*inserts niche county rivalries into my dragon age fanfictions (and Cream First Propaganda lmao (งȍvȍ)ง)*
Dorian reached for a scone, and glanced up to find Caspian staring very intently at what he was doing.
“…Have I committed an outrageous faux pas or something?” Dorian asked, setting the scone down on his plate. “I feel like you’re going to burn me with your eyes.”
Caspian blinked, cheeks going a little red.“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was just waiting to see what you would put on it.”
What he would..? Dorian looked over the serving tray as if it would offer some kind of clue, but he saw only scones, jam, and the clotted cream. What else could he possibly put on it?
“Is this some kind of intricate Ostwickian test? Am I going to be kicked out if I do this wrong?”
A laugh bubbled out of Caspian and he waved his hands apologetically. “Maker, no, nothing like that!” he said. “It’s only that– there’s an old rivalry in Ostwick; practically splits the city. About whether you put the jam or the cream on a scone first. I was curious what someone who didn’t grow up there would do.”
Scone rivalries… It was so quaint, that Dorian felt all fluffy inside.
“Well, what do you do first?” he asked.
“Oh no, no, no– I’m not going to influence your answer. Pick for yourself.”
“Hm.” Dorian tapped his scone absentmindedly. Caspian could deny all he wanted that it was a test, but this still felt oddly stressful. “I suppose… I don’t see any butter, so perhaps the cream first? It already looks a bit like the white butter we have back in Tevinter.”
Caspian thrust his arms out enthusiastically, rattling the tray slightly. “Yes! Exactly!” he exclaimed, eyes shining with apparent satisfaction. “The cream replaces the butter!”
Maker’s breath, this may have been the most fired-up Dorian had ever seen him. It was utterly adorable.
“I chose correctly, then?” Dorian ventured with a smirk, eyebrow raised.
Caspian huffed and rolled his eyes good-naturedly, finally grabbing a scone for himself and slicing it in half. His voice took on a conspiratorial tone.
“The Trevelyan side of my family subscribes to jam first,” he said, taking a heaped spoonful of cream with a sly smile. “But I prefer it the other way ‘round.”
–That was something annoying about Horus; his vanity wasn’t unearned.
With his eyes and his freckles and his pretty mouth and—
…Oh.
Fuck.
“Sorry,” said Horus, face pinched in a sympathetic grimace. “Almost done.”
And apparently James had said that out loud.
“S’fine,” James grunted, clenching his jaw and slamming his eye shut once more, desperately hoping that Horus didn’t take notice of the heat that had flooded to his cheeks. Or that he’d been staring at him again.
Shit. Fuck.
So. He wanted to kiss Horus. He wanted to kiss Horus very badly. To be frank, he wanted to press Horus up against a wall and snog him until he made those lovely little moans James had overheard when he accidentally walked up on Horus and Finnigan making out once. At the time, he’d wrinkled his nose and tried to forget about it, but right now…
James huffed. It was frustrating, sometimes. The slow climb of fancying someone being interspersed with utter romantic disinterest. It made it hard to keep track of. But the climb was still there. And whatever feelings that had been brewing were seemingly coming to a head.
“Okay.” Horus’ hands left his face, and James found himself mourning the loss. “That should do it.”
He opened both his eyes again, wincing a little as the now tended-to cut above his right twinged with the movement. “Thanks.”
To say that Horus beamed back at him would be a bit of an overstatement, but honestly, it seemed he could do just about anything right now, and James would still probably feel that the sun shone out of his arse. Ridiculous.
Do you have art for one of the skylords in the PoW au? (Or some kind of sketch..?)
Just a dumb question..
i’ve been meaning to, but i haven’t got around to it yet i’m afraid! in the meantime i’ve posted some drabbles about it if you’re interested
are yall ready for some scraps of unedited skylord POW!au written at like 2am over the course of a year or two? here we gooooo
—-
"Are you
and as a bonus, here is a scrappy one involving james that i have sitting around too ✌️
Someone sat hunched in a dark corner of the cell, their features obscured.
"Skylord James?" Xephos asked, as Honeydew finished picking the lock. He cautiously stepped inside the open door, his torch held aloft. The flame illuminated the figure a little, who had now glanced up at the two of them.
He looked as haggard as all the other skylords had, with his dark circles and darker bruises, though he also had a nasty-looking cut marring his top lip. His chin-length hair hid his face somewhat and was an interesting two-tone, like it had been bleached in the past and the roots had now been left to grow out.
