it? How odd.

"Good to meet you Eret - I am a he/him, personally I feel very rigid about that whole gender thing to be honest, never quite understood how anyone could feel anything other than what they are assigned no more than I could imagine being Italian - do you have an Italy here? Perhaps the reference was lost...the sentiment was that identity is so embedded in ones self one can never truly know what it is like to - nevermind. Um, so you've heard of me? I had no idea I was spoken of so...far afield." He glanced around and then back at Thirteen before turning back towards Eret. "So...are you family of Thirteens?

#voldemort #professor riddle #i imagine he would overexplain things when nervous #and hes like #never so out of his depth nervous #this is a first #thirteen #gabriel #prescheduled volding

[bloodandpie]

Supernatural fanworks masterlist

collaborative works by @monicawoe​ and @quickreaver​

(updated 11/1/2020)

Hello lovelies, here’s our most up-to-date masterlist including our 2020 contribution to the @spneldritchbang​:

Behold the Beast, Behold the Lamb - Season 4 AU.  Sam tried to free Dean from Hell, but angels intervened and took Dean for their own purposes. Sam is determined to get Dean back and will do whatever it takes, embracing his abilities fully. The more demon blood Sam drinks, the more demons he kills, the more he changes inside and out until it’s impossible to hide his monstrous side. Ruby, Uriel and Castiel push Sam to fulfill his destiny and become his true self—the Beast of the Revelation. (gen, Sam/Ruby, 20k words)

Here is a list of all our other combined works thus far, in no particular order:

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

word-count:  - written for the 2012 spn-genbang | sequel to The Devil’s in the Details When Sam opened Lucifer’s Cage, the only thing he found inside was Lucifer’s grace – his grace. With the return of his grace, Sam remembered his past – his war against the Host, his Fall, and his plans to bring about the End. The thing is…he doesn’t want the Apocalypse anymore. He likes things the way they are, and tries everything to keep his identity a secret- especially from Dean. Of course, the four Horsemen, Hell and Heaven have other ideas.(gen, 13k words)

Last Drop -  Written for the Twisted Tropes event - Sam/Brady AU set while Sam’s at Stanford:  Sam is slowly adjusting to his new life at Stanford University. He’s left his life of hunting behind, and traded it for endless studying and tests, but he’s plagued by dreams of Dean and Dad in danger, dreams of blood and violence. Then he meets Tyson Brady, who’s always there with a smile and a cup of coffee to get Sam through all-nighters. Sam’s dreams start to fade, but just as he’s getting used to a nice normal life, he starts to develop abilities—powers he can’t control. Brady thinks they’re great, but Sam knows power never comes without a cost. (Explicit Sam/Brady, 14k words)

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Best Self - written for @alyndra9​​  for the prompt: King of Hell Sam meets Kale!Sam and they have many differences of opinion to work out. (aka the only one who knows what Sam really wants is Sam.) words by monicawoe art by @quickreaver​​! (~4k words, Explicit Sam/Sam)

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All Our Wrath and Cutting Beauty

word-count:  written for the 2011 spn-reversebang:  Sam killed Alistair, but not before Alistair reminded Dean of who and what he'd become in Hell. Dean knows Sam can take down Lilith, and he'll make damn sure Sam gets strong enough to do just that. They'll stop the Apocalypse -- together, no matter how many bodies stack up, or how much blood is spilt. (gen, boyKingSam, demonDean,11k)

MANY more, beneath the cut:

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The Two Ravens

word-count: ~3,500 | written for the sammessiah antichrist-mas fest: Your brother he is, and heir to my throne. He’ll feed on the damned and he'll turn them to bone.

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The Last Days in the Land of Nod a comic adaptation of the fic by the same name

word-count: ~2,000 | The year is 2014. The Devil is wearing his finest, the Angel is human, and the Brother protects the survivors at Camp Chitaqua.

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We have also done collaborations with other talented writers and artists, including:

He Who Fights Monsters

word-count: ~52,000 | co-written with nwspaprtaxis for the 2014 GenTeensyBang: Demonic-MMA-fighting AU of the summer between Seasons 3 and 4. Dean's dead, dragged down kicking and screaming to Hell. Sam's not dealing well. And Ruby’s got her work cut out for her.

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Burdens, Doublefold

word-count: ~70,000 written for the 2012 spn-j2-bigbang, art by @ileliberte​What if Dean left Sam at Stanford after the fire, hoping it would keep his little brother safe and make things better? Somehow, 'better' never seems to be in the Winchester Family cards. Sam gets tangled up with his ex-roommate Brady, tracking psychics, but dealing with demons is never honest business. Dean carries on until his father is put in grave danger. He is left on his own to deal, stumbling into Harvelle's Roadhouse for help, where Dean gets just a little more than he bargained for. Eventually, the brothers’ paths twist and turn their way back to each other, but the results could mean the End of Days.

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Impala’s Run

word-count: ~23,000|written for the SPN Gen Big Bang, art by adrenalineshots | Sam and Dean Singer (aka Winchester) aren’t your average young Kansas farmers. Their home is very, very far from Kansas, in fact. Many light-years worth of ‘far’. The boys may look human, but certain talents set them apart: Dean speaks the language of machines, and Sam can heal through manipulating energy. Hidden on Earth by their father, their agricultural lifestyle gets rocked when warring alien races discover where they’ve landed, and Sam and Dean are forced to make the run of their lives.

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and here some other illustrated, shorter fics of ours for your enjoyment:

Instinct (Prophet of the Lord remix)

word-count: ~3,000 | (Kevin's POV of the same prompt) After the trials, Sam doesn't get better. Kevin's theory is that it's cancer: the trials are supposed to purge him of all physical and spiritual impurities, so tuberculosis is out, and cancer is the only reason left for Sam to be coughing his lungs up when he's supposed to be the pinnacle of human perfection. Nope. Sam's falling apart because the demon blood is gone.

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Instinct

word-count: ~1,300 | After the trials, Sam doesn't get better. Kevin's theory is that it's cancer: the trials are supposed to purge him of all physical and spiritual impurities, so tuberculosis is out, and cancer is the only reason left for Sam to be coughing his lungs up when he's supposed to be the pinnacle of human perfection. Nope. Sam's falling apart because the demon blood is gone.

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Bliss in Emptiness

word-count: ~41,000 written for the 2013 spn-j2-bigbang |As a reward for her loyal service, Lucifer brings Ruby back from death. When Sam throws himself into the Cage, Ruby slows his fall — just enough to grab a hold of his body, but not his soul. Together, they hunt the ever-increasing monster population and uncover evidence that Crowley and Castiel might not be as antagonistic as they seem. As the situation unfolds, Eve's interest in Sam piques and she gives him a gift that changes the very essence of what he is.

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Pattern Recognition: A Hannibal/Supernatural fusion AU

word-count: ~33,000 | Sam and Dean split after River Pass, and their confrontation with the Horseman, War. Since Will’s escape from the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, he and Sam have been in hiding. They have a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, that keeps them off the radar; they find comfort in each other. But they can’t stay off the chessboard forever, especially not when Lucifer, wearing Hannibal Lecter as a vessel, is tearing the world apart around them.

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Bones

word-count: ~1,800 | The third trial sounded way too easy.

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In the Cards

word-count:~3,600| written for the 2012 spn-reversebang:  Fate wasn’t hers to change. She was an oracle — there to tell them what the future held in store. Nothing more, nothing less. And people were so desperate to know, even though it changed nothing.

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Diary of a Madman

word-count: ~3,500 | Lydia's newest patient, Sam Winchester, suffered from hallucinations, delusions, and regular bouts of insomnia. He also thought he was Lucifer.

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Unless Its Roots Reach Down to Hell

word-count: ~2,000 | written for the evilsam-spn fright-fest 2014: Sam spent months piecing the spell together—he'd crafted it himself out of slivers of handwritten, ancient journals—the ones even the Men of Letters kept hidden away in a man-sized curse-box on lockdown in room 26.

