bardspeak
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Recent works
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And if you lost it all, and you lost it by bardspeak
Fandoms: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
03 Oct 2024
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Summary
"Fenris -
I’m sorry for leaving, and I’m sorrier for getting angry that you didn’t want me to. I know you want to be with me, to protect me from what’s to come. I also know that what you could most protect me from is also what could most hurt you. I can’t have that. We protect each other, right?
I’d have you with me if it wouldn’t kill me to see you hurt."
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(Some of) Hawke's letters to Fenris during Dragon Age: Inquisition. -
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Summary
His voice croaks as though with disuse, though it hasn’t been long since he last spoke. The back of his throat aches and burns. “I didn’t mean to kill Alfira,” he tells Withers - voice coming out weak, reedy and pathetic - laying her down delicately in front of the skeleton. Careful placement of her hands at her sides. It matters little to Withers, who stares down at him with the shadows of his face obscuring eyes. “Please bring her back,” he adds, a raspy whisper, though he can already see the answer.
“The bard’s death is a weight for thine own conscience to bear,” Withers says, finger outstretched as if in instruction. Bad dog. “She will be left to the peace of eternity, where the Urge shall seek her no more.”
And if Withers knows the Urge, Withers would have known if there was a way to stop it before he did this. And if Withers knows the Urge, Withers would know if Alfira being alive would mean she could never be free of him.
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Basically my durge Kaivir's sad, lonely funeral for Alfira. -
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Summary
He checks on each of them individually before anything, holding hands and pressing easy kisses to their heads. Bandaging scrapes and bites. There’s something in him that sets them all at ease, the frantic buzzing they can become, bouncing off of each other to snaps and snarls, becomes something docile in his presence. Easily moved when pushed.
Henry cares for them all, rarely spends longer on one than another - finds activities they can all do together - but Olive gets to see the flash of his teeth in the dim light when he smiles. Feel the rumble of his chest in a laugh when she shoves her head under his chin in a clumsy embrace.
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My piece for the 2nd volume of the Fallout Ghoul Zine: Greetings From Gecko.Series
- Part 2 of Zine pieces
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Summary
Billie was made by knife, and now there’s nothing she sees in her body anymore but the jagged shape carved.
He was made by knife too, she thinks, watching the Outsider in their tiny, one-room apartment. A god once, held on high - now washing the dishes of all things. They had to buy metalware so when his shaking, unpracticed hands dropped them from the sink they wouldn’t shatter across the hardwood floor. Only irritate the neighbors.
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My piece for the zine celebrating 10 years of dishonored: Dunwall Days and Karnaca Nights.Series
- Part 1 of Zine pieces
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Summary
A modern with magic au where everyone is alive and also Beau and Jester fall in love.
Recent series
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- Words:
- 3,269
- Works:
- 2
Recent bookmarks
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the book of love by miss_frankenstein
Fandoms: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
02 Apr 2017
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Summary
“Hey, if we get out of here, let’s go to a museum on our next shore leave. Have you ever seen da Vinci's notebooks?”
“I have not.”
“I'll take you,” Jim vows, “We'll find out where they are and we'll go there.”
When yet another away mission goes awry, Jim and Spock are left stranded on a hostile planet with nothing to do but talk. What follows is a conversation about art and literature, life and death, love and friendship.
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Summary
Juno found Peter sitting on the ground, his legs spread into a split so that he could bend over the materials in front of him. He was taking something spiked to the sole of a fresh pair of ballet shoes. His hair was pulled back out of his eyes, but a manufactured curl fell over his face. Juno could imagine him carefully crafting this messy, just-out-of-bed, disheveled-ballet-practice look in the mirror, taking the curling iron to his usually straight hair, applying the streaks of red that weren’t there when Juno had left but matched the leotard that hugged his figure so well. Tights slightly paler and pinker than his skin tone were rolled up to his ankles, to expose tape wrapped around his toes. He was absentmindedly pointing and flexing his toes as he worked. Peter looked up as he took the other shoe in his hands, wrapped one hand around the pretty, wooden toe, and the other around the silken heel, and cracked it in half with a loud sound that resembled bones breaking.
“Ah, Juno,” His smile was unfairly brilliant, “you’re almost exactly on time.”