OUTLINE FOR CHAPTER 1 DAILY LIFE of the DRV3 Wheel decides fic is done!
That means I have a rough idea of all the major plot beats for this chapter! 14k of notes! All that’s left is for me to plan out the murder and trial, and I’ll start drafting actual chapters. For now I’m taking a break to work on some smaller projects. Mostly one shots for other fandoms
Also I finally have a title for this fic! It’s a pretty simple one, but at least it’s not the sentence I’ve been stuck with for the last…. Jesus Christ, year now. (How has it been a year and I haven’t posted a chapter…. What the fuck)
hi hello I have written some words for @darkchocola as part of the @handers-time exchange!! i wrote you some FHawke/Anders, i hope you like it <3
Words: 1146
Warnings: none
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To rest in this silent lullaby
When there’s not a whole lot left
You’re cradling the pieces
Of everything I am
All of my love
“All Of My Love” - Carbon Leaf
If someone had asked her six months earlier where she saw herself by the end of the summer, Marian wasn’t sure what her answer might have been, but she was sure it would not have included the words, “hiding in the Planasene Forest.” The plan, such as it was, could easily be summarized as get out of Kirkwall without being followed—and as far as she could tell, they’d succeeded. The general chaos the city had been left in had certainly helped, and crossing the river delta that divided Kirkwall from the forest should have been enough to stop templars from using dogs to track them by scent.
Not that they’d made it out unscathed; she felt rather like she’d been chewed on for hours like a mabari with a bone, and now that they’d found a place to stop and rest, she could quite plainly see in the dying sunlight that Anders had fared no better. If she had to guess, she’d bet he was just as—if not more—exhausted as she was. Even so, he was quietly setting wards around the tiny clearing they’d stopped in.
Almost like he was avoiding her. Marian sighed and turned her attention back to her own task: pitching the tent that she’d managed to grab on their way out of Kirkwall. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter. She supposed she couldn’t complain too much. Things could have gone worse. Much, much worse.
The forest had swallowed what was left of daylight by the time she collapsed in a weary heap on the grass. The dark was nearly absolute without a fire to see by, but the risk of the smoke being seen was too high to be worth it. Plenty of people in Kirkwall would have reason to chase after the two of them—any surviving templars who weren’t willing to take orders from Cullen, ordinary citizens who’d lost friends or family in the explosion and the resulting fires, mercenaries hoping to collect on inevitable bounties…
Still, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.
“Do you need any healing?” Anders offered, startling her right out of her thoughts. She glanced towards the sound of his voice to see him standing a couple of paces away, illuminated faintly by a magelight hovering at his shoulder. Where did he find the energy? Trying to summon even the barest spark of magic after the day she’d had felt firmly impossible to Marian.
She shook her head. “Nothing I can’t handle.” Her head hurt, her back hurt, she’d twisted an ankle tripping over a tree root when they’d first reached the forest—but she wasn’t in danger of bleeding to death, and she was tired enough that she knew she’d be out cold the moment she laid down, pain or no pain. While she’d certainly sleep better without the pain, a better night’s sleep wasn’t worth asking an already-tired mage to push just a little bit further.
His shadowed expression was plainly unconvinced. “You’ve been limping for hours, love,” he said gently. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fix it?”
She should have known better than to think he wouldn’t have noticed. “How are you not completely exhausted? I feel like I could fall asleep standing up at this point.”
He offered her a wry smile. “If being a Grey Warden didn’t come with at least a few perks, no one would want to join up.”
“Says the man who ran away,” she teased. “All right, if you insist.”
Anders crossed what little space remained between them, and she could already feel the shift in the Veil as it responded to him. Every time, she was left in awe of how easily magic seemed to come to him—even though she’d come into her magic at the young age of six, Marian had never found it easy. Every spell, every little spark, demanded a level of focus and effort from her that seemed like climbing a mountain compared to how easily Anders commanded the same powers.
His magic felt like warm honey flooding through her veins, slow but steady. It seemed to collect in the spots that needed it—her twisted ankle, her back, her head, a shallow gash in her arm that she’d entirely forgotten—and all the while it soothed her frayed nerves, too. Funny what a little dose of something familiar could do. At ease for the first time all day, her guard slipping, Marian drifted into her usual daydreams. Do the Grey Wardens have rules about marriage?
