and look at his arms twisting his sword

Inn lítt fugl {The Little Bird}

Originally posted by whenimaunicorn

Ivar x Reader

@lottak got me thinking about Ivar so… more Ivar.

You normally chatted to no end over dinner but today you were quiet, chewing thoughtfully which had everyone looking at you as if they expected some long winded question that would result in a long nighttime trek to Floki for answers. Margrethe sighed and glanced at you, having tried to dull the idea you’d come up with all day.

“I want to go to England.” You said finally and everyone froze.

“Inn lítt fugl want’s to go to England.” Ivar chuckled as he recovered from the shock first.

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Sleepless Nights

Harry Hook x Reader
Written by: Matt
Word Count: 1,336
Gender: Gender-Neutral
Warnings: cursing, scars, sharp objects
Gif by: @imultifandomstuff
A/N: oooooooh boy this was a long one.
Fictober: Day 14 of Fictober
Taglist: @powerpuffqirls, @babiijayla, @ororo-munr0e

Originally posted by imultifandomstuff

You walked down the alleys through the buildings of The Isle. You pushed through the crowd of people with your head down as to not make eye contact with anyone, just looking at a stranger could end in a fight. It was freezing, you didn’t have any good clothing to help with the temperature. All of your clothes were ragged, there were holes in some of your shirts, your black shoes had scuffed soles and practically coming off. You were going to Ursula’s Fish and Chips for supper. It was going to be a long walk of not trying to get robbed and beaten up. Walking in the Isle was tough, you knew some people who weren’t out to get your throat but as for random strangers that wasn’t the case. You walked somewhat confidently and paced your walk so you didn’t walk too fast. You heard the shuffling of feet behind you, as you turned you got pushed into an alley by two guys. 

“Look I don’t have any money on me.” You lied. 

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anonymous asked:

I could totally see Ignis' and his S/O's child going back in time so Ignis actually has a chance to see them before he gets injured. And angst and fluff and all that goodness.

It has been requested! 

Alright, hold on to your seats, kiddos. This one may arguably hurt more than the last. I have a request to do Gladio as well. If there’s any Prompto lovers out there, speak up now or forever hold your peace!

You can read Noctis HERE


{2,237 words}



When you meet him it’s of less than ideal circumstances, but you suppose that was the point.

It’s during the heat of a nasty battle, an impromptu ambush, but deadly all the same. Three MT units had swooped down from above in the dead of night above your campsite. Gladio had been the first to notice, bellowing a rousing warning to the rest of you, but it still didn’t ensure you all were on you’re A game’s. It was a ‘relax and recovery’ kind of night— one that was spent mending wounds from the fort you had infiltrated the day before.

None of you had been ready for the backlash.

MT assassins are swinging left and right with their mechanical arms and harsh robotic swipes. Dozens of blades cut through the air, creating an echo of turbulence all around you that’s so inorganic, you feel as though you’re in a hazy dream. One glance around you shows that everyone is struggling to hold their own, for each MT that’s cut down, there’s another to replace it.

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Ubbe Ragnarsson X Reader

Ivar was following you. He kept on crawling after you and at the beginning you’d acknowledge him and talk to him. But now you couldn’t be bothered. You knew he was behind you it you didn’t turn around, as you purposely took the most difficult routes through the forest.

“Y/n, I will just keep on following you.” Ivar laughed, still close behind you.

“Why can’t you just leave me alone Ivar? You know I’m with Ubbe.” You glanced back at him and he smiled.

“Because I want you.” He said simply and you groaned. Catching sight of the Ragnarsson’s training up ahead. “Just in time for a sword fight. Bet you’ll be looking a my skill.”

“I bet I’d beat you. I’ve been to war and fought but you have never been off this island.” You snarled.

“Someone’s a bit angry today!” Ivar announced. “Am I mistaken in asking if it is your time of the month.”

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Burn Your Fears Away

“You can fight me and watch your friends die,” Valentine said.

Alec tasted blood.

He watched Jace’s eyes flit from him to Clary to Isabelle, all around the room the Circle members had dragged them to. The seraph blade’s medal pressed a dangerous chill to his neck and Alec saw Jace stare at it.

Magnus shifted beside him. “Ah, just as dramatic as I remember,” he said.

All eyes turned to the warlock. Alec’s burned as he tried to get a good look at him, trying to warn him to stop even as he bit back the words on his tongue.

Valentine’s cold eyes swept over Magnus’s face before he shifted his stance, resting his blade in front of him with his hands folded over the hilt. He smiled.

“Magnus Bane,” Valentine said. “It has been a while.”

Magnus tilted his head to the side just so, racking his eyes over Valentine’s body. “It doesn’t feel that long ago to me,” he said, “but it must to you. You did always look quite like a potato, but I must say you haven’t aged well.”

Isabelle made a choked sound, Simon’s jaw all but hit the ground. Jace’s mismatched eyes grew three times their size and Clary ducked her chin towards the Circle members arm, hiding a smile.

The Circle member that held his blade to Magnus’ throat jerked him roughly, pressing the sword even closer.

“Mag –” Alec hissed, but Magnus twisted slightly, sending him a warning look.

Valentine let out a little laugh, taking a step forward. “And you look ever the same,” he sneered. “How’s the wound I gave you last time we met? Healing well? I know even you foul warlocks have a hard time fixing damage done by seraph blades.”

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Just like Romeo & Juliet (Kind Of)

Request: Hey love! Could you possibly right an imagine where the reader is Hook’s daughter, and she and Pan are in a secret relationship. And on their nightly visit when Pan flies to Hook’s ship for the reader, (make it as cute and fluffy as possible please!) they get caught by one of Hooks crew, and Hook is enraged and tried to kill Pan, but the reader stops him, and after Hook sees how in love the two are, He hesitantly agrees to the relationship

Word Count: 1830

Warnings: None

Where is he?

It is twelve minutes past midnight. He should have been here by now.

The frosty night chill greets your bare shoulders, and you silently curs yourself for not bringing out a coat to wear over your (slightly revealing) night gown. In all fairness, you didn’t think you’d be waiting this long for him to come.

But then you hear it: the sound of something much greater than a bird majestically swooping through the air.

Even though he’s late, you can’t help but grin at the sight of Peter. He lands gracefully and quietly on the deck of the ship, his tousled brown hair blowing gently in the wind.

You practically run into each other’s arms, almost knocking each other down in excitement. He leans down and kisses you, both of his hands cupping your face and then running through your hair, and you can just tell how much he’s been missing you, and you’re glad you’re not the only one. Finally, he pulls back softly, just enough to see your face. He traces the outline of your lips and smiles, and his eyes won’t come off of you.