As exhausted as he clearly was, there were embers of defiance still burning in his green eyes as he looked them over with a piercing scowl. His lip twitched a little as he surveyed them both, but he said nothing.
“We uh...” Xephos stuttered, faltering slightly under the man’s sharp gaze. He tried again.
“Amber sent as,” he said. “We’re here to rescue you.”
The Skylord gave a small huff that could have been construed as some kind of laugh when paired with the slightly bitter twist to his mouth, but again said nothing.
Xephos and Honeydew glanced at each other nervously.
scribbles of ‘horus double-booked himself and now vitali has to babysit’
“I owe you one!”
Vitali not-so-subtly flicked his gaze over Horus’ form.
“Yes, you do,” he said, smirking as Horus swallowed, his freckled cheeks reddening slightly. He quickly recovered however, winking and waving at the gaggle of children.
“Behave yourselves, sprogs!” he said, before bounding off down the road and turning a corner, out of sight.
—
“What shall we play, Mr Vitali?”
Vitali wrinkled his nose.
“You may call me Skylord Voronkov,” he sniffed, trying to, as delicately as possible, nudge away another child that had clung to his leg like some kind of monkey. He was failing. The brat gave him a gappy grin, clearly revelling in his misery. Vitali jostled his leg pointedly.
“Let go,” he scowled. The child shook their head, their smile reaching an obnoxious level.
“You didn’t say the magic word!”
Oh for the love of— He took a deep breath, attempting to quell the twitch he could definitely feel brewing in his eye.
“Please let go,” he said genteelly, plastering on a smile that hopefully didn’t look too much like the grimace he was trying to hold back.
sooooooome quick kq3 writing because i felt a flash of inspiration~
Gwydion had been seven years old when he had first attempted to descend the mountain. He wasn’t planning on going far, only to briefly follow the path of a low-flying eagle, envious of its wings and its wont to go where it pleased. But his reasons mattered not.
He had only taken a few steps down the trail when Manannan appeared before him with a burst of static, his eyes burning, his lip curled with unspoken fury. Gwydion felt the weight of his mistake immediately.
As punishment, he was confined to his room for two whole days with no food, and his only water being what was left in his washbowl. Looking back, Gwydion suspected that it was only his master’s disdain from having to attend to himself for once that prevented him from being imprisoned any longer.
“Perhaps now you will appreciate the freedom I already grant you,” Manannan had said upon finally releasing him.
Yet despite the starvation, the dehydration, and the complete lack of stimuli from being trapped in his tiny cell of a room for forty-eight hours, it wasn’t even the worst part of the whole ordeal.
===
Manannan had summoned Gwydion to his study a few days later. He said nothing for a minute or so, simply fixing Gwydion with an unnerving stare. Then he muttered something, waved his hands, and from them he conjured the most beautiful bird Gwydion had ever seen. He watched with awe, barely noticing his master’s penetrating gaze, as it fluttered around the room, cooing softly.
Entranced, Gwydion held out his hands and the bird landed in them. Its pearlescent feathers were silky beneath his fingertips, thrumming with an orphic sense of magic. As he gently stroked the creature, Gwydion absentmindedly wondered how a man like his master could create something this charming and delicate.
Alas, it then happened so fast.
One moment, the bird was singing a pretty song to Gwydion and the next, it was writhing and contorting and with a last ghastly shriek, it crumbled to ash in his hands.
With utter horror, Gwydion watched as the ash showered to the floor, slipping through his quaking fingers.
Manannan finally spoke again, snapping him briefly out of his harrowed daze.
“That, boy,” he declared, voice cold and face stoic save for a strange leer in his eyes, “is what will happen to you if you ever attempt to leave this mountaintop again.”
And later, as Gwydion swept up the remains of the bird with silent tears rolling down his cheeks, he promised himself that he would never ever go near the mountain path again, not once.
It seemed now, a decade on, that he had no choice but to break that promise.
A pair of thick, warm arms wound their way around his midsection.
“Good evening, Finn,” Horus said, continuing to peel some potatoes. He didn’t need to turn around to see who it was.
“Evenin’,” Finnigan replied in confirmation. He leant his chin on Horus’ shoulder and made no move to step away, although Horus certainly wasn’t going to complain.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked instead, unable to keep the smirk out of his tone.