The magic simply evaporated in an instant, and she shivered. When she glanced up, Anders was just staring at her, as if she’d spouted absolute gibberish. A moment too late, Marian realized that she’d spoken aloud.
“I, uh,” she stammered, “I don’t—it’s just—”
“Hawke,” he said.
She shut her mouth.
For a second or two, Anders didn’t say anything else, as if he was waiting to make sure that she’d stopped babbling nonsense. Then he quietly said, “After everything that’s happened today, I never would have thought… No, the Wardens don’t care.”
Despite herself, despite the embarrassed flush to her face, Marian asked, “Then… if I asked you to marry me…?”
“Yes. In a heartbeat.” He paused for a moment, then added, “It’s just… Most mages never get the opportunity. I never even thought to consider the possibility.”
“Isn’t that the goal? That, someday, mages like us will have the freedom to do the same thing?”
A small, surprised laugh escaped him. “That’s the hope, yes.”
Marian grinned. “Then marry me. We’ll forge the path for everyone else.”
As if in answer, a bird called out somewhere nearby. It was a cheerful little sound, as if the bird was saying goodnight to its fellows in the trees. She smiled faintly at the sound—then turned her attention back to Anders as he said, “Is that our next stop, then? Finding a village Chantry with a Revered Mother who won’t ask too many questions?”
“Sounds perfect,” she said with a laugh. Then, gesturing to the tent at her back, she added, “We should get some rest first, though, don’t you think?”
Anders snorted in response. “Smartass.”
She flashed him her cheekiest smile, then scrambled back into the tent. If you’d told her years ago that she’d wind up running away from Kirkwall with an apostate just like her mother, she would have laughed—and yet here she was. It felt right.
Tomorrow, they’d have to face reality again—but as Anders followed her into the tent, Marian knew that she was going to make the most of what little peace they’d found in the Planasene.
And that statement never held so much weight until right now.
She moved there, exchanging glances as the music bumped around through the speakers of the club. Her eyes making expressions that spoke more than any words could do in that moment. She wasn’t drinking. She hadn’t for months now. Yet her body still had that same fire that she did the night they had shared drinks and met at this same club.
Now here she was, hands in her hair. Her hands moving lower to trace the sides of her body as the overhead lights swooshed across the dance floor. Her dress flowing so effortlessly despite it being shorter and tighter.
Her eyes glancing back at you, making sure you were still in an arms reach as she kept herself close to you. For resting, obviously. But as the song drew to a close, her breathing came in heaved efforts. Her hand moving down to her waist while the other moved behind her back, adding support. She waddled back to you. Her full-term belly keeping her anchored as she finally got back to your side. But as she had spent all her energy, relying on your shoulder and the chair as a resting station for her pregnant body, she couldn’t help but glance back up at you. She moved the hair out of her face, making sure you could see the expression. Her eye lids squinting in a teasing way as her smile crooked into the same one you fell in love with that night.
That night.
That look.
That smile. It all led to this moment.
To that belly.
To your baby. The two of you now in a bond that started in the same location you stood in. It wouldn’t be long before the both of you would have to wait for another date night. So why not spend it now, even with the extra effort.
——————————————————————
Just had this thought that started with a pregnant woman dancing at a club. Let me know what you think or any criticism you might have. Hope you enjoyed!
As I have returned home from college, I also returned to my previous job.
Because of this, I’ve started to see some familiar faces, enjoy my time with my coworkers, and also see happy families.
With those happy families also comes happy expecting families. Expectant mothers with cravings galore, ordering plates filled with stacked proteins. Plates upon plates of food for the baby that is calling the shots on their ravenous cravings.
Something salty? Sweet? Savory? Just bring it all. Extra side of this? Extra portion of that? Not a problem, I’ll bring it right out for you.
In my training we’re taught to say yes to any request a guest may make. But who am I to even try and deny a pregnant mama’s hungry wishes? And they all range in their appearances. It’s like seeing a customer character in a cutscene.
Belly barely contained by an ill-fitting tank top that can’t slide over the exposed navel. The ones who actually fit the tight top over the curve of their belly. The ones that just let it be on full display. A sundress that just barely hides the bump, but her hands keep outlining the puffed curve of her midsection. Not to mention the one who comes in wearing a form-fitting dress, letting the belt be on fully display as a mound of fabric. Waddling from her seat on the patio to the parking lot with her full term belly covered by some strained, light blue fabric. Bellies galore yet I remain professional.