Peter presses his forehead against you and whispers, “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N.”

You grin, and reach up to touch his cheek with your hand. “Peter, I’ve missed you too.” Then, jokingly, “You’re twelve minutes late, by the way.”

Peter throws his head back, trying not to laugh and wake up the ship.

You both know the risk of what would happen if someone, anyone on the ship were to wake up and see you and Peter like this.

To put it very simply: Peter would be killed. You would never see the light of day ever again.

Your father, Killian Jones, would most likely make you watch Peter choke on his own blood.

The very thought makes you tug at the Peter in front of you to make the mental one go away.

“Peter, I…” You start to say, but you stop yourself.

“What?” Peter’s eyes widen. He tries to guide your line of sight back to him by gently grabbing your cheeks. “What, Y/N? What is it?”

And then you look up at him, and you feel it, a million things you want to tell this boy, this beautiful boy you may be in love with, and you don’t even know where to start.

“Peter…I wanna run away with you.”

You watch as Peter’s whole face lights up, and for a minute, he almost begins to fly. You pull him back to the deck.

“Y/N I’d…” You can see the ideas blooming in Peter’s mind. The places you could go, the place he could take you.

But then reality sets in on him as well, and you assume he has the same choking-on-his-own-blood vision you had.

“But…your father, Y/N. He hates me. He wants to colonize Neverland. If he ever found out about us…”

You bury your head in his chest, and try to live as much as you can in this brief moment of escape. “I know. I know. So let’s just forget that. I wanna focus on the now.”

The two of you stay like this, wrapped up in each other’s arms, for what feels like forever. Then, you hear the grandfather clock in your father’s cabin strike, indicating that it is now 1 o'clock in the morning.

Before he leaves, Peter promises you that he’ll be back tonight at the same time. With one last kiss that lingers on your lips, he’s off into the night, soaring up into the clouds until you can’t see him anymore.

The day goes on like every other day on board does. Your father barks commands at his crew while you “survey” the ship (your father, not trusting you enough to let you do a crew member’s work, made up the job position). It’s hot, and you can’t focus on anything else except how excited you are to see Peter tonight.

Dinner with the crew consists of the catch of the day (a two foot grouper), and once the sun sets, you hurry off to your cabin to make yourself look slightly less like you’ve been stranded on a boat all day.

You’re spraying perfume on the back of your ears when you hear it: someone smashing something outside on the front deck. Then, shouting.

Oh no.

You sprint outside to the front of the ship, only to find Peter being held with his arms painfully twisted behind his back, Killian’s first mate being the one holding him.

“Love, go get your father. It looks like Pan’s tried to plan an attack on our ship!” The pirate addresses you, Peter squirming in his grip.

Peter’s wide eyes lock with yours, a silent conversation happening in the span of two seconds. What do we do?

Panic sets in as your father appears from his cabin, drawing his sword. “No need to fetch me, I’m here.”

Killian circles around Peter, his sword pointed right at your soul mate’s throat. “So what is it, Pan? Did you think you’d try and ransack us in our sleep? A stealth mission of theft, you’d be gone before we woke?”

“P, please, Captain Hook, I can explain-” Peter starts, but your father quiets him immediately.

Killian whistles loudly, and immediately the entire crew begins to rise from their chambers, all sleepy-eyed and bed headed.

This isn’t going to be good at all.

“Boys, tie him to the pole! Someone, tape his mouth shut!” Your father shouts, and all at once, his crew begins to grab at Peter, binding his wrists behind him and tying a cloth around his jaw so he can’t speak.

You need to speak up. You have to!

“What are we going to do with him, Captain?” The first mate asks.

Killian smiles an awfully wicked smile, and your heart sinks to the very bottom of your chest. “Why, mates, we’re going to do with him what we do to all thieves: tie his limbs and make him walk the plank!”

The crew cheers, and when one of the crew mates lurches for Peter, you scream.


Immediately, ever pair of eyes turn to you. However, you’re only focusing on Peter’s. Peter, who is shaking his head at you, pleading with you.

Y/N, don’t do it. I can get out. Save yourself.

But it is too late.

Your father turns to look at you, and his face softens. “Aw, Y'N, darling, you don’t have to watch this. Really, go back to bed. The men have to do what the men have to do.”

You feel an anger rise up in your chest, and you push through the crowd of pirates, defensively standing in front of Peter.

“No, dad, I won’t,” You start, looking your father dead in the eye, “Because Peter wasn’t trying to break into the ship. He was here to see me.”

Silence fills the deck. For a moment, no one says a word. Not, at least, until your father bellows, “WHAT?

You grimace, and the crew members look uncomfortable. They back away from you and Peter, leaving a clear path from you to your father.

Killian approaches both of you, and you block Peter’s body with your own like a human shield.

“You mean…to tell me…that you and this, this…vandal, this…RUFFIAN boy are…seeing each other?” Your father is hissing, and you know this is exactly how you thought he would react.

Just then, Peter tries to say something, but it comes out muffled from the gag. Quickly, you turn to him and untie the cloth, throwing it to the ground.

“Sir, please, just let me say something.” Peter begins to beg.

“Oh, no, Pan. I think I’ve had enough from you-” Killian starts to dismiss, but Peter interjects.

Please, sir.”

All the crew members go quiet and lean forward, anticipating what Peter has to say.

Your father goes quiet as well, wordlessly allowing Peter to speak.

Peter takes a deep breath, momentarily glancing at you before locking eyes with your father.

“Sir, I know how it’s been between our kind for the last few years. And believe me, I’m not proud of a lot of it. But sir, I am terribly and hopelessly in love with your daughter. I’ve never felt so happy or so sure of anything in my entire life. Every second of my being is filled with the need to be with her, to be close to her. That’s why I came here. To see her. And sir, if you let me continue to see your daughter, I vow with all that I have to protect her, and to put her life before my own. Because I love her.”

When Peter stops talking, the deck fills with silence once more. But you’re not paying attention to them.

Because right now, you’re looking at Peter, and you know in your heart he’s worth giving up everything. He is your everything.

Your father is slow to speak.

“Crew, untie Pan.”

You run to your father, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. You whisper, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

However, he puts his hands on your shoulders. “Not so fast, young lady.”

Peter, now free, slowly walks over to you and Killian, waiting for your father to continue.

Tension hangs in the air.

“Alright,” your dad finally says, and you grin, lacing your fingers through Peter’s. “But listen, there’s gonna be visiting hours! There will be crew members watching you guys at all times. I don’t need another mouth to feed on board!”

“Dad!” You shout at the implication, but deep down, you’re just happy. Happy for no more secrets, no more sneaking around. Happy you and Peter can finally be together.

