I added a Shenko drabble to the fic dump on my AO3. It feels so much better to get rid of all the tiny drafts and scribbles I have lying around.
Also, guess who’s avoiding yard work?
I’m going to post a few unfinished stories to my AO3 account. Some of them have just been sitting around, waiting for me to refine them or continue. Perhaps by posting what I’ve written so far, I will be motivated to keep going.
Anyway, please enjoy some of the random stories that I’ve been sitting on for some time.
A Valentine’s gift for Historymiss, a story about F!Hawke/Isabela
Rated: G
Isabela stood at her usual spot in the Hanged Man, leaning against the bar, idly sipping her drink as she scratched the back of her leg with the other foot. It was the last time she was going out to the Wounded Coast, she swore it on a pile of Andraste belt buckles. Maker, she had sand in the most inconvenient of places and she thought longingly of a warm bath, steam curling in decadent tendrils above the scented water. The thought was almost enough to tempt her away from the bar, but not quite.
I started rewrites of some of my older DA fic, including The New Princess.
Behind him he could hear the music come to a swell, and the party full of people he’d just left cheering for the musicians as he groped the banister that held him upright as he went up the stairs. It was poor form to leave a party early, but Sebastian had a message that came earlier in the day, but his beleaguered guard assured him that it was most urgent. His guard, the one his father had assigned to him years earlier when he’d finally done away with the shackles of Starkhaven, was a most severe man named Ronan, and was not given to hyperbole. If he said it was an urgent message, then no matter his drunken state, Sebastian would see to it.
In the back of his mind he feared that his father, the Prince of Starkhaven, might actually cut him off, as he’d threatened to do so many times in the past. Sebastian wasn’t very good with money, he thought the joy of spending it outweighed any possible benefit of saving it with rotten bankers or sinking it into real estate. In his youth he’d studied economics, but then did away with it, for he had two older brothers, the heir and the spare, that needed the knowledge more. Third sons, princes such as he, didn’t need that kind of education or discipline. It was his thought that he didn’t need anything but enough money to seduce and look good while doing it.
A Chance Encounter (sorry, I stink at titles)
For Cherith
Bethany/Teagan
MotA spoilers for those that haven’t played it yet.
Alrighty, this is my last gift as a relief elf for the DA Fandom Holiday Gift exchange. I wanted to write Cherith a story with Teagan, because I loves the Bann of Rainesfere. I also liked the idea of creating a world where Circle!Bethany gets some non-templar romancing. I hope you enjoy!
Isolde was going on about something or other, her voice sounded shrill to Teagan’s ears, even though he normally didn’t mind his sister-in-law. She had a big heart, was a kind, pious woman and deeply devoted his brother and their son. But after traveling with her to the remote stretch of the Vimmark Mountains to Chateau Haine, he needed a small break from her.
He missed Rainesfere, the craggy red land, abutted by the mountains with snowy white tops glistening in the distance, the wind whistling through the walls of the modest house he called home. Teagan was the Bann, but Rainesfere was a remote, desolate stretch of land near the Frostbacks, and many people preferred the comforts of nearby Redcliffe. He didn’t mind, the few people that inhabited Rainesfere were a particular sort of hardy and he liked them, while they in turn, adored him, for he treated them as fairly as possible.
During their travels to the Chateau, where they were to, of all things, participate in a wyvern hunt, Isolde had briefed him on everyone that she knew would be in attendance. It was an exhausting list, and he’d listened in silence as she rattled off all the various offenses the Comtess Dulci de Launcet had committed against her over the years. The two women had a legendary rivalry, but he didn’t actually know or care how it had begun.
“Teagan, are you even listening to me?” Isolde’s voice gouged into his thoughts, the accusation too much for him to take.
“I can assure you I am not.” Teagan replied, and Isolde blanched at his frankness, unaccustomed to it, though she’d known Teagan for half her life. “But by all means, keep talking.” He said. “I find it too quiet when you aren’t.”
A Week of Gifts
Fenris/F!Hawke
For Deltastic
Another gift fic! This one is for Deltastic, who actually wanted a drawing, so I’ll have a go at a picture, but I did write this fic for her as well. I’m so sorry, but you didn’t list the name of your custom Hawke that romanced Fenris, so sadly, she’s just Marian in the story.
He didn’t like Satinalia, and she understood why, it reminded Fenris too much of Tevinter, of all the rotten debauchery he’d seen and endured there. The holiday, as Marian gathered from his stories, was nothing like she’d ever celebrated it, but a veritable pot of mayhem managed by the magisters in Tevinter. Fenris had dully described parties where he’d been required to stand guard and watch Danarius doing tricks to amuse fellow senators fueled by blood magic, drunken hired girls sitting and pouting on the laps of the most powerful, party goers in corners, giggling at delusions brought on by aqaue licidius.