Finnigan said nothing at first, instead crowding even closer, the firm line of his body incredibly warm against his back. Horus was unable to hold back the hitch in his breath when Finnigan nuzzled into his neck, the bristles of his beard prickling at his skin.
“Hmm…” Finnigan rumbled against his pulse point, voice pitched almost sinfully low. He ran his hands down over Horus’ hips. “You’ve been on my mind all day…”
Horus swallowed, and whined quietly in the back of his throat. Oh, this was unfair.
“Why did you have to do this whilst I was making dinner?”
Finnigan just chuckled. He pressed a firm kiss to the sensitive spot behind his ear before finally extracting his arms and stepping back.
“Now you have dessert to look forward to,” he said with a smirk. He patted Horus on the ass before he moved away entirely and headed upstairs, presumably to get changed. That line was so horrifically cheesy that Horus would have laughed any other time, but now he was unfairly turned-on and so he said nothing as he watched Finnigan’s retreating form with dark eyes. The potatoes had been long forgotten.
are yall ready for some scraps of unedited skylord POW!au written at like 2am over the course of a year or two? here we gooooo
—-
"Are you Skylord Horus?"
"Hah..." the man wheezed, the ghost of a wry smile twitching at his lips. "What's left of him, anyway."
Skylord Horus looked, frankly, a mess. The half of his face not obscured by a messy beard was gaunt, his eyes shadowed with dark circles. His curls of auburn hair were lank and matted and fell at his chin, and he wore dirty, threadbare clothing that seemed to hang off his frame. He was also covered in a few bruises and abrasions in various states of healing.
—-
[sidenote: amber suspected that horus might be a little suspicious when the heroes found him so she sent them off with a childhood nickname that would hopefully win him over]
Xephos extended a hand out towards him. "We're friends. We're here to get you out."
Horus just squinted at the proffered palm.
"They've tried a lot of things to get me to talk," he said, redirecting his gaze to Xephos' face, his deep blue eyes dull with malaise. "Why should I trust you?"
"Uh..." Xephos drew back slightly. He had to admit that the Skylord had a point. Breaking into his cell didn't necessarily make them trustworthy. But they were running out of time; Israphel’s minions could show up at any moment and—
"Bambi sent us," Honeydew piped up suddenly from his post at the cell doorway.
Horus' demeanour changed immediately.
"Amber?!" he shuffled about almost feverishly, as if he were about to attempt to stand up. "Is— Then she's—" He scrubbed at his face, barking out a borderline hysterical burst of laughter that was thick with emotion.
"She's fine," Honeydew soothed, stepping further into the cell. "But she's a scary lass and I think she'll have our heads if we don't bring you back in one piece, so..." Honeydew also offered him a hand. "Let's get you out of here, yeah?"
The Skylord stared at him for a couple of seconds, his eyes flicking around his face as if searching for something. He apparently found what he was looking for and nodded slightly, setting his jaw in a determined grimace. He took Honeydew's wrist in a shaky grip and was pulled to his feet, accepting Xephos' steadying hand on his other side.
—-
"So, what are the names of my two handsome rescuers?" the Skylord asked, offering them a crooked, if tired, grin.
"Oho, you charmer!" Honeydew giggled behind his hand with faux coyness. He gestured to himself, "This prime specimen you see before you is Honeydew, and the lanky one with a beanpole for a body is Xephos."
"Is it an unwritten rule for all Skylords to be gay or something?" Xephos blurted out, a blush colouring his cheeks.
Horus laughed heartily at that— well, as much as a weak, malnourished man in the midst of an escape attempt could, anyway.
"In the very general umbrella meaning of the word, yes, I suppose so."
'How not to respond to marriage proposals' by skylord jasper
----
"Jasper, will you marry me?"
There was a brief pause as Jasper's eyes widened before he suddenly started laughing. At first, only his shoulders shook with the force of it, but it built up until it bordered on hysterical and left him clutching at his stomach.
"I— Wh—" Lysander began to stammer, completely baffled. How are you supposed to respond when someone answers your marriage proposal with nothing but uproarious laughter?
"Oh, I'm sorry, love," Jasper finally gasped out, wiping a tear from his eye. He grinned wide, his cheeks flushed a charming shade of rose, his eyes shining with mirth.
"It's just that—" he fumbled in one of his pockets before eventually pulling out... another ring. "I was going to ask you the same thing."