A lot of the crew members go back to their quarters, relieved to get to return to sleep rather than host an execution.

Your father watches you and Peter for a bit from the balcony before shaking his head and returning to his cabin, a smile on his face.

It’s much cooler tonight, the breeze more calm and soothing than frigid and biting.

“So,” Peter says, your first words alone together, “That went better than expected.”

Despite the horrible string of events that could have happened, you find yourself laughing, all the stress and fear from the evening falling off of your shoulders.

You and Peter walk to the rail of the ship, gazing down at the dark waters below. The sea is calm and comforting to watch.

Peter looks around for a moment, making sure there’s no spying crew members, before wrapping his arms around your stomach and holding you against his chest. He’s warm, like always, and in this moment, your heart is filled with a thousand emotions. Love. Joy. Thankfulness.

You feel Peter chuckling, and you turn your head to look at him. “What?”

His grin lights up the night, and looking down at you he responds, “So, I guess we’re just like Romeo and Juliet, right? But, like, the good ending.”

You raise your eyebrows, toying with the thought. After a brief moment, you reply, “Kind of.”

“Yeah,” Peter affirms, returning his gaze to the moon above. “Neverland beats Verona any day.”

Awkward Attraction (Part 2)

Pairings: Roan / Reader

Warnings: None at all! (Not even swearing!) 

AN: The response to part one of this little drabble series was unbelievable, seriously I think it was my most read Roan Fic to date which is just… AWESOME!!! This is a short little scene to update everyone on the dynamic between King and Reader. Enjoy everyone.

Part 1 is here 

If you want to be tagged in anything please add yourself to this list here. 

@no-other-names-availible-blog @angelaiswriting @selldraug @angryares @thenovarose @georgiagrl1990 @punk-rock-5-sos @mindofthescattered  @dontstopxx @iamabeautifulperson18 @madelinecraig03 @ka-x-in @im-hurric4ne @mesmericbell @something–awesome @weirdpotato-14

Y/N had been in Polis without the rest of Skaikru for about a week now and had already caused more trouble than Roan knew what to do with. His people didn’t know how to deal with Y/N either, watching her in either shock or horror as she continued her streak of destruction on his newly acquired city.

This trouble was the reason why he was now sat on his throne, head cradled forwards in his hands as he awaited the cause of his pounding headache.

Sure enough Y/N came flying into the room with no respect whatsoever for whomever might already be in the throne room. Of course at this point it was only Roan who had the unlucky task of dealing with her.

“Your majesty, you summoned me” placing one hand on her hip she smiled at him. Y/N was still continuing to insist on calling him ‘your majesty’ no matter how many times he corrected her.

“Y/N you threatened my cook”

“Well he was trying to poison me” she said reasonably seemingly unfazed by the accusation.

“Poison you?”

“Yup, pretty sure he actually put vegetables in my soup”

Roan’s headache was turning into a full blown migraine as this conversation continued. Why could nothing with her ever be simple? 

“You threatened him because he tried to give you vegetables?”

“Did I” pretending to be surprised she just went over to the Skaikru chair in the throne room throwing herself into it. “Must have slipped my memory”

“You held a sword to his throat” Roan growled.

“Like I said, must have slipped my mind”

Roan was holding onto his temper by a thread, he’d learnt through dire experience that it wasn’t the best plan to lose your temper with Y/N. She saw it as some sort of twisted victory to get a rise out of him.

“How do you even have a sword?” he demanded instead “there are no weapons in Polis”

“Strange, you have a sword right there” she pointed at the weapon leaning against his throne.

“I’m exempt”

“Really?” finally she got back up to her feet coming over to his throne making Roan tense. She leant against the side the sword wasn’t putting her arm around the top so she could hang over Roan’s left shoulder. “What else do you get an exemption from my king?”

He looked up over his shoulder at her, faces close together. He hadn’t failed to notice that weird eccentricities aside Y/N was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Frustrating and fascinating all at the same time.

“Do I have something on my face?”


“You’re staring at me fairly hard there your majesty”

Roan couldn’t help the sigh of impatience that slipped out of his mouth “will you please stop calling me that”


“No?” it was the most straightforward answer she’d ever given him about anything. “Just no?”

“Yup, just no” removing her arm from his throne she sauntered back to the middle of the throne room. Lowering herself in an elaborate curtesy something else she knew annoyed him. “I have more important things to do than talk about titles and cooks, so your majesty if you’ll excuse me?”

It wasn’t really a question and Roan knew it. Waving his hand at her she smiled and skipped out of the throne room once more turning at the entrance to grin cheekily at him and blow him a kiss.

She really did drive him insane. Maybe that had been Wanheda’s plan upon leaving her here. It wasn’t to protect him but to drive him to madness. Either that or she had driven them all crazy as well and abandoning her was a last ditch resort to restore their own minds.

From down the hall there was a sudden scream and the crash of what sounded like a large pile of plates. Cursing to himself Roan jumped from his throne running to the hallway a shout of “Y/N!” already falling from him mouth.

Overly Ambitious [Keith/Reader]

Title: Overly Ambitious
Pairing: Keith/You
Summary: Keith summons a level six during his training, soon realizing his mistake when you enter the training deck and the simulation won’t stop.


A/n: headcanon is that keith is always pushing too much and doesn’t know when to set his boundaries, esp with training. so, there’s often some problems. if you like this, please make sure to let me know!

Keith swiped furiously at his forehead, drenching his sleeve with beads of sweat while mustering the strength to keep hold of his bayard. As his breaths quivered and heartbeat throbbed violently in his ears, he remained fastidious in observing the opening in the ceiling. The adrenaline that coursed his veins was exceedingly potent compared to any drug, or so he believed. 

As the gladiator fell from the chute above and landed with a clang of metal, unraveling its extremities to reveal the electrified blade, Keith only wished the sensation never faded. 

“Let’s go, level six. Show me what you got!” 

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Choose Your Mistakes #35C

Part thirty-five round C, of the interactive fanfiction, Choose Your Mistakes. Please check the FAQ and the Setting Info if you haven’t already, and be sure to make your choice below.

You chose to ask for Dark’s soul.

Originally posted by rubies-and-oaktrees

Dark sneered with distain.
“Well which one is it then?” You took a deep breath, doubting you could make the situation worse but bracing yourself anyway.
“Yours. I want your soul.”

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TTB -- Training

Title: Touch the Butts Hobbit Edition—Training

 Summary: You were a simple office worker, until a twist of fate sends you tumbling into Middle Earth and into the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.  You don’t know what to expect, you don’t know if you will survive, but you have this feeling that there is a great love story in the making.  But who will be the one you are destined to be with?  Make your choice and Touch the Butts.  