His version of the holiday sounded nothing like the celebrations they’d had back in Lothering, with tiny gifts every day for a week, Mother and Bethany baking in the kitchen. Just the scent of fruitcakes made her think of home, though she hated eating the things. The smell always made her nostalgic, the dried fruits and rum mixed with cake, it was just the smell of a Satinalia celebration to Marian. She used to spend all her pocket money buying things for her family, planning months in advance, shopping at the traveling carts that came through Lothering.
Something to That
For wasdplz
Aveline/Donnic
Another fic for a deserving Dragon Age fan, although I think you have other relief pitcher secret elves working on things too. I’m not the anon that sent you a message yesterday, but I did write this for you, as requested by Santa Varric. I hope you get many gifts!
There had been so many of the thugs, dropping from the tops of buildings, coming at them from all sides, specters that formed from the shrouded mists of the night sky. Waves of them attacked and for a moment, he worried that they might be overwhelmed. But then Donnic remembered, a light pierced through his panic as he did, Aveline was with him tonight.
They hadn’t escaped completely unharmed though it could have been much worse. She’d felt something distinctly unpleasant on her back when she moved her shield arm. Aveline deduced that she must have taken a hit that missed the intended target, perhaps with the butt of a sword. Whatever had caused her injury, it left her aching in her armor on the way back barracks when their shift was over. There weren’t enough health potions to go around and Aveline hadn’t been carrying any. Times like these were when she missed Hawke and her pack stuffed with many items including health potions and injury kits.
Feels Like Home
For Serindrana
Bethany/Cullen
I’m a relief pitcher for the Secret Elves, but I’m here to spread so much cheer to Serindrana.
It was always Marian that garnered the bulk of the attention, but it never truly bothered Bethany, not as it had bothered Carver. She was what their mother always called sweet, but really meant something more vague, not jealous or insecure but something that fell short of self-assured. There was no reason to compete with anyone in her eyes, especially not when her life was nothing she’d like to hold up in comparison.
Sitting outside Gamlen’s wretched hovel, Bethany often looked up at the smoggy sky, trying to find one bright star to pierce through the poisoned fog. Alone, outside, she asked for wisdom, guidance, the strength that she needed to get by in Kirkwall. It was just so much harder here, harder for all of them without Carver. Mother seemed to feel it as deeply as she did, and it comforted her, even though she knew they were mourning two different things. Carver was Mother’s precious boy, her baby, younger than Bethany by eleven minutes. She’d always held those minutes over him, but when thought of him now she’d wished he’d been the older one, just to give him a little more life.
part one / ?? of a “what could have been” drabble series titled uchronia.
here; what could have been if amell was neither conscripted or sent to aeonar. my pc faye amell was in mind when written, but this is fairly generic.
—
To Irving’s relief, Warden Tabris and her companions stayed an extra few days to wait for things to be sorted out. Wynne had asked to join them, and with the state of the Circle, Greagoir had signed off her papers with little complaint.
The elven woman even assisted the templars and few survivors with beginning the clean up. In one curved hallway, she stopped and stared at two bodies that had yet to be carried away, a blade stabbed straight through the both of them– a tall templar with amber eyes still wide and a raven-haired mage held beneath him in an armored embrace.
Perhaps he’d been trying to protect her, in those last desperate hours.
She closed the man’s eyelids, and went to ask Irving if they could be burned together.
Excuse me while I go sob into my sleeve.
Earlier today I wrote a new chapter of this story, it’s a kmeme fill and on my ff.net. It’s rated M. I got a comment today about how they were “moving fast” after posting the section below, where they hug. Seriously, don’t read rated M stories if you can’t handle freakin hugs.
Shouts and bangs filled the air and fear flowed between the two of them. There was the clear sound of people fighting, but not in the alienage. Both hoped that no one in the walled off section would start the violence and looting that had become commonplace in Kirkwall as of late. Merrill jumped at the sound of metal crashing against metal, coming from someplace nearby.
“Finn…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. Her voice was full of tears, the violence didn’t scare her and she wasn’t quite sure what did about this fight. Maybe that she wasn’t fighting in it or that she was alone with a near stranger.
She went to her bedroom, hoping to get away from the noise. When she sat on her bed, she noticed that Finn was standing near her, having followed her into the room. When she looked up at him, he sat on the bed next to her and she wrapped her arms around him. He hadn’t seen as much battle as Merrill and the constant violence unnerved him. He hugged her back, glad that she trusted him.
I wrote this one night when I was having the kind of writer’s block that seems unfathomable until you sit down and try to write.
It’s been one of my most popular pieces since I wrote it. Little fic, you helped me break down a wall and for that I am forever grateful.
And see if anyone ever notices. I wrote a story where the mabari was named Lando, in honor of my favorite space pirate, Mr. Calrissian.