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#sam winchester #boyking!sam #king of hell sam #spn fics #dean winchester #monicawoe's fics #quickreaverart

[monicawoe]

Supernatural fic masterlist

(updated 12/20/2020)

I’ve written over 100 spn fics (ranging from ficlets to 70k big-bangs). Most of them are Sam-centric, largely featuring powers!Sam. The whole collection can be found here on AO3

newest fics:

Closer Than You Think - Five times Sam’s eyes were demonic, and one time they weren’t. (3k words, boyKingSam AUs of multiple eps)

Behold the Beast, Behold the Lamb - Season 4 AU.  Sam tried to free Dean from Hell, but angels intervened and took Dean for their own purposes. Sam is determined to get Dean back and will do whatever it takes, embracing his abilities fully. The more demon blood Sam drinks, the more demons he kills, the more he changes inside and out until it’s impossible to hide his monstrous side. Ruby, Uriel and Castiel push Sam to fulfill his destiny and become his true self—the Beast of the Revelation. (gen, Sam/Ruby, 20k words; featuring art by @quickreaver​)

Hellbound - Sam is in Hell, and then he isn't. He's standing on a sidewalk with a stranger looking back at him—a stranger that has his face. My 2020 spn-summergen fic! Featuring soulless!Sam, disembodied soul-Sam and amnesiac Dean. (gen, 8k)

Sin Eater - Sam has a different plan to cure demon Dean, but Dean doesn't want to be cured. (Sam drinking blood from demon!Dean, written for @quickreaver​ for her artwork Bitumen Kiss)

Best Self - written for @alyndra9​​  for the prompt: King of Hell Sam meets Kale!Sam and they have many differences of opinion to work out. (aka the only one who knows what Sam really wants is Sam.) words by monicawoe banner by @quickreaver​​! (~4k words, Sam/Sam)

All You Have Is Your Fire - written for @quickreaver​ for the 2020 Supernatural Spring Fling  Dean has known fire all his life. Sometimes it sounds like his brother. (~2k words; gen)

Tear You Apart - written for @wetsammywinchester​ who wanted Soulless!Sam/Brady & Soulless!Sam taking on the mantle of King of Hell:  Sam doesn’t want his soul back. He resurrects Brady who helps him figure out a way to outsmart Death: by damaging his soul so it can’t be reintegrated. With Brady’s help, Sam reclaims his power, and takes his soul apart one piece at a time. (8k words; Soulless!Sam/Brady)

Prayers Answered - written for the boy king Sam discord server prompt: Sam has grown up in a very religious environment. He's devoted, he goes to church, he prays. He knows that God is with him, because he listens to his prayers. But as Sam grows older, he realizes it's not God that's been listening. And he realizes that he's not asking - he's been ordering, and his loyal servants would never deny their King. (2k words; gen)

On His Head a Crown - written for the 2019-2020 SWBB, art by @slytherkins​ Hunters drug Sam, force-feed him demon blood, and bring him to where they’ve captured Brady. Brady tells Sam he knows how to stop the Apocalypse, and Sam, despite his better judgment, hears him out: Sam himself is the horsemen Conquest—aka the Antichrist—and he alone can bring Lucifer’s apocalypse to a grinding halt. Sam resists, but when he discovers the good he can do with his new powers, he decides to use them to atone for all his past mistakes.   (21k, Sam/Brady, gen, AU of 5x03-5x04)

Many more under the cut

Lakeside Fishing - written for @denugis​ - After defeating Famine, after days of suffering through demon blood withdrawal in the panic room, Sam needs time to clear his head. Early in the morning, he heads to a small lake seeking solitude, but instead finds an unexpected ally. (4k words; Sam/Patrick; set after My Bloody Valentine; witch!Sam)

His Soul to Keep - art by @sketchydean​​ - written for the SPN Eldritch Bang horror event - Dean’s deal is coming due soon. When he finds out from Ruby that Hell will turn him into a demon, he refuses to accept it, even though he can already feel pieces of his soul starting to crumble away. Sam is his only anchor to the world, and Dean finds it harder and harder to leave his side.    After Broward County, after watching Dean die a thousand deaths, Sam decides he’s not going to let Dean go to Hell. He’ll do whatever it takes, even if that means allying himself with Ruby and using the darkness inside of him. Sam casts a soul-binding spell on Dean; they might not be able to break the deal, but they can change who Dean’s soul belongs to. (13k, Sam/Dean, hard-gen, AU of season 3))

Last Drop - art by @quickreaver​ -written for the Twisted Tropes event - Sam/Brady AU set while Sam’s at Stanford:  Sam is slowly adjusting to his new life at Stanford University. He’s left his life of hunting behind, and traded it for endless studying and tests, but he’s plagued by dreams of Dean and Dad in danger, dreams of blood and violence. Then he meets Tyson Brady, who’s always there with a smile and a cup of coffee to get Sam through all-nighters. Sam’s dreams start to fade, but just as he’s getting used to a nice normal life, he starts to develop abilities—powers he can’t control. Brady thinks they’re great, but Sam knows power never comes without a cost. (14k, Sam/Brady)

Make Angels of Us All - art by @amberdreams1960​  - Sam has a guardian angel. It’s been with him his whole life, trying to keep him safe. The angel gives Sam power he can’t control: power to move things with his mind, power over fire, and wings that nobody else can see—bony and jagged with scaly feathers. Dean says monsters aren't real, but Dad thinks they are. Sam's power scares him, and he’s not always sure what's real, but what he does know is people keep trying to kill the three of them, and he won't let that happen. (~20K, gen)

Burdens, Doublefold - cowritten with @quickreaver​, art by ileliberte What if Dean left Sam at Stanford after the fire, hoping it would keep his little brother safe and make things better? Somehow, 'better' never seems to be in the Winchester Family cards. Sam gets tangled up with his ex-roommate Brady, tracking psychics, but dealing with demons is never honest business. Dean carries on until his father is put in grave danger. He is left on his own to deal, stumbling into Harvelle's Roadhouse for help, where Dean gets just a little more than he bargained for. Eventually, the brothers’ paths twist and turn their way back to each other, but the results could mean the End of Days. (67k, gen, AU of seasons 1-2)

Before the One You Serve When Dean comes to get Sam at Stanford, he finds him living with Brady. And Dean doesn't trust Brady, even though he can't quite put his finger on why. Not at first. (5k, Sam/Brady)

He Who Fights Monsters - cowritten with nwspaprtaxis, art by @quickreaver​ AU of the summer between Seasons 3 and 4. Dean's dead, dragged down kicking and screaming to Hell. Sam's not dealing well. And Ruby’s got her work cut out for her. (52K, Sam/Ruby)

John Winchester is Dead They say those Winchester boys're crazy. Drive around in a big black beast and drink too much and laugh about mean things. They say their daddy's worse, but you never see him. He's just a voice on the other end of the phone or a darker shape in the back seat of their dark car. They say John Winchester died two years ago. (2k, gen, horror)

Breathing, Talking, Dead Man Walking   -  John Doe, male, approximately thirty-seven years old. Subject was found by EMTs in close proximity to the site of a sizable explosion in Lebanon, Kansas. (2k, gen, Sam & Dean)

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea - featuring art by @quickreaver​ When Sam opened Lucifer’s Cage, the only thing he found inside was Lucifer’s grace – his grace. With the return of his grace, Sam remembered his past – his war against the Host, his Fall, and his plans to bring about the End. The thing is…he doesn’t want the Apocalypse anymore. He likes things the way they are, and tries everything to keep his identity a secret- especially from Dean. Of course, the four Horsemen, Hell and Heaven have other ideas. (13K, gen)

The Last Days in the Land of Nod - comic adaptation by @quickreaver​ The year is 2014. The Devil is wearing his finest, the Angel is human, and the Brother protects the survivors at Camp Chitaqua.