 Warnings: Language. Innuendos of a sexual nature. Flirting.

 Start From the Beginning

Originally posted by tinysofia

“Shit!”  You hissed as your sword slipped from your grip again.  Your fingers were sore, your back was sore, everything was just sore, and this wasn’t helping matters much.  

“You gotta keep a hold of it!”  Dwalin scolded for the second time.  

“I’m trying!” You bit back as you bent over and retrieved your sword.  Today was your first day of training and Dwalin decided to start with how to properly hold and grip your sword.  The company helped you decide on a weapon, many of them letting to test out with their own weapons before deciding.  

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a salty teens au (2/?)

part one

Jon woke the next morning determined. To talk to Sansa; apologize for his actions the day previous; to make a concerted effort to get to know her in the week before they would be tied together as husband and wife, for the rest of his – their – days.

Of course, it was easy to want to do all those things. It was easy to look out his window and scheme and plan and consider all the ways to win Sansa Stark’s favor well and truly. Instead, he found himself doing everything but enacting his hastily drawn redemption plan, biding his time in the training yards and far, far away from the pristine passageways where his betrothed roamed.

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For @ofteethandbone and @boss-saarebas

Recommended Listening: Joan Clayton - Abel Korzeniowski

It’s a softer fog than she’s ever known, something that blurs edges, obscures sight, and she knows she should never have brought him. She should have hidden him somewhere, in one of the vast corners of the world, kept him safe. She knew he would never have stood for it, but she would rather have his anger than him standing beside her in this moment. Raising her hand through that fog, the green that swirls in her palm, slips through her fingers, and she looks upwards into the endless nothing of the Fade.

She’s sure he can see it too, those figures darkly at the edge of her vision. Bethany, so bruised and broken, following every footstep, blood on her face and eyes all glass. Leandra, dressed in white, tearing at the stitches at her throat. The ghost of Fenris watches as she passes, dark circles under his eyes and long dead flowers in his hand, standing at her grave. She forces herself to look away, hurries her footsteps to close the distance between them. Carver gives her a single pale look, clenches his jaw. She should never have brought him.

She knows this regret well. She felt it in the Deep Roads, with his arm thrown over her shoulders, blighted veins twisting under his skin. If she had insisted he stayed in Kirkwall then she would never have lost him to the Wardens. The guilt stabs like a knife and she wonders how she’s going to lose him now. His knuckles are white, wrapped around the hilt of his sword, and the staff does not rest easy in her hands. Climbing rock, clinging to stone, twisted paths that lead towards some uncertain goal.  

As they come to the mouth of the cave, the rift hangs heavy in the air. A gnarled mirror, some broken idea of a world they’re trying to get back to. Hawke can see the fortress in that reflection, a place she must return him to. The lightning webs between her fingertips as they face the demon in their path, a thing with distorted faces. It talks to her as Merrill, yells at her as Aveline. Words of Anders, of Varric, of Sebastian and Isabela. It begs with Fenris’s voice, pleads with his face. Whatever Carver sees, he does not hesitate to strike the killing blow.

The others do not falter, quickly race towards the rift. “Inquisitor!” Hawke reaches outwards, hand around arm, tugs them both backwards and to the ground, just as the monstrosity lands. A crawling thing of deepest nightmare, the entrance to the rift its prize.

“We need to get the Inquisitor out of here,” Carver barks and she knows that he is right. Palms pressed against cold, wet stone, pushing herself to her feet. The Inquisitor follows suit, arm trembling, hand shaking, anchor sputtering pain and power. To kill a demon like this would take time they did not have.

“I’ll distract it,” she hears herself saying, “take the Inquisitor and go.” Carver turns to face her, and Maker, she’s never seen him so angry.

“No. The Wardens caused this. A Warden will fix it.”

“Carver, I won’t let you –” His expression softens, he places a hand on her shoulder.

“You stopped being able to tell me what to do when we were kids,” he says, “go. Kirkwall needs its Champion.”

“I can’t be the last Hawke,” she tells him. His face twists, a pain she recognizes and he steps forward. Leaning over, a gesture of their childhood, his forehead against hers. A deep breath, and then he is moving back. Drawing himself to full height, squaring his shoulders, hands at his sword as the demon roars. He turns to face it, and she raises her staff.

“Go. We’ll distract it.” The Inquisitor is looking between both of them, and Hawke can’t help but think how young they are. So much on their shoulders, a burden in their fist. A weight that would never get easier, every choice a lingering scar. “Go,” Hawke insists, and with a wave of her hand, forces the Inquisitor forward. They stumble, begin to run, and do not look back.

“You ready?” Carver says, “I’m ready.”

“Aaaand here we go again,” she says. He takes a moment to grin at her before he charges forward. She arcs lightning, and the demon shrieks as it crackles on its hide. Carver stabs at what he can reach, grunts under the weight of the demons returning blow. Surging mana through her veins, bolstering his defense. At the edge of her vision, she can see the rift. Shimmering and shuddering, flickering and crumbling. And then it is gone.

Promised Land

Request: if you’re still taking Narnia requests, can I get an Edmund x reader where people call her “the best archer in Narnia” and Edmund realizes he has feelings for her and he tells Lucy “I have to tell the best archer in Narnia that I’m in love with her” and it’s just cute and fluffy haha I just love Edmund

This oneshot is so disgustingly late. I’m terrible.

Peter Pevensie liked Y/N. She was nearing twenty-one, so she wasn’t the same age as sixteen year old Lucy, but the two girls got along well. Y/N was the only one who would spar with Lucy during training, when Narnia wasn’t waging war with another country. She would make an effort to be friends with Susan, helped Peter with diplomatic papers, and would hunt with Edmund.

It really didn’t hurt that Y/N fit in well to the family dynamic the Pevensies had.

Susan Pevensie had never hated Y/N, but she’d never really liked her. Now that she’d had to replace archery with courtly matters, people stopped calling her the best archer of Narnia - apparently Y/N got that title now.

It was incredibly bad form to feel petty about this, but Susan was irritated. Her feathers were ruffled (as Peter would say). Sometimes being Queen didn’t matter. She wanted it all in a world where she could actually have everything she’d ever wanted.

Beyond that, though … Y/N was alright. She was nice. She had dazzling eyes, uniquely so, and she was all sharp angles and high cheekbones. Probably would have looked ugly if she was any other girl, but Y/N just elegant. At least Susan could discuss the latest fashions with her, so. That was something.

Lucy Pevensie really liked Y/N. She was the big sister that Lucy had always wanted. Susan was busy being a Queen. Apparently that entailed manipulating politics, maintaining foreign relations,  and when the elder female Pevensie wasn’t doing that, she was going to balls and high tea with other court ladies. Y/N would spend time with Lucy, though, so Lucy liked her quite a lot.