All these fantasies are for my head and not one to take out on strangers. Thank you for your time and hope you enjoyed the read.
Drabble requests you say? Masky taking care of Hoody maybe? :))
I swear I didn't intend for this initially to come across as pining but!!! Saturns headcanons have wormed into my brain.
AO3 link
The whole thing was his own fault.
Predictability was the enemy. Brian had relied on that in the past, dipping and ducking and weaving his way around just barely out of Alex’s reach. It had been fun to see the other man grow more and more angry, snooty little face turning a delightful shade of red every time Brian evaded him. It had also made Brian cocky, a fact that was evident in the large cut across his forehead and the swelling of his eye. Clever. The vindictive little bastard had gone for his good side, swinging a pipe at him with reckless abandon. If Brian had been any slower he’d be blind and essentially dead. Yes. Alex was clever indeed.
In front of him his friend shifts, cocking his head to the side. Brian mentally amends that statement. If his friend hadn’t been there to scare Alex off then no amount of dodging would have mattered and he wouldn’t have the memory of Alex scurrying off like a plague rat. Something blooms in Brian’s chest, warm and soft.
That was the main difference between him and Alex. He wasn’t alone.
With his best smile Brian gestures towards the first aid kit he had shoplifted from Walmart a couple weeks ago, trying to keep his hands steady. Even if Alex hadn’t managed to get a proper hit on him he was still going to have one hell of a black eye, his world narrowing down to a slit. There was nothing for it. He’d need some help to patch himself up. In his previous life he’d been well versed in First Aid, a set of skills he hoped was similar to riding a bicycle. Doing at home surgery had far higher stakes than making scarier videos in the woods.
But it was simple really. Pour a little bit of alcohol on the wound, make sure your hands were clean, and do a little bit of simple sewing. He wasn’t picky on the stitch, had a good couple of infected wounds already, knew the nearby CVS didn’t have security cameras if worse came to worse. This wouldn’t be the first time he stole antibiotics.
His friend frowns, but then again when was he not frowning? He had Tim’s face, Tim’s perpetually knotted brows, Tim’s dark worried eyes, Tim’s perfectly tousled hair. His friend’s hair, Brian corrects himself. That’s who he was with right now.
“Do you know how to-”
Brian’s cut off by a hand fisting the front of his hoodie and pulling him forward. Grin widening, he tilts his head to the side, exposed, secure. There was no reality where this version of Tim would ever hurt him. Well. Hurt him beyond what was necessary. He lets out a yelp as half the bottle of alcohol is upended atop his head, everything else momentarily obliterated by the pain. Just because he was missing one of his eyes didn’t mean it didn’t sting to have alcohol poured all over his face
“Hey! We need some of that for your hands!”
And as Brian squints, blinking back tears, something wonderful happens. That frown turns into something almost resembling a smile, the corner of his friend’s mouth quirking ever so subtly up. Bastard. Brian was grateful he still had the capacity to see it. If he didn’t he would just accept going to hell for killing Alex because there is nothing he wanted more in the world than to see that grin again and again and again, gorge himself on the joy of it. If he wasn’t careful the hunger for it would subsume everything else.
“It’s not going to matter how clean you make my face if you don’t clean your hands.” Brian says, not bothering to hide the fondness in his voice, idly wondering if Tim knew how to sew. Maybe. Brian hoped not. It was always a delight to be able to teach his friend new things. Maybe he should thank Alex for giving him the opportunity.
only kidding. Life got in the way and had to step back from the fun of tumblr. So so so very sorry to anyone I was messaging with. I hadn’t forgotten about you, just wanted to keep my priorities straight so I wasn’t a burden during our time talking.
things are going to be slow (as I’ve found employment but have to navigate my schedule) but I will get back to things soon.
So officially been a year since I stumbled into the DCMK rabbit hole and looks like this is going to be a beloved series even after the fixation fades. This snippet was the very first DCMK thing I wrote and while it was intended to be part of something longer, that brainworm has wriggled away but this is still a nice little thing to share
Kaito knew there was an interloper on his stage.