The Two Ravens - art by @quickreaver​ Your brother he is, and heir to my throne. He’ll feed on the damned and he'll turn them to bone. (4k; fairy-tale)

Counteroffer About two weeks after Sam gutted a hellhound, completing the first trial, he started acting weird. (5k, psychological horror, gore)

Pattern Recognition: A Hannibal/Supernatural fusion AU  -  Sam and Dean split after River Pass, and their confrontation with the Horseman, War. Since Will’s escape from the Baltimore Institute for the Criminally Insane, he and Sam have been in hiding. They have a cabin, in the middle of nowhere, that keeps them off the radar; they find comfort in each other. But they can’t stay off the chessboard forever, especially not when Lucifer, wearing Hannibal Lecter as a vessel, is tearing the world apart around them. (33k, Sam Winchester/Will Graham)

Impala's Run - cowritten with @quickreaver, art by adrenalineshots Sam and Dean Singer (aka Winchester) aren’t your average young Kansas farmers. Their home is very, very far from Kansas, in fact. Many light-years worth of ‘far’. The boys may look human, but certain talents set them apart: Dean speaks the language of machines, and Sam can heal through manipulating energy. Hidden on Earth by their father, their agricultural lifestyle gets rocked when warring alien races discover where they’ve landed, and Sam and Dean are forced to make the run of their lives. (23k, gen)

All Our Wrath and Cutting Beauty - art by @quickreaver - Sam killed Alistair, but not before Alistair reminded Dean of who and what he’d become in Hell. Dean knows Sam can take down Lilith, and he’ll make damn sure Sam gets strong enough to do just that. They’ll stop the Apocalypse – together, no matter how many bodies stack up, or how much blood is spilt.(11k, horror) 

Diary of a Madman -Lydia’s newest patient, Sam Winchester, suffered from hallucinations, delusions, and regular bouts of insomnia. He also thought he was Lucifer. (4k, gen, horror)

Some other bundled links, for your convenience

Demon-blood Sam

King of Hell Sam

Powers!Sam

Horror

Crossovers & Fusion ‘verses

Hannibal|SPN

SPN/Preacher

SPN/Hannibal/MCU

#sam winchester #spn fics #king of hell sam #dean winchester #monicawoe's fics

[drshebloggo]

how to make WW84 a stronger movie

As sort of requested, here’s a beefed-up version of the list of notes I made watching WW84 because I was getting cranky with the execution of this movie and couldn’t help but jot down ideas. I WANTED to love this thing but the script was not selling its ideas to best effect.

For me, I think there were a few challenges inherent in the movie they wanted to make. BUT with a few different choices here and there in the way the story was told, it would’ve improved its impact without sacrificing what they were going for with tone and characters. 

CHALLENGE #1: this movie is set SO far in the future from the events of the first film. 65 years have passed, and Diana is still just gliding somberly through her life and that makes me SAD. All her friends are dead! She’s on her own and cursed with immortality!! She lives in an ‘80s decor sadness chamber surrounded by photos and memories of people she’ll never see again!!!

And yet the film gave us no real textual information about that. They did the laziest thing possible, which was pan the camera around a million photos on mantles and told us NOTHING. Literally WHAT has Diana done for the past, say, THIRTY YEARS since her Earth Friends all died without her??? Has she literally made NO OTHER friends? She’s still sad about Steve 65 years later and nothing else has progressed?

This lack of specificity leaves Diana fading in the lead role of her own movie despite the fact that there’s TONS of material there that they just... ignored. For me, she read flat, which bummed me out majorly. Her best stuff was with Steve because that actually MEANS something. But it’s all she’s got in this film. They didn’t bother filling in any other information about her life. 

FIX IT: literally just make Barbara already friends with Diana at the beginning. Not only does it make Diana more interesting, it reduces the sheer amount of exposition that the film piles on in the first 45 minutes. This also means you can bring Steve back sooner than the 45 minute mark, which would help grease the wheels in the first third of the movie. And it also means that Diana losing Barbara to inhumanity would actually have a greater impact on Diana beyond “oh my kooky new friend turned into an evil cat; this is vexing.”

CHALLENGE #2: the tone is WILDLY different than the tone of the first. They went from WWI trench warfare to shopping malls and fanny packs. It’s a HUGE tone shift, and it takes some getting used to. But there are good things to it; namely it provides great comedy for Steve, who is a definite bright spot in the movie. 

Overall I’m on board with doing a superhero movie that pivots away from grit and darkness and toward camp and comedy, and it’s cool to do something new rather than reiterate the same tone from the first film. But I think they could’ve done more to sell the tone shift. 

There are HIJINKS inherent in the premise that I’m guessing were fairly unilaterally unexpected. There’s a vaguely historical magic WISHING STONE and three buffoons each made a wish and turned shit upside down. I myself wish that Maxwell and Barbara and Diana were rendered in triplicate, as equal collaborators in this batshittery. I don’t think you’re watering down Diana’s role as lead (no more than giving her no other emotions to play than sadness) by doing so, and it even works nicely to own the idea that Max and Barbara are on equal narrative ground as Diana.

As far as the villainy goes, Max is more recognizably a Bad Guy, but Barbara is NOT, and it’s fascinating to show at least Diana and Barbara working together but slowly falling apart as shit goes SIDEWAYS. Hijinks can be zany and also meaningful! What if a villain is just a friend who wants something different than you and you have to come to terms with that and stop them from doing dumb shit? There’s an element of screwball to this premise and I wanted them to lean in more. This would also give Diana more to do than cry and fight.

FIX IT: show Barbara getting her powers using the same tropes of other superheroes getting their powers and figuring them out. Play it like she’s Peter Parker finding out she’s Spider-man. Hell, do a montage with all three of them using/abusing their powers: Barbara beating the shit out of things, Maxwell manipulating people, Steve and Diana making the fuck out and enjoying the shit out of it. These are the joys of wish fulfillment! 

AND, if they had set up the rules of the artifact beforehand (see Challenge #3), then the audience would know they were watching very happy people who are going to have their LIVES RUINED SOON. And that is good storytelling. (Maybe this is oversimplified, but honestly half of good storytelling is just making the audience feel two opposite emotions at the same time. The other half is dramatic irony, which would also apply to this trio montage.)

CHALLENGE #3: What the hell are the rules of this magic wishing artifact anyways??? The audience should know them before the characters do. The way this movie doled out information was bananas. They waited right before they were going to the tell the audience something to show us what they were about to tell us. Just show us earlier and tell the characters later!!! That way WE’LL already know because we’ve seen it, and THEY’RE not saddled with expositional dialogue to make sure the audience follows the idea.

FIX IT: For the love of humanity, nix the opening sequence with the horse race and make it about the damn stone!! Rip off Lord of the Rings and tell the history of the innocent but dangerous thing. Rip off Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and animate something about how it gives wishes at a cost. Hell, let Connie Nielsen and Robin Wright(’s unbelievably ripped arms) tell young Diana the story so they can still hang out and be a part of the film! Throw in some lore about the gods, just to remind us where Diana comes from and her belief system, and we’re good to go.

While you’re at it, toss in the whole point of the film into the moral that Diana’s moms impart to her at a young age. It’s not a spoiler. We don’t wonder if 1984 Diana will do the right thing. She does not need to LEARN this moral. She already knows the moral, but she still has to make the hard choice to let Steve go and of course it doesn’t come easy.

In summary: that horse race had little to do with the rest of the movie and it’s wasted story space, especially for setting up the entire magical premise that the movie hinges on, let alone the actual message of the film.

CHALLENGE #4: Do we care about Maxwell and his kiddo enough to rest the entire movie’s resolution on it? Ehhhh. The glimpses into young Max’s abuse is another example of showing information RIGHTBEFORE it’s important, rather than setting it up earlier to pay off later. It’s a far weaker choice.

FIX IT: Age up Alistair. If he’s a teen or preeteen, then the stakes feel higher because it seems more monumental to undo the trauma of neglect at that age. Much like in his business pursuits, the clock is ticking and Max is running out of opportunities for success in all realms of his life.

Maybe show Maxwell trying to reason with Alistair earlier in the movie, saying that he’s a good dad because he’s not as bad a dad as his own father. It shows us how he justifies his behavior, gives us the information that he had an abusive dad, and gives an actual interaction between father and son other than “daddy you’re not here” and “shhh son here’s a pony.”

Possible other fix-it which connects to other fixes: what if Barbara actually renounces her wish before Max does? It should be more painful to the audience to lose Barbara to her wish because we’ve technically LIKED her at one point. She means something to Diana, and so she means something to us. Honestly, the audience has rooted for her independent of Diana! The scene where she realizes she’s not powerless against her harasser but then completely loses herself in violence against him? One of the movie’s best. It’s pretty dissatisfying that she just goes completely off the deep end and then nothing with her is resolved after the wishes are broken.

But, with the way the movie is set up, the big emotional climax is the scene of Diana getting through to Max/the entire planet, so it’s hard to undo that and give it to Barbara instead, considering that it won’t wrap up the plot. But geez, do SOMETHING with Barbara that’s based in actual emotions. Don’t hinge your entire movie’s emotional resolve on a father-son relationship that’s two-dimensional and doesn’t have anything to do with the main character! You had emotional investment in Barbara; use it!!

At the very least, have Diana get through to Barbara in some way, either before Maxwell renounces or after, and maybe even intercut it with Max and his kid. 

CHALLENGE #5: I experience great existential malaise at watching a mylar balloon drift off into the ether. Was there no better visual for the final moments of the film? Asking for myself, and also the planet. (This one is mostly a joke... but seriously, you guys, the PLANET.)