They’d grown close in the years that the Pevensies had had to rule Narnia.

Edmund Pevensie was in love with Y/N Y/L/N, the best archer in Narnia.

“You’ll have to tell her at some point,” Susan grumped to Edmund. He was with Peter and Susan in a room (of sorts) they’d turned into their castle headquarters.

Edmund shook his head. “I don’t have feelings for her, Su.” That was a complete lie. But nobody needed to know that. “Aren’t we getting distracted, anyway? Telmar forces have been prodding at our border. We need to handle this before they decide to plan an invasion.”

Peter looked at him. “Even if you don’t have feelings for Y/N, I think she has feelings for you, Ed. Eventually it has to come up.”

There was a knock at the door - Lucy burst in seconds later. “I’ve got a letter from Calormen,” she announced. She waved the cream-colored, thick letter over her head. It had been opened, from what the other three could see. “King Doire and Queen Eara accepted our invitation for the masked ball next month. They want to bring their children with them. And half their court, practically.”

Susan and Peter simultaneously groaned. “I was rather hoping they wouldn’t be able to accept,” Peter murmured.

He gestured for Lucy to shut the door. Nobody was supposed to hear anything that was said in here, even if all they were discussing was a masquerade.

King Doire and Queen Eara had three children. Dafydd was the oldest at twenty-five, and the Crown Prince. Princess Maisie was nineteen and the kind of girl who talked a lot about politics and horse-riding. Prince Rhett was thirteen and the youngest.  He was more reserved and inclined towards building things, from what the Pevensies had gleaned.

“Well, they’ve accepted,” Susan said with a resigned sigh. “We’ll need to alert the kitchens, and have the rest of the servants begin making preparations for our guests. Peter, have Tumnus see if a few druids can’t sculpt something nice in honor of Doire and Eara.”

In two weeks, Cair Paravel underwent a massive change. Armfuls of decorations were made every day: fairy-lights to string and wind down along the stone columns; drapery as light as feathers was made to be wound along the tables and looked like roses; paintings of nature and magical-realism were hung strategically around the castle.

The kitchen had been alerted of the other royal family’s dietary needs and were preparing a two-week menu catered to suit both their needs/wants and those of the Pevensies’. Some of the best musicians were being brought in a week early so that they could put together a long, soft musical background for the banquet and for post-dinner dancing. There were lute players, harp and cello players, a duduk musician - just about every instrument player imaginable was brought in to compose songs and practice old ones to put into the perfect arrangement.

Peter could think of nothing else. Half his attention went to preparing for the royal guests coming, and the other was spent dealing with skirmishes along Narnia’s borders, hearing complaints from peasant regions, and navigating politics (which were now mainly involved trying to form an alliance with Telmar, discussing environmental laws within the court, and being involved with representational duties).

Not to mention training every day, of course.

Lucy peered at Edmund. They were training in the courtyard - Lucy with her new sword-cane, Edmund with his sword. He’d named it Morgenstern (claiming that the name meant ‘Morning Star’, and it was personal choice, anyway).

“So when are you going to tell her?” Lucy asked. She’d named her sword-cane Onyx, and it was starting to become like an extension of her hand. The learning was slow-going. There was an opportunity to side-step and go in for a pulled stab. She took it.

“Tell who what?” Edmund asked guarded. He parried her attack and swung her arm up. “You’re not talking about Y/N again, are you?” The courtyard had people littered throughout it, practicing and talking and laughing. Edmund was careful to keep Lucy in their training circle. Morgenstern had been with him for a few years now, and sometimes it was like the sword was alive in his hand; automatically, habitually, he twisted around his arm so that Lucy’s sword-cane was behind her back. Morgenstern’s blade-tip was pointed at her throat. “I win, again. You’re slow, sister-mine.”

Lucy stuck out her tongue. “I was distracted.” Her hands went up to pull her ginger hair into a fresh bun. “And yes, I was. She’s here, too, you know. Getting in some archery practice.”

Edmund gave her a sharp look. “What do I care? I know she practices here every day. We’re friends.” Of course it mattered. Mainly because Y/N was his honest-to-Aslan best friend now, and he’d spent the entirety of their three year friendship wanting and obsessing over someone he couldn’t have.

Y/N was apparently too hung up on Eatymon Hunter to ever love Ed the way her loved her.

“Maybe you should go talk to her anyway. Looks like she could use help; she’s been looking over here for the past hour.” Lucy wasn’t actually sure if that was true, but she’d just caught Y/N looking over in Ed’s general direction, before realizing Lucy had seen her and turned away, blushing.

“Fine. Maybe I will.” But Edmund didn’t move, too busy drinking water now out of his water-skin.

There was an actual masked ball the night that the Calormen royalty came to Narnia. It was also the night that Crown Prince Dafydd decided to ask Y/N to a dance.

“My lady, they mentioned they had a family friend here, but the mentions in a letter from High Kind Peter did not do you justice,” he told you.

You could feel yourself flaring up. “I’m sure he was accurate, my prince,” you replied, curtesying.

“No, indeed. You are fairer then starlight.” Dafydd offered his hand to you; you took it graciously. He was broad-shouldered with a square jaw and curling black hair. Not necessarily your type, but close enough.

“You flatter me, Prince Dafydd. Tell me, do you tell every pretty woman you see that very line?”

While he might not be your type, he was a very good substitute for someone like Edmund. At least Dafydd was more forward, and openly flattering.

He chuckled. “No, just once tonight. Are you from Narnia, Lady Y/N?”

While you weren’t technically a Lady, you decided not to correct Dafydd. For once it was kind of refreshing to experience the sort of attention that noble ladies received. You actually commanded part of the Narnian army. As a result, you were revered for your military prowess … and not much else. Being a rising commander so young meant you’d never really had the option - or the time - to find a suitor. 

“I consider myself a Narnian, though I am originally from Archenland; hence the slight accent. My father was a merchant who eventually decided to take up residency here. He and my mother travelled a lot, and this was the safest country to have a child in. They’ve stayed here every since.”

Dafydd seemed genuinely interested. “And what about your mother? What does she do?”

“She found work as a seamstress, and then as a clothes-maker. She’s employed constantly by noblemen and noble ladies.” You weren’t particularly embarrassed that your parents weren’t from the court, nor were they royal. They were good, honest people. Everybody and their profession was valued in Narnia since the Kings and Queens had been crowned.

“Yet here you are in the court …” Dafydd looked at you, his question hanging in the air and unasked.

