I was trying so hard not to laugh outloud as I read this. I failed and totally was laughing at my desk. A modern AU where Solas (Fen, as he is called here) is an ass to Lavellan who then ends up working at the same spa as him. The spa is run by Elgar’nan and Mythal. Elgar’nan has a purse dog, Abelas is hopelessly in love with Merryll and Fen almost stops being an ass when him and Lavellan get together. It’s beautiful and the bit with the dog is INSPIRED. You’ll know it when you read it.
Solas gets ‘the shovel talk’ from all of the companions once he starts a relationship with Lavellan. For those (like me) who don’t know what ‘the shovel talk’ is, it has nothing to with burying bodies and more to do with all the compainons warning Solas that he better be nice to Lavellan…. or else.
It’s so hilarious! Everyone’s reactions are so different. Cole’s might be my favourite because of how confused Solas is about it.
Same author as above, because damn! They can write funny Solavellan so well! Set post-trespasser where Solas brings down the veil… and everything is great. Except that Lavellan is very very angry. And Dorian is highly amused. So amused. It’s glorious.
A sweet little fic about a modern Solas and Lavellan meeting for the first time in a coffee shop after being set up by Dorian. It’s the perfect amount of sweetness and makes you feel like maybe these two crazy kids can make it!
A season five finale fix-it, told from Shaw’s POV, in honour of it being her day today.
This is how it
The payphone rings and
you pause with Bear in the middle of the sidewalk. You debate whether answering
it is a good idea. You almost walk away but something holds you back. Your hand
stretches out to the warm black plastic and you pick it up, hold it to your
phone is set back down and you turn around with a new spring in your step.
You shoot the Machine a smile.
The apartment door is
slightly ajar. You enter with caution, hand on the weapon tucked into the
waistband of your jeans. Bear tugs on his leash. You let him go and the lights
“Crane?” Abbie called out, unable
to find her fellow Witness in between the shelves at his favorite
bookstore. He was usually easier to find than this, sticking mainly to one section but today, he must have gone exploring. She called
out for a him a few more times before she turned the corner to find
him in the self-help section.
He was completely engrossed in the book
he was reading and didn’t even notice when she approached him. She
could see the title plain as day when he finally looked over the top
of the book and saw her standing there.
The Art of the Kiss.
According to the few lines she could
catch on the back cover before he crammed it in place on the shelf, it
covered such things as learning how to French kiss all the way to
actual art that featured kissing. It seemed pretty inclusive and
judging by the flush rising to Crane’s cheeks, pretty embarrassing to
get caught reading if you were a grown man with no one to kiss presently.
“This is not what it seems,” he
stammered, moving so he was standing in front of the section of books
he had been focused so intently on that he didn’t even hear her call
“What is it then?” Abbie asked,
reaching around him for a copy of the book. She grabbed it and
starting flipping through it. It was all rather lovely, actually.
There were men kissing women. Women kissing women. Men kissing men.
And art… from everyone’s favorite dorm room poster, The Kiss by
Klimt to Pygmalion kissing Galatea in a work by Jean-Léon
“I was just curious,” Crane said,
his hands now behind him as he stood there, not looking at the book
as she flipped through the pages.
“Truth be told, it has been a while
since I kissed someone… besides my wife…” Crane started to say,
sort of mumbling through his sentence.
“Yeah, I remember. I saw a few of
those kisses,” Abbie said, trying not cringe too hard at the
“She and I weren’t getting along all that
well then, as you remember… anyway, it’s been a while and I didn’t
know if things were different now… if the occasion should present
itself where I would be… kissing someone… again… if things… I
don’t know,” he said, still not looking at her or the book.
“A kiss is just a kiss,” Abbie
said, laughing just a little at all of this. “The fundamental
things apply, Crane.”
“Don’t mock me,” he said, looking
at her seriously. “This concerns… you.”
“What now? How?” Abbie asked.
He took the book out of her hands and
set it aside before putting a hand on each of her shoulders and
pulling her just a little bit closer. She wanted to tip her face up
to look at him but before she could, he kissed the top of her head.
Just a soft, gentle kiss. When he backed away slightly, she looked up
at him, gazing into his eyes. His breathing was no longer as steady
as it had been and as they looked at each other, they both breathed
in and out, opposite of the other. Her heart started racing and she
wasn’t sure how this turned into this so quickly but here they were,
in a little bookstore, about to share their first kiss. At least she
hoped he had the nerve to do it.