#ask box #spoilers #uhhhh I should probably keep this out of the tags #I wanted to like this movie a lot #but it came up short for me and it hampered my enjoyment a little bit #so I tried to take note of how it could've been improved with a stronger script #instead of complaining vaguely and dunking on it #WW84 #Wonder Woman

[sinsbymanka]

One more for @pookydraws! This is actually a gift from @tessa1972 who donated to RAINN and then donated the commission to Pooky! I love you both and thank you for being so supportive of each other and all of us! This smutty drabble features Pooky’s Sarita Amell and King Alistair Theirin! 

Do you want your own fluffy and/or smutty drabble? I’m still accepting donations through Ko-fi for RAINN! I met my goal BUT you can still donate there and hit me up anywhere to let me know what you’d like! You can also donate and receive your drabble anonymously. I will not post your name or tag you in the post.

Title: The King’s Reward Pairing: Female Warden/Alistair Theirin, Female Amell/Alistair Theirin Rating: E Content Warnings: Post Dragon Age Origins, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex Read on AO3

Alistair knew there were less pleasant places that Denerim in the summer. Abandoned crypts. Swamps. The Korcari Wilds. Anywhere that served Orlesian cuisine exclusively. Orlais in general.

Yes. There were certainly worse places to be than the sweltering heat of Ferelden’s capital city. But it was certainly hard to remember that when he’d taken off everything except his own skin and still felt like he’d stepped into mage fire.

He reclined on the chaise, rubbing the back of his palm across his nose, and frowned down at the near illegible tiny print blurring before his eyes. Andraste, he’d been at it for hours. He had to be nearly done.

Alistair cast a despairing glance at the stack of papers on the floor, the rest of his newest Antivan trade treaty. Then he pinched his nose, hard, and sunk further into the plush material.

It was Sarita’s favorite chair. He’d hoped sitting on it would help him channel some of her focus, but so far he’d been disappointed. He just… wasn’t as good as the minutiae as she was. Frankly, the fact Ferelden didn’t fall into chaos as soon as she rode out of the capital city was a miracle sent from the Maker himself.

But she had a duty. They both did. She fought the blight, for both of them, because he’d had to forsake his oaths for a crown. His sword languished in a training yard, his crown fit ill upon his head, and Sarita…

Sarita was his mistress instead of a queen like she should have been.

It had been the right thing for Ferelden. The only thing to do, really. That didn’t mean it didn’t sting. Though things were changing. The situation in Kirkwall was becoming tenuous, proving the Circles didn’t work. Once that keg exploded, and it was about due to at any moment, it would be a matter of time until the established systems fell down around his ears.

He’d be ready. They’d defeated the blight, after all, and once the old rules were gone…

Well. It was a pleasant daydream. Much more pleasant than Antivan trade treaties, in fact. He tossed the paper to the side and laid his head back, luxuriating in the faint breeze that stirred the curtains. He closed his eyes and conjured Sarita’s azure eyes, the blonde hair tucked behind the curve of her ear.

She’d be back soon. He couldn’t wait.

------------------------

Alistair didn’t know how long he slept, but the soft sound of movement drew him from heavy, blissfully dreamless, sleep. Even after years, his gut reaction was to freeze and hone in on the small noises, searching for danger while keeping his eyes closed. He heard the rustle of silk. The splash of water.

Then he felt thin, staff calloused fingers tracing over the hard planes of his muscles.

“Sleeping on the job, your highness?”

He chuckled, stretching his arms above his head before opening his eyes. Above him, Sarita returned his crooked grin with one of her own, walking her elegant fingers down his chest.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He rumbled.

“Not as much as you were.” Sarita’s expression shifted into a wicked smirk, searing hot gaze dropping down his body.

That was the moment Alistair remembered he was snoozing away in all his Maker-given glory.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t a servant.” Sarita added, eyes twinkling.

“Maker’s breath. I’m lucky you weren’t Oghren.”

“Oh, he was with me. I’d say you struck him blind, but I’m not sure he noticed.”

Alistair laughed. “Sounds like Oghren.”

Sarita hummed a muted agreement, her eyes trailing down his revealed skin. Cheekily, Alistair snatched her fingers from his chest and brought them to his lips, kissing the tips while he held her gaze.

“And have I struck you blind like the Revered Mother always said would happen?”

“Not yet.” Sarita purred, leaning over him on the chaise. “Have you missed me?”

“Endlessly.”

Joy sparked to life in her eyes. She brought her lips closer to his, leaning in to whisper against them. “And is this our treaty with Antiva?”

“It is.” He replied, pious as possible. It was made difficult because his sleep addled mind had finally caught up to look beyond Sarita’s stunning eyes and the golden fall of her hair.

His lover wore a simple silk robe, the pale material almost sheer in the late afternoon sunlight. She smelled of lavender, clearly already washed up after her arrival. The loose tie of the robe let it fall just right so Alistair could trace the swell of her breasts.

“It’s all done?”

“Just needs a final stamp. Got to read through it and make sure they didn’t put me dancing naked in the town square as one of their…”

Alistair lost his train of thought watching Sarita capture her plump lip between her teeth, peering at him through her long lashes. His breath caught in his chest as her finger drifted lower, scratching at his abdomen with blunt nails. His cock twitched with interest, beginning to swell between his thighs.

“Maker’s breath. You’re beautiful. I’m still a lucky man.”

“Working hard and compliments?” Sarita questioned. “It sounds like someone has earned a reward.”

“I have behaved myself. Ask anyone- oh Maker.”

Sarita’s quick fingers pulled the knot in her robe and it fell from her shoulders like Andraste herself was unveiling her most glorious masterpiece to the world. Alistair pushed himself up, eager eyes darting over her exposed flesh. The curve of her waist, the fullness of her hips, and those breasts.

Andraste herself didn’t have a nicer pair of breasts. Alistair knew. He’d been shoved in front of many statues of the blighted woman.

...not that he’d been looking at Andraste’s breasts.

Before he could fall further down that train of thought, Sarita settled herself on the opposite end of the chaise. One firm, strong hand pushed him back into a reclining position, her smile absolutely wicked. The kind of smile that always heralded the best activities.

“I know just the thing to show my appreciation.” Sarita purred, running her hand back down his body. His cock, fully erect, bobbed as she trailed her teasing touch up over his stiff length. He watched her smile grow predatory.

“Just enjoy, love. Allow me.” She whispered.

Truly the only thing he could think to say was a prayer of gratitude for the lovely creature in front of him. Sarita stole the words out of his mouth by dropping her pink lips to the tip of his manhood, pressing a perfectly filthy kiss to the tip.

Alistair swallowed, hard, and brought his hand up to cup the soft skin of her cheek. She leaned into his palm while her quick tongue darted past those tempting lips to lick a stripe down his length.

Alistair grit his teeth together, blowing his breath through his nose. It’d been too long, she’d been gone too long, and he wasn’t going to last. “Sarita…”

“I know.” Her own voice was husky with desire, blue eyes molten with it. “Thank Andraste for Warden stamina, right?”

“It’s a perk.” Alistair breathed. One of the few, but he’d take it. And her. He was certainly going to take her thoroughly before the evening was over.

She smirked, wrapping her long fingers around the base of his cock and opening her mouth.

Warm. Wet. One of Alistair’s hands threaded gently through Sarita’s hair, the other roughly grabbed onto the delicate upholstery of her chaise. His back arched, although force of will kept his hips steady while Sarita swallowed his length in her hot, willing mouth. Years of habit meant she took him easily almost to the hilt, the hand wrapped around his base stroking what she couldn’t take comfortably.

Those sharp eyes looked up at him again and Sarita squirmed between his legs. He could smell her own desire, heady in the air, as she bobbed back up his length. His cock slipped from between her lips and she placed another kiss on it’s tip before diving back down.

Someday, she was going to kill him and Alistair wouldn’t even complain. His moan of approval rang out in the silent room while his fingers stroked through her soft hair. She felt… Maker, she felt fantastic.

Then her tongue swirled around him and he hissed, knuckles gripping the chair going white. “Sarita.”

She made a noise of approval that vibrated around his length and he moaned again. That only emboldened her to devour him with relish. Her teasing tongue danced over his throbbing shaft, she hollowed her cheeks to suck him deeper into her mouth.

Alistair’s hand trembled. Fire ignited in his spine, traveling down to his groin. He clenched his jaw, trying to stave it off, until Sarita’s eyes found his again.