“I command a fleet of Narnia’s army.” You smirked at the impressed look on his face, at the other cocktail of emotions he was hiding relatively well. It was always satisfying to brag subtly about your accomplishments to royalty, especially when you knew they doubted you some.

“I have to tell the best archer in Narnia that I’m in love with her,” Edmund snapped to Peter. He’d been somewhat moody all day, and now he felt pushed over some arbitrary line having to see Y/N dancing with Prince Dafydd.

Peter laughed. They’d just finished dancing, and were now observing the ball near the refreshments table. There were fire-eaters outside, as well as little jousting rings, and darts and cards inside for those who were inclined towards sitting-down. “About time, brother. You’ve only been pining for, what, five years?”

Edmund scowled at his brother. “Have not. Only three - ” and then he watched Peter chortle.

“So you admit, finally, you’ve spent years with feelings for her. Good. I was about say that we should form a marriage alliance with Calormen.” By then, the song had ended, and Prince Dafydd had broken away from Y/N. It seemed as if he was going to fetch them both drinks. “Now’s your chance, Ed.” Peter wanted to be encouraging, but Aslan knew his younger brother would need a lot of prodding before he was actually emotionally vulnerable with someone.

As it turned out, the dark-haired Pevensie didn’t need to be told twice. Edmund strode off towards Y/N.

You were half-way to a chair - your feet were positively aching - when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Grinning, you turned around while saying, “That was quite fast, Prince Da - oh! Ed. Hello. Didn’t expect you to show up with a mask.” You were only joking. He took these events more seriously then you did.

“Listen, Y/N, I’ve got - I mean, well - could we go to a balcony for a moment? I’d like a moment alone with you.” Edmund ran a hand through his tousled hair. There was color in his pale face, and his lips seemed fuller, oddly enough, from having been worried. You hated yourself for noticing. He wasn’t yours to want or love, and that seemed like somebody who was in love with him would notice. And you weren’t in love with him (you were, actually, but that had to be ignored).

You nodded carefully, tugging absently on a string of your hair, curled to perfection. Ed’s eyes were dark, like the sky when it was plunged into nighttime. All the lights reflected there made his look like galaxies, and the emotion behind them was contained and emotional; it was a bit painful for you to behold. You took his hand and let him lead you out.

As far as you were concerned, Prince Dafydd had been completely forgotten.

Starmora Week Day 2 - Hands

*finishes the prompt with 20 minutes left in the day* 

Nailed it.

Peter’s a tactile person - it’s not exactly a secret. He’s the kind of annoyingly touchy person who’ll poke people in the shoulder just because he can, who has to stop and pet whatever dog-like species he sees, who’ll inevitably curl all up on people if they sit next to him on the couch. It’s something Yondu and Kraglin and whoever else didn’t threaten-threaten to kill him on a daily basis on the Eclector learned the hard way, and it’s something his team learns even quicker.

The days spent recovering on Xandar were some long ones, okay?

But for all that Peter is a tactile person, hands, on the other hand (hah)-

The thing is, Peter has a bit of a bad track record with holding hands. Not taking his mother’s hand when it’s all she wanted to do before she died is right at number one on list of Top Ten Worst Things Peter’s Ever Done.

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xionroxas  asked:

Okay, okay, I've read a lot, I mean it, A LOT of scenarios, headcannons, stories, etc., about chocobros x reader and stuff like that, so... What if... The s/o confesses their feelings for a chocobro, he rejectes them, and then other chocobro developes, confesses or whatever, his feelings for them, maybe even a little fight or argument due to how the first chocobro could reject them. Am I expressing correctly??? PD. I like your writing so much!!! And... I love Prompto!!!

Okay, so this is round 2 and I really hope this is more of what you had in mind. I do seriously love me some sweet Prompto but I also love me some badass Prompto. So…idk I did both. Anyways, I hope you like this! 

Word Count: 2146


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Love and War (chapter 15)

Strange Magic

Bog/Marianne, M rating

This is a story about two kingdoms, side by side, but worlds apart. And at war.

When the Bog King finally wins his war against the Fairy Kingdom, he decides that a political marriage with the eldest daughter of the deposed Fairy King will help to promote peace.

Obviously, he’s never met Marianne.


“Your Majesty—”

Marianne turns at the sound of Celeste’s voice, letting go of Bog’s arm.

Celeste is holding something out to Marianne—that letter Roland had tried to use. Marianne only keeps herself from recoiling from it by an act of will.

“We thought,” says Celeste, “that you might want to burn it.”

Marianne takes the letter from Celeste, holding it with just the tips of her fingers, reluctant to touch it any more than she has to.

“That,” Marianne says, “is exactly what I want to do.”

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anonymous asked:

All the emotion and desire that Arme had felt had been tossed away and keep in a place.One day all those negative feeling and desire had turned into the 2P version of himself and appear infront of Arme.

This red-and-black apparition was laughing.  Arme wanted it to stop laughing.  He didn’t know what it was, just that it looked like him, but twisted (fallen?) and he didn’t want to look at it.

A projected sword formed in his hand, cold and light, and Arme lunged forward.  The apparition projected a red sword of his own and blocked Arme’s blow.  Arme felt his sword shatter on contact, saw the apparition’s smile widen, and felt a shiver of disgust.

“What are you?” he hissed.

The apparition stepped back and bowed, mockingly, sickeningly.

“Ain,” he purred.  “I’m you.”

“Impossible,” Arme spat.  “You’re a demon.”

“Then you must be a demon too,” countered the apparition.  “I’m all your little secrets and desires, Ain, every single thought you’ve had that you’ve shoved away.  You want free will.  You want to be able to travel as you please.  Ishmael’s will chains you.”  It leaned forward, leering.  “You want to escape her.”

“No!”  Everything rang true, somewhere deep down, but Arme rejected it anyways. He loved Ishmael.  His only purpose was to serve her.  “You- You’re wrong.  You shouldn’t exist.”

“Oh?”  the apparition laughed at him.  “If I shouldn’t exist, then why is Ishmael not smiting me?”

Arme couldn’t find an answer.  The apparition stepped closer, enough so that Arme could see the little flaws in his red irises.

“Or maybe she just doesn’t care,” the apparition whispered, echoing Arme’s worst fear.  “Maybe she’s abandoned you.  Maybe you failed her so badly that she had to leave this world, and-”

“You’re wrong.”  Arme couldn’t find the conviction he usually fueled his words with.  The apparition laughed in his face.  Arme flinched.


For the first time in a long time, facing this horrible fallen copy of himself, Arme felt fear.

How To Win A Duel (Edmund x Reader)

I hope y'all enjoy this imagine! Send me an ask to let me know! I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors.