A Kaitou KID heist was as much as performance as it was a hunt for Pandora or a taunt to his father's killers. It had all the elements of a show from the props to the rehersals, from the adoring audience to the unwitting ensemble. Blurring the lines between genuine and fantastical to create something awe inspiring.
But every show needed a director - a conductor of the illusion to bring dreams into reality. Kaito on his stage was as much a director as he was the lead actor. He had knowledge of every moving piece. The awareness of anyone or anything entering his stage. The flexibility to adapt to any new unknowns and keep the show going.
For the sake of a grand performance. For the sake of no one ending up injured, dead or arrested.
So Kaito knew there was a new presence on the scene.
At this point, there was no telling who the interloper was: an enthusiastic fan, a critical detective, a deadly foe - but Kaito knew they were there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Like a shadow in the wings, a hint that someone else would be joining the stage.
The self-admittingly foolhardy showman in him buzzed with extra apprehension, anticipation, *excitement*. As Kaito tore off his disguise and danced around the last of the security measures. As he lead the cast of officers through his carefully set traps. As he burst onto the roof, knowing his favourite critic was only a couple child-sized bounds behind him.
The interloper struck when Kaito least expected yet at the perfect time to bring an new exciting twists to the show.
Just as the gem, another dud that Kaito had already forgotten the name of, would have passed from his hands to Conan's - the interloper struck. Too big to be a bullet, too blunt to be a knife but all the same, it knocked the gem out of Kaito's hand and off the rooftop.
Had the interloper managed to completely hide from Kaito...no - had the intruder *not* wanted to know they were there, his shock would have coloured over how impressed he was. The interloper *wanted* to make an impression in a way only a learned friend in the craft could.
Both thief and detective rushed to the edge to catch the interloper in the act. Kaito only saw a brief blur of black before the sparkle of the falling gem disappeared from sight before hitting the ground. No place to hook wires, no nearby buildings to make a quick escape from, no convenient ledges or foliage to hide then retreat to - Kaito knew that intimately from his own scouting of the venue. Just smooth glass and open air, as if the intruder truly came and gone like magic.
In the beat where Conan lingered by the edge, Kaito took two quick steps back to the interloper's projectile - a gauntlet thrown down, a calling card by any other name.
What was lacking spoke just as loudly as anything left behind. No gunfire. No threats. Not even a tiny nick from dislodging the gem. Just a perfectly executed theft and escape laced with just enough intrigue that the professional in him couldn't help but admire.
This was their first appearance but not the last.
"Looks like we've got a thief thieving from thieves, Tantei-kun." Kaito said, tucking the interloper's black rose in Conan's lapel.
A little clue for the little detective. Kaito knew when to pass the spotlight. The show was over but the mystery just began.
"Until another moonlit night!"
"KID-!"
Then Kaito took a deft leap backwards off the roof. He let himself fall longer than normal, cutting close to what would be considered safe, just to confirm no - there was no hidden nook or leftover equipment the interloper could have used.
With a quick mid-air spin, he pulled out his glider and flew off into the night.
Another time, Kaito would worry over the implications, weigh out the risks and incorporate new contingencies. For now, however, he relished the bubbling excitement. A new player had entered the game.
It was as Jaskier was plucking the strings in this mournful melody that he finally noticed Eskel sitting in the chair opposite him. He jumped slightly, and the lute banged against the bone of his knee.
“I’m going to tie a fucking bell to the lot of you!” Jaskier said loudly as he rubbed his throbbing knee.
For such a large man, he was scarily quiet on his feet. An advantage for monster hunting, sure. But bad for skittish bards who jumped at their own shadows.
“Why’d you stop? That was beautiful.” Eskel said.
Jaskier looked at him consideringly. “I didn’t know you were an appreciator of the lute.”
“I’m not. I’m an appreciator of your playing. Are you writing something new?” The witcher asked softly, eyeing the scribbled music sheets and notebook paper on the table in front of him.
Jaskier blushed and looked down. He rarely had cause to be shy; it simply wasn’t in his nature, but being praised for his music by one such as Eskel was forcing the feeling into him.
Continue on AO3 - Destiny's Mission, Chapter 13
The Eskel x Jaskier enjoyers are gonna eat good tonight. Enjoy a cute date night followed by some hellla smut