He was lost the second he saw the matching heat in her gaze. With a groan of defeat, Alistair surrendered to the pleasure she coaxed from him. His head fell back, something buzzing in his ears as his cock swelled further before everything went white.

Searing white. Hotter than anything he’d ever touched.

He came back to himself in pieces, panting and slick with sweat, Sarita’s fingers swirling patterns over his thighs. He huffed a small, choked laugh that was matched by her giggle.

“Missed you.” She admitted softly, resting her head on his thigh.

“Only cause you love me.” He murmured.

“I do. Very much.”

His heart melted in his chest and he looked back down into her angelic face. “Good. Cause I’m quite mad for you.”

#manka's friend fiction #charity fundraiser #dragon age #dragonage #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #female amell #alistair x warden #alistair x amell #pookydraws

[alsosprachvelociraptor]

Moo + Quail = late night fic

moo :)

(Half Dino AU, Kenny + LLoyd)

.

Kenny was on his way home, late at night, or early in the morning. The streets of Ronansay at that hour seemed far too wide, deserted, minefields to be careful walking on. He had finally found his balance in the world, even if his life was not that of the rock star he had always dreamed of becoming. He failed that dream, and failed it hard. A humble job on a small island in the Hebrides, lost in the middle of the sea, cold and hostile. It wasn't a happy life, it wasn't a life full of emotions, it wasn’t the life he dreamed, but it was always better than dying on the cold and desolate beach of Ronansay at less than forty years old. It had been years since Kenny almost died there, but since then, life seemed so gray, dull, empty ... ... well, it was, until Kenny learned that special guests had arrived on Ronansay. They weren't human, those bipedal predators that should have been extinct for several million years. The human and dinosaur cultures were technically at peace with each other but, among humans, there was fear and doubts about those other sentient beings, and it was well understandable: dinosaurs were certainly not something that a person imagined finding himself in front of, especially if it was the huge ones with teeth like knives ... Kenny knew that, several years ago, there had been the first contact between humans and dinosaurs, who lived on a distant continent that humans had not known before. Dinosaurs were a civilized society, as much as human society if not more evolved, and by now they often visited human continents as tourists, welcome or not. Often, not. Kenny had learned in the town square that dinosaurs had arrived in Ronansay: on a normal tourist ferry, there were three or four of them, and then they went to who knows where on the island. Everyone lost their track. "They'll be waiting for night to fall, when we are weaker, to eat us all!" Alistair yelled, slamming his fist on the pub counter. "I'll sleep with the gun under my pillow!" His ex, Carolyn, hugged thighter her skinny son, with pale red hair like hers, and his own sharp eyes to her skinny chest - very little of that child resembled the father, if, indeed, the father was Alistair, busy as he was with Abby in the period in which he was conceived. Carolyn was glad she dumped him once and for all. She could not bear arms around her little son. "Ken, will you take me home?" Carolyn asked as she walked over to Kenny, who was sitting at a small table doing his business in the corner and alone as usual. Carolyn was a tall, delicate, skinny woman, and the baby in her arms was as broad as a toothpick. Kenny was a fairly tall man and not overly massive, with strong arms and broad shoulders, and always willing to help anyone who needed him, especially if he was Carolyn. Kenny quite liked her, with her viper eyes and often venomous ways of doing. "Ah-sure, let's go." Carolyn did not live far from the pub, and during the walk she was careful not to move away from Kenny, always remaining pressed to his side. Kenny also wanted to put his arm around her thin shoulders, but he avoided doing it - yes, he was desperate for some sort of physical contact, but not to this point. He almost did it when she felt the air behind him vibrate, sounds in the trees, but Kenny was sure that it was just his imagination when he noticed no reaction in the woman next to him. Carolyn arrived at her home safe and sound, her son held in her arms and before saying goodbye to Kenny, on her doorstep, she gave him a rare smile. "Please, pay attention and stay safe." she whispered to him, before closing the door and locking it firmly. But Kenny, really, didn't care. He had to walk all the way around the island again to return to the miserable apartment where he lived alone, and he had to decide whether to take the secondary roads, shorter but which passed through the uninhabited and dark center of the island, or the promenade, more illuminated but a much longer journey. He opted for the second way. While he was walking, at a fast and a little impatient pace, he heard another sound, always behind him. Yes, he was sure, he was followed. As he quickened his pace, he actually heard movements behind him, the sound of something that resembled footsteps, but not human ones. It was one of them, it was a dinosaur, one of those predators. He turned, but there was still nothing. Only parked cars, nearly bare trees, and cold concrete. But there was someone, he was sure of it! Kenny, in a burst of bravery, took a back road, hoping to hide. If it was a slow and evil beast, and if he had confused that thing enough, it would have let him go without eating him, right? Kenny ran through the alleys, darker and no longer illuminated, hoping that the beast would not see in the dark - but only too late did he realize that no, he himself could not see in the dark, and fell like a bag of potatoes between a grocery store and a building uninhabited, no humans around to help him and a wall behind him to close the road. On the ground, he turned and looked at what was following him. He saw only the jagged and soft contours of a hairy, or perhaps feathered creature, bipedal and approaching him. It had a kind of fan tail, well raised behind its head. His reflective eyes, well suited to the dark, shone with an evil light, as he approached him, closer and closer... It really felt like a scene from the first Jurassic Park movie, which he loved because he wasn't in the middle of it. That thing that was approaching him fast, just like the raptors in the film, the first toe of its feet raised, in a tremendous sickle-shaped claw that even in the dim, distant light of the street lamps sparkled cruelly. Kenny, as he hadn't in years, felt an urgent need to survive. The adrenaline shook his muscles, his breath became faster, and he tried to get up as fast as he could. He slipped on the asphalt and fell again, his arse against the hard road surface. There was a can of coke next to his trembling hand, and he threw that at the beast. The can flipped over with a sharp sound on the creature's snout. “Ouch! Fuck! Are you a fucking idiot? What the fuck! You wanker! " cried the beast. Kenny froze on the spot. The creature brought its clawed paws to its dark muzzle, revealing the short-sleeved shirt it wore over his body. The dark-red haired man stood up, now more calmly, but feeling his heart in his throat beating fast and hard. "You..?" "I." the raptor continued, glaring at him with his eyes eerily illuminated by the dim light. "I was kidding! It was a joke, mate! What the fuck! " kept yelling the dinosaur who, now that they were both back on the main street, looked a lot less like the lethal raptors of Jurassic Park and more like a cute puffy quail in a pet shop. Now that he had begun to speak, he would never stop, and his words continued to flow from his long thin black snout. He was a thin creature all feathers and bones, peach-colored plumage and blue, overly active eyes, moving around to register everything he saw. Kenny noticed that he was dressed, and almost normal, like any human - shirt, shorts and slippers, and even a black backpack that lay on the base of his very long tail, which kept wagging up and down. "My name is Lloyd, I'm a velociraptor." the raptor said, walking behind Kenny, following him in the creepy way he used before - but now Kenny wasn't scared. Why should he be afraid of that little beast, who did not reach upright on his hind limbs even one meter and half? Jurassic Park's raptors were much bigger than him. And they talked less. “I'm from Djadochta, do you know Djadochta? Well I'm from there. I have always lived there with my dad, and this year I decided to go abroad,  to visit humans. My dad gave me the money for this holiday and ... I came here because ... why should I tell you? Fuck me! Anyway, I'm here with my traveling companions, pathetic ornithischians, do you know what an ornithischian is? Those herbivores! Ah, but what do you know, mammal? " Kenny stopped walking, and Lloyd did the same. "And why are you following me?" Kenny asked him, staring into his strangely front-eyes for a bad bird like him. Lloyd shrugged. “I was explaining that! But don't let me explain. See, what happens to interrupt me? Anyway, I'm famous in Djadochta, you know? I am a filmmaker! And I'm here with my crew, but they, who are fucking ornithischians, have been hosted in the hotel, because they are fucking herbivores and don't have these, these and these! " and, in order, he showed to the dark red-haired human the claws at his feet, under the feathers of his arms and the big, curved teeth in his thin mouth. "And I don't know where to sleep." "And do you want me to let you sleep in my home?" Lloyd was silent for a couple of seconds, his tail making several up and down motions before answering. “You look nice. You accompanied that girl with her puppy all the way home. " Kenny stood staring at the creature in front of him, so dangerous and also so small and fragile. He thought he must be little more than a chick, alone and frightened on an island full of unknown mammals. “Okay, you can sleep with me for tonight. But not get used to it, eh, peach? " and he was frowned upon by the raptor. "Peach? What’s that?" "For the colour of your feathers." Lloyd looked at himself, turning his head creepily in a strange angle, and looking at himself, just like some birds with long necks as long as Lloyd's. "Huh? What the fuck you mean? What’s a peach, anyway? " “A fruit - I'll show it tomorrow. Let’s go." Kenny sighed, tired and exhausted from that short but intense adventure, guiding the feathered young man to his apartment. . . "Wow, human houses really suck." muttered Lloyd, shaking off the slippers from his bird-like feet and dropping his backpack a few meters from the entrance, trotting down the short hall and kitchen, peering into the rooms, moving his long neck over the thresholds, into the darkness of the unlit rooms . Lloyd was a nocturnal creature, and darkness was no problem for him. “Would the bed be that square thing? But why square shaped? Shit. Useless corners in those. Why not circle-shaped, are you stupid or what? " "But why should it be a circle! What are you saying!?" Kenny let out almost in a laugh, following him into his humble bedroom, but being careful not to turn on the chandelier. He was afraid he would burn the raptor's eyes, and the last thing he needed right now was a blinded and angry dinosaur in his house. Now, he just needed to sleep. Kenny took off his jacket and threw it on a nearby chair, and then took off his shirt, remaining bare-chested. The shoes flew almost under the bed, and the jeans followed the jacket. Lloyd watched him all the time, eyes bright and irises dilated in complete attention. "Big and hairless beings, they told me about humans." Lloyd muttered to himself, not missing a movement of the man in front of him, who now really felt as if he were participating in a reality show, observed by foreigner eyes. "You are a little less hairless than I expected. Interesting. I hate those bald animals, I think you have a decent amount of fur." Kenny assumed Lloyd was talking about his somewhat hairy chest, red hair all unkempt on his broad pectorals. He wanted so much to cover himself, sitting on the bed only in boxers, but Lloyd also undressed - but that didn't change much. Under his clothes there were only feathers. "Well, then, uh, there's a sofa in the living room..." Kenny began, but Lloyd put his feet on the bed and climbed on it, curled up in a corner, reducing himself to a ball of peach-colored feathers next to Kenny. “How do you humans say? Good night?" Lloyd mocked him a bit, then opened his jaws, yawned, and tucked the long black snout under the wing, the long tail twisted around his body, reducing himself to a ball no bigger than Kenny's chest. The man was sitting on the bed, watching the raptor beside him. He did not mind having someone by his side after so many, too many years, even if it was a slightly too big quail the someone in question. Kenny laid down, reaching out and touching that spiral of feathers - and he was as soft as he imagined. Lloyd didn't react, his muscles relaxed under Kenny's hand, as he stroked that strange body for a while. Then, sinking his face into the pillow, Kenny slipped into a strangely quiet sleep for a man who was sleeping alongside a velociraptor. Well, a raptor was still someone, right?