(Y/N)’s long dagger fell to the floor. Breathing heavily, she glared at the person who had disarmed her for the ninth time. Edmund smirked.

She and Edmund had been practicing for a good two hours now. It started off with Edmund showing her a few new moves, which quickly turned into a dueling competition. Edmund, not surprisingly, was winning.

It’s not that (Y/N) was bad at sword fighting-she was actually quite good at it-it’s just that she was trying to beat the best swordsman of the age. And happened to be failing at it.

It also didn’t help that Edmund had taught her everything she knew about sword fighting. Nor did it help that he was ambidextrous and could fight with two swords (something that caused (Y/N) to say he had to fight with just one sword after he beat her the third time).

She hasn’t learned to use two simultaneously the way Edmund does, but she’s learned how fight with her left hand. Although, she is still stronger when using her right hand.

But Edmund was still better. Still winning. And that made (Y/N) mad.

“Okay, (Y/N).” Edmund said panting, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. The front of his tunic was drenched in sweat and his now wet hair was sticking to his forehead. “I think that’s enough.”

“What?” (Y/N) asked breathing just as heavily and looking just as disheveled as they walked back to a table containing towels and water, “You want to stop? Too tired? Or too scared that I’ll win the next one?”

Edmund let out laugh as he wiped his face with a towel. “You’re not going to win, (Y/N). Not yet at least.”

(Y/N) huffed. She never liked it when someone said she couldn’t do something. Yes, she knew she couldn’t beat him because he was simply better and more experienced at it than she was, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

What she needed was a move he hadn’t taught her, a new move, something unexpected. Then a thought came to her.

She blushed the minute she thought of it and was glad that her face was already red from the exercise.

She grabbed a glass of water and drank it while discreetly looking at Edmund over the rim.

She has liked him for some time now. She used to convince herself that it was simply the way siblings love each other; the way she felt for all the Pevensies. But she realized it was something more when the princesses from other countries began to come seeking Edmund’s love. Making (Y/N) want to grow her nails long simply to claw their eyes out.

But she didn’t know if Edmund felt the same. Sure, Lucy would tease her by saying Edmund liked her but that didn’t mean anything.

What it would have benefitted (Y/N) to know is that Edmund did, in fact, like her. Loved her even. He discovered just how strong his feelings were when a Duke made a move on (Y/N).

He had felt a bubbling sensation in his chest, one he later realized was jealousy, when the Duke began to slip his arm around her waist. Followed by a great sense of relief when (Y/N) turned and punched him when he refused to leave her alone.

But (Y/N) didn’t know this. She never saw the looks he gave her. The special smile he had just for her. (Y/N) was too busy worrying that they were simply friends and nothing more.

But, if she did use this move she would definitely win the next fight. And maybe walk out of here with a boyfriend.

Or with no friend.

Still, she had to try.

Steeling her nerves she turned to Edmund and said, “One more duel. That’ll make and even ten that we’ve done and gives me one last chance to win.”

“Fine,” Edmund sighed, setting his cup back down.

They walked back to the middle of the floor. Both stood in their starting positions until Edmund made the first move.

He swung at her from the right, which (Y/N) quickly blocked before taking a jab at him from the center. Edmund swung his sword back down, quickly blocking her blow and twisting his sword so as to flick (Y/N)’s dagger out of her hand. (Y/N) blocked and made another jab.

This continued for another minute or so when (Y/N) decided to try her next move.

With a quick flick of her wrist, (Y/N) acted as if she would try to twist the sword out of his arm from the side-a move that would bring them chest to chest.

When Edmund expertly blocked it (typical), (Y/N) quickly turned her head and placed her lips on his.

Edmund froze. (Y/N) quickly used his shock as an opportunity to flick his sword out of his hand. She stepped back, breathing heavily, searching his eyes for something, anything, that would reveal what he though of what she’d done. Her expression wasn’t boastful. There was no triumphant smile. Her face shone with fear.

Edmund continued to look at the ground with an expression both confused and curious. Did she kiss him because she liked him? Or simply because she wanted to win? If the later, would she kiss any random guy just to win in a duel? He couldn’t have that. Whether she had kissed him out of love or out of the desire to win, he wouldn’t be able to live with (Y/N) going around kissing random boys simply to win fights. He loved her too much to let her do that.

Edmund cleared his throat and said, “Please tell me you won’t go around kissing random guys just to win duels.”

(Y/N) lowered her head. She didn’t hear the worry in his voice, the fear that she hadn’t kissed him out of love, she mistook it for rejection.

“Sorry,” she mumbled before dropping her dagger then turning and jogging towards the door. She had to get out of there.

And Edmund had to know why she kissed him. He quickly went after her, grabbed her arm and turned her around to face him, not paying attention to how close this brought them.

“Why did you kiss me?”

“Ed, I said I was sorry. Now please, just let me go.” (Y/N) mumbled looking at the ground.

“(Y/N), I need to know. Why did you kiss me?”

“Why do you think?” (Y/N) asked, glaring up at him. Was he trying to humiliate her?

“Look, either you kissed me only because you wanted to win or-” Edmund paused, looking at the ground, unable to withstand the anger he saw in her eyes.

“Do you really think I’d go around kissing random guys just to win a duel?” (Y/N) retorted, angry now. “That really hurts, Ed, that you would even consider it. Of course the reason I kissed you then was to actually beat you in a duel but I wouldn’t have considered that as an option if I didn’t love you! Damn it, Ed! I’ve wanted to kiss you for awhile now, I just finally had the courage to do it! Oh, and don’t worry, it won’t happen ever again. Now, let go of me so-”

(Y/N) never got to finish her sentence. The hand that had been holding her arm was now cupping her face; Edmund’s lips were now pressed to her own.

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. Edmund wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her into him until they were pressed together.

The tension that the first kiss created quickly evaporated. All the feelings the couple had kept hidden were let out; each clinging to the other like there was nothing else in the world to hold onto.

After what felt like an eternity, Edmund pulled away, both of them breathing heavily, and looked into (Y/N)’s eyes.

(Y/N) smiled at him. “I win,” she said.

He smiled and said, “I’m glad you’re so competitive. Otherwise we might not be doing this right now.”

(Y/N) let out a small laugh and glanced down. “I thought you were mad when I kissed you.”

Edmund laughed. “Mad? Surprised more like it. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to kiss you for months now and here you make the first move. I wasn’t mad, I was worried you had only done it because you wanted to win.”

(Y/N) frowned slightly. “So what you said about me going around kissing everybody…?”

Edmund hung his head. “That was the fear talking. I mean, what was I supposed to think? Someone like you loving some like me seemed impossible.”

“It seamed more impossible from my standpoint, believe me.” (Y/N) replied smirking.

