Hawke hums as she pulls the
wine bottle from her lips, passing it back to Fenris. She was the only regular
visitor to his mansion. Tonight she had brought dinner, a medley of things
cooked by Leandra. Fenris brushes back his hair as he eases into the chair,
took a sip. “Your hair is getting long,” Hawke says from the bench, her elbow on
her knee, chin in her hands. Fenris takes a section of his bangs, holds it
before him.
“I suppose,” he says, setting
the wine bottle beside his chair.
“You should let me cut it,”
Hawke says as she leans back, stretches, her arms in the air, eyes squeezed
shut. She gives a contented sigh as she eases back into a relaxed position. “I
cut Carver’s hair all the time and he doesn’t look awful.” Fenris chuckles,
shakes his head.
“I am offering,” Hawke smiles. It’s not too long before she has Fenris
in a chair, in just his tunic, a towel around his neck. She sits on the table
behind him, bare feet on the edges of his chair, scissors in her hands. He
flinches at the first touch of her hand at his hair.
She doesn’t start cutting yet.
She simply eases him into the touch. She threads fingers through his hair,
light scratches against his scalp, until his shoulders relax. Only then does he
feel her gather a few locks, hear the scissors coming together. “Who are you
taking to the Deep Roads?” He asks, closing his eyes. The crackle of the fire,
the snip of the scissors. Hawke’s thoughtful hum.
“Carver would likely murder me
in my sleep if I don’t take him. Varric for sure. Anders for if things go bad,”
she says at last, brushing away loose pieces of hair from his neck.
“You should bring me,” Fenris
says.
“Oh?” She says, amusement clear
in her voice. “And why is that?”
“I owe you a debt. The Deep
Roads are dangerous,” he says. He hears her put the scissors down on the desk
beside her. His eyes open as her arms wrap around his neck, her face appearing
beside his as she hugs him.
“Why Fenris, you do care!” He
grunts, but says nothing, his cheeks coloring, and a hand on her arm. “You’ve
already paid that debt,” she says softly, “almost every day since. The Deep
Roads are going to be miserable. I’m sure you don’t want to be stuck down there
with me.” She leans back, releasing him from her embrace, moving back to her
task.
He’s been sleeping in his
armor. This is one of the few times he is out of it. The only time he is out of
it in front of another person. A mage, of all things. Hawke. A friend? Even he
isn’t sure. His ears twitch as hair falls free, tickles against his neck. He
has his back to her, a sharp thing in her hand. He should be… fire crackling,
snip of the scissors, and Hawke’s occasional hum of a long forgotten lullaby.
He closes his eyes once again. It’s safe, in a way he’s never felt before.
“You should take me,” he says
firmly. She laughs softly under her breath.
Grog tries his hand at that writing thing. Scanlan assists.
For the Critical Role mini-bang, to accompany @fluorescentwolf‘s amazing art
Scanlan cannot quite believe it.
“You’re serious?”
Grog’s brow furrows. “Well, yeah.”
“You can’t write at all?”
“Well… nah.”
Scanlan stares up at his goliath friend, completely dumbfounded. “But why not?” he asks finally.
Grog shrugs, a nonchalance of a man who does not comprehend how strange such an existence is. “Never learned,” he says simply. “Smashin’s more my thing.”
“Well, I can’t deny that, buddy. But we’re really going to have to change this whole illiterate thing, you know, there are those who would disapprove of -”
A lot can happen in ten years; cities can fall, Hawke’s beard can develop strands of grey, and kittens can grow into giant, cranky bastards.
“Well this is just unfair. I swear to you, he never lets anyone hold him, not even me,” Mahariel complains, watching Anders nuzzle a surprisingly docile Pounce as the beast purrs loudly, gently kneading paws the size of sovereigns against the mage’s thin tunic.
“It’s because he missed me and he loves me, yes you do, don’t you?” Anders cooed, smiling into Pounce’s orange fur, not minding that it would stick to his damp cheeks out of relief that his cat hadn’t forgotten him after all this time. “I missed you, too.”
Lookit! @akacosmic and I created this fanfiction prompt generator
On the initial roll you’ll get an AU and trope
If you want to turn it into smut you can click the kink button
There are hundreds of different results and thousands of combinations. The options were compiled through research of the most popular fiction AUs, romance tropes, and fanfic kinks.
None of the options are gender or sexuality specific and are applicable to polyamorous couples.
I hope you like the layout, we wanted it to look like a late 90s geosites page because… It’s avant-garde?
Tag your OTP and what result you got, maybe your followers will write it for you
Inspired by this post. Because while I can completely see why Harry became an Auror, teacher!Harry also holds a lot of appeal …
April 2006
The sky had been threatening rain for hours, and now down it came, no doubt to
the dismay of the handful of students out on the Quidditch pitch. Watching from
the window of her office, Professor McGonagall discerned a few Gryffindors
amongst the group and smiled. They had a good team this year, though perhaps
not as exciting as previous years. The Seeker, a slight third-year girl, showed
promise, but certainly she was not in the same league as a few of her
predecessors. Charlie Weasley, for instance, or …
She moved away from the window and glanced at the clock. He was late. She
wondered, not for the first time, if there was much point in holding this meeting.