#Kenny #Lloyd #half dino fic #uhhhh idk :) #cow said hi :) #Very Important ArtTag

[hazbinhotelandchill]

So I absolutely wrote this request as if it were in my fic. No shame. If you haven't read it yet you should go check it out here ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

So yeah, this is my human Al. His name is Alistair McCarthy, so that's why it's spelled that way in this drabble.

There be smut ahead. Enjoy!

37. "Could he make you feel as good as I do?"

46. "I haven't even touched you and your already this wet."

You don't know how you got there; pushed against a wall, Alistair's thigh between your legs, and you rutting pathetically against him. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his white button up, mewling quietly in his ear. You were so warm, the heat forming in your center and spreading all throughout your body.

Alistair chuckled in your ear, and you felt one of his hands move from it's spot on the wall by your head to your hair. Gently his fingers brushed through your silken strands; the action was comforting in a way you weren't used to. It caused your body to shutter.

This wasn't right, you shouldn't be doing this. Not with anyone, but especially not with him. He was dangerous, he had attacked you- right? He had the same voice as the one who had grabbed you that night, and sometimes you swore you got the same feeling of dread in his presence. Everything pointed to him; he was the Bayou Killer, a murderer and likely a cannibal. You shouldn't be anywhere near him.

"Darling," he purred in your ear, causing goosebumps to run along your flesh. You shouldn't be anywhere near him and yet here you were, coming undone in his arms, a creature of lustful intention. You felt him slowly pull away from the wall, his hands coming to your arms and guiding you to follow him. The lack of pressure between your things caused a whine to escape your throat, and you saw his smile curl into one of mischief.

Alistair led you to the bed in the center of the room, where he carefully laid you down. He pushed you further onto the bed so that both your legs were comfortably bent at the knee and placed on the mattress. Your skirt haphazardly covered your lower half, but was pushed aside so that Alistair's hand could brush against your clothed sex.

Your inhale was sharp, and he hummed in approval. "I haven't even touched you and you're already this wet." Placing his other hand on the side of your head, he hovered over you, face close to yours. From this close you could make out the faintest dusting of freckles across his tan skin. His brown eyes seemed to be flecked with red just like his hair, and they were absolutely alight with delight. He was enjoying this effect he had over you.

Pulling your underwear aside, his fingers dragged along your entrance, easily gliding with the slickness on your folds. You grasped the sheets beneath you tightly, heels digging into the mattress. Desperately you tried to grind your hips into his fingers, but he'd just pull them away, lingering just above your entrance. It was enough to make you cry out in frustration, your eyes looking to his, begging, pleading.

"Alistair, please," you whispered as he gently played with your lower lips. He hummed, eyes narrowing.

"Please what, my dear? You really must be more specific." This time, when his fingers traced your entrance, they went just a little deeper, brushing lightly against the small bundle of nerves you so desperately wanted him to touch. It sent a shock to your gut, curling your toes. You made an almost pained cry; he was driving you mad.

"Please touch me-"

"But I am." You wanted to glare at the wide grin on his face, to yell at him for being so difficult. But you needed him to touch you, so you had to play by his game.

"More," you begged, your voice a meer whisper. Your hands untangled from the sheets, reaching up to his face and gently cupping his cheeks. You tugged lightly, begging him to come closer. With a glitter in his eye he obliged, and you guided his face so that it was just in front of yours, your lips barely touching. "Touch me more, everywhere you can. Take me, mark me, make me yours. Please."

A low rumble of approval sounded in his throat, "How could I possibly say no?" Then he kissed you, lips molding with yours, and one of his fingers parted your folds and entered you, causing you to gasp. He took this moment to push his tongue into your mouth, claiming it for his own.

It didn't take long for you to develop into a moaning, panting mess. His kisses were feverish, passionate, and the way his finger breached your walls caused pleasure to surge through every inch of your body. Alistair's lips traveled from your own, down your jaw and to your neck, where he began to suckle and nip at the sensitive flesh. Marking you, claiming you, showing the world what he had done to you. It only succeeded in turning you on more.

You whispered his name into the air as he inserted a second finger into you. He was stretching you, filling you, touching you in new and intimate ways. You craned your neck back, giving him more access, allowing him to continue to mark you. You wanted him everywhere; around you, inside you. You just wanted him in every way you could have him. You craved him, needed him.

It made you sick. How could you be doing this with him? With this monster? How many people had he killed with the very hands he was using to pleasure you with? And what about Harry? What would he say, what would he do if he knew you were with someone else in this way?

A strangled cry escaped your lips as he bit you, hard, drawing blood. His canines were sharp, digging into your flesh, the blood mingling with the salivia on his tongue. Your fingers curled into his shirt, desperately trying to push him away. But there was no strength in your actions; it was as if it all had been drained away.

You felt his teeth exit your skin, and you whimpered pathetically. His fingers were beginning to move faster, more rhythmic, and on occasion his palm would brush against your clit. A pressure was building in your core, spurred on by the rough ministrations to your neck.

His tongue lazily rolled across your skin, cleaning up the blood that had begun to leak from your wound. A pleased hum rumbled in his throat, as if he were enjoying the flavor. It caused a bit of fear to slither it's way into your mind; he was dangerous, after all. He could kill you without a second thought. You really shouldn't be doing this...

But you didn't want him to stop. You'd never felt pleasure this intense before; it was everywhere, running through you, infecting your senses. Every part of your body was alight with feelings of bliss, drowning out everything else around you. There was only you and him; nothing else mattered.

A third finger entered you and you nearly lost yourself. It hurt, but it also felt divine; the way it stretched you and filled you, it made you arch your back, desperately searching for more. Alistair's lips trailed up your neck, kissing the spot right underneath your ear. You whimpered, sensitive, eyes shut tight.