Edmund looked back up at her, a huge grin spreading across his face. “So we’re good?”

(Y/N) snorted. “I let you kiss me, didn’t I?”

Edmund smirked and tightened his arms around her. “So does that mean I’m free to kiss you again?”

(Y/N) tilted her head up at him smiling. “That means you get to kiss me whenever you want. On the condition that I also get to kiss you whenever I want.”

“Can’t argue with that arrangement, now can I?”

“No you can’t” (Y/N) said before Edmund pressed his lips to hers again.

“Wait till Lucy hears.” (Y/N) said smiling when they pulled away.

“More like wait until Peter and Susan hear! It’s about time!”

*Lucy could hardly tell Peter and Susan once she found them. She was too out of breath from running away from two lovebirds screaming bloody murder.*

“I am the senior Warden here. It is my duty–”

“No, Alistair! Your duty is upon the throne of Ferelden.” The Archdemon gurgled through it’s shredded throat, as if it objected to the Warden’s statement.

“Even the lizard agrees,” Alistair joked, no real humor in it. He looked down at the woman he had come to know, to love. Her hair tangled from the fight and darkspawn blood clotting across her face. He couldn’t let her do this. But the snarl forming on her lips warned him otherwise.

“If you want to talk duty, fine. Your duty is to lead Ferelden away from its elf-enslaving, civil warring state into a better future where people like you and I don’t have to brandish blades just to get from one piss spotted village to another. Your duty is to take the Grey Wardens and help them rebuild under fair rule. Your duty is not to waste all that time I spent putting you on that throne. I will slay the Archdemon and that is final.”

Even when she was furious, she was beautiful. Alistair’s heart pounded against his plate armor from the inside. She wiped the blood from her brow and brandished her blade. He grabbed her wrist before she could step away.

“And what better way to be king, than to end the Blight? What could I ever do for Ferelden that would be better than that?” He hoped she wouldn’t see the pleading in his eyes. He wanted to sound reasonable, not desperate.

“You are going to make an amazing king, Alistair. You’re a good man.”

“King Cailan was a good man. Look where it got him. Can’t you see? I can’t let you do this.”

“And I can’t let you. Alistair, your duty to me, as your love, is to be the man I know you to be. Fair, just, and kind.”

Alistair wrapped his arms around her, still unsure as to how she was so small and made such a big impression. For a moment she sank into the embrace, allowing herself one last touch. Alistair felt his heart plunge into his gut as a thought entered his head. He knew what he must do, just as much as he didn’t want to do it. His hands fell to her waist as she looked up at him, an unknowable depth to her eyes as he could only imagine what she was thinking of.

“I apologise,” he whispered, taking the second she was confused to act.

Alistair hooked his heel behind her foot and pushed, tripping her to the ground. Her strangled squawk of indignation would have been funny any other time. Alistair ignored it and pulled his blade free of its sheath, charging across the rooftop towards the Archdemon.

“You royal bastard!” the Warden yelled, her favorite nickname for him. It was not lost on him as he sprinted. He wasn’t going to let her die like this. And if her last words to him were an insult, well… He would be glad for it to be the one she turned into pet name.

Five steps more. He could hear her scrambling to catch up, to overtake him.

Two steps. He never thought her boots could sound angry like that.

One. Sword plunged down, Archdemon skull pushing back, but not enough to save it.

Screaming. Alistair felt the demon twist and buck under his blade. Death throes nearly made him lose his grip. It wasn’t the one screaming. It was her.

He looked up from the demon, seeing her anguished face. Her arms stretched forward as if to shove him off. As if the deed we’re not already done. Alistair felt the Archdemon try to take over his body. Fire ran down his veins and rocks battered at his bones. He swallowed through the pain and pulled a grimacing smile.

“I love you,” he said. Every trace of dedication and loyalty and love poured into such a simple phrase. And he meant every ounce.

She screamed once again as the Archdemon’s soul finally burned through him. Power exploded outward, pushing her back, rending the red clouds above Denerim. Alistair was no more and the Blight was ended.

The Warden fell to her knees and threw her blade down. Tears streaked down her face and she screamed with all the pain in her heart. Alistair was gone. She folded in half, her gut a void of anguish. She screamed for the hole left in her heart where Alistair had once held a place.

Some of the soldiers fighting that day swear they could hear her from the ground. When the soldiers that had fought with the Warden on the roof finally found their footing, they did not know how to approach her. She kneeled next to the Archdemon’s corpse, hands gripping Alistair’s blade, blood dripping from where her fingers curled around it. The Warden, the woman who rallied all of Ferelden, was crumbling. And not one soldier dare step closer.

Only when Sister Leliana approached did the Warden release the sword. The Warden’s mabari licked at her wounds and tried to push her to her feet. Leliana supported her as she led her away from the battleground. There was much to be done. And everyone deserved a good night’s rest before any of it would be started. No soldier dare touch the Archdemon corpse or King Alistair’s sword. They knew the Warden would be back for it.


The next few days were spent cleaning up the city. With all the help the Warden had gathered, things went much quicker than expected. No one dared to touch the rooftop until they saw the Warden in the castle with Alistair’s sword on her belt. The soldiers did not expect to see much else of her for the aftermath, but the Warden was everywhere in Denerim. She threw herself into as many projects as possible. She checked upon the wounded, helped to build pyres, searched the alleyways for missing citizens, and did what she could for each and every person she came across.

With the aftermath taken care of, everyone was eager to attend Queen Anora’s ceremony. The queen announced the Warden as the Hero of Ferelden, and as everyone cheered, the Warden could only square her shoulders and look over the crowd. Some of the older men and women knew the look in the Warden’s eyes. Those that did chose not to say anything. Grief was best left to itself and the grieving’s loved ones. They would respect her privacy.

Little can be said of what transpired next. A good number of people say that the Hero left the party when no one was looking. All they knew was that one moment she was there, and the next, gone. Zevran made a similar exit not long after her. They had made plans to see to the other Grey Wardens after all.

Some others that attended the party say that the Hero stayed at the castle for weeks. Queen Anora did little to dissuade the rumors. After all, if the Hero liked the company, it only reflected well upon her.

Very few knew the real story. Of how the Hero stayed long enough for the celebration to die down. Of how she took only a horse and traveling provisions that night and rode through the gates of Denerim under Thedas’ stars.

In the months to follow, stories would crop up in odd locations. Stories of the Hero exchanging favors for food and travel gear. Stories of people being saved by some mysterious elf that looked an awful lot like she was wearing Grey Warden armor. And so on and so forth. But as for the Hero herself, only she knew her path. And only she could follow it.


Hey guys. I’m salty about the end of my Origins save file. Now I’m sad.