She stood up on her tiptoes and he
stood with his legs just so that he could kiss her forehead now. He
put his forehead against hers and they just stared into each other’s
eyes, still breathing. She wasn’t sure how she was still breathing
but she was.
He kissed her.
He kissed her and it was everything she
had hoped for.
Just long enough so she could commit to
memory the taste of him. Short enough to make her want more.
And she got more. She pulled his face
down and showed him how she liked to be kissed. Yes, books were one
thing but nothing beat practice. Her fingers twisted in his long
hair, holding him close as her tongue parted his lips.
They were in a public place but yet
somehow she had let this get far enough that he parted her thighs
with a knee and she was rubbing against him as they kissed. His hands
held her tight around her waist and the world was spinning… like
she was some girl getting her first kiss all over again.
She was, sort of. The first first kiss
that was going to matter for the rest of her life. The last first
kiss she ever planned to have.
“Abbie,” he said, pulling away from
her, and licking his rosy lips. His face was completely flushed now
and she didn’t want to stop but knew that they couldn’t continue this
“Yes?” she asked, trying to catch
“I don’t think we’re going to need to
buy that book,” he said and she laughed.
“No… I don’t think so. But what
else do they have in here…” she asked, turning around in his arms
and looking at the books on the shelves. Hard to believe that some of
these were in print now, what with the internet acting as everyone’s
guide these days.
“I don’t think we’re going to need
any of these books, Abbie,” he said, pushing her hair aside,
leaning in, and kissing her neck. She tilted her head to the side and
he continued to place tender kisses across her jaw line and every
inch of uncovered skin he could reach, taking a moment to suck on her
earlobe. She shivered from the sensation and couldn’t wait for his
mouth to explore all of her.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure we can
manage,” Abbie said, turning around and kissing him once more
before staring into his eyes again. “We can manage just fine.”
Memory is deeply not alive; it’s a mock-up And this renders it hateful. Yet, it is not a fiction, Is a truth, indeed a sad and monstrous truth. I was assigned to you, together we were A beautiful and melancholic picture. This last picture is the realization Of the overwhelming moment In which the acute eye perceives you as a now That is over. A now that is fixed In the swept past.
Mary Jo Bang, closing strophe to “September Is,” Poetry (September 2016)
MariChat Week 2 Day 3: Halloween. FEATURING: Lucky Us.
Chat Noir Boo Just now
Can someone tell me what the point of Halloween is? As if I don’t play enough dress up in my day to day life, now I’m stuck at a costume party.
No offense if you like it, though. It’s just not my thing.
Marinette yelped as a gauze-wrapped mummy bumped into her, almost causing her to drop her phone. She glared at them. “Excuse you,” she snapped, then hurried to catch up to Alya, who wore a witch’s hat and a warty nose that Marinette had customized just for her. The club’s Halloween party was in full swing, monsters and undead things of every sort dancing and drinking and flirting the night away. “How long do we have to be here again?”
Alya looped her arm through Marinette’s. “For as long as it takes you to go home with a handsome stranger.” She noticed her best friend’s sour expression and sighed. “Come on, you’ve been single for months. You can’t keep moping around in the bakery.”
Summary: They both need each other, but how exactly, and can they admit it? (Rated T)
“Where is he, Donna?”
Mike had tried calling his cell and had stopped by the condo. He wanted to apologise for yelling, being a dick, pretty much the last six years of tangled endangerment he posed and, of course, now Harvey had disappeared.
“Mike, he went to visit Lily. He’s back tonight; plane lands at 10 pm.”
“Thanks, Donna,” he all but whispered. He stopped pacing the room and dropped his phone onto the bed. Shit.
He flopped face first onto the bed feeling heavy with guilt. Harvey needed him, and he’d said no, and that had sent him to see Lily? Mike should have been there; he should be on that plane, with Harvey, helping him make sense of it all. Forget that; he was supposed to stand beside Harvey and tell his family about the wonderful man he is and how proud he is of him.
Instead, he was here in New York trying to make a new start away from the man who had given him everything. Well, if he was honest, everything except what he truly wanted. He yelled his frustration into the pillow, jumped up off the bed, straightened his skinny tie and headed to the office to wait for Harvey.
It was almost midnight by the time Harvey arrived at Pearson Specter Litt.