"You're trembling, my dear." You hadn't realized, but he was right; a slight tremble had begun to make its way through your body, and you had little control over it. "Is it the pleasure, perhaps? Or is it something else? I wonder..." His voice trailed off, and your whole body stiffened as you felt his other hand wrap around your throat. "Are you afraid of me, darling?"

His fingers tightened around your throat, straining the airflow to your lungs. Your hands grasped at his, trying desperately to get him to stop. His fingers continued to thrust into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body was being overloaded, the variety of sensations damn near turning you mindless.

"Tell me," Alistair began, pulling back from you so that he could look at you, taking in your expression. Your eyes were glazed over, your lips parted as you tried to take in air. The sight made his grin widen. "Could he make you feel as good as I do?" You whimpered at the thought of Harry. Tears sprung to the corners of your eyes; your poor husband didn't deserve this. "Don't fret, you'll be with him again soon enough."

Confusion marred your expression, but was soon replaced by a look of horror as his grin began to twist into something sinister. His hand tightened around your throat, the pressure becoming painful. Panic raced through you, and once again you tried to detach his hand from your throat. The realization that he had killed Harry and was going to kill you too hit you like a ton of bricks; your life was over, and you had practically given it to him on a silver platter.

He never once stopped thrusting into you, and as the darkness began to take over your vision, you felt yourself slowly begin to come undone. Your teeth clenched, your hand reaching for Alistair's face. You meant to try and attack him, but you were weak, and you could only pathetically brush your fingers against his cheek.

He chuckled, the sound much darker than it had been before. "That's it; let me see you come undone as the light fades from your eyes." The world around you faded, your hips thrusting into his fingers as your orgasm hit you. It was all too much, and within moments you lost consciousness-

Only to awaken in a cold sweat in your bed, Harry softly snoring at your side. Your eyes were wide as they darted around the room. Slowly you sat up, careful not to wake Harry. Everything around you was as you had left it; nothing was amiss, and you were safe in your home.

You sighed heavily, placing your head into your hands. It had only been a dream. You tried to reassure yourself that everything was fine, but you couldn't stop the dread welling in your gut. How could you even have a dream like that? You didn't have feelings for Alistair... Right?

Shaking your head, you laid back down, curling into yourself, as far away from Harry as you could manage. Somehow, you had to prove that he was the Bayou Killer. Maybe then these mixed feelings you had for him would go away. Closing your eyes and ignoring the wetness between your legs, you drifted off, hoping that your dreams would be void of the charismatic radio host that seemed to plague your every thought.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #lemon

[raymurata]

Curiosity

ZevWarden Week Day 4 Candlelight Whispers: Opening up @zevraholics

“It would seem she got you good, my friend,” Zevran said, helping Alec sit up and regain his breath. The warden dusted off his hands, scratched from trying to break his own fall, and then lifted up his shirt to see the damage Mara’s kick had done. The shape of a boot was quickly darkening on pasty white skin.

Alec fumed, his brows knit tight, lips pursed into an even thinner line than usual. He lifted up his gaze to where the infuriated elven girl had disappeared, followed soon after by Alistair and Crookytail. “I should go after her, too. If she gets caught, she’s dead.”

Fierce as Mara might be, she was still an under-armed, lonely girl in the woods surrounding Denerim. If road bandits and wild animals were not dangerous enough, they were all certain that there would not be a lack of guards patrolling the perimeter, specifically searching for the fugitive Tabris. 

“Alistair and Crookytail will find her, caro,” Zevran reassured him, placing a hand over Alec’s wrist. “You should tend to that mark she left on your stomach first, yes?” 

The warden groaned, but did not reject the suggestion. He healed himself, then stood up and walked over to Morrigan’s tent to ask her for the favor of turning into a bird and making sure Alistair would find Mara. The witch agreed with a reminder that Alec owed her a favor in return -- it seemed that favor had already been previously discussed, but Zevran was not aware of the details. 

It didn’t particularly stir his curiosity. 

But Mara did. Or rather, Alec’s obsession with her. 

Back in Denerim, Alec had been adamant about joining forces with the Red Jennies to save Mara from execution, and the party had agreed to do so, albeit reluctantly. It was the right thing to do, given what they had learned from the Jennies, after all. 

What no one but Zevran knew, however, was that Alec had shown interest in Mara even before the Red Jennies had gotten involved. He had butted in a pair of complete strangers’ conversation immediately upon hearing Mara’s name. Even now, after Mara had rejected their cause, told Alec to sod off, and chosen to risk herself heading back into Denerim… Still, Alec was void-bent on keeping her in the party.

It was only when Morrigan returned with news that Mara had been found by Alistair, and that the two were engaged in conversation not too far from camp, that Alec agreed to retire.

“Now, caro, I find myself rather jealous. You were never so insistent I remain at your side, no?” Zevran said as they made their way back to their shared tent. “I recall you telling me to go on my merry way if I so wished.”

Alec pulled up a basin and cast water inside. “She is going to get caught by the guards and executed if she goes back there.”

“Not unlike me, yes? The Crows would have had their joyful way with my pretty face had I been left on my own.”

“I doubt that. You’re skilled,” Alec argued, and then immediately paused what he was doing, as if on reflex. He pursed his lips, and shook his head. “No. I mean, she is skilled as well -- I’m not trying to say that she isn’t.”

“Should we not let her figure out her own path, from this point on?” Zevran suggested, plopping down on their bedrolls. “Why does it matter so much, my warden?” 

Alec shook his head, then sunk his hands into the magically heated water, splashed his face and rubbed his skin clean. He washed his mouth, then fetched up a towel to dry himself up. In pensive silence, he undid his hair and combed it down; put away his belongings in his careful, neat fashion. It was only then that he joined Zevran in their bedrolls.

Zevran threw the furs over Alec’s body, snuggled up closer to him and nuzzled his long ear, nibbling playfully on the tip, having already accepted that Alec was not going to give him an answer.

“I think we’re related,” Alec said, looking up at the canvas of their tent. “I told you I never knew my father, right? But I’ve always known his name. Tabris. I knew he was an apostate, and that he was from Denerim.”

Zevran paused his nuzzling, but stayed close like that, the tip of his nose against Alec’s cheek. “That would indeed explain why you look so alike, bello.” They had all noticed it and pointed it out, but Alec had not given them a single answer so far. “Have you asked her about it?”

Alec bit his bottom lip, then slowly shook his head. He was looking up, avoiding eye contact entirely, his hands intertwined over his stomach, his shoulders tense. Zevran kissed the corner of his lips, made it a point not to press him for an answer.

“I just… I never met him, so it seems weird,” Alec said. “She might think I want something from their family. Also, I know the odds are minimum because she does look a lot like me, but… What if it’s just a coincidence and we’re not related at all? But like I said, that’s rather unlikely at this point, given the evidence.” He tapped his fingers on his own hand as he talked, his gaze never really leaving the ceiling. “But then, even so, why would she give a nug’s arse, right? I was thinking that if she could join our cause -- which I figured was a good option for her, given the atmosphere in Denerim right now, and the fact the alternative is getting executed… I figured…” He unlaced his hands and reached for a book by the bedroll, only to fidget with the corners of the pages. “I figured I could get to know her a little better, and if she’s alright I could actually ask her about it upfront. But if she didn’t seem like someone I could trust, I could come up with some reason why I would like to know if there are any mages in her family.”

“Either way, the end-goal would be to learn more about her family?” Zevran clarified. He knew very little about families, himself, but it seemed to him like Alec was overthinking this. “Would it not be easier to simply request that information from her now? It would save both of you a lot of trouble, given how she does not seem interested in joining our cause, yes? Noble as it may be.”

Alec nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s just…” He bit his bottom lip again.

“Not your favorite topic of conversation, is it? Family?” Zevran hazarded a guess. In these past months in his company, he’d seen Alec weave at least three different lies when asked about his life before the Circle.

Alec tsked, his mouth hanging open for a while before shutting again. He licked his lips. “It’s not like there’s a worthwhile story there. I told you already… What I remember are the years with my uncle -- from my mum’s side. He was an arse, and we were piss-poor, and he’d sometimes express his distaste over my mother having gotten herself knocked up by some random apostate from Denerim -- Since, you know, he ended up having to feed the offspring in the end. That’s all there is to it, really.”

“Oldest tale in the book?” Zevran asked sarcastically.

