The party came through the great gates of Skyhold dirty and bedraggled, hard-pressed to put a cheery face on two weeks of mud, blood, and the aftermath of a civil war that sapped their strength for the greater struggle. All Samhal wanted was a hot bath and a warm meal, alone in his quarters. When the spark of magic flashed in the corner of his eye, his first instinct was to tense for battle.
But there were no signs of fighting around the foot of the west tower. Instead, there seemed to be…a dance? Laughter, embracing. Magic flashed again, and this time he identified it as a harmless shower of colored sparks. It looked like the entire mage tower had turned out for a party.
“What’s going on there?” Samhal asked as Josephine and Leliana hurried up.
Josephine beamed happily. “One of the mages has had a baby!”
“What, and they’re all the uncle?” Samhal scoffed, scratching irritably at a healing blister.
Leliana caught his eye as she took the horse’s bridle.
“One of the mages has had a baby,” she said. “And there is no one to take it away.”
it is a harry potter fanfic from like 2009, 160k words, 50 chapters
basically, adult Harry accidentally goes back in time and wakes up on his 11th birthday again, but with all his memories of the future intact
(the way he travels back makes no sense whatsoever but it doesn’t really matter)
harry decides upon 3 goals:
fuck up as much shit as possible
make a shitload of money
save some lives or whatever
it is
H I L A R I O U S
his go-to explanation for how he knows what’s going to happen?
he has a psychic scar
(hermione is SO PISSED about this)
(neville’s like “either he’s psychic, or he’s the greatest conman alive”)
everyone just sort of assumes harry’s insane and he doesn’t do much to dispute this
harry also decides to make it his mission in life to LOSE the house cup every year
“snape is my sole ally”
he also goes out of his way to befriend neville, ginny, and luna earlier this time, so they’re part of the gang throughout and it’s great
even draco is a friend!
(kind of)
(when harry’s not spreading a rumor that draco’s the lovechild of narcissa and snape, anyway)
harry’s motivation for everything he does in this story is basically, “oh, this will be hilarious”
either that or, “it’s probably a tax deductible”
because the way lockhart is written in this story is also amazing and harry ends up teaming up with him to merchandise The Boy Who Lived so he can have cash to burn
(so he gets a LOT of shit done via bribes)
it gets to the point where harry is able to convince everyone that he’s not the heir of slytherin…. because if he was, he’d have found a way to make money off of it
and everyone’s like “yeah ok that checks out”
in this timeline, neville’s boggart isn’t snape…. it’s harry as the minister of magic
harry also decides to make sure cedric lives by quizzing him constantly on what to do if he ends up in a graveyard
harry: by the way, that reminds me – cedric. graveyard.
cedric, not even really listening: run like hell.
the sheer magnitude to which harry does not give a fuck in this timeline is truly awe-inspiring
he mouths off to everyone, and i mean everyone. lockhart, snape, the dursleys, malfoy, friggin’ voldemort
everyone is like “what… what the fuck, harry”
(though by the end of first year it’s more like “… *deep sigh* … fine.
snape is so angry
it’s fucking hysterical and just about everyone ends up better off
fandom: tales of symphonia ship: zelos/colette word count: 6.2k rating: g read the full thing here
Colette
likes to watch Zelos, sometimes.
Though
their first meeting was far from perfect (and admittedly a little hazy, from
Colette’s side), she’s found that he doesn’t seem very bothered by it at all.
He flirts with her, just as he does with Sheena, Raine, and Presea, and while
Sheena insists this isn’t a good thing, Colette doesn’t mind too much. And
she’s found that, while he doesn’t really like to show it, he can be nice, too.
(During
nights where they are not fortunate enough to make it to an inn, he always
finds his place next to her. Despite no longer suffering from the symptoms of
her angel transformation, she has found the transition overwhelmingly
difficult; sleep still does not come easily to her, but it doesn’t seem to come
easily to Zelos, either.)
At
first, they didn’t talk a lot. When they did, it was just one-liners, jokes and
overused pick-up lines, always met with a smile from Colette. She understands
why they others get irritated with him, but she also notices that when everyone
looks away, his eyes gloss over a bit, as if he is suddenly relaxing, even
though his body language tries to tell them that he is always relaxed.
Colette
supposes she has spent a large portion of her life putting up faces, too.
Perhaps that’s just the reality of their twisted fates, as Chosens.
Her
masks and Zelos’s are different, though. When Colette is trying to appear
strong so that nobody will worry about her, Zelos is laughing and joking and
dismissing everything that’s wrong. But Colette wonders, sometimes, about some
of the things he says; loosely-veiled remarks about his discontentment with his
life, with the Chosen system, with the politics of Tethe’alla and somewhere in
there the thought of running away from it all. The rest of the party
dismisses it, says that’s just how he is, but Colette isn’t so sure if they
should.