She could not allow all her hopes to lie with it; there was, surely, only the
slightest chance that he would agree.
The knock on the door came as she was settling herself behind her desk.
“Enter!”
She was amused to observe the slightly hesitant way in which he came into the
room. He pushed back his hood, looking around. His eyes lingered on the
portrait behind her desk, but Albus was asleep – or at least, Minerva thought,
pretending to be. A few of the other portraits called out greetings, and Harry raised
a hand in acknowledgement.
The crowd below shifts about, anxious, but oblivious to everything spare for Arl Eamon’s charming words. Zevran lays in hiding, waiting for the right moment as the excitement only continued to build and the kingdom held its breath once again for the spectacle to come.
A speech was to be made and a successor’s face revealed, the near-entirety of Denerim having come out for this announcement. News helicopters floated high above them, dizzying and loud, but in Zevran’s experience, added attention only created greater confusion. Once they had found the correct window in the correct building, he’d be gone. In his wake, an empty sniper perch and a calling card:
okay this one is kind of different from my usual stuff bc im trying to emulate brian jacques’ style. it should still make perfect sense if u arent familiar w/ the redwall series tho, never fear! this took ages to write & its rly late & i have work tomorrow so if there are any mistakes i’ll fix them later lmao
3,000 words
It was late summer, and Mossflower country bathed in the fading golden glow of approaching twilight, tugged gently by a peaceful breeze, steeped in the balmy warmth that heralded the advance of a dusky September eve.
Set between rolling meadows and and deep velvet of Mossflower Wood, edged with a dusty ribbon of roads, Redwall Abbey stood tall and welcoming, high brick walls spread with ivy that lingered on the cusp between tawny green and burnt red. High above, the bell tower towered over the ramparts, casting lengthening shadow over the cloisters below. As evening drew on, the great Joseph Bell struck out the hour with seven deep tolls, resonating across the surrounding countryside and echoed by the muffled chimes from St Ninian’s.
Within the high walls, warmed by the sun, myriad small creatures went about their daily tasks, unmolested by the troubles of the outside world. Here a mole, tending the abbey’s small garden; there a field mouse, herding a group of youngsters inside; and was that Brother Jowan, teetering in the branches of a plum tree? It was, and he looked like to fall.
All was surveyed by the careful eye of the Father Abbot, an old mouse by the name of Cyrion, whose whiskers were near as long as his years. Grey of fur about the ears and nose, he nevertheless wore the habit of Father Abbot well, caring for each creature beneath his watch with wisdom and patience. He shook his head at the sight of Brother Jowan perched so precariously in his pursuit of plums – what an energetic young mouse he was! Always bobbing about, eager to please and yet somehow troublesome all the same.
‘Be careful, my son!’ he called out as a warning, but he needn’t have worried. A nearby squirrel had seen the danger, and now she dashed up the tree nimbly to rescue the poor mouse. Siegfried was a familiar face at the abbey, often seen catching smaller creatures as they fell from branches or the ramparts. Abbot Cyrion knew she could be content here, if only she let herself; but he also knew unrest coiled in her bones. She was never still, her tail always twitching, always looking for signs of trouble. Peace sat uneasy on her shoulders.
He nodded his thanks to the young squirrel as she passed, but anything he had to say was cut off as the peace of growing evening was rent by a sudden hammering on the ancient gate.
There are so many things I *could* be writing about and instead all I’m thinking about is the desire demon from the Circle Tower quest who absconds with a Templar (assuming you don’t attack them, killing them both)
Call it sappy, wishful thinking but I like to think they make it okay
I mean – succubus form aside, desire demons aren’t vampires. She’s not actually *feeding* off him or really hurting him in any way. All she wants is to experience the mortal realm, a mortal life, and she can do that through him. And in return, she makes him happy.
I like to think she takes him off to some remote mountain cottage, with breathtaking scenery and a nice cosy hearth laid in the fireplace, a garden full of fruits and flowers, until some time later he looks at her and says
“Darling, can you believe our son will be turning fourteen this spring? He’ll be a man soon.”
“Mm, has it really been so long?” she sighs, wrapping her arms around him and leaning into his chest. “It feels like only yesterday.”
“Darling, can you believe our daughter will be ten years old in the autumn? That means we’ve been together for, what, fifteen years?”
“Something like that,” she agrees, since time is still a hazy concept to her.
And he’s quiet for a moment, then turns to face her with a smile and says:
“Darling, it’s been fifteen years; don’t you think you can be rid of the illusions now?”
Delicious Fish 