Alec chuckled, no mirth in his smile. “Yeah. A piss-poor elf in a shitty place, no parents whose freaking face he can actually remember. Sounds about right.”

“A toast to that,” Zevran joked, resting his head on Alec’s shoulder. Despite the sarcasm in both their tongues, there was an unspoken understanding in the air. “I, myself, never knew the name of my father. Whatever it was, the whores never cared to tell me. My mother’s, however, I do remember.”

“What was her name?” Alec asked, finally dropping his gaze from the ceiling and looking at Zevran instead. “If you wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Zevran smiled against Alec’s skin.

“Gianna,” he said. Weird to hear that name on his tongue after so many years. “At least that was the name the other whores knew. One of them once told me -- after much insistence from a younger, extremely curious me, for that matter. Perhaps to be rid of my unrelenting questions about my mother’s clan, Lucia, the whore in question, told me that Gianna was not my mother’s Dalish given name. Indeed, it does not sound even vaguely Dalish, mm? My younger self had never truly considered that detail. At any rate, Lucia told me my mother never shared much about her roots at all, and I suspect she might have chosen a new name to preserve her Dalish integrity, perhaps? I do not know.”

“Is that why the Dalish clan didn’t accept you as their own? Because you didn’t know her birth name, so you couldn’t prove you had Dalish blood?” Alec asked, reaching out for Zevran and gently running fingers through his hair.

“Perhaps. I doubt they would have accepted me either way, but no matter.” Zevran shrugged the thought away. It was his turn to shift his gaze, to stare at Alec’s lips rather than his eyes. “How did your mother die, my friend?”

“I don’t know that she did,” Alec said, his fingers ceasing their caresses. “She left. I was five, and I don’t really remember much at all from that time. I don’t even know that I really want to find where my father is, or meet him. He’s probably not worth the time, either.”

“But you are curious,” Zevran stated, mirroring Alec’s gesture and burying fingers in shiny, copper strands, enjoying the soothing texture of his hair as he combed it down.

Alec’s eyes rolled shut as if under a spell. His shoulders sagged on the bedroom. “I am,” he admitted, the ‘m’ dragged out for a second too long, much like a purr.

Zevran let out a sweet chuckle. “Curiosity may yet kill the cat, mm?” he said in jest. “If it is any consolation, I too would be curious, were I in your shoes.”

“Curiosity?” Alec said, also in jest. “You mean, Mara might kill me, innit?” he chortled, and wrapped his arm around Zevran’s middle, pulling him closer. “Better make the best of it before she does.”

“Mm?” Zevran hummed and waggled his brows. “And who am I to refuse you your last wish.”

#zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevwarden week 2020 #alec surana #zevran x m!surana #zalec #raywrites #families #implicit childhood neglect #Alec is secretly a Tabris #hehehe

[couslandofhighever]

Hey! Can we please have rose, peach, yellow bow and fire form the oc ask? For any OC you want. Sorry, I'm on phone and I can't copy paste. xD

Hey, thank you for this! And that’s totally fine.

So far I only have Rosamunde Cousland, my first Warden.

🌹 How easy is it for them to connect with others and make friends? On the flip side how easy is it for them to make an enemy of someone? Are they the kind of person who hangs around the food table at a party and never talks to anyone or are they the type who can talk to anyone? 

Rosamunde is a people person, but she prefers small group or private conversations even though she is capable of mingling. When she is on her guard, she is a social strategist and will choose blunt honesty or genteel obligation and telling people what they want to hear depending on the situation.

She always considered Bryce a little too trusting, and she was aware of the undercurrents of dangerous exploitation of women that does exist in Ferelden. She strove to make the most of the martial equality that was allowable, and she always wanted to participate in learning to fight and defend herself when her big brother did. This meant that she learned a lot of different registers of conversation, from groups made up of soldiers to what she was expected to do as a member of the nobility. However, a lot of these skills seemed to be just-for-practice until Howe’s treachery suddenly made everything all too real. Of course, this shook her ability to trust others, but it was not as deep a blow as it could have been.

First of all, she was pissed off. Secondly, she sensed that Howe was a snake. She just didn’t know how deep it ran.

Rosamunde prefers to make friends over enemies, and she is often a big proponent of second chances. She considers herself a good judge of character, perhaps sometimes incorrectly. She is not infinitely forgiving, though. For example, she had no hesitation about allowing Alistair to execute Loghain after their duel at the Landsmeet.

She likes to learn what makes the people around her tick, for better or worse.

Someone meeting her with violence or even simple distaste at the beginning of a relationship isn’t necessarily a dealbreaker for her. Treachery and betrayal bother her a lot, obviously, especially after what happened to her parents and everyone else who served them.

She may not be completely forthcoming about her mistrust or dislike of someone if she isn’t sure how it will play out. She will give people she’s unsure about some benefit of the doubt, but she definitely has suspicions that make her cautious to trust certain people, especially those who seem ambitious without a thought to the responsibilities that ambition would earn them.

She can talk to anyone, and she may pretend to be a terrible person for a moment if it will get them to open up to her about their plans, but if she does this she is likely to stab them in the neck or poison them if they won’t walk away with nothing but their life and the clothes on their back.

She is also especially prone to trying to befriend most women she meets, but she sometimes finds it easier to befriend men. She really wants feminine approval, and it is in part because - as of the start of her story, at least - she has not yet particularly realized that she is attracted to them, too.

🍑 Where is your OC’s favourite place to relax or calm down? Recount a story of their time spent in this place! What makes it so special to them?

Rosamunde was suddenly thrust into a fairly nomadic lifestyle when she became one of the two surviving Grey Wardens in Ferelden and - as far as she was sure - the only surviving member of her family. Her ancestral home was lost to her, and under the circumstances during the year it took to reunite Ferelden and end the Blight, she had no particular desire to return to Highever to find it occupied or empty and bloodstained.

She likes to go to places that overlook some kind of natural view. She particularly likes watching flowing water and the wildlife that come to its edge from time to time. She also likes hugging her dog and talking to him about whatever she would prefer not to vent to others’ ears. She likes cool and damp areas and the comfort fire brings from them.

Note: You asked for “yellow bow,” but I am not sure I see a yellow bow? 

https://couslandofhighever.tumblr.com/post/626235048140619776/jumbo-ask-game

I will answer the only “bow” icon I saw, but if you meant one of the yellow category questions, please tell me which one, and I’ll answer it, too! 

🎀 Do they wear a specific accessory with a special meaning behind it? What is their usual fashion sense like? What do they wear when they want to be comfortable and what do they wear when they’re going to a fancy party? Or do they just not care? 

She likes to wear the blue color associated with her family’s heraldry, especially now that her parents died in such a terrible fashion. She does not want to forget her family or lose that association, whatever Grey Wardens traditionally do. She will always be a Cousland with all the weight and pride it carries. She takes being of noble birth very seriously. Some might disagree with valuing that kind of thing, and they might be right, but to her being nobility carries with it a long history of social responsibility more than a particular thirst for power. She feels that if she has the ability to do something, she should.

Luckily, or not, the heraldry associated with the Grey Wardens has a similar shade of blue.

She likes white, and if it is off-white she prefers a cooler, grayish tinge to it.

She likes earthy colors and roses, for her name and their beauty and thorns. She values being able to move in her clothing, so she would reject any particularly restrictive styles, though she does like pretty, feminine things. She would likely try on some kind of ornate thing from Orlais, but she would never let Leliana persuade her to wear shoes she could not walk, run, or play with Barkspawn in.

She admires Morrigan’s much more open, careless regard for her clothing, but she would probably never wear anything quite so worn or revealing in public.

🔥 Give us a list of general likes and dislikes, such as colours, textures, music, weather and other stuff! 

I already stated some of this above, but here’s a list.

Likes: dogs (not just mabari), roses, blue (especially dark blue), white & gray, dark, earthy colors, morning fog, rivers, scenic views, summer rain (within reason), Barkspawn’s hair just after he’s been bathed, smooth stone, ploughed soil, early fall, and she is not particular about music and likes to watch people play

Dislikes: Very cold rain (would prefer snow), betrayal (though she’s a bit of a hypocrite and will let people betray bad people to come to her aid), the only color I think she has an aversion to is sort of sickly yellow, dead grass (the texture), droughts (both for their impact on people’s well-being and the kind of weather), feeling defenseless

The Questions are Here.

#interactions #warden oc #dragon age #dragon age origins #cousland warden #cousland #op #text #rosamunde #noire-pandora