His first choice would have been to go to see Mike but it was so late, and he didn’t want to have to explain the why to Rachel in case she was there. He understood why Mike was angry. If Mike knew how he felt about him, he would never have questioned his motives, and so he blamed himself.
This is supposed to be America meeting Benjamin Franklin for the first time but not having found a good reference on what young Franklin looked like I came out less than I wanted.
Anyways when Ben was 17 he ran away from home (his bother harassed/beat him because he was jealous of his success with his Douglass letters) and back in those days it was actually illegal to runaway. So there was a time where Ben was walking around looking for work.(Mainly a printing job) And in my head cannons I like to think that when America and Franklin meet.
Ben gets lost and desperate for some food and deices to steal some bread (baked by England) from a home deep in the woods. only to be found by young America home from hunting who invites Franklin to stay with him in till England returns. (Who’s overseas)
Franklin is often dubbed as the ‘First American’ so I think it’s only fitting that he would be the first human that America revels his secret about being a personification to; and over the many years of their friendship they influence each other with the ideals and values of what the American character will be.
I’m not mad that the dirty dancing remake producers had a chance to make a movie about Baby and Johnny’s teenage daughter (ALYSON STONER BITCHES) exploring her recently deceased father’s legacy at the resort where he got his start and met her mother (who’s totally a doctor now) while also discovering a romantic interest (*cough* Adam Sevani *cough*) of her own and trying to get her grieving widowed mother to understand her and vice versa. She’s surrounded by people, by dancing, by her passion, and yet she can’t really feel anything and no one can really understand her because they only one who did is gone now. And she’s got to do all this while trying to come to terms with her dad’s death. I’m not mad. I’m writing that fan fiction now. I’ll fix this everyone don’t worry.
Clarke had tears rolling down her cheeks. It was too much. Putting her own name on a list and leaving someone else out to die. Putting Bellamy’s name, yes. She would do anything for him, but her own? The act shuddered through her.
Bellamy rested his hand on her shoulder, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. That he wouldn’t leave her name off the list.
It was too much.
She covered his hand with her own. She would have liked to kiss it instead, but it was too much, with the list of salvation in front of her and the names that weren’t chosen dancing in her head.
Instead she looked up at him. “Do you ever wish you could just forget it all for a night? Just let go and not think about all the death and responsibility.”
He huffed out a little laugh. “I don’t think that’s likely, Clarke. That I’d forget about the death and responsibility.”
She cocked her head and pulled his hand off her shoulder, not letting go. She stood up, still holding on. With her other hand she wiped off her tears, like they were at fault. “That’s not right. You should get the chance to have a little fun. Just for once.”
“I’ll have my fun when the apocalypse comes,” he said, like he was making a joke.
She shook her head at him, pressing her lips together in a bare shadow of a smile. “You’re going to have to do better than that this time, Bellamy. You’re going to come have a drink with me.”
“With you?” His eyebrows crinkled. “We finally gonna get our drink?”
The words hit her harder than she would have thought, forcing a gasp from her.
“Sorry,” he said.
“No. It’s okay. We’re finally going to get our drink.” And she didn’t let him argue. She pulled on his hand.
“What are we going to do with this?” He asked, gesturing at the list.
She felt her body tense.
“No. Never mind.” He saw her reaction and waved it away. “We’re going to put it away and not look at it and hope we never have to use it. Okay? We’re just going to forget it.”
“For the night?”
He laughed and it was slightly bitter. “Sure.”
She nodded. Stuffed the list into the desk without thinking and yanked him by the hand into the hall. “Good. I think I know someone who can help us.” She led him by the hand but she didn’t have to pull anymore. He followed her. And they stopped right at Jasper.
I got sick of waiting for a Lost Special, so I wrote my own. The basic idea is that at the end of TLD, John got shot by an actual gun. So TFP was his mind bungalow / nightmare. The fic is written from Sherlock’s point of view, he finds him bleeding, and it just goes from there.
So, out of curiosity, have you played Age of Wonders III at all? I'd be curious to get your thoughts on the Rogue character class for that game. Particularly in regards to the idea of a rogue as military-leader/empire-builder.
I’m afraid I haven’t played it, and have zero insight to offer on that.
For rogues as military-leaders/empire-builders in fiction (wait, did you mean historically?), I’ll give you just one name: the trained assassin and master of stealth Lord Vetinari.
The only reason he hasn’t conquered the world is because he doesn’t want to. ;)