She
wonders, sometimes, if his jokes are not really jokes at all.
it’s an ideal height distribution tbh because then whenever bruce, as an adult, is talking about how larger-than-life his father was everyone just feels bittersweet about it because the last time he saw his father he was a tiny boy and it just seems like, “oh, bruce’s memory of his father is always trapped in this time when his dad seemed like a giant”
but no, that has nothing to do with it, bruce is being completely factually correct and thomas wayne was enormous
“I assume your dad’s going to be the one that looks like you,” Clark said, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the crowd beneath the mezzanine.
“Just look for the biggest guy here,” Bruce said flatly.
Clark fought a smile.
“What.”
“Nothing! Nothing.”
Bruce waited.
“It’s just—you know.”
Bruce said nothing.
“You haven’t seen him since you were twelve.”
“Correct.”
“You maybe weren’t the tallest kid.”
Bruce said nothing.
“I’m just going to look for the guy who looks like you, rather than going by relative size.”
“And you must be the fellows who were chit-chatting with my wife!” came a voice, booming and boisterous as arms were thrown around each of their shoulders. Clark jumped; Bruce flinched.
Thomas Wayne was a good two inches taller than Clark, who was himself an inch taller than Bruce. Thomas had a glass of champagne in his right hand, which he had not spilled on Clark. There was a ping-pong ball floating in it. He had a half-empty bottle of wine in his left hand, which he had not spilled on Bruce. Between the fingers of his left hand dangled a bag of red plastic cups, unopened.
No one in the ballroom was using a red plastic cup.
Thomas’ coat and the top buttons of his shirt were undone; his bowtie had not been a bow in quite some time.
“Martha wouldn’t tell me what exactly it is you were up to,” he said cheerfully, “which I can only assume means I’d hate it!” He paused, squinting at Clark. “Oh, she must have loved you.” He gave Clark a proper once-over, down to his shoes and back up again. “Were you raised on a farm or what?”
“Why does everyone keep asking—”
“Anyway,” Thomas continued, somehow managing to pound them both on the back as he disengaged despite still having his hands full. “You two go on ahead and keep not telling me what you’re doing, if you need me I’m heading downstairs to set up a game of wine pong. It’s like beer pong, but if you’re doing it right it costs several thousand dollars! And it’s good for your heart! I’d know. I’m a doctor.”
He downed his glass of champagne and caught the ball in his teeth. He then somehow managed to arrange the items in his hands such that he could shoot them both fingerguns, clicking around the ball and waggling his eyebrows.
They watched as he slid sideways down the banister.
“I apologize for doubting your memory,” Clark said finally.
“Hm.”
“I feel like this explains a lot about your sense of humor.”
“I’m not convinced that it does.”
“… does he look how you remember?” Clark ventured.
“Usually I remember the way he looked one specific summer when I was a kid,” Bruce said thoughtfully.
Clark softened, almost reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. Then he narrowed his eyes. “No.”
“Hm?”
“I know what you’re doing, and we’re not doing it.”
“You asked.”
“I recognize that look.”
“This is just what my face looks like.”
“You’re going to make me think we’re having a moment so I let my guard down for the punchline,” Clark said, “and you’re not going to say it like it’s a punchline, so when I laugh, I look like an asshole.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not allowed to laugh about this. You know I’m not.”
They were silent, the sounds of the party surrounding them from below.
“He had a horrible moustache,” Bruce said.
Clark pressed his knuckles to his mouth.
“I think my subconscious is trying to make death seem like a mercy.”
Clark made a muffled and hideous noise.
“Clark,” Diana scolded, and they turned to see her frowning as she approached. “This is a very difficult mission for Bruce, you mustn’t laugh.”
Clark threw up his hands in disgust.
“Or—wait.” Diana looked between them. “Was he doing it again?”
Clark nodded, lips pressed into a thin line.
“I think I remember this party,” Bruce said suddenly, looking out at the ballroom.
“What?” Clark and Diana asked simultaneously.
“It’s the one where that senator got thrown out of a window.” He pointed toward a commotion downstairs.
“What is your father doing?” Diana asked, leaning over a railing.
There was a crash of shattering glass, a series of screams, and scattered applause.
And he’ll insist he’ll be fine, “cause he’s a doctor” ?
Thomas raised an eyebrow with a level of disdain achievable only by those born to great wealth, and not at all befitting a man in the middle of using a meat cleaver to cut the nozzle off a garden hose. “Oh, I think I can handle it,” he scoffed. “I went to Yale.”
2k words of sexual but not necessarily sexy rope bondage, starring Past Trauma and New Relationships
Tomas swallows. And Marcus fears he’ll stop again, that he’ll say for the tenth time that Marcus can stop this whenever he wants, that Tomas doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable, that if Marcus flinches away, then Tomas won’t force himself on him, that Tomas will never force himself on him, that Tomas could live his entire life with Marcus as he did before, honoring the vows he’s already broken. He broke them with Jessica, who could touch and be touched. Tomas doesn’t say this. He says, “You seem secure to me.”
i'll apple your turnover 